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crash-and-cure · 7 months

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Been a Thorn in the Side of Man (Yandere!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: In her twenty years of the business, Jimena’s seen just about the worst Hollywood has to offer. However all of that failed to prepare her for the likes of Elvis Presley.

A/N: Yikes on bikes, this took alot longer than I was expecting. I would like to personally thank @stylespresleyhearted for keeping me motivated to write and allowing me to bounce ideas off her and on top of all of that making the beautiful mood board above. I was just able to release this on my birthday so there's that lol. Based off of this request.

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), doggy style and mating press, and not to mention huge breeding kink on his part. BIG TRIGGER Warning for some suicidal ideation on his part. Loss of family members. Drug overdose. Mentions of Pregnancy. Self-loathing. Probably more that I am blanking on. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Word Count: I’m gonna be honest, stopped counting after 30K (don’t judge me)

Then

There’s an odd sense of calm once one officially accepts that they’re alone in the world. It’s easier in a way to accept that no one will ever truly look out for her, than it is to have to face the earth-shattering disappointment that is having believed for a moment that someone would.

These are the thoughts going through her head as Jimi slowly folded her daily copy of the Excelsior.

Most women would be violently mad after having read what she just did, but it was almost a relief to finally have an answer to why he has really been so absent in her life these last few months. It’s not like it should be surprising to her really, this town having shown her for years what it thinks about women like her: Seductive, temptress, exotic, temperamental, alluring… disposable.

It’s a story told time and time again in Los Angeles. Orson Welles and Dolores Huerta, Gary Cooper and Lupe Velez, and now Elvis Presely and Jimena Perez can be added to those ranks of doomed romances.

I’d rather kiss three black women than a single Mexican woman, those are the words that ring within Jimenas head as she sits at her little breakfast table, though for what it’s worth it is nothing less than a deliberate action. As masochistic as it sounds she truly believes it’s for the better should she ever get to thinking this situation is in any way fixable.

But even still as she stares unblinkingly at the plain wall of her just recently occupied home, she is a little confused as to why her vision gets cloudy. It takes her a moment to comprehend that she’s crying, something that she so rarely does these days anymore.

And to think this is all over some musician.

She’ll never forget the first time she met him in person, all the standard camera and makeup testing that comes from early production. She’s far from the most experienced makeup assistant at Paramount, but in their words she’s the only makeup girl they trust to “behave” around him. Having grown up in the business, Jimena’s all but lost her ability to be starstruck by anybody really, so they’re not too far off in this notion.

As they were explaining the whole purpose of this to the relatively green actor, she looked at him with a critical eye, examining his features, comparing it to other actors she had already worked on in the past, and trying to recall how best to highlight them on screen.

He catches her looking at him and he shoots her a wicked smile, but where other girls would’ve gotten embarrassed at being caught staring she only redoubles her efforts now that she’s got a better look at his face, arguably staring even harder at him. In a funny turn of events he’s the one that looks away bashfully as though she were the one that caught him looking.

While her official production title is as the resident makeup artist, she’s personally worked almost every job there is to have on a set save for actually sitting in the big chair and directing. Lights, costuming, talent wrangling, she’s seen and done just about all of it. She had been working behind the scenes since she was 14, where with a little bit of makeup trickery, she was not only able to convince everybody that she was an adult, but that she was the new hire. This would eventually give way to getting actually hired, as they simply trusted the fact given she was already on the lot.

And somewhere between watching Dorothy Gale throw up in her own purse and seeing Rhett Butler remove his own teeth, did the whole concept of Hollywood movie magic well and truly die in her mind.

Drugs, drinks, boys, girls, and every other vice to be had, Jimena’s seen even the most clean cut of stars fall into at least one category or another. So when she got the news she was gonna be on a project with him of all people, she had thought she had well and truly prepared for anything this man could throw her way.

But when she actually gets a good up-close look at him, she starts to get that sinking feeling in her stomach. Not for anything he did or how he looked, but the way he acted. She heard his stuttering words and felt his soft cheeks in her hands, and there was only one thought in her head throughout the whole process.

Pobrecito they’re gonna eat you alive.

All her years in this business, she’s got a pretty good grasp when people are being genuine or not. And he’s perhaps the most genuine person she had ever encountered. Wide-eyed bumpkin from down south was hardly new, but there was just something about Elvis Presley that made it a tinge more tragic than it would be normally.

She barely spoke that first meeting, the higher ups weren’t that interested in her words these days, nor did he really try to initiate anymore conversation with the way his mouth was gaping at her. Hardly a new experience, but admittedly a little less unwelcome coming from him.

So it took her by surprise the first day of shooting when he said “I didn’t get the pleasure of catchin’ your name last time,” he said with a grin as she set down her make-up kit.

She’s quick to recover with a “Because I didn’t give it.”

He gives a short huff at that before insisting once again since after all, she’s gonna be around him for the next ten or so weeks.

“You can call me Jimi,” she says, barely sparing him a glance in favor of looking over the notes of what today’s scene will call for.

“That really your name sweetheart?” which is not unfair to ask. It wasn’t her first choice, but it is the one that distanced her the most from her old stage name.

“White people can’t pronounce it,” she justified as she tied her hair up with her favorite red bandana. “So I don’t bother with it here.” It’s sort of the truth, and that’s usually enough to get even the more obnoxiously “nice” ones off her back.

“Well I’m willing to give it a shot,” he says amiably, apparently up for the challenge that she presents.

She takes his chin in her hands and with a soft smile on her lips, and while he’s blushing up a storm she looks down at him and says a simple “No.”

He’s taken aback both by her words and the sudden spray of water from the bottle in her hand. She could’ve given a cursory warning to him but she has to remind herself that this entire situation works best when actors are indifferent towards her.

It’s for the best, she tells herself. The less you say about yourself, the better, she wants nothing more than to keep her Mena and Nena days far in the past.

Though it soon became clear that it wasn’t meant to be.

“Y’know…” he starts off as he’s looking at her in the mirror. “Ya kinda look like that one girl, uhh what’s her name.” He says snapping his fingers trying to force him to remember even though you know for a fact who he’s talking about. “Elena Somethin’.”

“Elena Leon?” she sighs, knowing already where this is going.

“That’s the one,” he would say, snapping his fingers in recognition. “Though, ‘tween the two of ya’, I think you’re the prettier one.”

“Hmm…” she answers, pursing her lips and practically shutting down as he quickly changes the subject to how excited he is to be working on another movie set. She didn’t engage much after that outside of the occasional hum of acknowledgement, until he eventually gave-up and would forlornly read his script.

That wouldn’t stop him the next day from telling her about how his dumbass cousin made him late this morning and all the antics they get up to back in Memphis.

Or the next when he asked if Pink’s was actually any good or if it’s all just hype.

So on and so forth for the next few days as he would try to get her to talk to him again.

She had been determined to just treat him like any other actor she had worked with, and just do her job, but then she saw him getting really cozy with a certain girl on set. Now on-set flings are par for the course on any production, and literally anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye, but she knows for a fact that that one is known to be dangerous. Well she’s not so dangerous, but her husband is.

“Stay away from her,” she would whisper to him one day as she applied some eyeshadow trying to imitate a black eye.

“So you do speak,” he says, cracking an eye open, a triumphant smile on his face as though he’s won some great victory over her.

“Yes, so listen to me,” she counters, her eyes boring into his to show him how serious she is.

“Why do you care so much darlin’?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips, still apparently not taking her seriously.

“My job is to keep you pretty for the cameras,” she states, in as matter of fact as she can manage. “You’re going to make that a lot harder if you don’t listen to me, and her husband beats the shit out of you.”

“She’s married?” he asked, astonished that he could miss such a thing. “M-my manager said she could get me some good roles, that her Daddy is some big-time producer” he argues back.

“Yes,” Jimena clarifies. “Her husband, who she calls daddy, can get you one very high paying role, and that’s only if you let him watch. If your manager didn’t know this, he’s a dumbass.”

“Let him watch what?” he asks, confused. Her pursed lips, refusal to meet his eyes, and following silence speaks volumes, as his own cobalt eyes go comically wide as to what she was implying. “Her husband?” he says, and she gives him a small affirmative nod. “And he watches?” A raise of her brows as her eyes slide away from him just reaffirms this unorthodox situation. “So… Wait a second… does he or does he not like it when she’s with other men?”

“Both,” she states, adding the finishing touches to her work. “He likes to watch and after that he beats the shit out of the boy in question.” And even though she’s pretty secure in the fact that no one is listening in, she still gets close to him to whisper this last part into his ear. “It’s apparently the only way he can get it up anymore.”

The fact that she sees his ears go bright red from just that little tidbit of information just really goes to show how green he still is in regards to how things work in this town.

“How d’ya know all this?” he asks, more than a little disturbed now.

Not to brag but she regards herself as a wealth of information on the comings and goings of the Hollywood elite. Close enough to the action to overhear everything but low enough in the pecking order that most assume she’s incapable of doing anything about it.

But this is basic information that even the lowliest of extras were privy to, so you can’t fathom how a man with a near meteoric rise to stardom wouldn’t know this.

“Are you kidding?” she would in turn ask him. “Everybody knows.”

“Wait if everybody knows then why doesn’t anyone put a stop to it?” he asks, trying to find logic in a city not exactly known for it.

“Because the only thing more powerful than secrets in this town is money, and he’s got a lot to keep everyone quiet.”

Besides it’s only a matter of time before something gives in that tragedy waiting to happen. From all the whisperings Jimena’s been hearing, the girl in question has been keeping some rendezvous’ secret from her husband and more or less bragging that there’s no prenup in place. While he in turn has turned his eyes to some pretty little barely legal extra, he’s also very Catholic, doesn’t believe in divorce, and has rumored connections to the mob.

Not even a week later did she hear whisperings that the very same producer had quickly sold all his stock in Paramount and decided to retire to the French Riviera with his wife seemingly overnight though there are conflicting reports as to whether or not she was seen at the airport. Coincidentally no one has seen hide nor hair from the last lowly actor she was seen running around with.

Usually she kept her mouth shut about the dirtier details of an incident of this magnitude, but she couldn't help herself when she let him know the full extent as to the bullet he had dodged.

“That's why you don’t get involved with fixers wives,” she says simply as she grabs the spray bottle for his hair, a little more secure in the knowledge that he isn’t so green anymore.

“Fixers?” he asks, and she laughs initially thinking he’s pretending to not know as is the custom when somebody on the outside asks about them. But then she sees he’s not laughing along with her, and his confusion is genuine.

“You are not kidding are you?” she asks incredulously, truly hoping that this man is not so naive.

“Can’t say that I am,” he replies.

Now she has two options, mind her own business and let this boy sink or swim on his own, or enlighten him to the dark underbelly of what it takes to make it in this town. Jimena had spent the last few years keeping her ear to the ground and gathering as much information as she could to one day be able to leverage it to help one person specifically… but that person hasn’t wanted much to do with her lately.

Still she finds herself leaning more into the staying in her lane option, that is until his wide ocean blue eyes turn towards her, and she feels like a monster for the thought.

“Well everybody around here has a job, and it’s to make movies that make money. Your job is to make the studio look good on and off screen so people spend money to see these movies,” she says as she runs a comb through his hair. “And when you fuck that up, it’s the fixers job to cover it up.”

“When?” he repeated, clearly a little offended.

“Yes, when,” she clarified. “Get caught with a boy, get caught holding something you’re not supposed to, get a mistress pregnant, get a ‘social’ disease, or hell, even find yourself with a dead body on your hands, you just gotta call the right producer and they make it all disappear.” She knows she’s being pretty blunt with the subject but she has been in the business pretty much right out of the womb, so she’s seen some of the worst shit this town has to offer.

Over the next few weeks she does her best to let him in on the need to know knowledge that is necessary to survive not just in Paramount, but in Hollywood as a whole.

“If you work with John, he’ll call you a communist for stirring your coffee the wrong way so I would avoid him. Canter’s is actually the place you want to go to for great food, Pink’s is just okay. Gable’s breath smells like death, but he will bury you if you ever mention it. Umm…” she says trying to recall any other helpful advice, though stops when she sees his overwhelmed expression. “Am I going too fast?”

He quickly schools his expression, back into one a more affable look, “Nothin’ you gotta worry ‘bout darlin’”

She is not buying it though.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, unwilling to believe his dismissal. He clammed up even more and looked straight into the mirror until she sat herself right in front of him, crossed your arms, raised an eyebrow, and gave him a look telling him she wasn't about to drop this.

It’s a bit of a standoff until he eventually lets out a long breath and looks out the window to the awaiting set outside of his trailer, “I don’t know Jimi…” he sighs. “Guess I’m just feelin’ some type a way doin’ all this.”

“Why?” she asks, not really thinking.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for acting.”

She simply gives a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders, and simply states, “You could be better.”

He blinks, apparently caught off guard by her bluntness. “You just get right to the point, don'tcha darlin’,” he says with a smile.

“Hey if you want someone to kiss your ass, you would’ve been better off asking literally anyone else.”

He gives a snort but the tight smile tells her she’s hit the nail on the head. “Alright then sweetheart, what’dya think I’m doin’ wrong?” he asks genuinely.

Part of her wants to give a very pithy “everything,” but the other part of her is a little thrown for the fact that he is not only listening but actively asking for her advice on the matter. Granted she’s far from an expert considering she hasn’t done it in years, but she’s worked with some of the “greats’ to be confident enough in her ability to know good acting from bad. Besides she’s already going out of her way to let him in on the secrets of this town, so what’s an acting lesson or two.

“Well for one thing, it’s called acting,” she emphasizes, “Not Wording.”

“I-I don’t follow.”

“Look… anybody can simply say the lines, but it’s an actor that can bring a character to life. You gotta be able to get comfortable with the fact that you’re not only being heard, but you’re being seen.”

“Sweetheart everybody sees me.”

“Yeah and you’re in charge of how you want to be seen,” she says. “Do you know why I wear the same red bandana everyday?”

“I was thinkin’ cuz you were tryin’ ta hide a bald spot,” he answers, which earns him a swift punch to the nipple.

“I wear it because my options are to be known as the mexican girl or as the bandana girl,”

“So right now they’re seeing you Elvis, not Deke,” she sighs. “Say what you want about Brando and his annoying refusal to learn his goddamn lines, but he makes you believe every word that comes out of his mouth, because he believes what he’s saying at that moment…Speaking of Brando,” she pivots hard before she gets too passionate about the topic of acting and gives herself away. “Never get into a pissing contest with him. That’s how Anthony Quinn lost out on being a leading man… and I do mean a pissing contest in the most literal sense.”

“I’ll take ya word for it Jimi, but you sure do know alot ‘bout bein’ an actor,” he says giving her a once over that she can’t quite read. “You eva try bein’ one before?”

“You could say that,” she remarks, silently praying he doesn’t ask why she does have these skills. He’d already noticed over the past few weeks how she would be roped into fixing problems that were well beyond the paygrade of the average make-up girl like jumpstarting golf cars or fixing light fixtures. His attention is a bit infuriating, considering she feels she does her best work unnoticed. “When you've been in the business as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.”

“So how long you been in the business?”

Without missing a beat. “50 years.”

He gives a double take at that, and she’s pretty sure he’s trying to discern whether she’s lying or not. She’s not helping whatsoever with her usual neutral demeanor, until for the first time in years she does crack a bit of a smile at him, as she snipes with a, “I’m a very good make-up girl.”

He laughs at that “So you’ll tell me you’re real age but not your real name darlin’?

“Never.”

He gives an amused snort at that but the nice moment is interrupted when one of the PA’s pulls her away so she can help restart Gleason’s heart after his partner apparently got a little too enthusiastic about choking him mid-orgasm.

After that the relationship between the two seemed to ease up a bit. He no longer felt the need to posture in front of her and they developed something of a -dare she say it- friendship with one another. For her, it’s a pretty novel experience to actually be heard on set for once, and the closer they got she got the sense that he may understand that feeling more than he would like to let on.

“Any news?” he would ask, knowing full well that she always has the best stories on set. She doesn’t really talk to any of the other actors on set, and they in turn don’t really notice her, so they are a lot freer with their words when they speak with one another in front of her.

“So… you didn’t hear it from me,” you say as you begin to wet his hair. “But apparently a certain Superman is on his way out and was seen with a younger girl in New York, and Toni is not taking it well.”

“And Toni’s husband?”

“Taking it worse,” she says simply as she readies the eyeliner. “This was always going to happen, but I don’t think it’s the end of it.” she promises, which would be proven right a few years down the line when George “mysteriously” ended up with a bullet in his head.

“You’re the reason I don't even bother with them papers no more,” he remarks.

“They’re not all trash,” you defend. “There’s almost always a little bit of truth in them.”

“Speakin’ a rumors,” he continues. “I think I finally figured out why you look like Elena Leon so much?” he says, oh-so casually trying to maintain his innocence.

She stops combing through his hair, knowing that the jig was up.

“Who told you?” she asks, trying to mentally prepare herself for the same three things everyone said when they did find out. It’s always an awkward subject to bring up especially as it brings up some painful memories of long hours and relationships that have yet to recover.

“Y’know me and my mama used to watch your movies,” he says with an annoyingly charming smile.

“I’m glad,” she says in the most neutral tone.

“Lord I never could’ve expected to meet you here, workin’ behind the scenes. You ever think about actin’ again?”

“Oh my sister is the actress now,” she said affably. Something well-rehearsed and practically scorched into her brain since Jimena started working on sets when she was fifteen was to always talk up Elena to anybody who would listen.

“Well thas a cryin’ shame sweetheart,” he says with a rakish grin on his face. “You were always my favorite.”

That’s new, she thought. Usually they ask her to do the old catchphrase. That or men tend to get weird around the idea of women who look almost exactly the same.

But the idea of being the favorite is… different. Like every other relationship, she has a complicated one with the idea of being seen. But the idea of Elvis being the one to look at her is somewhere between exciting and terrifying, and it has her heart beating just a little bit faster.

“Why didn’tcha go back?” he continues. She kind of understands where his curiosity comes from, as someone who so desperately wanted to break into the Hollywood scene it would probably be hard to comprehend someone who knew it and rejected it.

The Leon Twins were the biggest little things since Shirley Temple. With their indistinguishable looks and charming, if slightly demeaning, premise of one sister only able to speak Spanish with the other, only English, MGM was able to pump out over thirty various movies and shorts starring the adorable little Mena and Nena and their hijinx.

How is she supposed to explain how her mother made the unilateral decision that her sister was the “good” one and thus the one she decided would have the solo career after Jimena had the gall to go into puberty first and become slightly more distinguishable than her younger sister. Or how she hasn't talked to her sister in months despite the fact they both still live with their mother, and neither of them have acknowledged this. Or how the reason she took this job in the first place was to better lookout for said sister who isn’t talking to her.

How she sees fame as a beast of madness and obsession that will consume her given half a chance as it did with her mother and now her sister. But movies are all she’s ever known and the idea of leaving seems scarier than it is to stay.

How the thought of having so many eyes on her once again makes her practically want to claw her skin off and she’d rather die than ever willingly step back into that arena.

She doesn't say any of that, instead she simply says, “Got tired of it,” as she puts the finishing touches on his hair. “I had my time in front of the camera,” and hated every second of it, she thought. “And I think I’m better suited behind it,” and you give a dramatic turn of his chair so that he could face the mirror. “As you can see.”

“Yeah,” he says, taking the hand you placed on his shoulder and looking back up at you. “I don’t know what’d I do without ya sweetheart.”

Seeing his cobalt blue eyes bore into her own, Jimena feels her face heat up, though mercifully it’s hidden under her darker complexion. If Elvis notices her change, he doesn't acknowledge it, and mercifully that is when one of the PA’s calls him to the sound stage.

Once he’s out she sprays her own face with a bottle to get herself under control.

In spite of her typically neutral regard for actors there’s just simply something about Elvis Presley that just made her want to throw that all away.

She had sworn to herself to never get involved with actors, she had seen this song and dance play out many a times before. It comes in different flavors, but the final scene is always the same at the end of the day: the famous white man never chooses the latin girl to be his wife. Arm-candy? Definitely. Date? Yes. Long-time Girlfriend? Sure. Fiance with a wedding date never set? Maybe. Mistress? Obviously. But never the wife.

Besides, it was the tail-end of shooting and it’s unlikely she was ever gonna work with him again so she decided to just stamp these feelings down and hope they went away. She was afterall an actress once, she can act like he doesn’t have an affect on her now.

Though this was blown out of the water on the last day of shooting and he would not only pull her next to him for the cast wrap-up picture, but he would also slip an invitation to the wrap-party in her purse. She had gone home hoping to take a nap and forget about Elvis Presley, only for the next curveball of her day to occur.

“Should we match for the party?” Elena would ask, holding up said invitation.

“...did… did you look through my purse to find that?”

“We better start getting ready,” her sister would say, completely bypassing the question. “After all it’s not everyday that Hollywood gets a Leon Twins reunion.”

“...yeah, I-I don’t think going would be…”

“Meeeennnnnaaaa…” she whines, completely abusing the fact that she is the only one allowed to use that name and not catch a fist to the face. “We need to go together, because why else would they just invite a makeup girl to a wrap party?”

Why else indeed? She thinks and she actively has to scrub the way he looked at her out of her mind lest she get any other ideas.

“Besides,” she says, giving Jimena a light shove on the shoulder. “You still owe me for never introducing me to James Dean.”

“I barely knew him,” she argues back, which is the truth. He only vaguely knew her as “Snake girl” when she was working as a PA for one of his movies. The closest she ever got to him was after she managed to save him, Rock, and Liz from a snake that had trapped them in his trailer and their subsequent thank-you’s being signed photos of each of them that they had their assistants bring to her. There’s a certain irony in the fact that of the few movies to depict the plight of Mexican-Americans in the US, they had no problem giving her, one of the few Mexican crew members, the most dangerous task because everybody else was too valuable to lose.

Looking at her sister, her reflection in many ways, she feels her resolve begin to waiver a bit. Nena was her first job in a sense, as being the older sister it was Jimena’s responsibility to look out for her first and foremost. She took it so seriously that she’s still doing it to this day.

They have always been so intrinsically entwined as an act. Their tiny hand prints immortalized in front of Grauman’s and the child-sized oscar with both of their names somewhere around here prove that much. But Elena now struggles to find that same level of fame as before, and secretly Jimena doubts that this will ever be possible.

She couldn’t understand it but Jimena could see the reason as clear as day.

There’s an unspoken rule about being a latin or black actress in Hollywood when you’re not the star of the show: Never outshine the white leading ladies, because it has to be believable that the white leading man chooses the leading lady.

Joan Crawford was bad enough with actresses who had the gall to be simply younger than her, but she was especially vicious toward the ones who had skin tone darker than ivory. Jimena remembers one harrowing set where this one little Cuban extra had made the awful mistake of approaching Joan and saying how she wanted to be as big a star as her one day.

They never did find her ear, and Jimena had made it a point to stop wearing hoop earrings on set altogether. The whole incident was swept under the rug after “someone” accused the poor girl of being a communist, and they did who knows what with her. But that just confirmed her and other girls like her are unlikely to be protected on set no matter how valuable you make yourself.

Jimena told her sister this story, warning her to dull herself down a bit during auditions, if only to get her foot in the door and get more consistent work as secondary characters. And it was working for a time, but she wasn’t seeing the kind of work she wanted and she largely blamed Jimena for it because of her warnings to play it safe.

In fact the source of their recent falling out was when Jimena had tried to convince her to try out cinema in Italy or Mexico or literally anywhere else in the world and use that as a branching off point to get an in in Hollywood. She flat out refused saying how she “doesn’t want to die in obscurity like you.” They didn’t talk for a solid month after that and since then it was only the barest of communication between them.

“Imagine if I was seen with Elvis Presley,” she said now, with stars in her eyes. “The roles would come pouring in after that.”

For all that it left a sour taste in her mouth, Jimena could understand the logic of wanting to latch on to someone who's already getting up there in terms of fame. Fuck the studios themselves sometimes set up these types of arrangements, all for the sake of promoting up and comers.

And the fact he invited her in the first place, probably means he had something else on his mind for the evening. Besides he’s apparently been a fan of theirs for a long time, it probably wouldn’t matter too much to him to which sister he was handed at the end of the day.

So really everybody wins with this arrangement; Elena gets a bump to her star power, Elvis gets to fuck one of the Leon twins, Jimena gets to stay in her lane. And it’s with a heavy heart that she agrees to go.

The evening was apparently so special that their mother decided to make one of her rare appearances before sunset.

Once after finding out that not only was she one of the famous Leon Twins, but that her mother was THE Gloria Leon-Sanchez from the silent film days, he of course asked what it was like to grow up with a famous mother.

“You ever seen Sunset Boulevard?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve met my mother.”

Harsh as it may sound, that was the most generous interpretation of her mother that she could afford these days. What with her practically living in nightgowns and sheer robes, to her constant bemoaning of actresses that apparently stole her career trajectory the likes of which included practically everyone from Rita Hayworth to even her own daughters, the comparison wasn’t too far off.

Though her mother had largely checked out once the twins had turned eighteen. Elena alone hadn’t been able to reach the same level of fame that the two of them once managed together as the “Firecracker twins.”

It was a simple gimmick really but had just enough gas to make over 30 movies and short movies about. Adorable twin girls who get up to mischief due to their near indistinguishable looks, Mena the spanish-speaking, spitfire twin that always had a skip in her step to dance with her little, english-speaking, soft-spoken and shyer twin, Nena, who could occasionally be emboldened enough to sing.

The two of them were a lightning rod for box office draw, having been likened to Shirley Temple levels of fame, but due to their background that hardly granted them Shirley Temple levels of treatment or pay for that matter.

Her and her sister weren’t seen as people, they were moving props that could sing and dance, and on occasion say their famous “Ayy, No Bueno!” catchphrase. Props that didn’t need to rest, props that didn’t need to eat, props that the less scrupulous producers would occasionally try to lure into an empty room with them.

Not to pat their mother too hard on the back, but she at the very least helped them avoid the most obvious pitfalls that come from childhood stardom, but made them arguably worse. Like refusing to let the doctor give them “vitamin shots” but would ask if they could just IV Line coffee to their veins. Or never letting either of them out of her sight on sets, but couldn’t really be bothered with them outside of it leaving them with nannies so she could go “audition” for them. Or how she never left either of them alone with any of the men, but did teach them how to mix drinks at the age of nine so they could charm them with their “maturity.” So on and so forth. All of these bad, but after encountering other mothers who wanted to make their kids stars regardless of the cost, it really put things into perspective as to the type of person she could’ve been.

What happened to her as a kid may have been more palatable to Jimena, if it were a case of that being the only way to keep them afloat. But it wasn’t and the older she gets, the better she understands as to what was stolen from her in their childhood. Their “father” Victor, had the decency to slip into a coma after marrying the formerly famous silent film-actress, and 10 Months later out popped Jimena and her sister, so as to properly claim her cut of his fortune.

No, it was never about the money for her mother. It was always the fame that she was seeking, even if she had to begrudgingly share it with her daughters.

Back in those days the Coogan act was more of a suggestion in the studios, especially when they had her mothers implicit permission for whatever they wanted. The long hours, the uncomfortable costumes and the mean men were all things she had done your very best in the last few years to forget about.

One thing she undoubtedly won’t forget was her mother’s favorite threat when she was a kid and acting up. “¿Quieres que consiga los fijadores?” Gloria would say with a sickly sweet smile on her face, knowing full well no one but her daughter understood her words. Where other Mexican kids were scared of El Cucuy, she was scared of Los Fijadores or the fixers who would take away bad little girls that didn’t listen to the directors, so that their mothers could go back to acting and not have to care for those ungrateful little girls. That would always shut her up for the day, and she would listen until the next time she got fed up and the cycle would repeat all over again. Little did she realize at the time that her mother didn’t have much in the way of influence in the business, not anymore at least, but she took full advantage over the influence she had over her daughters.

Ironically enough it was rare that Jimena would ever get to that point, but because her sister was the “good one” she would never dare to kick up a fuss, so most of the time the older sister would do it for her. She took her role as a big sister very seriously back then and didn’t mind being the difficult one who held up production if it meant that her little sister got a break.

It was always the two of them against the world. It’s why she even stayed in the business. She couldn’t imagine where she’d be if it was just her alone, as for all the shit her mother put her through, she could at least take comfort knowing that she wasn’t alone. Even when they were angry at each other, even when they wouldn’t speak to each other for weeks, even when she felt like she just wanted to choke her, she could take comfort knowing that they would always be there for one another.

For the occasion, her sister would choose a bold red dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Marilyn or Jayne. It felt a little too much for just a simple wrap party, but it was clear her intent was to draw as much attention as possible.

By the time Jimena made her way downstairs it was clear that it was already working, with the way their mother was cooing over her.

“So you’re going with Elena to the party,” her mother would remark as Jimena stepped down the stairs.

“Actually she’s going with me.”

“And you’re going to wear that?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” she says in the way only a mother intent on cutting down her daughters self-esteem could.

Jimena would self-consciously look down at her own understated blue dress, “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just…” she would say, fingering the fabric on her shoulder. “This is Elena’s big night, and we need to do everything in our power to help her stand out.”

A distraction goes unsaid, something she used to be called for wearing any slightly flattering clothing onset. Even when she did start dressing down, she could hardly say it helped anything but this is an argument she’s heard a lot over the years, and she’s too tired to fight it tonight. “Of course mama,” Jimena would say dejectedly before going back to her room to change into something a little less flattering. A simple black dress, something that is both complementary to Elena’s red dress, but will also hopefully help her fade into the background so that all focus will be given to her sister.

“Ayy thank you Mija,” she would say, planting a kiss on her eldest’s cheek before they left. “You’ve always been so good at looking out for your sister.”

Jimena had long since accepted that between the two of them, she would always be the second choice. It happened with their mother, it happened with the studios, it happened with every single boy she had been interested in, hell she had even chosen her sister before herself most times. Why would Elvis be different?

That night when he did end up picking her, Jimena could hardly be blamed for indulging in the sensation of the first time in her life someone had chosen her over her sister.

It was the worst mistake of her life that she would struggle to forgive herself for. Elvis would distract her almost the entire night, and as a result an awful man had sunken his claws into Elena when she hadn’t been looking. Those last few months of her sister's life would be fraught with anger, drugs, and heartache from one Tim Parsons.

He had been claiming to be related to one of the studio big-wigs and could get her some higher profile auditions. What scared Jimi is that she could not find a goddamn thing about him in all of her little networks. Anywhere else this would mean that he’s a perfectly normal person with nothing so scandalous as to be worth talking about. In this town it meant that someone was just very good at hiding whatever the hell is wrong with them.

Yet all the evidence that he was bad news came in the form of all the drastic changes she was seeing in her sister. Since puberty, Elena had always been slimmer than her (their mother made sure of that) as a result, she wasn’t quite as gifted in the chest and hips as Jimena. But it was impossible not to notice the fact that she dropped a few dress sizes in a matter of weeks. When Elena begged her sister to take in a few dresses for her, Jimena could practically see her ribcage. Not to mention the fact that she was unusually full of energy even late into the night when she would pace around the house only to make a call to him and then after a quick handoff from his car she would be dead asleep, until he would let himself in and the cycle would begin all over again.

Jimena knows what these all mean. She’s seen the signs in hundreds of actors before, and she’s never bothered to intervene before. Now it feels like a karmic punishment for her previous inaction, as she can only watch helplessly as her sister goes down the same road.

It all came to a head the day she finally heard the first thing about this man, and it was truly terrifying: that not only was he not a doctor, but that that wasn’t even his name. He had been forced to change it once his claim to fame in this town became how he was denied an apprenticeship under Dr. Feelgood because his concoctions were in the doctors words “unhinged.” The man who regularly shoots up his patients that have a blend of human placenta and ground up horse bones called another man’s “vitamin” mixture insane.

She dropped everything the moment she heard that and begged Elena to stop seeing this man. But it was in one ear out the other, and it seems it was hard for her to believe Jimena when for a time she was actually getting her foot in the door for major roles she actually wanted all because of him. However these also came with a price as evidenced by the late nights and vacant looks in Elena’s eyes after coming back from these auditions. The more she did this the more she felt her sister slipping away.

Her mother is no help whatsoever seeing only the results of this shift, and not the consequences.

“Mija,” she would say to her in one of her rare moments of lucidness. “This is what it really takes. I tried to protect you both from it when you were younger, but she understands now what has to be done to make it in this town.”

Jimena has to bite her tongue, when all she wants to do is scream at her mother and yell at her to look in a mirror and ask if that was the image of someone who made it.

It all came to a head when Elena would beg Jimena to help her “entertain” a casting producer who not only had a thing for latinas, but twins as well. She was practically on her knees pleading for her sister's help with this, promising her twin that this would be the break in her career that she needed. Jimena tried to reason with her that there is no role worth what they’re asking for her, especially since even sleeping with them wasn’t a guarantee for her roles.

Up until this point she’s tried to be gentle about this, but it becomes clear as day that that is no help.

“You watch!” She yelled. “He’s gonna suck you dry and spit you back out when there’s nothing left!”

“At least he’s getting me work! You’ve always done nothing but drag me down!” she sobs, angry tears streaming down her face. “The one time I ask you to do something for me-”

“The one time? Who’s the one that did all the stunts you were too afraid of? Who’s the one who dropped out of school so you wouldn’t be alone on sets? Who’s been talking you up to every producer she’s ever worked with?”

“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Her little sister would snapback.

That has Jimena clamp her mouth shut, not wanting to own up to what she did that set her sister on this course. But that’s all the confirmation Elena needed before she turned her back on her.

It was the ugliest fight they had ever had, and it resolved nothing, as they just stormed into their respective rooms. Those days were less Little Women and more Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Jimi knew that if one didn’t get out soon there would be blood. So when she was offered a project that would be shooting mostly on location in New Orleans she practically jumped at the opportunity, hardly even registering the fact that Elvis was gonna be there as well.

It was only landing in Louisiana and seeing room assignments did she remember why exactly she hated On-location shoots, when “mysteriously” the other seven white women she was sharing a room with all unanimously decided that of all of them, Jimena would be the one that had to take the floor.

But remembering who exactly was starring in this production, she decided to take a chance and made her way to his room. Though upon arriving at his door, she does hesitate for a moment remembering what her sister said and probably what he will expect if they do share a room. But then just thinking of her sister infuriates her and she finds herself finally knocking on his door.

Being in New Orleans, all her problems back home would seem so far away, and she could focus on herself for a change. In an odd way it felt like he was the only one who understood her in those days. Of all the people on set, he is the only one who knows how to put on a brave face when it feels like everything you have is slipping through your fingers.

Him also knowing who exactly she was came with the unexpected consequence of him constantly trying to finagle stories out of her. Really talking to him about her childhood did help put into perspective how wild her formative years were as not everybody can say they got in a fist fight with Wendy Darling or that Shirley Temple taught them how to roll a cigarette.

He seemed to just understand what she needed in a way no one has ever. It was usually simple arguably unremarkable things really, like anticipating when she was hungry or tired, even before she would admit it to herself, or when she almost lost a finger or when he stepped so this would be the first time she wouldn’t be the one to have to chase rabid animals out after a small alligator somehow got onto the set. He took care of her in a way that nobody had ever done before.

She wouldn’t define what they had as a full scale relationship, but whatever they had, it was nice just to have something private and out of the public eye. Only later would she realize he had his own reasons to keep everything as discreet as possible.

They were together almost every night in New Orleans, as it was easy to fall into each other like that. They were both at an uncomfortable crossroad in their life and it felt like he understood her in a way nobody else had.

She thought she understood him as well, but it was only when she read the article did she realize she never knew him at all.

They were a week away from wrapping up production, when Jimena got the devastating news. In a newspaper somebody else had been reading on set that day of all things.

That was the way she learned that her sister was dead.

She remembers saying to no one in particular that she was gonna call it a day and simply wandered off set, into the unfamiliar city. She walked for hours just trying to wrap her head around the news.

It felt like the worst sort of betrayal to learn that her sister had been dead for days, and not only had no one contacted her, but that she didn’t automatically feel it. Aren’t other twins supposed to just know when the other is hurt? So why didn’t she? Elena came into this world with Jimena, why did she leave without her?

As a kid her mother told her that she was not a pretty crier, so she’s done everything in her power to never cry, especially in front of other people. So walking around and being surrounded by strangers at the very least did prevent her from devolving into a blubbering mess. But as the day goes on she knows there is no outrunning the inevitable, and that as tempting as it may be to simply walk until she couldn't anymore, she would have to go home soon.

She would eventually make her way back to the hotel room only to be met with Elvis worriedly pacing around his room. He would throw his arms around her the moment he saw her and start with the condolences, and even the tears.

She didn’t really want any of that; she just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. But she lets him pull her close and she breaks for the first time in years in front of somebody else. True to her mothers words, it is not a pretty picture.

Full body wracking sobs, snot pouring out of her nose, her screaming and cursing until her voice goes hoarse, the works. Even still he holds her all the same. For all that she’s glad he was there she can’t help but feel so humiliated, but that’s simply one of the many emotions that run through her head along with guilt and anger and regret and just about every other awful feeling under the sun.

But who else could she turn to that would know even a fraction of what she’s going through right now. Not just to lose a sister, but to lose a part of yourself.

In a sick way she kind of blamed him. Maybe if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in him these last few weeks she would’ve known earlier, or maybe she wouldn’t have even taken this job, or hell, if she hadn’t even gone to that party, Elena wouldn’t have even met that man in the first place.

“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Plays over and over again in her head. But it’s easier to be mad at him because he’s actually here to take that anger.

Though she begins to feel no small amount of guilt for this when she wakes up the next morning to find that he’s cleared everything with the producers, and arranged for her trip back home all on his dime.

He personally escorts her to the private train room he rented for her and leaves her with a kiss and a promise to see her in a few days. But by this point she’s numb to everything and she simply wants to close her eyes forever.

She barely registered coming home and only that was due to the fact that it’s now on her to arrange everything for the funeral, as it becomes apparent that her mother in her grief is off on another world. The biggest clue being when her mother greets her at the front door with a hug and a kiss, and calls her Elena.

“Mena’s still not back yet,” her mother would say with her arms still wrapped around her in the threshold of their home. “So it’s just gonna be us today.”

“Ama…” Jimena whispers, unwilling to believe what she’s hearing.

“Let's get you to the kitchen,” she tugs at her now lone daughter's arm. “You look like a skeleton these days. They’re not going to hire you if you don’t have a little meat on your bones.” She’s quickly whisked away to the kitchen where she finds a veritable feast, and her mothers hired cook nowhere in sight. Her mother can’t cook, a fact known to both sisters, but between the two of them, Elena never had the heart to tell her.

“You should listen to your sister more Nena,” she says brushing some hair out of her face after putting down a full plate of food in front of her. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this and I think she’s right on the money with the idea of trying to make it somewhere else and then coming back.”

“Ama… please listen to me,” she pleads softly with the older woman, wanting to be gentle with her.

“You should really consider Italy,” she would say, not even acknowledging her daughter had said something. “Or France if you want to get a slightly better chance at

It’s then she realizes that her mother is simply parroting back to her what she had been saying to her sister. All the rage and grief that’s been building up inside her bubbles over by that point. Now is when her mother decides to back her up, when it’s far too late to do anything about it?

“She’s gone!” she shouts. “She’s not here anymore, I’m Jimena!”

Her mother doesn’t look shocked, more resolved as she places her head in her hands. “Quiero estar con Elena,” she whispers through her tears.

It occurred to Jimena that this was the first time she had heard her mother speak Spanish in years. Alot of her mother these days is very… performative.

She’s seen it throughout the years how much her mother puts on a show, even simply for her daughters. It’s most apparent when she talks, as rather than using her natural voice, the one that made it impossible for her to break into the “talkies” as she still insists on calling them, she’s instead adopted the mid-atlantic, but the result sounds like if Katherine Hepburn was mocking someone with a Spanish accent.

But hearing her now, Jimena realizes that this is the most honest her mother has been with her in years. The truth doesn’t make it sting any less. Her mother is gone, she just needs to resolve this one last piece of business to go in peace.

Just like she played mother to her own sister for years, she could pretend to be the daughter that her mother needed at that moment. And so she unflinchingly took a bite out of ceviche that only tasted like raw non-marinated shrimp and talked about whether or not to go the Josephine Baker route and start off as a showgirl.

The rest of the day is spent trying to ease her mothers guilt, only to pile it onto Jimena. Her mother would not so subtly explain why Jimena has been right this whole time and why ELena should listen to her. She suspects this is some fucked up way for her mother to tell her it’s not her fault, but all Jimena can hear is how if she had pushed harder her sister would still be here.

At one point her mother would “subtly” hint that she called in a favor with an old friend to take “Tim” down to Mexico so that he can retire. Jimena can’t even find joy in the fact that he’s gone now, because what does that leave her with, if she can’t be the one to kill the man who killed a part of her?

“One more thing Mija,” Gloria says as she runs her nails through Jimena’s hair while they were both laying down in her sister's bed. “Thank your sister for me.”

Jimena hesitates before she asks, that distinct sense of trouble churning her stomach, “For what?”

“For being the mother I could never be for you,” she says, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Mena’s the one I never had to worry about.” And with those final words, her mother settles in behind her and goes to sleep.

The coroner would later say that the fact that she was able to sleep and not be disturbed by whatever took her, she at the very least went without pain.

This is fundamentally untrue as she left all her pain to Jimena.

This event had taken the story from simply sad to a tragedy. A young, beautiful starlet dying of an accidental overdose, is one thing, but add in her bereaved former silent film star mother to the mix, and that’s front-page news worthy. And before Jimena knew it, her loss was now the hottest ticket in town, because all of the cameras were not gonna dare miss such an event, and no star was gonna dare miss the cameras.

It felt that every relatively famous person who vaguely knew either her mother or sister came out of the woodwork to tell some sort of story about them at the funeral. Jimena doesn't really have much to say other than there were definitely some who pulled off the bereaved friend act better than others.

When it finally comes time for her eulogy, she was not as prepared as she thought. In an odd way it would have been better to look out in a sea of strangers, because looking out and seeing a hoard of famous faces who don’t know a single goddamn thing about her, all blank as there is not a single camera trained on them at the moment is far worse than anything imaginable.

She ends up bolting to a backroom before she could make a fool of herself and scream at them all for being here when they’re not. She gives a futile effort to calm herself down by looking at all the gifts from well-wishers.

It was almost funny as it seemed everyone's publicist went to the same gift basket guy as there were maybe a dozen of the same arrangements, and she briefly wondered if they were bought in bulk by the studio and sent in different stars names. But one name in particular gave her pause, and she ripped the card off of the basket, unwilling to believe her own eyes that he could be so callous.

Sorry for your loss

It was hard to comprehend at that moment, and she stupidly turned the little card back and forth unwilling to believe that the man who claimed to care so much for her would only send her an assortment of fruits and cheeses and not even five words.

It’s all too much at that point, her dress is too tight, she’s all alone, her head is spinning, she’s all alone, her tits hurt for some reason, she’s all alone, she wants to throw up, she’s all alone, she’s all alone, she’s all alone…

Jimena’s next conscious thought is realizing she’s in a hospital bed, but not in a hospital. The sound stage she’s on does a good enough job of looking like an actual hospital, save for the fact that an entire wall is missing and what looks to be a couple dozen cameras trained on her prone form. She can’t move anything save for blinking but that simply seems to make her situation worse as the cameras proceed to multiply each and every time.

What does eventually make her accept that this is in fact a dream is when her rotting and decaying mother and sister enter stage left and proceed to rip off the thin hospital blankets. Before she can make any move to protest, she’s quieted with a wave of pain in her lower belly as they both take one of her legs in hand and proceed to spread them wide open for the cameras, each flash searing into her skin like a brand.

She can feel the way her mother and sister dig their fingers into her limbs to keep her in place and helpless as wave after wave of agony seems to flow throughout her entire body. She’s begging for them to let her go, she’s begging the cameras to stop, most of all she’s begging for someone who's not there.

She came to, maybe a day later, this time in an actual hospital with a mild concussion, a baby in her belly, and a broken heart, though they can only officially diagnose the first two.

She had options for this situation. Every woman, famous or not, in the business knew she had options, it was practically part of orientation that they got a list of ten approved doctors by the studio for this very sickness. It was almost treated as a rite of passage for the backstage girls to have to eventually visit a doctor, it’s simply that common.

Jimena’s never had any reason to utilize this option, having 1. Avoided anybody relatively important to necessitate this, and 2. She had always been careful when it came to something like this. And yet somehow Elvis proved to be an exception to these rules. She had admittedly gotten sloppy after the first time he spilled inside her in New Orleans, as after that first time she figured that if anything came from this she could always just visit one of the studio doctors when she got back to LA.

But sitting in a hospital bed, that once hypothetical scenario now a reality, it no longer feels as simple as it once did. She’s near catatonic in her indecisiveness until one of the nurses idly asks if she would be open to visitors should anybody arrive.

And just like that, the prospect of going through with any other option other than keeping the baby made her sick. Because if she did go through with it… then she would well and truly have no one.

It had always been her and Elena against their mother, against the studio, against the world even, but now… she’s gone and it feels like she took a part of Jimena with her.

Jimena’s good at a lot of things, not great, simply good. Jack of all trades they would call her, able to make quick fixes to a golf cart in a pinch, mix the perfect hangover cure, fix a few busted stitches on a dress or person alike, and practically anything else the studio demanded of her.

Maybe in another life her wide-ranging skill set would have made her the greatest actress of her generation, able to play whatever role thrown at her. But in this life it just made her feel hollow. As though she herself is empty and without a part to play save for caring for her sister.

Perhaps it’s true and that’s why she latched onto Elvis for a time, desperately needing to care for someone if only to outrun those fears of inadequacy. But there’s no outrunning anything when half of her is gone.

As for Elvis, she doesn’t exactly know what to do about him just yet. She knew that telling anyone but him first would result in it getting back to the studio and at best she would be “lightly” pressured to go see a doctor, at worst anybody who asks will be told she decided to “retire” in Mexico. So her best bet was to wait it out and hope he contacts her.

Then one fateful morning as she was contemplating how best to ask the studio for bereavement leave, did she get a copy of Excelsior and she read about an exclusive interview Federico de León got with the father of her child.

I would rather kiss three black women than one Mexican.

She thinks she stares at that sentence for a good ten minutes trying to convince herself that she’s somehow misinterpreting this. But the inner smartass has to creep in and force her to face her new reality.

Well… he did more than kiss, she thought spitefully looking down at her belly, now far more prominent than it had been at the funeral months ago. She burns with humiliation and shame as those words run over and over in her head.

She knows personally that there is almost always a grain of truth to stories like these, having had the scoop on many of them months before they got to print. And the fact of the matter is that it’s hard to believe the studio would allow for these to stand if they weren’t true with the movie coming out soon.

As far as she knows, the studio has no idea about the affair between her and Elvis, and she’s going to keep it that way.

What burns her the most is how wrong she was about him, not just as a person but as an actor. That she could’ve ever believed all his sweet words about this grand connection they had and how they were destined to be together. He’s perhaps the best actor she’s ever encountered if he got her of all people to believe all of that shit.

It’s better this way, she tries to tell herself. In a way it is, as this was always an inevitability because regardless of whether he said it or not, there is no world where they ended up together. That’s not how this town works.

Her job makes her the first one to see actors on a given day, and she’s been forced to think on her feet as to how best to make them not only look but be presentable in front of the camera.

She’s had to quickly sober up hundreds of actors and she’s had to figure out just the right amount of drink for each of them that will make them functional but not incoherent. Had to cover up twice as many bruises on actresses' faces so no one will speculate what goes on behind closed doors of their producers husbands. She’s even been the one to diagnose more than a few “social” diseases on set and steer them to the right doctors, so as to prevent a veritable epidemic on set. As haughty as it may sound, productions would fall apart without her.

Low-level she may be, she’s a fixer in this town. She’s not a problem that needs to be fixed.

And she decides neither will her baby.

She’s not gonna beg like a fucking dog to be acknowledged by him, nor will she allow for her child to be forced into the spotlight. It destroyed her sister, it ruined her mother, and it almost claimed her once more.

Elvis may have taken her pride but he won’t have her and he sure as hell will never have her baby.

Now

Elvis will never be used to California weather with its ability to both be hot and dry in the tail end of winter. But he hopes it’ll do him some good of defrosting his bones from the near-year round cold of Germany. Once upon a time he never thought he would enjoy it as much as he does right now.

But he’s found a lot to love and miss about California since he’s been gone so long.

Not to brag but he’s been with his fair share of women, between actual girlfriends, publicity girlfriends and all the girls he knew at best for only a few hours. None of them can claim to have instilled in him this sense of longing the way she did.

Nor can any of them claim to have caused as much heartache as she did.

Bittersweet as they may be, those days filming King Creole he missed the most. It was those days that kept him sane in the lead up to boot camp, and even then some. Though of all the things Hollywood had to offer him, there is only one thing he coveted these last few years.

“You see her over there Billy,” he said to his cousin one day on set as he took a breather from the lights while she fixed up Carolyn’s makeup. “That’s the girl that’s gonna be my wife.” No words have ever felt more right to him.

It was all the more heartbreaking and humiliating when he had sent Billy to find her and figure out why none of the letters he’d been giving to the Colonel to give to her had been answered while he was in boot camp. Billy would return to Texas unable to meet his eyes as he sheepishly handed him a single note in her handwriting.

Three black women huh?

That sinking feeling that settled in his stomach as he remembered those words are something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He recognized those words, how could he not? Afterall those are supposedly the ones he said that got him and his movies banned from an entire goddamn country he ain’t ever been to.

It would be one thing for her to be mad at him for something he did do, but it felt like the worst sort of injustice that Jimi may never want to see him again for words that he never said from a man he never met for some unforgivable slight he never committed.

Worst of all was how he was surrounded by his entourage who gathered around and were now owlishly looking at him, expecting a certain reaction from him, and simply waiting for him so they could properly react.

It’s near paralyzing in that moment that he recognizes that his closest friends aren’t expecting him to react, they’re expecting Elvis Presley to react.

“Her loss,” he remembers saying, feeling every single eye on him in that moment, trying to literally shrug off that scratchy feeling in his throat. He’s supposed to be the biggest heartthrob of America, unfazed when a girl said no because there are no less than a hundred girls that would say yes.

They all follow suit, and quickly take to promising him a night out and reassuring him that he’ll practically be drowning in pussy before midnight. Though with one look he does put an end to that little episode when their support for him turned into disparaging her.

He knows that there is no use in even trying to reason with her over letters. Because what can he really say to her in writing if she’s not gonna even bother reading?

If she already has it in his head that he’s the type of man to say something like that, then no amount of letters will make her believe otherwise.

He would spend the next year trying unsuccessfully to fall out of love with her. Indulged -perhaps too much- in all that bachelorhood had to offer. All the girls he could pull, all the pills he could handle, but none of it could even match a fraction of the euphoric feeling of being complete when Jimena was around.

She loves him. Or at least she used to. She never said it but he certainly felt loved in a way he’s not used to anymore. It’s not the fanatical worship from his fans, nor the sycophantic adoration of his buddies. Her love is something purer, less selfish, something he doesn’t think he’s experienced outside of his mama since the fame started rolling in.

He needs her in his life. Because nobody is going to look out for him or try to protect him the same way she would.

He’s had nothing but time to figure out ways to get her to at the very least hear him out. From there he could start rebuilding the foundation of the relationship and work his way back to her good graces.

His first obstacle to this plan comes in the form of finding out she is no longer doing makeup anymore, and is now in fact part of the wardrobe department. This is a wrench in his plans considering he attributes her fall for him due to the fact that she practically saw him everyday while shooting. But he tries to look at the bright side of this, knowing that it at least guarantees that Brando and Newman haven’t been getting the same treatment from her.

The next obstacle to seeing her again is her initial refusal to be a part of the new production, as now with her new title as Costume designer she’s in a better position to pick and choose what she works on. But enough pressure on the director to push for her specifically does eventually have her signing on to the project.

The final wrench in his plans came the day he had been anticipating for almost two years.

He’s thought about her non-stop for the past two years, so he almost immediately notices the changes in her appearance. No less beautiful (arguably even more so with her bigger tits and rounder hips, and better fitting clothes), she’s different nonetheless, yet none of that prevents him from wanting to gather her in his arms and promise to never let go.

But a single look from her his way, stops him in his tracks. And suddenly he’s brought back to the first time he ever met her, mistaking her for his would be co-star, and wondering how he’s gonna get through this shoot when he feels like he’s two inches tall under this gorgeous creature's gaze.

He was prepared for her hatred, he wasn’t prepared for her complete and utter indifference. She had that glazed over look in her eyes, like he wasn’t even there. It reminds him of one of the few times that he dared to question why she does that whenever he asked what it was like to grow up in Hollywood.

In a rare instance of vulnerability, she would solemnly whisper “It makes it easier to pretend it happened to someone else.” Only minutes after that would she claim to urgently need to go back to her assigned room for the night, the only time she ever did so during production. Next day she would pretend as though nothing happened, and he would follow suit all too willing to indulge her so she wouldn't run off again.

He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but to be put in the same categories of things she would rather pretend never happened is gut-wrenching.

If she hated him, he could’ve worked with that, because at the very least she still felt something when she looked at him. But as the whole session went on it became clear she at the very least wanted him to believe she felt nothing for him.

He would’ve taken any sort of reaction by that point: an “accidental” pin prick from the needle, a passive-aggressive tightening of the measuring tape around his neck, hell he would’ve settled for so much as a hateful glare his way. But nothing, stone cold professional she is, she simply takes his measurements only to then give her only acknowledgment that he was even there by giving him a simple “all done.” She then moves on to his co-star with all the eagerness of someone about to brush their teeth, just so painfully indifferent to everything in this room.

Regret is a constant companion these days, always whispering in his ear about his shortcomings, but now it feels like it’s practically screaming in his ear what a failure he is to let a woman like this slip through his fingers.

He’s practically kicking his younger and dumber self for being so cowardly as to miss the chance to tell her how he felt. Not a day has passed since they parted had he not thought about every touch he didn’t follow with I love you, every embrace he didn’t whisper how much she meant to him, every kiss he didn’t beg for her to always stay by his side.

He had been gearing up to try to broach the subject of something more happening, ideally ending up with a courthouse wedding before he had to be sworn in, though he was willing to accept whatever form of a relationship she would offer him so long as she would still be in his life.

But then just a week before wrap-up, when everything was as close to perfect as it could be, that is of course when things went to shit.

Elena Perez, of the famous little firecracker twins, found dead, age 21

It hit him like a punch to the gut when he first saw that. Even though he had never met her, it was devastating all the same, knowing how affected Jimi was gonna be.

The closest he ever did come to meeting her was when Jimi had brought her to the wrap party for Loving You.

He was still pretty new to the art of schmoozing, so his night was almost entirely devoted to an ever present smirk that had begun to hurt his cheeks and laughing a little more than necessary at every joke the studio heads made. He was tired but he knew he would find no rest anywhere. But his tune quickly changed when he saw a familiar figure within the crowd.

He felt his heart go all a flutter when he saw her from behind but then when she turned around there was just something about her that didn’t sit right with him. It was like looking at a funhouse mirror of Jimi, her posture almost ridiculously upright to further push her ample breasts out, her smile a little too tight, but most of all her eyes were a little too hungry, a little too eager to please. The features were nearly entirely the same but he was so used to the casual nature of his makeup girl, it felt so unnatural to see this.

In another life he may have been all over her by this point, taken her home, maybe if he was feeling generous, been seen out in public with her a few times before ultimately moving on. There were beautiful and eager to please women everywhere he looked, there wasn’t really anything special about Elena Leon.

But having met Jimi first, he can’t really fathom having much to do with her.

He spent the better part of two hours ducking and weaving her approach, practically sending out his boys as human shields, to keep her away, because he doesn’t exactly trust himself not to give in to her advances, if only for the consolation prize of getting to be with someone who looked liked the one he actually wanted.

He eventually made his way upstairs after a while no longer wanting to be surrounded by people, as there was only one person he wanted to be with at the moment, and she had apparently decided not to come.

It becomes apparent that he’s been rewarded for his self- restraint when he finds a backside he would know anywhere on the third floor balcony. Swathed in a pretty if non-descript black dress, bottle of champagne in hand, she was looking down on the party like an ever-judging guardian angel.

“Y’know I don’t think they wanted anyone up here,” he would say casually.

He could see the way she practically lit up as she saw him, a soft smile on her gorgeous face and her eyes warm, probably the first person of the night that was genuinely glad to see him. It’s a novel experience for people to see him and not the star, and it’s something he never thought he would miss.

“Well you better get outta here before they see you,” she snarked back.

He laughs for the first time since he got there, and it feels so easy to just settle right next to her and look down on everyone else. He finds himself relaxing for the first time since he’s gotten there.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ up here all by your lonesome?”

Around a tight smile she says, “There’s already a pretty girl like me down at the party.” He can’t help that he flinches slightly as he thinks about her sister. “I see you met Elena,” she sighs, before plastering a tight-lipped sardonic grin on her face. “So what’d ya think?”

Elvis has the good sense to know a trap when he sees one with women, so rather than using words he just lets out a long breath.

She gives a short mirthful huff. “Yeah that’s fair,” she taps the neck of the bottle trying to undoubtedly figure out a way to change the subject. “If you say some corny ass shit like ‘I think I’m seein’ double’,” she says in a piss poor impression of his own voice. “I will push you off this balcony.”

“You sound like ya done it before sweetheart” he smirks, swiping the bottle from her hand, before taking a swig.

“How else do you think I avoided becoming Charlie Chaplin’s 5th wife?” The simple statement catches him off guard that champagne threatens to come back up his nose.

“... ya serious?” He closes his eyes in relief when she snorts.

“No,” she chuckles, with a hand wave. “I pushed him off because of something else.” Her eyes slide away from him and zero in on one of the partygoers below, before he could dare ask for any further elaboration. “Oh hey… Brody’s here and… uh-oh so is Frank.”

He follows her eyeline to find that she’s wearily looking at ol’ blue eyes himself who has decided to make an appearance. “Ya’ got a story ‘bout Frank?”

“I got a story about everyone here.” With a slight smirk, she would hold two fingers up and ask, “Wanna know how I got these scars?”

She regales him with not just that story but others of what she’s been asked to do on set. Some were funny like having to fish a toupee out of an oscar winner's mouth to more harrowing ones of being asked to check the pulse of particularly heavy drinking stars. Anybody else, he doubts he would have humored such tales, but it’s when he started hearing other people tell even wilder stories of her that ranged from snake-wrangling to resetting famous stars' bones after some sexual misadventure, did he learn early on never to doubt her stories.

“So you come to these things often?” he asks after her giggles had settled down.

“Never,” you answer. “But Elena convinced me we had to come to this one especially,” a bit more solemnly as she looked down at the familiar figure down below at the party. “You know when we were little, we used to climb up onto the roof and watch the parties from up there to tell funny stories and avoid the adults, saying how we were never gonna be like them.” There’s warmth in her voice, but sadness in her eyes as she gazed down at her mirror image at the party below.

Being a twin is not something Elvis liked to dwell on. His Mama had always talked about Jesse watching over him since he was little, but rarely if ever did he really contemplate what it meant to have a brother who wasn’t there with him.

It feels as though he was supposed to have someone that was meant to always be with him and look out for him, but now they’re not here and now he’s doomed to a life of loneliness. This thought is only further reinforced by the way you look at your sister, and something almost akin to jealousy shoots through his being, that she can have you and not value you.

Not like he could, a voice whispers in his head.

“What’s it like being a twin?” he would ask before he could lose his nerve. Though he does immediately clamp up at not just the suddenness of the question but the ease he was able to ask it. He’s tried to broach the subject of Jesse a few times throughout his life only to chicken out at the last minute in fear of upsetting someone, namely his mama.

Though the regret is instant as he watches her mood drop immediately and face him with a disgusted expression, that he can’t quite understand until she says with no amount of venom missing, “No I’m not gonna ask her if she’d be interested in a threesome,” she says, far too quick to have him not believe that this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.

He feels his face immediately go up in flames as to how grossly his words have been misinterpreted. “N-no I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly trying to salvage the situation and gets a hold of her before she can fully turn around.

“Mmhmm,” she hums dismissively, looking down at the hand that holds her wrist and looking down on him as though he’s the scum of the Earth.

“Darlin’ I-I swear it ain’t nothin’ like that, I just… I…” he stutters out wondering if there’s anyway he can truly explain his interest in her status as a twin without coming off as creepy, but one look at the full moon shining behind you is all the signal he needs to be honest. “Ain’t too many people know this,” he starts, taking a steadying breath trying to find that courage of two men he’s supposed to have. “But I-I had a brother, and…” he swallows hard at this one, always a sensitive subject in the Presley household. “And he-he didn’t make it…”

She looks at him with a critical eye, undoubtedly searching for any sign of falsehoods on his face, only for the hard look to melt when she realizes he spoke nothing but the truth.

“Oh, umm…” she says. “I-I’m sorry to hear that,” her voice dripping with guilt at the assumption.

“It’s fine,” he reassured you. “He was gone ‘fore I even got here.”

It’s hard to talk about Jesse with anyone, because what more can anyone say about him other than he should be here but he isn’t. He has no memories to reflect sadly on, just wishful thinking about who Jesse could’ve been or even who he would’ve been if had him in his life.

“I really don’t know how to describe it,” she says, putting down the bottle she had in her hand. “Because she’s always just… been there, and I’ve always been the one to look out for her.”

“You’re the older one?” he asks with a bit of a laugh.

“Yeah,” she affirmed. “I’ve been doing it my whole life. Stayed up and held her hand when she was too scared to sleep. Did all the stunts she was too afraid to do and broke a couple bones. Threw tantrums when we were filming so she could get a break that she was too nervous to ask for. Dropped out of school so I could get a job on set, so she wasn’t alone. Hell, the only reason I’m here at this stupid party is because she thought she could get in touch with someone who could help her career.” Each admission is met with a more resentful tone, only for her to then try to chase away the taste the words are leaving in your mouth, by taking back the bottle.

“O-oh,” is all he really has to say to that.

“She’s awful,” she admits, but a sardonic smile begins to creep up on her face. “I love her so much.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she asserts. “There’s no one else in the whole world I would’ve done those things for. I guess that’s what it’s like to be a twin, take care of the person who's been here since you were born. It’s like… having to take care of any other part of your body, but this one is just constantly away from you and you can do nothing but worry.”

Elvis is stunned into silence for a moment as he looks at her, because she is able to finally put into words that anxiousness that has been eating at him his whole life. Even with all the love and reassurance he felt as a kid, there’s always just been that missing part of him that no one has ever been able to understand.

But there’s one part that eats at him still.

“And does she take care of you?” he asks, more curious than anything at this point.

That question catches her off-guard as she rips her eyes away from him and furiously looks down at the party, before she smiles and looks back at him to ask “Wanna hear who Clark Gable had a secret child with?”

Another time he would’ve been very interested in the topic, but seeing her obvious panic as she tried to avoid the very subject keeps him focus. “Don’t do that,” he pleads softly, brushing a few errant curls out of her face. “Don’t shut me out.”

She leans into his hand a little bit and he feels her jaw clench as she tries to get a handle on herself. “I must sound like a crazy person to you,” she says. Granted anyone else, he might’ve thought that, but this is Jimi, the girl who is never bothered by anything. He was witness to how she nonchalantly filed her nails before putting out a camera fire. Watched as she hardly broke her stride when some yahoo tried to scare her with a halloween mask. Hell he’s seen her put out a match with just her fingertips, and only to stare him down to get back onto set.

She’s seen the worst this town has to offer, and yet it’s her seemingly one-sided relationship with her sister that has her on the verge of collapse.

Not if Elvis had any say about that.

He takes it as a good sign when the normally touch-averse Jimi doesn’t immediately pull away from the hand on her shoulder, so he decides to take a chance and fully envelope her in his arms. She stiffens somewhat but otherwise accepts it, and he feels his heartbreak over the unspoken truth that she looks out for Elena, but no one looks out for her.

“I think it sounds like…” he says, taking her chin in his hands, “ya care a lot darlin’, and it don’t sound like she appreciates it as much as she should.”

The ever present indifferent shell she had built over the years cracks with that simple statement of understanding. She has such beautiful doe eyes hidden behind a hard stare, and for only having known her for a few weeks Elvis can appreciate even the chance to see behind the mask.

But he wants to know more. He wants to know all of her.

It feels almost magnetic, the sudden pull he felt towards her in that moment. Nothing could stop him as he leaned down to kiss her full lips. Everything else in the world seems to fall by the wayside, the party, the people, even the city itself no longer existed to him as he held her in his arms.

Their first time with her was nothing short of magic. It felt like the first breath of air after being held underwater for so long.

They just seemed to fit together so well, a fact that couldn’t be denied even as their first time was a quick and dirty session on a balcony under the light of the moon. Like they had been so desperate for each other years even before they met, and now it all culminates to this.

They don’t even really remove their clothes, he just unbuckled his pants on the deck chair while she sat astride him, moving her skirt up her waist and move her panties to the side. Her moans as she slowly impaled herself on his length sound like music to his ears and he can’t help the low groans as he tries to prevent himself from closing his eyes too much wanting to burn the image of her taking his cock while the full moon gives her a truly angelic look behind her.

He wants so badly to hold her but even now she denies him that as she puts a hand over his chest and rides him like she’s trying to tame a bucking stallion. He’s just as enthusiastic for this as he grips her thighs in his hands and

The whole encounter is over and done within a matter of minutes after that, but he’s just glad that she came to and now he didn’t have to feel the shame of finishing before her. She collapses on top of him trying to hold herself upright while he holds her close to his chest as he gives a few lazy thrusts to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He’s never felt more connected to anybody than her in this moment and he wants to truly seal this perfect night when he raises her chin to try to capture her lips.

But she pulls away slightly at the motion, “... I… I should go…” she whispers, and he’s not too sure if she’s saying that more to him or herself.

“...I-if that’s wh-whatcha want baby…” he says, not having the heart to deny her anything, no matter how much every single other part of him is screaming at him to make her stay. The inner conflict practically paralyzes him where he layed and he could only watch as she quickly fixed herself up. It’s mesmerizing to watch, as with only a few quick adjustments, Jimi looks good as new, save for the kiss-swollen lips and the slight uneasiness in her stance, it’s as though nothing had ever happened.

That hurts in a way he can’t explain with words. The idea that the relationship they’ve built in the last few weeks will amount to a one time thing that they go their separate ways from.

But what can he do to stop her if she doesn’t want to be here anymore?

So with all the boldness he’s learned to fake over the last few years, he grabs a hold of her wrist, and tries to give some type of meaning to this whole thing. “Wait darlin’.” He makes a conscious effort not to grip too tight lest he scare her off, but just enough to let her know he’s serious. “What’s your real name?”

Bathed in light of the full moon right behind her, a soft smile on her face as she looks at him though not without that twinge of sadness in her eyes. “Jimena Gabriella Perez.” she said as though it were a good bye.

And with the way she walks away without even a glance back, it’s clear that it was.

He sits there for he doesn’t even know how long just in his head and staring up at the moon. He knows realistically he should be making his way back downstairs, but all desire to mingle with other people seemed to dissipate as he stared up at the full moon. Besides there’s only one person he really wanted to be with at the moment and she apparently could hardly wait to get outta there.

He stared up at the night sky for the longest time trying to gather his thoughts about the situation, trying to figure out why it felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him not to let her leave. It was all kinds of backwards yet somehow still fitting that he learned her name only after sleeping together.

But try as he might, he can't justify keeping her here when she clearly wants to go.

It felt as though he had known her for years rather than months. In a way it was sort of the truth due to having seen her movies as a kid, but never in his worst nightmares could he imagine the near debilitating feeling that rests in his chest at the prospect of never seeing her again. So he closes his eyes and tries to make peace with the fact he’ll never see Jimena Perez again.

Jimena Perez… JP… Elena Perez… EP…

His eyes shot open at that realization, and as he hurried to make himself somewhat presentable, he berated himself for missing something like that. He has never believed in coincidences and this was far too specific to be anything other than some sort of sign.

But to his chagrin, it’s as though she had dropped off the face of the Earth.

The next day, all anybody could talk about was the scene that the Leon girl made of herself standing on tables and practically flashing the studio head with an impromptu can-can dance, until her sister pulled her off and quickly escorted her out.

It would be another year before he would see her in person again, and that was only because he specifically requested to have her on-set for what he thought would potentially be his last movie. But even then he’s able to find a modicum of peace with that, if only that he will have her in the end, and this whole ride has been worth something.

He doesn’t know what’s more terrifying, the idea that he’ll never be able to communicate how he feels about her or the prospect that he will and she’ll reject him all the same. He even at one point resorted to trying to write them down in order to sort them out.

But each time he tried to put pen to paper it felt like his mind went blank, because how can he explain that it feels like she’s the piece that’s been missing his whole life. That the only time he’s felt whole were the few weeks they spent together. That it can be no coincidence that their names and family names match so perfectly, and it’s gotta be a sign that something else is at play here.

But he realizes that he’s gotta put in the legwork to make fate happen too.

Requesting to have her be In New Orleans, and he planned on working his way to slowly form a friendship into something more permanent. Of course she did throw a wrench into that plan almost immediately the first night when she showed up at his hotel room and declared the couch for herself because she refuses to stay where she was assigned. He wouldn’t have her anyother way.

It’s easy to fall into each other once more, as though it hadn’t been almost a year since they last saw one another. He hopes that maybe this time around he would be able to show her even a fraction of what he feels. In an ideal world they would already be on their way to a courthouse to make it all official so that no one would bat an eye when he brought her to Germany, but even he realizes what a tall order that would be. He’s not one to plan ahead, but he figures it’s gonna be a longer process than he anticipated with her, but Jimi’s worth every moment.

But just like that it all seemed to fall apart.

As sad as it makes him to wake up without her, he’s used to it by this point, but what does worry him is why she wasn’t in his trailer when he arrived on set. It ate at him that seemingly no one cared beyond the grumblings from the other makeup girls who were now having to work more because she’s missing in action. He knows he’s gonna get an earful for this alone from her considering how much she wants to keep their involvement a secret, he does blatantly ask about her by name.

It becomes clear what exactly happened when he notices a discarded newspaper on the director's chair. He immediately calls for a halt to the production so he could go out and look for her, fearing the worst. But due to the already tight schedule practically everyone refuses to do so, even after hearing why exactly she was gone.

At that point he just walks off set and swiftly dispatches every one of his boys to go search the city. He even gets in on it and drives around for a few hours all in an effort to find her, but he returns to his suite so he can pray and pace and worry and hope she comes back before sunset.

When she does get back, the faraway look in her eyes tells him she hasn’t been crying, but the way she’s all clenched up like she’s actively fighting herself from doing so in front of him. He’s having none of it and he brings her into his arms.

It’s only then that she seems to collapse in her grief, and he holds her still knowing that there’s nothing else he could do right now. He’s never seen her like this and immediately he recognizes that he will only ever know a fraction of what she’s going through in that moment.

Elena was a real person whom she’s known all her life, Jimi had confided in him how she’s put her through the absolute wringer with their mama favoring her and her inability to recognize what her sister has been doing for her sake. Jesse has always just been gone, and Elvis could imagine him in whatever way he liked as an older brother. Jimi knew her through all of the ugliest bits of their lives and loved her all the same, even as she slowly spiraled downwards.

“Jimi…” he whispers at a loss for words. He knows that nothing he says could possibly fix this situation and it makes him feel all new sorts of helplessness to the situation.

“Why didn’t I feel it when it happened?” she asked out loud though he gets the sense she isn’t asking looking for an answer from him.

He could hold her tighter so that she wouldn’t feel so alone right now. The rest of the night, and well into the next day, is a blur as he as he waivers between trying to comfort her and arranging for her return to California. He wants to go with her but despite the already tight schedule for filming and the looming date of his induction he’s hoping to be able to at least see her one last time before boot camp.

He remembers finding her red bandana as she was packing everything up, and contemplating telling her. But he selfishly wants a small piece to hold onto until the next time he sees her so he slyly slips it under his pillow, and he promises to himself he would give it back once he saw her again.

But of course the lord himself seemed to laugh in his face as his stunt apparently cost a few extra days of filming and between everything else going on in the lead up to his induction, he couldn’t be there for her. The Colonel had a few of his own men physically hold him to prevent him from getting on the next train to LA after he heard about her mama passing, the only thing swaying him was the Colonel’s promise that it would only be one more day of shooting. One day turned into three and before he knew it he was whisked back home to wait out until his induction, with the only acknowledgement from the Colonel being that he made sure to send condolences to the surviving Leon daughter.

He can only imagine what she went through losing her sister and mother so close together, difficult relationship and all. He would lose his mama only a few months later, and it felt as though every breath threatened to be his last one. Knowing she went through all of this alone, it’s little wonder why all of the letters and invitations he sent at Fort Hood went unanswered.

Sitting in his mothers closet, not wanting to have his grief turned into a photo-op for the press. He now understands why Jimi left the business in the first place. It was as though he was trapped in a fish bowl, drowning and everybody was fighting to be the one to witness his last breath. It makes him feel all the worse for letting her go through that alone.

His biggest regret is that she had to go through all of this alone. He had tried his hardest to try to head back West to see her only to be thwarted each and every time. No amount of Love was gonna thwart Uncle Sam from getting his dues. And before he knew it he was on a ship headed to Europe.

He almost had to relegate himself to the fact that the relationship is unsalvageable after all of it. Truly after experiencing loss himself, he can’t imagine any scenario where she could forgive him, as he could hardly forgive himself.

But for the sake of making tomorrow seem even the minimum amount of bearable he forces himself to dream that things can be fixed and they would eventually be happier than ever.

Because if they don’t… then what’s the point?

After all they had gone through separately he knew in his heart that there would never be anyone who could understand him like she could. A twin without a twin, and a child without a mother, a lonely soul surrounded by others, and most of all a person in desperate need of love beyond simple admiration.

There had always been an ever-present hollow feeling in his life, something he never even recognized until she was no longer present to relieve him from that emptiness. She understands him more than anyone ever will, and the idea of letting her go without a fight is something he simply can’t do.

The almighty himself has tied them together unlike anything he’s ever seen before and to choose another path would be blasphemous at this point.

All his thoughts on who Jesse would’ve been have been answered when he pointed Elvis in her direction. He has to believe that he wouldn’t do him dirty by bringing him to his soulmate only for fate to snatch her away all the same. He has to believe that things will get better, otherwise what’s the point of continuing on?

But he has to grin and bear the hell that will be trying to live without her in Germany. But if his time in Hollywood taught him anything, it’s how to pretend to be someone he’s not.

It’s easy to pretend to be the good Sergeant Preseley in Germany, charm the pants off a couple girls, do whatever he’s assigned to do by the higher-ups, take whatever the doctors give him so that he can do both, abstain from playing music, act like it’s not killing him, etc,. Behind the scenes he becomes needier than ever, truly fearing being alone now of all times, because he doubts he could keep this up without an audience presence.

Everybody has seemed to become the audience regardless of how close they previously were to him, it’s hard to think of them as anything else considering that he’s playing a part for them all so they could believe that he’s fine.

This all adds to his longing for Jimi, knowing that she saw through him easily and he never had to worry about being anything less than himself around her.

But playing his role helps ease the ache that stems from every thought that she brings to his heart, as then it can be somebody else experiencing that devastation. So he bides his time and plays his part in Germany. Trying to fill that sinking feeling he got in his chest every time he thought about Jimi with more partying, more drugs, more women, just more everything. Even with all that, that sinkhole in his chest seemingly grew bigger and bigger every morning he woke up and she wasn't with him.

His heart has been broken since the day he was born, and it has been a mad scramble for the pieces for everyone ever since. His brother took a piece with him when he left, as did his mama, and everybody else who had a piece had been doing jackshit to appreciate it.

He had only one piece of it left really, and he had spent his entire life trying to find someone who he could trust to take care of it. And like a goddamn miracle his brother was able to answer for him, and pointed him in her direction. And finally he found the person he could give that final piece of his heart to.

But she hurt him in a way that no one has ever been able to do so. She didn’t take advantage of his heart, or reject it, or even betray it. Worse yet, she couldn’t recognize what he was giving her. The life Jimi had been living had turned her cynical to his intentions for her. And every fear she may have ever had about him had been proven true with just that one little article.

He can’t even blame her for being angry, as he doubts he would’ve been able to keep a lid on something like this in her shoes. But he can’t dwell on it, he can only move forward and try his best to fix this.

It had truly felt like the world was conspiring against him in that year, as he had to watch as everything he loved slipped through his fingers, all for what. All for a dream that he wasn’t even sure was worth it anymore, nor something he could actually be a part of.

Being enlisted and overseas already, there was always the lingering threat that if anything happens with the Reds, he’s already here to fight the good fight and all that. Be the good soldier, who would gladly lay down his life for his country.

Really he just wants to lay down.

Sometimes forever.

In the worst days he was so sure he was gonna die there, whether by an enemy hand or by his own, he couldn’t decide. Really the only thing that kept him going was the slim chance that she would be willing to hear him out if he ever came back stateside. Those nights he would hold onto that small piece of her trying to convince himself of the illusion that she’s waiting for him, and dying here would only mean he would lose any chance of seeing her again.

At one point it stopped smelling like her and he resorted to ordering a bottle of her perfume just to preserve the illusion that she was still waiting for him. He probably doused the cloth with a quarter of the bottle, and inhaled half of that all to maintain the illusion of her still willing to come back to him eventually. He’s sure if that hadn’t worked in easing his nerves he would’ve downed everything in his medicine cabinet and called it a night.

He’s put everything he is into this hope that he could possibly get a second chance, full well knowing he’s undeserving of one.

So he’s not about to let her go so easily.

Jimi’s actually not that hard to find on the lot, especially now that she has a door with her name on it. She’s certainly made her way up, having turned her previous doodles in the margins of production notes and discarded scripts into a new position complete with a title and an office.

He knocks at the door with her name on it, and waits a moment, what sounds like the dumbo soundtrack quickly being drowned out by the heart-pounding in his ears. She doesn’t keep him waiting long, as she opens up the door only to immediately close it just enough so that only her head is sticking out. “Fittings are next week,” she says neutrally before she then proceeds to try to close the door in his face. He is too fast though as he shoves his foot in the crack and pushes it open.

“Jimi, please,” he pushes the door further, but stops once he sees the panicked look on her face. He holds his hands up in surrender but makes no move to remove the foot.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in annoyance, before she opens her mouth again. “If I promise to talk, will you leave me alone after this?”

So sure of himself he nods, truly believing that he just needs to explain and then they can go back to the way they used to be.

She puts a hand on his chest to motion him to step away from the door before she herself comes out. She does so in the oddest way possible, by sliding herself between the door and the frame, as though she was trying to prevent him from seeing inside her office. She looks back inside and tells who he presumes to be the others she shares the office with that she’s gonna get lunch, and to hold everything down.

“So you want to talk? Talk then,” she states, breaking that line of thought as she leans against the bulletin board.

He figures she would have such a no nonsense reaction like this, and takes a steadying breath in order to deliver what

“Jimi… I know why you’re mad,” he starts off slowly. “Believe me I would be hoppin’ mad if i read that…”

“I forgive you,” she cuts in. “We done here?”

“Wh-what?”

“Are we done here?” She repeats slower this time to really emphasize her words.

“N-no Jimi,” he begs. “The things the papers said are just lies. I ain’t ever said that”

She gives a short mirthful laugh when she hears that, “Elvis if I had a fucking dime everytime I heard that line,” she rolls her eyes. “But it’s fine. I don’t care anymore. I’m not in the business of telling the papers anything, so you don’t gotta worry about everyone figuring out you’re a hypocrite.”

“But… I’m not…”

She pats his cheek and gives a thin smile as she pushes herself off the wall, and gives a dry, “Of course you’re not.”

“Jimi listen to me,” he begs, briefly wondering why Jesse had to pick the most stubborn woman alive for him. “I never said any of that.”

“Mhmm,” she hums, the thin line of her mouth and the way she’s checking her nails for dirt, telling him she has no faith in his words.

“Jimi,” he pleads with her, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. “You gotta believe that I would never say somethin’ like that. I love you so goddamn much and I especially ain’t never wanted to hurt you.”

She may not be able to rely on her knowledge of him, but he knows her well enough to know that she recognizes good acting from bad acting. Watching as her eyes soften from their previous hard stare, he knows that she understands that this is far from an act. This is by far the most honest he’s been with anyone since his mama passed, and the doubt in her own assumptions of him shows all over her face.

He thinks he’s finally getting through to her, until she glances behind him and he watches as her dark eyes harden once more. “You don’t love me, and it doesn’t matter what I believe Elvis,” she snatches her hand out of his, and walks back towards her office before slamming the door.

He stands there for he doesn’t even know how long, trying to justify why he should even keep breathing at this point, his catatonic state only helping to prevent him from doing something stupid in the face of the worst rejection he’s ever had. This isn’t a girl laughing in his face over being asked to the school dance or a stuffy actress looking down her nose at his hillbilly ways, this is a part of his soul refusing to come back to him.

This can’t be the end, a voice in his head whispers. He tries to repeat these words in his head if only to make the hope he has a little more real. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as him returning, and she would automatically throw herself into his arms. He already knew it was going to be an uphill battle for her love once again, but the flat-out rejections and refusal of his declaration just made everything so real in that moment.

When Jimi cares, she does so with all her being, and he knows at some point she cared enough about him to befriend him, and there’s no way that all disappeared in the last two years. To some extent she still cares about Elvis, and that’s why he refuses to give up on her so easily.

But she’s not one to be swayed so easily.

Gifts and letters and songs for her, are all met with the same stony indifference that has marked her status as near untouchable. Her schedule is next to unpredictable as it seems that everytime he does try to send someone over for her she’s conveniently out of the office.

Each rejection further drove him closer and closer towards that edge he’d been resisting since he landed in Germany. He would toss and turn at night, not wanting to be alone but at the same time wanting no one but Jimi with him. It’s even worse than it was before considering the fact that she’s so close that he could almost touch her, but she’s like smoke, he can see her there but never truly grab a hold of her.

Something that only intensifies once shooting actually begins and he knows just how close she is day in and day out on the lot. It’s nothing short of torture to have all that he needs in life so close, yet just out of reach.

Off camera and out of the studio he’s barely keeping it together, the years of pretending to be okay in front of people only barely enough to sustain the image he’s made for himself as well as doing the job he was tasked with. Everybody wants a piece of him now that he’s back, and he doesn’t know if he has any left to give anymore.

It all came to a head one day when he walks into the wardrobe building and sees one of the girls holding a small toddler girl. It strikes him how similar the little girl looked to Jimi back in her firecracker days, even down to the ribbon tying her hair back. He muses for half a second that that’s what their daughter would look like, and then it hits him like a ton of bricks that may never come to pass.

He’s trying to make her not hate his guts, and with how little success he’s been having, he’ll be lucky if she even looks at him again before he’s Dodgers age. He’s closer to never having her love him again than he is to someday.

He had come with the intention of showing her the bandana he had been holding onto all of these years, to show how devoted he’s been to her. Now holding it in his hands and remembering that initial promise to give it back to her, he realizes what a fool he’s been. He’s been selfishly holding onto something that’s not there anymore, because he was too much of a coward to actually do what he needed to get what he wanted.

He didn’t want to believe it was too late for them, but seeing that little girl, he realized how much time he’s lost. Where he’s spent the last two years nurturing his love for her, she's been feeding her hatred for him. If he’s gonna be in love with her for the rest of his life, she’ll hate him for the rest of hers.

She’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with him anymore, and he can’t blame her for it. He should’ve been there for her, damn the consequences, but he wasn’t and now he has to live with what he did.

Though once he gives it back, jury's out on how much longer he will live.

Resolved in his need to do right by her, he solemnly walks to the costume department with about the same enthusiasm as he would the gallows. Perhaps there is no coming back from this, and perhaps he wouldn’t deserve one either way. He was a coward who let what he wanted walk away time and time again, not having enough will to hold on to her.

And he doesn’t have the strength to try to hold on any longer.

Finally as he’s just about to turn the corner to where he knows her office is, only to stop in his tracks, and realize that once he gives it back… it’s all over. He’s strangely okay with that once he reconciles he won’t be feeling that way for much longer.

Turning the corner he sees a familiar figure looking at a bulletin board, and standing right beside her was a significantly smaller figure.

It takes him a moment to realize what he’s looking at, but the second he does it feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

He’s tempted to look down at his own feet to reassure himself he's still on solid ground, and that the floor hadn’t been taken out from under him, but truly no force on Earth could make him look away from the little one at her feet.

The boy is standing barely taller than her knee, wearing light green overalls with what looks to be a little yellow duck on the front pocket. His honey hair - a few shades darker than Elvis’ own natural locks- is slicked back on the sides allowing for some bronze curls to hang over his forehead but it’s really his face that comes like a punch to the gut to Elvis.

Vain as it may sound, Elvis knows his own face, even when it’s softened with baby fat and slightly darkened from the California sun, and that’s all he sees when he looks down at the brown-eyed little boy that’s clutching onto a woman’s skirt and idly sucking his thumb.

It’s as he’s wondering what happened to his eye color when the eyes in question finally take notice of him, and the little boy rapidly tugs at the pencil skirt he’d had a tight grip on. In his head he’s still trying to justify any other way someone could have a little clone of himself that isn’t the most obvious answer, until he watches Jimi crouch down in her heels as she gently strokes the little boy's plump cheek.

“¿Que paso Papi?” she asks, adoration in her voice as she brings him close to her face, before planting a kiss on his cheek.

The boy, too shy or too young, to answer only points a chubby little finger his way, his dark eyes wide in wonder. As her eyes follow, Elvis sees her jaw clench and most of her previous warmth seemed to sap out of her at the very sight of him. It truly feels like the first time she’s actually looked at him in a long time without her eyes immediately sweeping over him dismissively, so he can’t help but welcome it.

In one fluid motion, she competently scoops up the small boy up in her arms and begins to make her way towards him, her heels clacking ominously as though she were an oncoming vengeful mother goddess set to rain down fire upon him.

Elvis is usually quicker on his feet but it feels as though they had been replaced by cement as he’s frozen in place with no sign of escape. But he doesn’t think he really wants that anymore as it now gives him a better look at the boy.

“Can I help you?” she asks, painfully neutral, as though she’s simply asking what he wants for lunch and not in fact holding a mini version of himself in her arms.

“Wh-” he starts but has to swallow before he can get too choked up. “What the hell is this?”

“It looks like,” she answers and he perks up at that both eager and fearful of what she has to say. “My old bandana,” she states, much to his confusion, until he follows her dark eyes to the fabric still within his grasp.

Her flippancy just enrages him, “You know damn well what I mean!” pointing a finger in the direction of the small boy in her arms. Guilt quickly eats at his belly as the boy turns from him and buries his face in her neck out of fear, as she continues to look at him with the disdain in her eyes only growing.

“Oh…” she says dryly as though she only now remembers the boy in her arms, even though she had been consistently rubbing soothing circles on his tiny back since he got scared. “This is my son.” A simple no-nonsense answer, but he doesn’t miss the way she neglects to mention a name. “You can go ahead and throw it away, I don’t need it anymore.”

He wants to say something about that. He wants to be mad at her for being so goddamn stubborn about this as though his whole world isn’t being rocked right now. But he can’t muster any of that as he just finds himself just wanting to look at the boy in her arms some more. The little one looks back and forth between the two of them, but he does seem to settle after gauging that his mama is not in the least bit shaken by the man before them, and adopts her bored looking expression, though the boy does keep a wary eye on him even as his mother turns them both away from him.

“Wait,” he says as he quickly grabs her elbow. Her hackles rise at just that little bit of contact, like a rattlesnake coiled up and ready to strike, but he won’t be stopped from knowing the truth. “Is… is he-”

“No,” she cuts him off, before looking over his shoulder and closing her eyes- seemingly in annoyance- only to then plaster a wide phony smile on her face as she looks at him. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” saccharine sweet, as though she had been in a completely different conversation before ripping her arm out of his grasp and walking past him. “I’ll be sure to add those notes into the costume.” Without even a goodbye she rushes past him.

He turns around to see the second most gut-wrenching thing of the day as a woman approaches Jimi and hands over to her another child,and he realizes it’s that same little girl from earlier. The love of his life expertly balances the additional toddler on her other hip as she plants a swift kiss to her cheek before exchanging a few words with the woman in front of her and walks back down the hall, not even bothering to look back at him.

That woman quickly approaches and stands in front of him, obviously trying to run interference between the two of them. Trying to keep the two of them apart like everybody else has seemingly made their mission.

He honestly hears nothing of it as he starts to tail Jimi down the hall, his entire focus is on the little girl, heart-breakingly sweet with her little cherubic face, her dark curls held at bay with the red ribbon, as she opens and closes her tiny hand at him as though to once again say good-bye. Meanwhile the little boy, whose face is still firmly in his mama’s collar, risks a quick peek back at him before quickly burying himself back in place as the echo of yherour heels on the linoleum floors lessens as she gets further and further away.

He’s able to catch her before she can get out of the building, quickly blocking her from the exiting door. She still has that infuriating cool expression on her face, looking at him as though he were a mere inconvenience on her way out the door.

“Jimi…” he pleads, taking her shoulders in his hands forcing her to look at him. “Jimi, look me in the eye, and tell me they ain’t mine.”

She gives him such a cold stare that he can feel a shiver travel down his spine, the dread of her words tying his stomach in knots, as he anticipates her answer. Somehow she’s able to make it all the crueler, even as her (his?) son starts to suckle on the collar of her blouse, while her (their?) daughter has managed to dislodge a chunk of her thick dark locks from her braid and begin to play with it.

“Why would I want them to be yours?”

A punch to the gut, a kick to his face, a knife to his heart, those are all the things he would have preferred she had done over saying that. For a second, even she seems taken aback by the cruelty of her own words, until that hard look returns to her eyes as the little boy begins to pat her cheek for attention.

She looks down at him with a soft smile on her face before giving them both a kiss to the forehead and sidestepping him in order to get out the door, not even bothering to acknowledge him.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in that spot but by the time Joe (or was it Charlie?) finds him and he’s practically stiff as a board, and just about as responsive. Nobody fights him on it when he just declares that he has to call it for the day, so it’s not too long before he’s kicking off his shoes and crawling underneath the covers still fully clothed. His mind raced, doing its best to put together what the hell he had seen today. Trying to comprehend how much of himself he had left behind with her.

When he started making waves he had to have the most awkward talk of his life with the Colonel to always wrap it or at least become proficient in never finishing inside of a woman, because the last thing he needed was a baby. And he was for it completely, nowhere ready to settle down yet, and with everything looking so vibrant and new to him, he saw no end in sight.

He can think of one night in particular back in New Orleans, after almost twenty hours on set, Jimi had excused herself from any of the usual get-togethers and headed straight to his room. After she had declared that her room situation is unmanageable she had set up shop initially on his hotel room couch, though lately they hadn’t even been bothering with that pretext. So it wasn’t too shocking to find her in his bed, spread out on her front like a starfish in nothing but a simple slip.

What was shocking was the wave of contentment that washes over him seeing her there, just the utter feeling of rightness that the image brings. The powdery blue slip gorgeous on her dark skin tone, and he has to hold back a groan when he sees how high it’s ridden in her sleep giving him a tantalizing view of the back of her thighs, just effortlessly sensual, even in her sleep. He can’t imagine anything better to come home to. What he found even more tempting was her defenseless pert nose, and remembering the way it would scrunch up when she smiled. He knows he’s either going to get that reaction or swift punch to the chest for what he does next.

She still manages to keep him on his toes when she simply does both after he peppers her face in kisses. He reels a bit from the blow, playing up the injury just a little as he sees her shoulders bounce a little in poorly held in laughter.

“They gotchu workin’ to the bone sweetheart,” he remarks, as he rubs the spot between her shoulder blades that has her giving a euphoric groan. He is genuinely offended that the studio would make her have to work like a dog, all for a single line in the credits.

“This whole production would fall apart without me,” she sighs, while he lets out a laugh in agreement.

“You ever think about quittin’?” He asks a bit off the cuff, but he can’t help it seeing the woman he loves running herself ragged for people who sure as hell don’t care for her.

“Maybe,” she answers through her drowsy state, turning to face him directly. “I don’t think I would leave, but maybe if I get married I would probably do something with less hours, like costumes.”

He felt his heart speed up a little when she mentioned the word “married” but not in the way it used to do when other girls brought up the idea. No, rather than having that sour feeling in his belly, he’s practically giddy over the prospect with her. “So I guess ya just waitin’ for the right actor to sweep you off ya feet darlin’?” he brings her close, smiling into her hair and absentmindedly stoking the hand she lays on his chest.

But this happiness is ripped away by a simple snort from her, only to then be further crushed into dust as she has a full-on laughing fit at the mere prospect.

“No,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to get a hold of her laughter, unknowing of how soul-crushing her words are. “I’d never marry an actor.”

It feels like every ounce of hope for the future saps out of him at that moment.

“O-oh wh-why’s that?” fighting to keep his face from showing the devastation he feels inside. A knife in his heart would have been preferable at that point, because then she would have at least acknowledged he had one to break.

She gives a mere shrug, of her shoulders, “I don’t really know how to explain it other than it wouldn't work.”

If he were a braver man, he would have had the balls to ask her “If that’s true… then what’s all this been about?” But he's a goddamn coward and this question dies on the tip of his tongue, far too afraid of what she may answer.

As these nights usually talking leads to kissing and while she is willing she offers first to use her mouth, and while he doesn’t hold back the groan when he hears this, he knows that that won’t be enough for him even if he can’t pinpoint why.

“Okay,” she yawns, as she lifts her hips up, presenting her ass in the air while she wraps her arms around a pillow and sleepily buries her face in it. “But you gotta do all the work.”

She’s done this before, tried to feign indifference toward the act, and tried to play it off that she didn’t absolutely enjoy it each and every time. This is a game that Elvis has yet to lose.

He knows her well enough to know how to get her going even when she insists she’s not in the mood. How a light touch up her spine as her perk her ass up, while a nibble to her ear has her making the most adorable little noises. And still it feels like he learns something new about her everyday, with today’s new lesson that she loses all of her carefully crafted composure when he sits on his knees and raises her thighs over his shoulders.

She lets out a surprised gasp as she barely catches herself on her hands, only for it to turn into a low moan when he takes a long lick up her slit. Nothing tastes sweeter on his tongue than the evidence that she wasn’t as disinterested as she claims, and with her so nicely open for him now he plunges his tongue as deep as he could go.

Any semblance of composure is gone the moment he had almost entirely upside down, her arms shaking with the effort to try to keep herself up.

“You like that sweetheart?” he whispers, only slightly muffled by her flesh.

“Yes,” she moans enthusiastically as he feels her small hand palm at his still clothed length, and he gives a little chaste kiss of appreciation on her clit that has her gasping for air. While any other night he would’ve gladly indulged her need to taste him, he did promise to do all of the work. So as he delves his tongue as deep as it could go he knows she’s good and ready as he feels her slick drip down to his wrist as he rubs that button of hers.

She lets out a devastating sob as she comes, and before she’s had a chance to recover barely had time to recover before he’s flipping her over and pressing her knees to her chest as he thrusts inside all in one motion. Her back arches and her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, gasping for air as though she could feel him all the way in her throat.

Entering her is always such an indescribable feeling, somewhere between euphoric and comforting. And there have even been days when the only thing on his mind on set was how best to get her alone so that he could get her like this once again. As he crams his cock at a steady rhythm, he imagines it’s the same way everyone else who goes to work on a regular job pictures being home at the end of the day.

If he was a little rougher that night, it was only so that she could feel a fraction of his anguish that she caused. He both envies and resents her ability to be able to picture a life without him, when no future of his would be complete without her.

He had spilled in her before that point, but it had always been an accident as something about her made him slower on the draw than he was with anybody else. But in that moment before he knew he was gonna cum, seeing her thrash and arch her back and push even further into him, time seemed to slow for a second and there was a moment where he saw quick as lightning just the image of her heavy and glowing with a baby.

His baby.

He can’t remember a time he came so hard, and with the way she collapsed back in the pillow he knew she was just as affected by it too. The way she’s quaking with every breath before peaking out at him through the curtain of her hair is something he doubts he’ll ever forget as places light kisses on her shoulders to add some tenderness to the rough act.

With great reluctance and curiosity getting the better of him he pulls out his softened member, and he’s treated to the most erotic thing he’s ever seen in his life as he watches his seed slowly drip out of her folds. If he wasn’t absolutely sure that that last one had taken everything out of him he would be ready to go again from the sight of this alone.

Something in the back of his head whispers to find something to plug her up to really make sure it takes this time. But before he can act on this he sees her get her bearings on her, and she reaches between her legs. She gives a soft curse as she sees his spend on her fingers, before making a move to roll out of bed towards the bathroom. But he was quick to snatch her back and tell her to just lay with him until he fell asleep. She would only give an annoyed little huff, and give sleepy demands for beignets for breakfast in return for this favor.

He slept easier that night with his hand on her belly, believing that he would be able to find a way to keep her with him.

This would be far from the last time he would spill in her during production, but it would be the last time he could call it an accident. If he’s being honest with himself he thinks he fully intended to get her pregnant in some sort of convoluted plot to get her to settle down with him. That once she had a baby in her, she would have no choice but to marry him and leave it all behind. No more ungrateful sister or disparaging mother, Jimi could finally focus all of her attention on a family that would take care of her back.

But then everything happened all at once, and suddenly she was beyond his reach, and soon she took with her all of his hopes of having a life worth living.

Since his career had taken off, more than a few women had already accused him of fathering their babies. Of the few of them that weren’t talking outta their ass, he had seen a few of the kids, and while there were some that may have had a few features similar to him, none had come close to the little clone boy he had seen of himself in Jimi’s arms.

Others woulda chalked it up to just him getting older and wanting to settle down and any baby with a passing resemblance woulda done this to him. But there was something even beyond longing, it was that sense of rightness that has been missing from his life for a long time, something he wouldn’t’ve gotten with just any baby.

On the day they were shooting with the babies he tried to test this theory. But even holding a few of the kids, not a single one of them was able to stir anything close to that fatherly warmth that just looking or even thinking about the two little ones she held that day.

It’s not like he felt nothing holding these babies, like he wished them any harm, but he more or less cared about them the same way he would care about a random puppy: fun to play with in the moment, but didn’t really mean he cared enough for the hard or messy parts of taking care of it.

As he’s holding probably the biggest one of the lot, he realized this one is still smaller than either of his babies. Someone off-handedly asked how old this one was, he feels his throat close up at the answer.

A Year, he thinks to himself as he hands the slobbering infant back to its mother. How much did I miss? Can they walk? Can they talk?

Even as their mamas were packing them up to leave for the day, all of them would wave goodbye to him, but none of it compared to the heart-wrenching feeling remembering those two little ones she held in her arms.

In his heart he knew they were his, he didn't care what she had to say about it.

Two people, both from a set of twins, get together and create the two most beautiful and perfect babies he’s ever seen, and she thinks that means nothing? That she can just step away from him and deny him his rights as a father?

What did he miss all this time away? The boy was standing on his own, so did he already take his first shaky steps? The little girl was babbling nonsense to him, has she been able to actually make words?

Lord, he doesn't even know their names. He has so many questions and next to no answers.

But even for all the anguish it’s causing him, he can feel it in his chest how their existence has reinvigorated him beyond what he thought he was capable of anymore. He had been on the cusp of hopelessness, fully believing that without he wouldn’t be long for this world without Jimi.

But seeing them was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, now knowing that Jimi couldn’t get rid of a piece of him, proves it’s not too late for them.

So he went about getting answers the same way she taught him to: ask the crew. To his luck everybody seemed to know something or another about what Jimi had been up to the last few years. Through the various tidbits here and there he was slowly able to piece together a story.

How some asshole had taken advantage of her grief after losing her entire family with promises to take care of her in her time of need, and how he didn’t even wait till the ink was dry on the marriage certificate before scurrying his ass back to Mexico leaving her with less than half of her inheritance and a couple of babies in her belly. She came back to Paramount as a costume designer a couple months back after calling in a few favors with some of the higher-ups, and has been flagrantly breaking the rules by bringing the babies on to set.

Jimi wasn’t lying when she said that make-up girls hear everything there is to know in this town. Unfortunately he finds out the hard way that that goes for all of them, even those that now work in the costume department.

“I hear you’ve been asking about me,” a familiar voice would coldly say as she wrapped the cape around his neck.

He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is, but he does look around to make sure the other make-up girl was gone. This at the very least confirms that she’s keeping her cards as close to her chest as possible, and trying to prevent anybody from figuring it out.

“I had a right to know Jimi,” he answers, not looking directly at her face but through the mirror. A trick he learned when he first met her when he wanted to get her genuine reaction on something, he could only do so when she thought she wasn’t being looked at directly. It still proves to be true when he sees her jaw clench the slightest bit at his comment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says apathetically but immediately contradicts herself when she gives a firm yank to his hair so that he’s looking right up at her.

He gives a small grunt, though he does smile a bit at finally being able to get a reaction out of her. “Well now, last time I saw you like this-”

“Elvis,” she cuts off sharply before she grits out, “Leave. It. Alone.”

Now it’s his turn to react as his jaw clenches in frustration at the audacity. “Why should I?”

“Elvis…” she says slowly like he’s a child. “What do you think is going to happen if you are the father?”

He opens his mouth to argue with her, only to come up short. He hadn’t really thought farther ahead other than being able to have them all in his life. But what would that mean for them? How would people react to him not only having kids now, but having them this whole time and only now stepping up?

“That’s what I thought,” she says, placing down the comb. “Don’t worry,” she pats his cheek, maybe a little harder than necessary, “Nobody’s gonna believe they’re yours after what you said.”

He explodes hearing this, “How many times do I gotta tell ya?! I didn’t say that shit!” He stands to his full height to tower over her.

“It doesn’t matter Elvis!” she says, raising her voice for the first time since he’s known her, not in the least bit intimidated by him. “Do you really think they’re gonna just accept that you had two kids out of wedlock, and especially with a Mexican woman? Especially now that they’re trying to sell you off as this wholesome family act, do you think the studio is gonna stand for that shit.” Her eyes begin to go a bit glassy as she says the next part. “Your career might be in danger, but my literal life is at stake if they even think I could be a threat to the comeback they’re trying so hard to make happen for you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at this point like she’s trying to will the tears back into her eyes, and her chest seems just a step away from being considered heaving, making it clear to Elvis she is trying so hard to keep the image she’s crafted for herself intact. Elvis can appreciate how yet again he’s the only one able to look past the curtain and see her for who she is.

Finally after taking a deep breath her bloodshot eyes open and she gives a somber, “Do you know how my last movie ended?” Her voice severe and distant, her hands placed on the hinges of the trailer door.

He’s a little stumped by the heel-turn of this conversation, but he plays along if only to convince himself he still has a chance to convince her otherwise. “You got your folks back together didn’tcha?

“No,” she says bitterly. “That last movie ended with the worst box office turnout of the year, because it was banned in most southern states -including yours- because the white man ended up with the mexican mother,” there the sardonic smirk on her face tells him she finds little humor in what she’s saying. “The studios forced us to tell that story and blamed us when nobody wanted to see it…”

“Jimi,” he starts placing a hand on her shoulder before she rips it away. “Baby, it’s a different time now,” though even he realizes how hollow those words are.

“Let me finish!” she shouts, tears trailing down her face as she looks back at him. “This isn’t a movie,” she declares. “There is no happy ending for anybody if you keep digging. Not for you, not for me, and especially not for my babies.”

Our babies, is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back.

“I’m not gonna have my babies a part of that life Elvis,” she glares at him. “They don’t need you. I don’t need you.” She turns her head and he can see the tears that threaten to fall in the corners of her eyes. “So just… leave it.”

And with seemingly the final word, she walks out of his trailer and he falls back heavy into his chair, utterly exhausted by the encounter. His chest feels tight, the shallow breathes he’s able to take doing little to remedy the feeling, his hands shaking out of fury and grief for the life that’s been stolen from him. On top of all of that his vision starts to blur with the tears clouding them, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing the movement in the mirror.

He quickly gathers himself as best he could and turns to face whoever just entered his trailer, but he finds himself alone. That is until he looks at the mirror again.

He knows he must look a mess right now, but the mirror doesn’t reflect that whatsoever with the stony features he sees looking back at him. Elvis knows his face, and he knows when he’s not looking at his face. But Elvis knows who this is even before he opens his mouth with the only words he’ll speak to him.

“Go getcha girl,” Jesse whispers.

And just like that he’s gone, and Elvis looks at his own reflection once again. With that little bit of brotherly guidance, Elvis comes to one startling realization: She’s right.

She’s right, this isn’t a movie.

So that means he doesn't gotta be nice about getting her back.

He’s spent the last nearly two years planning how he was going to apologize to her over something he didn’t even do. Where is the justice in that? It’s as though she’s only capable of seeing him in the worst possible light.

If she want’s a villain so goddamn bad then he’ll give her one.

What a cruel power did God give to women. To take a piece of man, to mold and create something so wonderful and joyful, only to be able to deny him that if she felt so inclined. Usually the duplicitous ones will take from one man and claim it to be from another, all for gain, but Jimi is far more sadistic with this power, to hold two little mirrors in her arms and deny him his very own image.

It’s enough to drive a lesser man insane.

No.

She’s not gonna deny him this.

Jesse may have gotten him started on this path, but he can no longer just rely on fate to bring them together. He will take matters into his own hands, and they will be together.

He remembers the first time he had seen one of her films as a kid. It was his 8th birthday and he had begged his Mama to let him go to the movies to see literally anything that day, and it so happened to be that one where the two sisters unintentionally thwarted some robbers in their house.

He remembers laughing as Nena was sent into one room only for Mena to rip down the hallways as soon as the door was closed much to the confusion of the would-be criminals. He remembers the fear he felt when Mena seemingly fell out a window with the next shot being one of them lying on their stomach on the ground only for the next scene to reveal they had pulled the old switcheroo. He remembers the end when their parents finally came home and were glad that them burglars didn’t get their most precious treasures- their daughters.

Most of all he remembers glancing over at the empty seat next to him and wondering if these were the sort of antics him and Jesse were meant to get up to. His mama never kept his brother a secret from him, always telling him how he’d have the strength of two, but he always knew on some level she would have preferred two regularly strong boys rather than just one really strong one.

That feeling he got when looking at the vacant seat next to him is the same feeling he gets everytime he looks at his Hillcrest home now. The realization as to how fundamentally empty a home is without a family to fill it.

Fate denied him his brother before he even entered the world. Death had snatched his mother out from under him. And that horrible Stanley woman was working double time to take his daddy away from him too. He’s not about to let Jimi keep him away from any more of his family, just because she wants to be stubborn.

Now, knowing of their existence he knows he needs them in his life. He needs her in his life.

The PI didn’t disappoint, when you got enough money and notoriety in this town, they tend not to. He hardly batted an eye when Elvis had mentioned that there were kids out there that were potentially his, though he did give a funny look when Elvis told him he actually wanted him to dig up proof that he was the father, which is apparently rather novel in this town.

Though what the PI brings back is painful in its own way. He mostly focused on what could be dug up through paper records both legally and illegally obtained: house deeds, birth certificates, medical records, wills etc.

That’s how he finally learns the names of his children.

Alejandro and Mireya.

Big names for babies that are so little, he thinks to himself. Only to realize that they will one day grow into them, and he’s wasting time not being with them.

By all accounts, Jimi’s doing just fine: house is paid off, bills get paid on time, food is plenty, and she’s apparently in the market for a nanny. But a deeper look revealed that she’s pissing through her savings right now and with the way things are going she’ll be out of money in maybe another ten years, something she must have realized if she came back to work at all. Elvis finds himself exasperated that her stubbornness will cause her and the little ones to sink before she ever thinks to ask for help.

But it's the few and far between snapshots of the little family that threaten to do Elvis in. He has to fight the urge to frame them as they are all so wonderfully domestic. Strolls through the park, trips to ice cream shop, stops at the grocery store, and everything else that would paint the perfect family portrait of a young, beautiful mother and her two adorable babies.

Everything except for a father.

Though some of the most painful ones to look at were the ones from her day at the beach with them. He can almost pretend that he is the one behind the camera, that he took these pictures of her and the little ones on a family outing and not in fact a shameless voyeur of the life that should by all rights be his. In one of them, they were facing the camera as they looked out to the vast ocean before them, Jimi crouched down by the shore line as she held their little hands so they could properly get their feet wet. She wears a wrap around her one piece bathing suit in a facsimile of modesty and he already knows she turned a few heads that day. Little Alejandro is wearing a swim ring and practically wrapped around Jimi’s leg while Mireya’s wearing little floaties and pulling on her mama’s hand to try to go deeper.

So wholesome and idyllic, he can practically picture the entire day in his head.

How he would come up behind her and swing them back and forth on the shore line as though he were about to toss them in while they squealed in delight.

How he would play with them in the sand until she insisted on them taking a nap under the umbrella while their parents could have a breather to have lunch.

How she would lay beside them and from his position he could shamelessly leer at their mothers figure.

How the day would knock them out on the car ride home and they would both quietly bring the little ones in the house and place them in their cribs and how she would wrap herself around his arm as they both gazed down at the two little miracles before them.

How he would bend her over right outside the hallway and fuck her raw so that they would never have a day at the beach without babies.

If that wasn't what Norman Rockwell pictured for the ideal family life, he doesn’t know what is.

Those last few weeks of shooting, he could hardly function knowing they were all out there, the few who knew what he was going through were unsure how to approach him. Some learned quickly that he wasn’t about to be questioned on this, others had to learn the hard way.

After the last day of shooting, Elvis would only idly register the fact that he had been sitting on a lounge chair staring vacantly at the pool. He hadn’t meant to, he just remembers after breakfast wondering how he’ll probably teach them how to swim there, and then all of a sudden the sun had already set for the day.

His buddies had apparently gotten so worried, they had ended up calling in reinforcements.

“Now my boy,” a familiar voice would say behind him. “I hear we been losin’ focus lately.”

As though on reflex Elvis feels his jaw clench in distaste. In a way the colonel was the best and worst choice to be the one to come talk to him. The worst because after learning what he knows, he wants little to do with the man anymore and the best because he needs someone to take out all this anger on before he can see the mother of his children again.

So Elvis really has to put all of his acting abilities to work at this moment, as he plasters on a phony grin and grits the teeth he’s liable to start gnashing at any moment. “I reckon I been more focused now than I been in a long time, Colonel.”

Bypassing what he just said, the man sits down on the lounge chair right next to him. “That’s not what I been hearin’ ‘from your buddies.” Elvis can see he has the clown head cane, which he adds to the list of things he’s finding infuriating about the man.

“And what they been sayin’?”

“How an old flame reared her head recently and has been getting in your head with some foolish notions of slowing down now of all times,” he says. “My boy, I warned you ‘bout women like this before. They can’t appreciate the hard work we been doin’ to make this life here, and simply will take from men ike us.”

As sour of a taste as that statement leaves in his mouth, that at the very least confirms that Parker doesn’t know dogshit about the sitation. He’s reminded of that time how she complained she never has time to take a cigarette break or something will catch on fire. Something that was proven true only moments after she put one in her mouth and then ten men were screaming fire. She would casually stroll up to it, extinguisher in hand, and use the inferno from the stagelight to light her cigarette before putting it out.

“You don’t gotta worry no more, my boy,” he starts patting around his jacket, only to pull out two cigars and a set of matches. This and the story gives him an idea as to how to prove his own convictions.

“Why’s that Colonel?” Suspecting what he’s getting at, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I had a word with the young lady you were so fond of back in New Orleans,” he started, every word of his making Elvis want to scratch his own skin off. “And rest assured we came to an agreement after a few words from yours truly,” he says as though that will somehow placate him. “She wants nothing more than for us to leave her and her little ones alone, and of course we can accommodate that,” he lights up a celebratory cigar and hands his client one as well as though they were in some anti stork club.

He once made the mistake of calling the Colonel something of a father figure to him, and he’s never been more disgusted with himself than right now. But he stays silent as he lets the “Colonel” before him dig his own grave.

“Trust me son, I get the urge to want to settle down,” he reassures him. “But you’re young and it ain’t like you don’t got all the options in the world. Next time ‘round you can have some babies with a proper American girl”

The Colonel doesn’t know it yet, but this statement truly solidifies his fate.

He doesn’t get it. None of these assholes get it. How can they? They ain’t ever lost someone like he did, like she did. They can’t see the value of family because they think that he can just make more of them with someone else? As though forces of a higher power hadn’t gone out of their way to bring them together.

Elvis can do nothing more than kiss his teeth at the older man’s ignorance, as he slowly but deliberately grabs the cigar from his mouth and looks him dead in the eye as he slowly stamps out the cigar on the unvarnished wooden side table.

Jimi was right. Words are nothing at the end of the day and it’ll be actions that will show them all how fucking serious he is about this.

“Those are my babies, and she’s my girl. And I ain’t gonna hear nothin’ more ‘bout it.” Elvis gets the pleasure of watching the Colonel gape like a fish only to then go red in the face as he goes back and forth between him and the small flames that are now beginning to dance on the table. He cuts him off before he can get another word in edgewise. “‘Sides I think marryin’ her would do wonders for my reputation down south.”

The portly man is surprised by his clients words and tries to quickly recover from the shock. “Son, I-I don’t think there’s notin’ down there we need to worry ‘bout,” he scolds as though Elvis were a child, trying desperately to reign him in.

“I used to think the same thing, ‘till I hired that PI to look into Jimi…” Elvis starts as he cuts the cigar, not even bothering to acknowledge the man’s concerns, “... and a few other things.”

“...what other things?”

“Funny you mention that Colonel. I had him look into where the hell those quotes came from. Y’know the ones that got me banned from Mexico. And boy did he have a story to tell,” his words are comically gleeful as he brings the cigar to his mouth. “One with high up there politicians, birthday parties, and blank checks. A story… my manager apparently knew all too well, but ain’t ever bothered to tell me.”

The only thing that could be heard in the moment was the light crackling from the flames between the two of them, and from it’s light Elvis can see the way that the sweat seems to pour off of the man in front of him. They both know that it has nothing to do with the fire.

“So-son, this is… it’s-it’s more complicated than you think,” Parker stutters, trying to desperately wrench back control of the situation. But Elvis already knows that the next chance he gets, he’s gonna cut ties with him… but Parker certainly doesn’t. And so for the time being he still has a role to play in this production.

“Now there’s two ways to take this,” Elvis says leaning back on the wicker chair as the flames begin to get higher and higher, attracting the attention of his boys outside, and they rush to try to do something about it. One single hand gesture from him has them all frozen in place, awaiting his command.

Good, these motherfuckers needed to be reminded who exactly is in charge here, even if he had to burn this whole place to the ground.

“One, a simple mistake that my manager made and will now do anythin’ to fix if he wants even a chance at his contract bein’ renewed pretty soon… or two…” he brings the still unlit cigar to the now three foot flames on the table beside him, the closest thing he’s done to acknowledge them. He even briefly blows out the flame on his cigar, really trying to draw it out, enjoying the way it makes the older man squirm in his seat. It’s only right considering how much grief he caused trying to hide his secret so long. But if Jimi had taught him anything about Hollywood, is that shit like this don’t stay buried forever. “My manager for some reason can’t leave the country and didn’t want me leavin’ it neither.”

It's an interesting experience to watch a man go from red in the face to completely white in horror. He opens and closes his mouth in disbelief more than a few times as though god himself will put the words in his mouth to smooth over this misstep. Any doubts Elvis had about the PI’s story melted away with each little tick the man before him made.

Jimi had taught him what makes for a good and bad actor, and boy oh boy did Parker make for a shitty one: the shifty beady eyes, the nervous tapping on his cane, the constant swallowing and clearing of his throat.

“So Colonel,” he states with a smoky breath, and no amount of venom missing from his voice for the man that- albeit unintentionally- cost him so much time with his family. “What’s it gonna be?”

The flames are by now as tall as a full grown man, and the fire has now fully engulfed the low table that was once there. All the boys are nervously shifting and shuffling about, wanting to put it out before it can get out of hand, but the hand that Elvis holds toward them keeps them in place, not a single one of them willing to go against him.

The message is clear to everyone though: give him what he wants or he will burn them all, and not just metaphorically.

“I-I,” the old man stutters looking down at his feet undoubtedly looking for help even from Hades himself, only to see as an ember finds a new home on his lone client’s pant leg.

Elvis does not acknowledge this.

Parker looks back up at him, only now comprehending who the hell he is dealing with.

“I’ll see what I can do my boy,” he finally answers breathlessly.

“Now that’s what I like to hear, Parker,” he gives an amiable clap to his shoulder before gesturing to the rest to take care of the inferno before them. They’re all in a dead sprint to deal with the fire and Elvis gives his foot a cursory dip in the pool to extinguish the flames creeping up his ankle, before walking away without another word to any of them.

With the Colonel and everyone else willing to do anything to get back in his good graces, things seem to run a lot smoother now.

Finding a lawyer willing to handle paternity suits is easy enough in this town, finding one that is willing to fight to establish his status as their father however… practically every lawyer that was consulted said it was near impossible for them to do so without the mother’s consent. Without even knowing who exactly they were meant to be representing they said the whole thing would be a wash if at the end of the day the mother remains obstinate against it, and regardless of any blood tests, no judge would believe that a woman would willingly say no to the support a man like Elvis could offer if it wasn’t the absolute truth that he wasn’t the father.

Needless to say that Elvis could only rely on the legal route so much. Though he did learn a few interesting things as to what would happen to children if the mother is deemed unfit.

And from there, he begins to cook up a truly awful and perhaps downright evil plan but he knows that the prize is worth the risk.

It’s gonna rely on all of his skills as an actor, and she’s been in the business too long to not know an act when she sees one. But he has one major advantage over Jimi in this department: She already expects the worst from him, so him doing this wouldn’t be a stretch in her eyes.

Even threatening to dig a little deeper into whether or not they were his, made her pull back even more, she’s not gonna make this easy for him, and part of him doubts he would want it to be so. He knows he’s not without options, and that women would practically tear down the door to be the one to give him babies.

But how can he just let her go?

Jesse couldn’t be here with him, that’s why he sent her his way. Elvis needed someone who would look out for him no matter what. And with Elena gone, Jimi needed someone to look out for. The two of them fit together like puzzle pieces really.

So he has to be smart about this. Nothing gradual because she will bolt the second she even gets a hint as to what he’s planning. So he takes a step back and allows the PI to learn all he can about her new schedule and what she’s got in the works.

She’s still working for Paramount, though only barely, as she now apparently only comes in once a week to talk with directors and drop off designs. Though it’s clear this is not for much longer as she’s apparently been tapped by some production company down in Mexico to come work for their wardrobe department.

It becomes apparent that he needs to work quickly if he wants to pull off his plan, when his request to have her work on his next movie is denied for the simple fact that she is apparently only sticking around Paramount long enough to finish off a few other productions. He’s honestly a little glad for this change, it just means he can put his plan to action a little earlier and they can be together sooner.

So it’s not even a week after the end of production does he find himself standing in front of her small, new house in East LA.

Elvis knows his influence on women, and despite what the papers say, he’s tried to use this for good. So when he walks up to Jimi’s door and knock, he does admittedly ham it up with the hand to lean on the door frame and the slightly unkempt hair falling over his forehead, a look he knows would make any woman weak in the knees. Especially a 13 year old babysitter.

The girl (Letty, he’s pretty sure the PI said), seems to be confused more than anything else, uncomprehending as to who stands before her. She’s far from the first or last to have this reaction but it shows that Jimi is playing her cards far too close to her chest that she wouldn’t know why he’s here.

“This here’s Jimena’s place?” He asks though he already knows the answer from the PI that’s getting paid hourly.

“Ye-yes,” she stutters, reaching a hand out only to quickly snatch it back as she confirmed he was really here.

“Perfect,” he grins, and he sees her look down bashfully. “I’m here to pick up the babies.”

This confuses the poor girl even more. “She… didn’t mention that.” Elvis has to hold himself back from telling her she couldn’t keep a father away from his children, but honeys and flies and all that.

“It’s a bit of a surprise for her.” He answers.

She’s still apparently unsure of herself, as she gives a weak point back inside the house as she says,“I-I think I sh-should ma-maybe call her.”

“How much you gettin’ paid by her?” he asks affably, though a little annoyed at the girl continuing to keep him from his babies.

“Five dollars a day and an autographed picture of Marlon Brando,” she answers, though she looks back down at her feet, as though embarrassed to be talking about another star she preferred in front of him. He doesn’t take it to heart, remembering Jimi complaining how she had more autographs than she knew what to do with.

“How ‘bout this,” he pulls out his wallet. “I’ll give you 50 and get you a personal meeting with Marlon, if you get the lil’ ones ready to come with me for the day and don’t say nothin’ to no one ‘bout whatcha saw today.”

The teen gapes like a fish at the offer and though Elvis knows it’s good for his plan that she didn’t automatically refuse his proposition, it is nonetheless disheartening that this is the girl Jimi had entrusted his babies to.

“I-I-I,” she looks at her feet, as though they’ll have the answers for the dilemma. “I don’t think I can let them g-go with a stranger.” she puts a bit more of her weight onto the door fully intending to close it.

“That’s the best part kid,” he pressed a palm to the door. “I ain’t a stranger to her.” The girl has no idea what kind of danger she’s in, and Elvis attributes that almost solely to Jimi’s influence. What’s a few lies when he knows he would do far worse if she dares to keep him away from his children any longer.

“Don’t let them papers know this,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, full well-knowing that’s exactly who she’s gonna go straight to the moment she gets the chance to do so. “Y’see their mama and I… well we been seein’ each other for awhile, and now stubborn women she is, she don’t wanna go no further ‘til I can prove I’m ‘father material’ so I came down here to prove her wrong.”

She furrows her brow in confusion until her eyes go wide. “Wait… go further? As in…”

He takes a page out of Jimi’s book and gives a pursed grin while his eyes slide away from her, not even trying to deny her assumptions. Seeing her hold a hand to her mouth to cover her dramatic gasp, Elvis would like to think Jimi would be proud as to see how far his acting abilities have come.

The girl is apparently all too eager to play cupid as she quickly invites him in with a big grin on her face and ushers him towards a sitting room. Despite how cool he’s playing it he’s a nervous wreck on the inside, feeling like he’s about to walk into a test he knew he didn’t study well enough for.

But that all disappears the moment he lays eyes on them.

They can already do so much, he thinks as he watches them play though they don’t notice him, Mireya holding a whole baby conversation with her stuffed animals in between trying to feed them dry cheerios while Alejandro is making little humming noises around the pacifier in his mouth as he crawls to drive his little fire truck around. Eventually the tiny boy drove the toy straight into Elvis’ foot.

The small boy looks up at the new figure, and with the way he looks at him, Elvis doubts he remembers him. So he tries not to take it too personally when the boy silently gets up and scrambles behind one of the couches, only to then peek over the corner, as though to make sure he’s still there.

“Ale, Mimi, come say hi,” the young teen says in a soft voice before she turns around and leaves him alone with them. Those names feel much more fitting of the small babies he’s pictured in his head, and even more fitting as he leans against the door frame of the little sitting room.

Mimi almost immediately begins to toddle over to him with a little stuffed doggy tucked underneath her arm. She looks at him and again there is not an ounce of recognition in her eyes as she merely approaches him wraps her arms around one of his shins before immediately going back to her toys.

So much for the instant connection he was hoping to have with them, but he tries not to get too discouraged with this as he approaches. He crouches down next to his daughter and picks up a stuffed monkey and uses it to tickle her neck a little, and that has her shrieking in delight.

This does seem to settle Ale somewhat as he slowly comes from behind the couch to watch the two of them. Though he plops down right between them with his engine in tow and gives a wary look toward Elvis as though he means to act as her protector. He didn’t know it was possible to have a skeptical look while sucking on a pacifier, but his son somehow manages to do just that.

Elvis notices something in the boy's front overall pocket and when he reaches a hand to investigate it, his son is quick to react with an overhead swat to the intruding hand. Elvis can’t help but laugh at how very Jimi that reaction is.

Before he knows it the bags are all packed and it’s time to go. Ale looks more confused than scared as Elvis picks him up with his wide brown eyes, while Mimi on the other hand is in awe of being so high up and she immediately starts trying to reach for things that he thinks would usually be out of reach when held by her mama.

In the last few days he’s had ample time to imagine what exactly it would feel like to hold them in his arms, but all of it pales in comparison to the phenomena of the experience. Elvis is a man that has dabbled in many pleasures over the years yet all of that pales in comparison to just the utter rightness of this moment.

It’s an indescribable, euphoric feeling that makes him never want to let go of either of them, even if one is seeming indifferent to him while the other tries to squirm out of his grasp.

He had been prepared to sneak out the back with them or pass them out the window to Jerry before sneaking to the car, hell he contemplated that he would even have to simply grab them and run. He never in a million years would’ve imagined it was as easy as scooping them both up in his arms and taking a brisk walk out the front door to the car while the babysitter hands over a baby bag to him.

The fact that it was so easy was just further proof that he needed to get them out of there. What if it had been some crazy man that came in today and not him that took them?

“E.P. What the fuck?” Jerry asks, more tired than confused.

“Let’s get goin’ already.”

The car ride gives him some time to truly appreciate how beautiful his babies are.

Mimi has Jimi’s thick dark hair and her pouty lips, and those coupled with the cornflower blue gaze that came from him, he can already hear the heart's (and the kneecaps, Elvis will personally see to it) breaking across the country. And where Ale seems almost his exact copy, he can see Jimena’s touches here and there with the way his hair curls or the slight upturn of his nose. Truly it would be a crime to deprive the world of more pretty children like these two.

Mimi in turn seems to also be fascinated by his face, and he takes a few playful nibbles that has her squealing in delight. Though she does lose a bit of interest in him as the car starts and she gets to see the world around her rush past her. She makes sure to point out every animal she sees whether it be a dog, a cat, or even a squirrel, and Elvis finds himself enjoying every moment of it as it feels like he’s looking at this whole city through a new lens.

“Mida, mida,” she squeals in her tiny voice as she points to a bird. “pajado!”

Ale on the other hand is just looking up at him owl-eyed, too in shock as to what’s going on around to look at anything but at his father. He clutches on to his little firetruck like a shield still unsure of this whole thing but Elvis takes it as a small victory that he isn’t balling his eyes out. Elvis resorts to trying to make faces at him to get him to crack even a little though it becomes apparent that what this kid lacks in looks from his mother, he more than makes up for by having her personality, as he barely twitches at any face. Granted it is hard to tell around the pacifier he refuses to part with.

Jerry remains blessedly quiet for the rest of the car trip though Elvis doesn’t miss the occasional stolen glance from his young friend. The man -boy, really- had initially been on the side of letting sleeping dogs lie, and now Elvis pushes down the petty urge to hold up his own son to his face and have him try to deny his own image.

Elvis’ living room could honestly give Santa's workshop a run for his money with the sheer amount of toys and playthings that occupy it now. All his boys had apparently been working overtime trying to make Elvis forget how skeptical they had been in his beliefs, and trying to worm their way back into his good graces.

His daughter practically dives headfirst into the large pile of stuffed animals to be had, meanwhile his son stands in the middle of a treasure trove of toys, his red engine hanging limply from his hand, practically overwhelmed by choice. He eventually does settle on a set of blocks that he takes to stacking up only to ram his truck into the makeshift tower. Elvis can’t help the chest swelling contentment he feels in that moment seeing his babies love their new home so much.

He hardly sees anybody else all day, and he’s glad for it. He didn’t want any of them sticking around too long, as this was his chance to bond with his babies properly, and he didn’t need any of them to distract them. Aside from the occasional maid coming in to bring snacks or to change a dirty diaper, he gets an entire uninterrupted afternoon with the two.

Mimi was so eager to play with him and show him all of her little toys, with her favorites being the little stuffed dog she hadn’t let go of, it’s neck floppy as she clutched it in her tiny baby hand.

Ale thinks he’s subtle as he eyeballs Elvis most of the afternoon. He is not. He all but gapes at him when he thinks he’s not looking, only to turn around and try his darndest to look very busy with his blocks or cars when Elvis looks over to him.

He tries to approach the toddler, only for the boy to rebuff him each and every time by shuffling to the opposite end of the room, and setting up shop there. Elvis has to remind himself to be patient, knowing that his son is handling being in a new strange place with a man he only barely knows better than most kids would so he has to let the boy approach him first.

He could tell just by the way he watched Mimi like a hawk, that he was the older of the two, the same way Jimi always said she was with her sister. His weary attitude towards him only began to thaw out when Mimi stumbled over a block, somewhat able to catch herself on her hands but that doesn’t prevent her from still hitting her little forehead on the carpeted floor. Immediately father and son are at her side to comfort the wailing girl, Elvis crouching down to pick her up and rubbing her back, trying to imitate the few times he’d seen mothers do this, while Ale not fully understanding what’s wrong with her, only to tries to climb his father to try to take the girl in his own little arms and rest his head on her back.

After a few more tears and she had been allowed to thoroughly ruin his shirt, Mimi was able to calm down and go back to playing as usual. Ale seems to only then realize that he had gotten close to his father, and nothing bad had happened, so blessedly he doesn’t seem entirely too opposed to his presence anymore.

The only major hiccup of the entire evening was when Ale had entrusted Elvis with his most treasured toy. Elvis almost burst into tears when his son had reached into the front pocket of his overalls to pull out a small matchbox car, one that appeared to have been red at one point but had since faded into a light pink.

This coupled with Mimi’s favorite stuffed toy being a stuffed beagle… Elvis is not one to just name anything as signs from God, but those two together had to mean something.

And it’s frustrating to say the least that Jimi refuses to see this.

The twins begin to wind down around the evening, with full bellies and comfy pajamas on it’s not too long before Mimi practically falls asleep where she was playing, her little bottom in the air as she drooled all over her little blue doggy that now acts as a pillow.

Ale is far more stubborn about the whole thing, refusing to sleep even as he jealously looks over to his sister before stubbornly rubbing at his dark eyes and continuing to play with his toy cars.

“Don’t go down so easy now do ya’ son?” Elvis says as though he’s actually commiserating over his miserable sleep with a friend and not his toddler son. “You get that from me,” The boy at the very least now tolerates him being so close, but Elvis isn’t going to try to push it by picking him up. Instead he would gently pick up his daughter and hold her in one arm, while offering the other to his son, a clear invitation to the boy.

In spite of all his mulishness, Ale does eventually give in and makes little grabby hands signaling he wants to be picked up, and Elvis does admittedly melt a little at the sight. He’s quick to accept the invitation and picks the little boy up and takes them upstairs.

The nursery room as of right now is pretty barebones, having had to rearrange many things in the house, so as to make it a home for his family. But he thinks his boys managed to at least get the essentials with a crib and a rocking chair, and he figures that they can build from there.

The experience of not just holding his children at the same time but of actually getting to do the fatherly thing of singing them to sleep is incomparable to anything he’s ever had the chance to experience. Something so new, yet at the same time feeling like his whole life was leading up to this point. Mimi’s already asleep and he knows better than to wake a sleeping baby, so he sets her down in the crib first before sitting down in the rocking chair with his son in tow. Elvis admittedly doesn’t have a wide knowledge of lullabies, and he briefly panics for a moment until remembering the one he’s performed maybe a dozen times in the last few months.

They call your daddy Big Boots

And Big Boots is his name

It takes a big man to wear big boots

That's your daddy's claim to fame

It feels only appropriate to sing this to his own son, and in a way he’s glad that he performed this before meeting either of them. He doubted he would’ve been able to keep it together singing this to any other child now, knowing they were out there. Much to his relief, Ale eases up a little on his chest, resting his chin on his arms to better look at his father, not so defensive anymore.

Gonna tell you a little secret

You won't believe it's true

Did you know your daddy, Big Boots

Once wore little boots like you

Ale for the first time today removes his pacifier from his mouth and presses his tiny hand to Elvis mouth, seemingly entranced by the music leaving it and unbelieving that this is coming from a man and not a radio.

But where he was barely keeping it together while singing, Elvis can’t help his reaction when Ale lets out a soft little “daaa…”

His throat seems to close up and he has to blink away a few tears, but that doesn’t lessen the grin on his face. “Th-that’s right son,” he breathes, through quivering lips, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m your daddy.”

Something about that statement seems to settle something in the boy, as he finally puts his head on his chest and his breathing seems to even out. It’s as though he had been the ever vigilant man of the house. But now knowing that his daddy was home, he can finally lay his head down and rest.

Eventually he has to put him down once he sees Mimi start to fuss in her sleep, waving an arm around and grasping for something, but she quickly relaxes once her brother is within her grasp.

Elvis sits to watch them for a time, they’re simply so hypnotic to observe. The way they breathe in tandem and seem to gravitate toward each other, in a world of their own right now. It makes him wistful for the brother he never got to know. But wherever his brother may be right now, he feels joy that he can carry out his will and finally have a whole family once more.

One look out at the sun setting and the clouds rolling outside his windows, he knows it won’t be too long before she arrives. He wants to be able to relax but he knows he won’t be able to until all of his family is under his roof. But he knows her well enough, to know she’ll be home soon.

Finally he sees an unfamiliar pair of headlights shine behind the gates, before coming to a screeching halt and a familiar silhouette stands in front of the lights, to give a futile shake at the front gate. He can imagine she’s yelling to be let in, even muffled through the patter of the rain starting to really come down and the thunder rolling in the distance, he can just barely make out her voice.

He sees Lamar unlock the gate for her, but the moment his guard is let down she takes off running towards the front, which is when Elvis takes this as his cue to start heading down to meet her.

She was in no way prepared for this weather if her near see-through white blouse was anything to go by. Her makeup is running slightly, streaking down her cheeks making it impossible to figure out if it was rain or tears running down her face. All fury and passion, just like he loves her.

She angrily stomps past him, still trying to ignore him only for him to block her with his full body.

“How many times?” she grits out. “How many times must I turn you away?”

“I don’t know darlin’,” he whispers in a just as low voice. “As many times as it takes ‘til you figure out I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Cut the crap Elvis!” she shouts. “Where are they!?”

He responds with a single finger to his smirking lips. “If you wake ‘em, you gotta put ‘em down again.”

This immediately has her try to run past him towards the bedrooms, but he catches her in one arm over her waist and he sits her on the dining room table, sure to plant his hands on her knees so she doesn’t get any ideas.

“That’s enough Elvis,” she tries to rip his hands away from her. The way she’s all clenched up, lets him know that she would scream at him if it were an option. “You’ve had your fun, now just let us go.”

He just further smirks. “Y’know after all the things I learned ‘bout the last two years for you, I kept askin’ myself one thang,” he says pushing himself off the table to stalk towards her. “‘Why the hell is she still here?’”

Her jaw clenches tight at this, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I had to do what I had to do to support My babies.”

“Considerin’ what my guy dug up,” he starts making his way towards the table that has had her whole life laid out upon it. “You coulda worked anywhere else and left Hollywood behind a long time ago.” The heavy clench of her jaw and the daggers in her eyes tell him he’s getting close to the bullseye. “No,” he says, holding her chin between his fingers. “You stayed cuz you was waitin’ for me to get back.”

This infuriates her and she gives him a good shove, but he’s no longer in the mood to indulge her little tantrum so he stays put.

“Is that what you wanna fucking hear Elvis, then fine! They’re yours!” she shouts, a bit of a tremble in her voice. “Are you happy now? Will it help you sleep better at night knowing they’re yours? ”

“I’ll sleep better knowin’ they’re under my roof.”

She freezes at this admission. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the fact that you and the little ones are gonna be movin’ in with me.”

The silence that passes is near deafening and he gets the pleasure of seeing the reality of the situation set in in her face. She gives a short mirthless but undoubtedly forced laugh but there’s no denying the fear in her eyes.

Good.

After all, she was the one that wanted this when she wanted so badly to make him a villain in this. He’s not, he’s a father.

“All this time, I thought you were stupid,” she says, that sardonic, slightly scared, laugh still laced in her tone. “Turns out you’re just fucking crazy.” Anybody else he would’ve been offended, but he lets her barbs slide right off his back, because truly words are all that she has left anymore. He’ll let her have them. “In what world do you think this is gonna play out like you want it?”

He gives a soft smile and raises a hand to take her chin, only for her to quickly smack it away.

“The world the studio pays for.”

She gives a derisive snort, “And you think they’re gonna pay for you to ruin your image.”

He simply smirks at her, finding her ignorance cute. For all that she knows how to work the system, he understands how the system works. More importantly he understands that the system works for him. His only direct response is to slide her the papers his people drafted up for him.

“What the fuck are these?” she asks, her voice lower, trying to mask her genuine confusion.

“That there is the copy of the marriage license ‘you’” he uses air quotes, “signed six hours ago, and an officiant from the studio officially signed off on these.”

“I-I don’t understand,” she says, her voice smaller than he’s ever heard from her.

“Now Jimi let me tell you two stories, only one of ‘em’s gonna be in tomorrow’s paper,” he says, gently rubbing her cheek that she quickly slaps away. He retaliates just as swiftly with his hand splayed across her collarbone to lay her back on to the large dining table, just below the neck, not enough to choke her, but just enough to remind her who the fucking man of this house is. “One is how I went and got married to a single-mother of twins and I adopted them as my own.”

“I would neve-”

“Or…” he cuts in as he puts a little more pressure on her neck. “And this one is the one the studio prefers… I marry some random girl they pick out for me and we end up adopting two poor little orphans, ‘cause their mama decided to run off to Mexico in the middle of the night.”

Almost like he planned it, he can hear the thunder roll in the distance as the threat hangs in the air. In his heart he knows he would never go through with this, but Jimi doesn’t have to know.

All the anger drops from her face at that moment, in its place he sees something he’s never seen in her eyes: bold-faced fear. She showed her hand the other day when she told him why she wanted to keep the secret. He didn’t want to have to do this to her, but if it’s between having her fear him and staying with him vs not and her walking away, he will pick fear every single time.

He needs them in his life.

He needs her in his life.

“So you choose darlin’, which ones it gonna be,” he takes her chin between his fingers. She flinches slightly but knows she’s in no position to turn away from him now. “Either way… they’re comin’ with me.”

Elvis is not a gambling man, and he wouldn’t do this unless he knew what her answer was gonna be. She’s just as crazy for family as he is, she wouldn’t be able to handle not being able to have them. She’s probably the only one who is capable of understanding what he would do for those two as he has no doubt that she wouldn’t do the same in his shoes.

But between the two of them, only one of them had an entire studio willing to do whatever it takes to protect his image, no matter the expense.

And for all her worldliness and experience, she knows full well what happens when you get on the wrong side of the studios. She spent the better part of two years trying to prevent them from learning this, because making her disappear and having her babies get lost in the system would have been nothing to them.

He’s proud of her ability to successfully keep her and their babies alive in his absence, but he’s over her needlessly defiant nature to insist that they’ll never need him again.

He wouldn’t say he’s proud to see that defeated look in her eyes, but he does get the sense of relief knowing that he’s not going to lose anymore family today.

“Let me see them,” she whispers, barely audible over the rainfall just outside the window. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and he’s practically giddy that she didn’t try to stop him.

He finds them just where he left them, sleeping soundly knowing that their father is here to protect them, even from their mothers stubbornness. Ale is spread out like a starfish, one foot continually nudging his sister, while one hand is tightly balled up and a thumb in his mouth. Mimi on the other hand is squirming a bit, her little sock covered feet restlessly kicking at the blanket and her brow furrowed in her sleep. On pure instinct alone Elvis rubs a soothing hand on her belly until she’s calmed down enough and he quickly tucks her back in.

The look of surprise on her face wasn’t part of the plan but is welcome nonetheless. “Y’see how important a daddy is sweetheart?” he whispers into her ear.

He doesn’t exactly love the tears now freely falling out of her eyes, but he

“I’ll stay,” she whispers, through her tears. “I’m staying for them.” She asserts but the words feel so hollow now. Even still he rewards her acquiescence with a kiss, more for himself and having been so patient for her.

Even with her promises to stay now he knows that this is far from over. He knows that the next time she has them both in her arms is gonna be the next time she makes a break for it. He’s already let everybody know to never leave her alone with them, and he’s got some things in the works to make sure to make her face as recognizable as his own so she doesn’t get any ideas of trying to disappear. He’s even got a hail mary plan in his back pocket to deal with that doctor just in case he ever needs something big to keep her at his side.

But one thing he can absolutely do right now is work to get another baby in her so running won’t be so easy next time. A message she gets loud and clear the moment he works the zipper of her skirt down the mouth-watering curve of her ass.

“Elvis please,” she half-heartedly bats away his hands. “Not tonight…”

He’s been on a winning streak of getting exactly what he wants lately, and he’s not about to let her break that. He backs her against the wall of the hallway only to then nestle himself between her legs.

“C’mon baby,” he whispers in her ear, and he’s glad he can still get that same shuddering reaction from her, he remembers all too well. “It’s our weddin’ night and we gotta get to work makin’ it all official. ‘Sides you owe me more babies for keepin’ ‘em away so long.”

He can’t help but be reminded of that beach fantasy he had not too long ago and while he would love to make that into a reality, he figures that he at the very least owes her more than a dirty quickie in the hallway for their wedding night.

Besides, they'll have all the time for that in Hawaii.

So instead he opts for the classic groom move of lifting her up in his arms and carrying her into his -now their- bedroom. He doesn’t care none to be gentle with her clothes, she’ll be lucky if he cares to be gentle with her tonight after all the shit she’s put him through.

Ever the contrarian, she obstinately looks out the window and looks as though she wishes to be anywhere else right now as he peels the wet clothes off of her body. He’s been half-hard since she walked through his door, but little Elvis stands at full attention now that he can behold his wife fully. He finds the cosmetic differences that having his children has caused her body, with the near invisible stripes he feels on her belly and her temptingly darker nipples, but what he sees first and foremost in her body is his future.

That world-shattering knowledge that she will be where all of his seed is planted and he will never have to suffer being alone again. He has to push these thoughts aside lest he spill all over her belly like a green boy, and he has to remind himself that there’s no need to rush anymore now that he has her beneath him.

He has to temper himself before he gets ahead of himself so he spreads her legs to dive head first for her pussy.

He knows he has her when a simple kiss to her clit has her clenching her thighs over his ears. While it’s with reluctant acceptance does he acknowledge he wasn’t her first, he takes great pleasure knowing that he’ll be her last. It was frankly insane to believe that no one had ever done this to her before, as after he had gotten his first taste of her there was little else he wanted to do more than this.

He remembers joking with her that he now understood where her womanly sweetness went given the lack of it in her personality. It’s true nonetheless, arguably she tastes even better than he remembers. Though he imagines it’s the same way a man dying of thirst calling his first sip of water the sweetest taste, considering how much he’s pined for her.

Now that he’s been able to ensure she’s sufficiently wet enough he lets her hips fall back on to the bed, as he unbuckles himself, unwilling to waste another moment to undress himself, so that he can once more feel that connection he almost lost.

Finally being able to slip into her feels like finally coming home, there’s truly no other way to describe it. He didn’t even get this feeling when he walked through the threshold of Graceland.

“Elvis,” she sobs into his shoulder. For all the love she claims to have lost for him, her body has certainly not forgotten as he feels her thighs clench tightly around his hips, trying to keep him as close as possible.

He quickly grabs a hold of the back of her knees and he forces them all the way back practically to her ribs. Her pleasured and shocked cries ring out though the room as her new position gives him a new angle to work with. He’s a man on a mission to ensure that he leaves a mark so deep that she’ll never be able to leave again.

Forever, and just that thought alone has him frantically bucking into her over and over ripping her away from one orgasm to yet another as he chases his peak. One of the many he would have in that night alone, to try to make up for all the lost time.

Once it’s all said and done and he’s sufficiently satisfied that her sleepiness isn’t being feigned, he carries her back to the bed properly so that she can rest and be ready to be the perfect mother for their two (hopefully more) little ones tomorrow. He wraps an arm around her, knowing how slippery she can be, and he rests easy knowing she’ll be there come morning.

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dailyadventureprompts · 9 months

Text

So I was joking around on this post about the lack of alignment in Baldur's gate when a shiver ran down my spine. My badtake senses were tingling, and lo and behold there was this waiting for me in my notifications:

Now this is fascinating because this user obviously has an axe to grind: We were specifically talking about a notoriously clunky and contentious ruleset in d&d that no one really likes, not even the current developers, and this person decided to go off like I was the architect of the modern godless age.

Checking their blog shows we're dealing with someone with some baggage, as what appears to at first be your bog-standard cocktail of conservative cottage-core and LOTR memes gives way to Jordan Peterson clips, antichoice rhetoric, and more than a few posts that veer into Q-Anon nonsense.

What leaks through most however (especially if you're like me and spend a lot of time examining the whys of ideological brainrot) is that despite how much this person wants a peaceful life in the country what they REALLY want is to die for a righteous cause: Their blog name is a biblical reference to mass death and the punishment of the wicked, they're WEIRDLY invested in the final charge of the Rohirrim, and simmering below the pretty pictures of forests and mountains and animals and guns is the sense that the world is an evil place and the only thing that's going to fix it is a cleansing wave of violence.

Normally I wouldn't go so in depth like this but I thought since we were talking about morality systems and where they might lead us it'd be a good idea to get a read on where this criticism is coming from.

Now onto my rebuttal: My desire to see the alignment chart left behind along with other clunky rpg systems like Thac0 has no bearing on my real life stance on morality. You shouldn't NEED a fantasy rolplaying game to tell you that you're objectively good in order to soothe your IRL moral anxieties and you going off like this when I suggested changing something tells me that this is a bit of a safety blanket for you.

The fact that you can't tell the difference between a story with no moral compass and one that allows for diverse opinions on what could be considered "moral" tells me that you're terrified of doing the wrong thing and that makes you easily exploited by people who cloak themselves in righteous authority and call you a good boy for wasting your life in their service. I was like that too once but let me tell you it's far better to question who decides what rightness is than to follow it blindly.

Lastly, on the topic of morality codes in rpgs, I'm not against characters or the stories they're in having morals, I just think it's silly for there to be only nine codified (though extremely contradictory) options for how those morals can be expressed. Why hold onto a system that's too flawed to be useful ?

#bad opinions #baulders gate 3 #alignment #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #dnd meta

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multific · 1 year

Text

The Deal

Aemond Targaryen x DarkSorceress!Reader

Part 2

Summary: You could never see your own future, no matter in who you searched for. You could only see bits and pieces of the future of people you would be involved with longer. So, when the handsome Dragon Prince wonders into your home, you only see small bits of his future. You knew what that meant. It meant that he was your future.

"I can feel the anger in your veins. I can feel your desire for revenge in all of your movements. You, Prince Aemond, what brought you here?"

"The rain." he replied honestly, still looking for the person with the voice but finding no one.

"This anger is going to make you stumble, it is what's going to cause many deaths and misery."

"Show yourself!" he demanded.

You took a step out of the darkest corner. Looking him in the eye.

"Maybe it really was the rain," noticing how drenched he was.

"Who are you?"

"Do they no longer teach our stories? I am a sorceress."

"Don't be ridiculous, magic doesn't exist."

"Are you blind to both of your eyes?" you asked slightly laughing as you lifted your hand to your left eye and dragged down your middle finger.

Aemond could only watch as a scar identical to his appearing. "Although I prefer ruby, I like red more." you said as you opened your eye and now it was replaced by a red stone. Aemond lifted his sword higher.

He could only watch as you looked around as if you were trying out your new eye.

"You can fight like this?" you asked.

"How dare you mock me!"

"I am not. I admire it. Your eye is special." Aemond put his sword against your neck, it surely didn't phase you as you took a step towards him, letting the sharp edge cut your skin slightly as it drew a little blood.

Aemond was more shocked by this as he moved his sword back, lowering it.

"You are very special, My Prince." Aemond felt as if you were reading his mind, he didn't like it. But at the same time, there was something about it that he enjoyed. "I can almost see you, you have the power but we both know you would be the one on your knees for me."

Aemond could only blink and look into your eyes. You smiled, a wicked smile but sweet at the same time.

"My Prince is speechless. I am truly honoured to know that I still have my charm. You came in here because of the rain but I know it was something... higher."

"I have made a terrible mistake."

"I am aware. Killing the young boy... you have no idea what you started."

"Can you help me? Make things right?"

"Depends on how well you use your tongue."

"I can convince you, when I came in here I didn't expect to find a sorceress. But I have power, money or whatever you wish for in exchange for your help. My uncle would come for me to kill me, I can feel it."

"I have to be honest, I didn't mean speaking when I said to use your tongue. I always found your family, well as a matter of fact all royal families interesting. I can save your life, but I will not interfere with anyone else's."

"What do you mean?"

"The others will die, and I will do nothing about them. But when your time comes, I can save you from death. Take it or leave it." Aemond looked deep in thought.

"Do I have time to think on this?"

"Of course, I was heading to sleep when you barged in, we can talk about this in the morning, sleep by the fire, keep warm or you'll catch a cold."

---

Aemond didn't sleep.

His thoughts keeping him up.

He debated your offer.

Was he truly so selfish he was ready to watch others die while he lives?

In the morning, you made him food as you placed a plate in front of him.

"You would lose one family member." you said.

"One? If you help me or if you don't?"

"Either way. Oh no sorry, technically it's two."

"Who?"

"I will tell you, but I will erase your memory of everything once you make your decision. You will only remember the decision. For a kiss."

"Alright. I wish to know."

You sat down next to him by the table.

"This war you started will cause many deaths. People would kill dragons, you will lose your nephew and your sister. Aegon will get burnt, you will sit on the throne while he is healing. Your mother... while she won't die she would lock herself into her room. Losing her children would do that. You... You will die in battle against your uncle. You will drown on your dragon while Daemon dies as his dragon falls on him."

"What about Rhaenyra?"

"Aegon kills her with his dragon. The only death I can avoid is yours. But if you wish not to live than so be it."

"Why would you help me?"

"I'm bored. I have lived in this mountain for far too long. I haven't seen a person since forever. I am bored to death. I wish to play with you, and in exchange I can save your life."

"What do you want from me?"

"Your fingers, your mouth and your cock. I want your body and soul, Prince Aemond. There is a spell, it would make it so that you are mine and I am yours, our lives bound together. If you die, I die. I would feel your pain as you would feel mine. However, I cannot die. Nothing could hurt me."

"How is that possible?"

"My mother was a strong mage. When she gave birth to me, she put a spell on me. I cannot die, the only thing that could take me is time. And I have a lot of time, My Prince."

"I would be stupid enough not to take your offer. You require me to bed you, in exchange for my life."

"You will soon realize, Prince Aemond, I require much more than just your bed. As I have said, your body and soul would be mine and mine alone. I do not share my toys."

Aemond slightly flinched at your tone. A toy. That is what he would be.

"My shiny handsome toy. For now."

"And what if you get bored of me?"

"Do you see the future, Prince Aemond?"

"No."

"I do. I see yours and I can say, you will not bore me. So, with all that, deal?" you put your hand out to him on the table. He looked at your palm then at your face.

As he said, he would be stupid enough not to take this deal.

He put his hand into yours.

"Deal." and you smiled once more.

He blinked as he saw your smile, a wicked smile but sweet at the same time. He looked around a bit disoriented.

Your magic was truly strong.

The deal was made.

Part 2

A/N: Apologies if the future described here is not true to the books. I have not read the books only done a little research. Hope you still enjoyed this!

More House of The Dragon

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak

~Masterlist~

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DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

Note

sooooooooooo for the NRC family day interactions, i'm curious to see what would happen if riddle and step-dad ashengrotto met in the wild, because riddle has expressed that recently he's gotten interested in law. it would b cool for him to chat with the canon lawyer who taught azul about laws n contracts.

plus the whole, riddle being unsure actually because his whole life his parents had plans for him and planned for him on becoming a healer like them, but now he's interested in something else. n while i kno he reads about law, it would give him a lot of insight to actually, speak to someone who does this for a living, who maybe even suggests ideas of finding a way to combine both medicine and law, like medical law (branch of law) or medical jurisprudence (branch of medicine).

and other stuff too.

idk i just think a conversation between the two could be interesting, even outside of like, riddle's own interest in law; like another interesting thing would b his whole, family/homelife situation & the fact that riddle hints that his parents don't really get along that well + knowing that step-dad ashengrotto met mama ashengrotto while she was filing for divorce... just lots of ideas in me brain i think.

idk hopefully this isn't unintelligible sdfjsdklfd thank youuuuuuu

Thank you for submitting this really interesting idea ^^ This one is really long compared to the others, so I slapped a cut in to make scrolling by easier. This fic borrows ideas from a theory that I talked about a few days ago?

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I think it's cool that Azul not only has a stepdad, but actually gets along with him. Rarely do I see divorce portrayed as a positive thing (I mean, how often do we see wicked stepparents or a child that refuses to accept the stepparent), so Azul's family was really refreshing to see.

Not me taking inspiration from the divorce lawyer in Enchanted and various characters from Ace Attorney for stepdaddy Ashengrotto—

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The cafeteria was packed, and the ghost chefs were working overtime to feed the influx of hungry guests. Staff, students, and their family members had been coming in and out throughout the day, leaving not many tables open and the food line long. Some had taken to sitting cross-legged on the floor or spilling out into the hallway to make space for new arrivals.

One look at the gaggle of people along the walls and on the ground, and Mrs. Rosehearts had turned up her nose. "I won't have you sitting like a barbarian, Riddle. We'll find you a proper seat. Look, there’s one now. You sit—I’ll see what they have available on the menu and fetch you an appropriate meal.”

“Yes, mother.”

Riddle shifted uncomfortably at a cramped table. He dared not falter in his posture. Back straight, head high, hands neatly folded in his lap. He was a rose among those deemed the weeds called riffraff.

… It’s noisy, Riddle noted.

Indeed, it was. The cafeteria buzzed with activity, students exchanging chatter and laughter with their loved ones. Sharing bites of food and stories, nourishing their bellies and their souls.

A memory clad in flowers filled his mind.

“Riddle!”

He was back in the Heartslabyul gardens, colorful decorations and card soldiers in every direction. Flamingos and hedgehogs at the ready, the roses painted red, a dormouse in the tea pot. Cakes, tarts, and finger sandwiches sliced up and served with tea.

Ace and Deuce were arguing over something silly again. By the sumptuous spread of snacks, Cater was snagging pictures before so much as a bite. In the memory, Riddle made to tell them off, only to be stopped by the vice dorm leader at his side.

“They have so much energy,” Trey had remarked. “It’s livelier than usual today.”

Yes, that was the right word for it. Not noisy, but lively.

How curious that dining at Night Raven College is like this. At home…

There was a lone platter set for him, a sad, limp little square of food in the center. His mother, arms folded, to the right. His father, trembling in his chair, to the lift. Raised voices and scathing remarks.

Some days the dining room was empty altogether, save for himself and stacks of textbooks. When he did crossword puzzles and sudoku, the vocabulary and the numbers kept him company.

His heart twinged. Riddle frowned and curled a hand over his chest, as if trying to soothe the pain.

What is this? Why… do I feel this way?

"Excuse me, young man."

He jolted upright.

An older gentleman in glasses was beside him. His hair, peppered with streaks of white, was neat, and he was dressed in an even neater suit. He smelled like salt wrapped in a sea breeze, faint citrus and sunshine.

The stranger gestured to the spot beside Riddle. “Pardon me if I disturbed your train of thought. I wanted to ask if this seat was taken. I need a quick place to rest my legs, then I’ll be out of your way.”

Riddle took a quick glance at the line—which still snaked around the room, but at least his mother had vanished from view. Relief. “It’s open. Please, sit.”

“Thank you.” The man slipped in next to Riddle. He sighed, just as relieved as the boy was. “Much appreciated. I hope I’m not stealing this seat from one of your parents.”

“Not to worry, sir. Only my mother is with me today, and it seems like it will be quite a while before she returns," Riddle reassured him. “My father is preoccupied with work, so he was unable to attend."

It was partially true. Whenever possible, his parents actively avoided each other. Strategically taking specific hospital shifts just so happened to be a means to that end.

"I'm here with my wife and son myself, they're perusing the food. A shame about your father. Really. Perhaps he'll be able to attend next year."

"Perhaps."

Riddle hoped not.

He looked away, dodging the man's eyes. Fearing that his own would betray him.

A glint of gold snagged his sight, and Riddle's heart leapt. Pinned to the stranger's lapel was a small pin depicting the scales of justice.

The man took notice. "I see you've spotted my bar association badge."

"You're a lawyer, sir?" Riddle's question came out small.

"That's right." He tilted his head to one side. His smile was slight, yet encouraging. "Might you have an interest in law, young man?"

"Ah, well..." Riddle instinctively looked to the line again before his gaze darted back to his conversational partner. "Y-Yes, I suppose you could say that. However, I'm aware that it is a big commitment, and I have already resolved to pursue magical medicine."

"A career like that can be fulfilling as well," the man said kindly. "I have colleagues that specialize in medical malpractice and negligence. We also sometimes work with forensic scientists for certain cases.

"There is most certainly crossover between the legal and healthcare sectors. You could consider looking into those fields as a middle ground between your two interests."

Riddle blinked.

"Did I overstep my bounds?"

"No, I just..." Hesitation. "I'm not used to speaking like this."

"About your future?"

No, Riddle wanted to correct him, it's being given advice and suggestions, rather than expectations and orders.

"About straying from the path," he said, a quick half-truth. "It's difficult to compromise, even if the options exist out there."

"Hmm." The man nodded understandingly. "Changing course can be scary, yes. I don't fault you for thinking that way. If it would help in any way, you are free to ask me questions about my own experience. I'm no medical lawyer, but hearing it from the horse's mouth has helped some of my clients before."

"You would offer such a thing...?"

The man's eyes shone with the trace of a contained laugh. "I don't charge for the first consultation," he joked.

"Then..." Hope crept into Riddle's voice. "Could you tell me about your own specialization?"

"My firm mainly deals with cases of divorce."

Divorce.

The word was bitter on Riddle's tongue as he swallowed it. But the lawyer spoke it with such ease, like it was nothing more than the weather forecast for the day.

Divorce, divorce.

It had always been an option for Riddle's parents since the first problems had started between them, but never seriously considered, never discussed. His mother would sooner die than confess she was anything but right, that she had made the mistake of choosing the wrong man. And what would the community think? What would they say?

As a child most foolish, Riddle had prayed to the Queen of Hearts to share her secret to a successful marriage. No answer ever came, and it was then that he realized: divorce was never in the cards for his parents.

The man carefully took in Riddle's frozen expression. "It happens. I see it a lot in my line of work—and it is one hundred percent normal. People are like castles in the sand, you see. They change, their feelings change. They fall out of love. Part of my job is to ensure that the separation occurs smoothly.

"There is stigma attached to the concept of divorce, that it ruins families and brings them great shame. But sometimes a family is better apart than together, and they can find new happiness once they've picked up the pieces. Cutting ties can be the most liberating feeling in the entire world.

"I speak from experience myself. I met a lovely, bright-minded woman while she was going through her own divorce proceedings. Now that woman is my wife, and her son, my own."

Riddle's brows knitted. Disbelief and confusion crowned his features. "It almost sounds like a fairy tale. Can such a drastic change truly lead to happiness?"

"For me, it did. It may not be the case for you, because you and I are different people."

"Th-Then tell me!!" Riddle stood, slamming his hands on the table. Food and silverware rattled, people stared. He didn't care, his volume spiking. "How? How do I do that...? Please tell me. I don't... I don't know how to do it myself."

"That, I cannot say."

"Why not?! You... You said you would help me!"

"I did say that, didn't I? I said I would help you by talking about my own experiences. Tricky thing, wording. It's easy to overlook the fine print." The man pointed at him. "The rest is in your hands."

"I can't do a single thing," Riddle protested. It felt like roses were choking him. "My hands are tied. My path was determined a long time ago. Change is absolutely unacceptable."

The lawyer regarded him coolly. "Let me tell you something, young man. The law is the law because there is a human element to it, no matter how impartial, how black and white, we try to be. We write the laws, act on them, and interpret them. Likewise, you, too, are responsible for that interpretation.

"What is right, what is wrong, and what role you must play therein... these are things you alone determine, whether that be in career, in love, or in life. You are your own judge, and the decider of your own destiny. It is something only you are capable of, and no one else but you."

Riddle reeled his head, reacting as though he'd just been decked.

Right and wrong... The role I must play... Something only I can do?

Someone had told him something similar not too long ago. The words harsher then, and paired with a sound punch to the face.

"Is that all you are?!" Ace had demanded, fist clenched, still raw from making contact with his dorm leader's cheek. "An extension of your mom? Can't you think for yourself?"

The twinge to his chest had returned. Stronger, sharper. Like thorns tearing into his skin.

"... I see," Riddle said slowly. "I think I understand it a little better now."

"I'm glad to hear it." The man's smile broadened. He looked at something beyond Riddle, then rose from his seat. "Well, if you'll excuse me... It seems my family has finished their business. We should get going now."

"Of course. Thank you very much for speaking with me, sir." He humbly lowered his head to the man,

A voice came from behind the redhead. "Oya, what a surprise. If it isn't Riddle-san."

He immediately bolted up in horror. The dorm leader of Octavinelle stood before him, lips cocked into a smirk. A woman with the same silvery hair was next to him, cut in a sleek black gown and with seashells in her jewelry.

"Wha--?! Azul...?! What are you..." Riddle faltered with both his words and his calm.

"Oh? Is it a crime to come collect one's stepfather?" The merman sighed dramatically. "I was going to come over sooner, you know—but it looked as though you two were having quite the engaging conversation. I thought it rude to interrupt and cut it short."

Riddle's head whipped back to the lawyer. "Th-This is your stepfather?!"

"Azul, I didn't realize this lad was your friend. We were just having a nice talk about career goals."

"Career goals, you say? My, that sounds so interesting." There was something unsavory, slimy even, about the way Azul emphasized his interest. "I'm jealous, Riddle-san. We've shared our dreams with one another before, but never on such an intimate level."

"And just who in their right mind do you think would willingly divulge that information to you? Don't act as though we're friends."

Azul smiled wryly. "Aren't we? After all, we've been through both hell and high water together."

"It sounds to me like you boys are good chums," Mr. Ashengrotto remarked, exchanging raised eyebrows with his wife, "though you certainly have a strange way of showing it."

"Why haven't you told us about him, Azul?" his mother asked. "I'd love to have him over for dinner."

"Riddle-san can be surprisingly shy. I wouldn't wish to cast a spotlight on him."

"Who's shy here?! All you've been doing since you showed up is put me on the spot!"

Mrs. Ashengrotto put a hand over her mouth, stifling a chuckle. “If you visit us, Azul could invite his other friends—do you know them? The Leech twins. You could all get to know each other, and that could help you get out of your shell.”

“N-No thank you, ma’am!!” Riddle said (perhaps a little too loudly, and too quickly). The farther away I stay from those sketchy brothers, the better!! I wouldn’t be caught dead trying to cozy up to them!

“No? Maybe another time then. The offer is always there. Come to us when you're comfortable with it, dear.

"I guarantee you won't regret it," Mr. Ashengrotto chimed in. "She makes the best food I've ever had under the sea. Azul could pack away an entire bucket of her fried..."

Azul loudly cleared his throat. "While this chat has been amusing, I believe it's time we stopped hounding the poor, unfortunate soul and moved to the next item on our itinerary. I'm sure that Riddle-san is busy with his own matters as well."

"Yes, my mother will be back soon with lunch."

"That so? We'll be on our way then. Wouldn't want to disrupt your time together." Mr. Ashengrotto tenderly squeezed his wife's arm. His other hand found its way onto Azul's shoulder. "Have a happy Family Day, Riddle."

"Happy family day to you too."

With that, Azul and his parents departed. Their mouths moved, their expressions changed, playing off of one another. Saying things Riddle couldn't hear, nor understand even if he could hear.

The rose-red ruler, entrenched in a sea of people, was left with many thoughts racing through his head. Those gathered in the cafeteria, Heartslabyul, the Ashengrottos...

One question lingered like the last vestiges of sunlight on a lazy summer day.

Are these... what families are meant to be like?

#Riddle Rosehearts #Azul Ashengrotto #twst #twisted wonderland #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #NRC Family Day #disney twisted wonderland #Trey Clover #Ace Trappola #Cater Diamond #Deuce Spade #Heartslabyul #beyond the looking glass

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munsons-maiden · 1 year

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𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔 (𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫)

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | THEN. You’re the only survivor among the Mind Flayer’s victims, thanks to your friends - but after the Battle of Starcourt, you find yourself adrift in a sea of nightmares. Until an encounter in the woods with Eddie The Freak Munson offers an unexpected life line and turns your world upside down. NOW. Four months have passed since the winter night you walked out of Eddie’s trailer and his life for good. But when the mysterious headaches and nightmares return full-force and something wicked stirs in sleepy Hawkins, starting a witch hunt against Eddie, you realize that there are two things in this world that might be more persistent than you’d thought: Evil…and love. The story is told in two timelines: the past (after the Battle of Starcourt) and the present (during the events of season 4).

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending (I PROMISE!!!), fluff, smut, it turned into a fix it fic for ST4

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (you need to be 18+ to read this story!), angst with a happy ending, attempted assault, bullying, canon-typical violence

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | ~ 1 hour

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | spiders, canon-typical gore & violence, blood, mention of a syringe (brief), SMUT (oral, m!receiving; p in v; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it and stay safe in real life!)

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

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

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | The day I started writing this story was May 27th - the day I fell in love with Eddie Munson, like so many others did as well. By the end of the first episode, I knew I loved this sweet, tender-hearted, sometimes-brash-and-loud-but-always-genuinely-kind dork with all my heart, and by the time the credits of the second episode were rolling I knew Eddie was my One In A Million, my forever-character. Nothing I’ve ever felt for a fictional character comes close to the love I feel for Eddie Munson, and I know it’ll forever stay that way. I remember how I paused Netflix during the intro to season three, opened a blank word document, and started writing. It was the first chapter of Worlds Apart. Back then, I prayed with all my heart it wouldn’t turn out a fix-it fic - but it did. I promised I’d fix it, and I did, though I’m convinced Eddie will be back and we’ll see him again, alive and happy. Until then, this story will give him - and all of us - the happy ending Edward Munson deserved. This story crossed the 200k-words-mark somewhere in the middle of Chapter 15, and while I have so many more ideas for series and oneshots for Eddie, for so many more 200k-word-marks to cross, Worlds Apart will always hold a special place in my heart. And I can’t thank you all enough for sticking with me, for waiting patiently for the next chapter and laughing and crying alongside Eddie, Monster Slayer and me, and I hope that this story was able to bring you the same amount of joy as it did for me, that every single one of you might have been able to find a piece of themselves in monster slayer. Thank you for all the support on this story, the comments and reblogs and keysmashes and tags and fanart and asks. I don’t know whether I could have done this without you. This isn’t goodbye, I promise - just the final chapter before a new story starts because I’m planning to give Eddie Munson the million happy endings he deserves. So...Eddie, this is for you. I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓

[Friday, September 12th, 1986.

Six months later.]

The water was warm as it swirled around your feet with a happy little gurgling sound nearly drowned out by the sound of the waves.

The breeze carried the scent of salt.

The scent of the ocean.

It smelled exactly like you’d always imagined it would.

Dawn was still a while away, the first gentle blush creeping over the clear skies arching above to make the stars slowly fade away and herald the first rays of the morning sun, the promise of another beautiful hot day.

The moon overhead was a full moon, hanging in the sky like a silver dollar coin.

Like the display of a clock.

You quickly averted your gaze.

The shades of the early morning sky, the foam dancing on the crests of the rolling waves…it all blurred like watercolors on a canvas beneath the first of your tears falling down your cheeks in hot rivulets as you sank to your knees, into the warm water of the Pacific Ocean, letting it engulf you as the tears fell harder, drip-dropping into the waves lapping at you as you tugged your legs against your chest, hugging your knees.

Salt to salt.

You couldn’t keep the emotions bottled up any longer.

A frail, suppressed sob spilling from your lips, too quiet to be heard over the melody of the waves, your hand found its way to your chest, to the guitar pick resting against your skin right below your collarbone.

The smooth plastic was warm with your body heat as your fingers wrapped around it, thumb flicking over its surface the way Eddie had brushed the pad of his thumb over your wrist, over your pulse point, back when you’d patched him up at Skull Rock.

Right before he’d kissed you.

Months ago.

A lifetime ago.

Your fingers clutching the guitar pick, holding on to the little thing like a lifeline, you let your forehead sink against your knees.

And with the waves and the breeze for company, you wept.

[Thursday, March 28th, 1986.

FIVE MINUTES PAST MIDNIGHT.]

“I don’t have a heart, little songbird.”

Henry Creel’s voice was a low croon, a threat laced within.

And his remaining forget-me-not-blue eye watched as the creeping vines pinned Eddie to the pillar.

Tightening their relentless, freezing grip around Eddie’s wrists, his throat.

“People believe that once you’re dead, there will be no more pain. No more misery. Only…peace,” Henry crooned, slowly raising his hand, his spidery, disfigured fingers reaching towards Eddie’s face. “They are wrong. Souls can break, did you know that? Just like bones. Over…and over again.”

***

You barely heard the death cries of the bats, falling from the skies all around you, flames eating at the skin on their convulsing bodies, wings and tails trailing behind them as they rained onto the blood-soaked grass like a shower of meteors.

Shooting stars straight out of a nightmare, less and less of them left in the skies.

You leaned down to place the softest of kisses on Eddie’s forehead, the curls poking out from underneath his bandana tickling your lips.

“Good-bye,” you whispered against his skin, which still held the residual warmth of life like a distant memory. “I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

Your eyes fluttered close.

When you reached out, the darkness wrapped around your mind, ready to heed your command one final time.

Burn it down, you commanded. Burn this place to the ground until there are only cinders left.

***

There was pain. So, so much pain, worse even than the agony inflicted by the bats.

Back then, it had been Eddie’s body which had been ripped apart.

Now, it would be his soul.

Would the pain stop, Eddie wondered, when Vecna was done with him, when he was nothing but another broken soul with shattered limbs standing out like branches of trees in a winter wood, and two empty holes where his eyes should have been, dislodged jaw frozen in a muted scream until the end of time? Maybe.

And yet, amidst all the agony, the knowledge that he’d failed was what destroyed him.

He hadn’t been able to save you.

He could only hope Eleven had managed to get Max out of here, back to you and the rest of her friends.

I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, monster slayer. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m so, so sorry.

***

The flames looked like blossoms, at first.

Petals unfurling all over the black creeping vines covering the dead grass, growing as they shed their golden glow into the night, brighter and brighter.

The vines hissed, the noise mingling with the death cries of the bats still hailing down all around you, wings and fluttering tails ablaze as the heat of the flames chased away the coldness of the air.

You barely felt it on your skin.

Eddie’s lifeless body in your arms, his head resting on your lap, one of your hands wrapped around the green silk ribbon on his wrist, the other clamped tightly around the guitar pick dangling from Eddie’s necklace around your neck, you watched as the fire spread.

Along the vines, like sparks on a fuse, travelling across the ground as it left only ashes in its wake.

Up the walls of the Munson trailer, the Mayfield trailer across the lawn.

Through the Forest Hills trailer park and into the woods as the darkness did your bidding and the Upside Down was swallowed by an inferno of your own making.

It almost looked beautiful. Like a meadow of glowing flowers in shades of gold and red.

Or like stars.

As if all the stars which were missing in the void of the eternal night sky above had fallen to the ground to shed their golden light and chase away the darkness, send their warmth into the air to melt away the cold.

And at the other side of the bond…you could feel Vecna scream in agony.

***

Just as Eddie though he couldn’t take it anymore, the strain on his bones – no, his fucking soul – right before its breaking point…it stopped.

And Vecna…Vecna started to scream.

***

It was good, so good, to feel Vecna’s agony, feel the echo of his tormented wails reverberate through every fiber of your being, connected through that bond he’d forced on you.

Hands trembling as you knelt on the dead grass, you could feel the strength draining from you, pooling with Eddie’s blood that had started to cool soaking through the fabric of your combat pants.

You knew enough about powers that they came at a price. Had seen it with El enough times, after all, that at some point, you’d need to stop if you wanted to live.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to live.

It was just that you didn’t care anymore whether you lived, because Eddie was gone, had paid the price for what you’d stolen. Like Max, two innocent souls taken tonight. Two loved ones. Gone. Just like that.

By the time you’d burned down the entirety of this realm, you knew there wouldn’t be any strength left for your heart to keep beating.

So be it then.

If you went out, you’d take Vecna with you.

Even if you had to set the entire world on fire to do it.

***

With a blood-curdling wail of agony, Vecna’s hand fell away from Eddie’s face, and through the blur of his own tears, Eddie watched as the monster sank to the ground.

Pieces of shriveled, rotting skin were falling away from him like dust scattered in the wind.

And Eddie realized…they were cinders.

Vecna was burning alive, piece by tiny piece.

Only then did Eddie realize that the ringing in his ears, the high-pitched noise, wasn’t coming from within his head. It was coming from all around him.

The creepers slithering across the ground and snaking around the maze of pillars were shrieking and hissing and writhing in pain as they crumbled away inch by inch, dissolving into black particles scattered into the air as Vecna’s lair was falling apart as if it were devoured by…by invisible flames.

Monster slayer.

***

As you watched the flames of your mind’s making spread through the Upside Down, consuming the web of Vecna’s creepers like angry beasts feasting on their prey, the way the bats had torn through Eddie’s skin, the agonized wails and screeches of the vines and creatures in the distance piercing the eerie silence, you could feel Vecna growing weaker.

Weaker.

His own powers were draining away with every inch of his hive your flames devoured, taking away his strength –

Taking away.

Like you had taken some of his powers away.

Realization hit you like a speeding truck.

By luring you away from Eddie and the relative safety of the trailer to save your friends, knowing Eddie would follow suit to distract the bats for a second time as soon as he thought they’d followed you, Vecna had set an elaborate trap for Eddie, yes.

To punish you.

But the reason why the bats hadn’t attacked you had never solely been to lull you into a false sense of security.

No, they hadn’t touched you because…if you died, that fragment of Vecna’s powers you’d stolen and made your own would die with you.

And he couldn’t let that happen, because by taking it away, you’d weakened him.

He needed it back.

That had been what he’d wanted all along.

To punish you, take Eddie away and destroy you, break you, before he’d take back his powers from you.

But he couldn’t do that anymore, because he’d underestimated the amount of power you’d stolen from him.

He was dying.

Vecna was dying.

Right now, alongside his realm of monsters and darkness, devoured by your flames.

Like the spark of a bonfire drifting into the air…an idea took shape at the back of your mind.

It might be impossible.

A shot in the dark.

But you’d be damned if you didn’t shoot it.

Eyes squeezed shut, your voice drowned out by the tormented shrieks and screeches of the vines as your fire spread, reaching the outskirts of Upside Down Hawkins, spreading through the body of Vecna’s realm like the black veins of his control had once spread through your blood right beneath your skin, you whispered, “You thought you were a God. That you were invincible. But you’re not.” You swallowed. “I want to make a deal.”

***

Eddie could hear it, feel it echoing through Vecna’s lair and every fiber of his own being.

He’d been so certain he’d never hear that sound again – but there it was, real and as clear as day.

Your beautiful, beautiful voice, filled with this burning, fierce determination Eddie had always admired so much.

Fresh tears ran down Eddie’s cheeks in hot rivulets.

Of love and loss, the need to run to you and wrap his arms around you, feel your breath against his skin as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, feel your heartbeat and hear your laughter, chase away all the agony and terror you’d gone through and keep you safe and sound in his arms forever, right next to his heartbeat where you belonged.

“You thought you were a God. That you were invincible. But you’re not. I want to make a deal.”

***

You could feel his presence even before your eyes flew open.

Like a dark shadow cast on a sunny day, erasing the light; the chill of a pair of malevolent eyes watching you like a vengeful spirit in a haunted house.

“Little thief.”

When you opened your eyes, the world around you was gone. Replaced by the place which had etched itself forever in your memories to haunt you in your darkest nightmares.

Vecna’s lair, his collection of horrors. The broken souls pinned to their pillars like beautiful dead butterflies displayed behind glass, trapped forever.

Broken limbs like twigs.

Empty eye sockets, jaws dislodged and frozen in eternal muted screams.

And right in front of you, the monster of this dungeon.

The god of this realm of terrors.

It took a single glance to see he was injured, gravely so.

His pallid grey skin, festering with rot, was falling away to cinders like firewood turning to ash as it was eaten by your inferno.

And one of his eyes was missing, an empty socket matching those of his victims while the other stared back at you, the freezing abyss encased by the eerie blue of blooming forget-me-nots burning with raw hatred.

Hatred was good.

Hatred meant you had a chance to win.

“Henry.”

Your voice was as frozen as the time in the Upside Down.

His rotting lips twisting into a sneer which reminded you oddly of Jason, Vecna stepped aside.

Clearing your line of sight so you could see what lay behind him.

A pillar.

And pinned to that pillar, pale cheeks streaked with tears of blood…

“Eddie.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, a susurration stirring the air, but at its sound, Eddie’s eyes, those beautiful umber eyes, found yours.

Your feet were carrying you towards him on their own accord, your body’s reflex to be close to him kicking in split seconds before your mind could catch up, and a choked sob ripped from you, right from the place at the center of your chest where the abyss of numbing darkness had opened up with Eddie’s final heartbeat, a desperate flutter of stirring within you.

“Monster slayer,” Eddie whispered as your hands came up to cradle his cheeks, the blood of his tears cold beneath your fingertips. Cold as death.

Neither of you could grasp for another word beneath all the heartbreak and grief, the hope and love and bittersweet joy of being reunited for those precious, ephemeral seconds. And neither of you needed to put all of these things into words – you read them in Eddie’s umber eyes, and he read them in your own, quietly understanding each other as deeply as you always had, right from the start.

But there was no time to linger in the moment.

Every passing second was precious time running through your fingers like water.

You whirled back around to face the monster who’d positioned himself right behind you, his one remaining eye an abyss of evil.

“I want to make a deal.”

“I don’t make deals.”

Vecna’s voice was as distorted as the chimes of his clock, floating in the crimson skies above your heads.

“Yes,” you replied calmly, positioning yourself between Eddie’s slumped form and Vecna, “You do. Else, you wouldn’t have let me in here.”

“I let you in,” Vecna droned, “So you could watch how I break his soul like I broke his body.”

“Smoke and mirrors,” you hissed. “You’re dying.”

“So are you, little thief. Do you want to join your songbird? Reunited in death? It will not be a peaceful ever after. Look at you, monster slayer.” His voice was dripping with disdain. “Weakened. The life draining out of you with every second you keep your inferno alive.”

“Yes.” He was right. You could feel it, how the life was fading away from you, like the sun setting and taking its light with it. “And if I die,” you said, “So will you. We both know it. So cut the mind games.”

Straightening your spine, you hissed, “You’re injured. My friends have injured you, and now you’re burning alive as we speak because that’s what I will keep doing until my own dying breath. If I go down, I will take you with me. You’re growing weaker with each second my fire keeps devouring your hive. Your creations. And you can’t stop me. Because if you could, you would’ve already done it.”

“Clever little thief,” Vecna drawled darkly.

You swallowed.

You didn’t know if your friends would ever be able to forgive what you were about to do. If Eddie could.

But if there was a way to bring Eddie back, to rewrite his stars after all…you needed to seize the chance.

No matter the cost.

“I offer you a way out.” Your voice didn’t waver with hesitation. Because there was no hesitation. Not one second. “I offer you a deal. I’ll give you back what I’ve stolen from you…and you’ll return what you took from me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“How are you so sure I cannot simply take my powers back?”, Vecna crooned.

“If you could, you would have done so by now. But you can’t, do you? Because it’s not yours anymore. It’s mine. It belongs to me, and it won’t serve another.”

“What makes you think I can bring him back?”

I know he can, the dark sliver within your mind whispered. You knew it because when the fire had burned all around you, you’d felt it, a shiver running through the hive, the Upside Down, because Max…Max had returned. It was a feeling, a knowledge inherent – and if El had defeated death and brough back Max, however she’d done it from so far away…so could Vecna. They were the same, in a way.

“Can you?”

“Bring him back?” Vecna sneered. “I do. And you…so in love with your songbird that you’re willing to risk the fate of your world, all else you hold dear, to strike a deal with the Devil? Betray everything you’ve fought for, risk the lives of so many for a single one?”

“Yes.” The words spilled from your lips without reluctance. The truth was always quicker than a lie.

There was a dark smile twisting Vecna’s rotting lips as he stepped closer, one of his legs dragging behind. An elongated index finger stroked your cheek. It felt like a spider scuttling across your skin.

But you stood your ground, refusing to take even a single step out of his way, his path to Eddie still blocked by your own body.

“Hmm,” Vecna hummed, “We are alike, after all.”

We are not, you wanted to tell him. What I’m doing, I’m doing for love.

But Vecna wouldn’t understand, because he’d never known love.

Love, just like time, was a concept foreign to him, a thorn in his flesh.

“What makes you so sure I will keep my word?”

You swallowed. “Because you’ll bring him back first.”

A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest, more and more of his shriveled grey skin crumbling away, cinders in a nonexistent breeze as your inferno kept wreaking havoc.

“I need this power you stole to bring him back. I am weakened.”

Lie, the darkness in your mind whispered. Lie, lie, lie. Trick, trick, trick.

“No, you don’t.”

Vecna tilted his head, and you breathed, “It’s a simple trick. I just don’t know how to do it, because I wasn’t born with these powers.”

“How will I know you won’t betray me?”, Vecna crooned.

A grim smile tucked at your lips. “It’s either trusting me…or death for both of us. I guess you’ll have to pick your chance and trust me.”

“What makes you so sure I won’t kill both of you as soon as I brought your lovebird back?”

“You can’t,” you hissed. “Your bats are cinders, and so is the rest of your monsters. You will make it out with your life, and nothing else. Just like we will.”

There was silence, the seconds ticking by too loudly on the clock suspended in the skies.

Every tick a droplet of Eddie’s life seeping away.

“Will you do it?”, you breathed. Your voice cracked like an egg beneath the words, your despair spilling out.

Vecna’s remaining forget-me-not-blue eye locked on yours. “I will. But –“ his index finger locked underneath your jaw, “Under one condition.”

Everything.

“I’ll make his heart start beating again, and I’ll release his soul to find its way back into his body. But his wounds will remain. Until you gave me back what you stole.” His rotting lips twisted into a devious sneer. “And if you don’t give it back…his wounds will stay. He will succumb to those wounds for a second time in a matter of minutes.”

“Deal,” you breathed.

With a blink, you snapped back out of the trance he’d put you in, Vecna’s lair dissolving around you as you resurfaced with a sharp intake of breath – just in time to hear it, a choked gasp for air on the ground beside you.

“EDDIE!”

You scrambled across the dead grass, your hands grasping his shoulder as his eyes, filled with life, locked on yours, wide and terrified and confused and flooded with pain, the agony of his mutilated body, every nerve on fire like the vines in the Upside Down as blood spilled from the bat bites just like it had only minutes ago.

Time was running out all over again.

Your eyes squeezing closed, you reached out towards the darkness, the enemy-turned-companion, for a final time.

You saved him, you told it. You need to leave so I can save him again. Go back to your master. Please.

The darkness writhed, a shadow curling against your mind for one last time, bidding you good-bye.

Who would have thought that this thing you’d been fearing for so long would be the one to save your love, in the end?

The darkness heeded your plea.

You hadn’t been prepared for the pain.

All-consuming pain, just like it had felt when the Mind Flayer, Vecna, had forced the darkness past your lips, into your mind and soul, all those months ago.

You could feel it, tendrils of shadow untangling from the strings of your soul like fabric unraveling into its threads. One by one.

When it left you, dark shadows spilling from your lips and into the skies, back to its source, your scream carried through the frozen air.

And then it was over.

Tremors racking your body and blood spilling from your nose in rivers of crimson, you scrambled closer to Eddie.

His breaths were ragged, sharp and shallow as he rang for air.

There was no time for your tears of relief and happiness, to pull Eddie into your arms and feel the beautiful flutter of his heartbeat against your palm.

Because Eddie’s wounds were still there, his blood still pooling onto the dead grass, running warm through your fingers.

And his eyes were filled with agony.

Raw, unfiltered agony.

“Eddie,” you sobbed, hands cradling his head, making sure he could see you. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

You waited.

For Vecna to make true of the final part of the deal and heal Eddie’s wounds.

One second, two.

Three.

Come on, you fucking bastard. Keep your word, you wanted to scream into the air.

But you knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t.

That he would leave you here, your final bargaining chip gone and back in his own hands, Eddie bleeding out in your arms for a second time as you were forced to watch, helpless and alone.

No.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

Not again.

Your shifted, your hands finding their way to Eddie’s chest to press over the spots where the bats’ fangs and talons had ripped through fabric and skin and tissue, and Eddie’s agonized wail pierced the air and shattered your heart, but you needed to staunch the bleeding, stop it so he would’d bleed out all over again and the light would fade from his eyes for a second time, a final time.

“I know,” you sobbed, “I know, it hurts. But I need to stop the bleeding, okay? You’re – you’re gonna be okay, Eddie. I got you. This time it’s gonna be okay –“

Your voice was strangled with the force of the tears you kept fighting back, swallowed by his own choked sob, tormented and frail.

Eddie’s eyes were on yours, panic and agony swirling together as tears streamed down his face to mingle with the drying blood coating his lips, his cheeks. You could see that he wanted to reply, but his strangled, shallow breaths, the all-consuming pain in his body, muted the words.

You needed to get him out of this place.

Into warmth, somewhere where you could actually start patching him up, the wounds too many, too deep to even think about covering them with a makeshift-bandage, but you were alone, and you were too weak to get Eddie out of here on your own –

“HELP!”, you screamed into the darkness of the Upside Down, cinders and spores floating around you like the glittering flakes inside a snow globe.

The eerie silence had returned.

Cradling Eddie in your arms, your hands pressing over his torn chest in a failing attempt to staunch the bleeding, you felt like you were adrift on a freezing dark ocean, stretching into every direction with no shore in sight, no lighthouse to guide your way.

Alone and so horribly, utterly helpless.

“HELP ME! PLEASE! SOMEBODY!” The next sob shattered your voice into a whisper. “Anyone. Please –“

It took a heartbeat for you to register the sound piercing the cold air.

Your name.

Somewhere in the distance, someone called your name.

Your heart did a little somersault of hope in your chest.

“NANCY!”, you cried out, your voice breaking, “STEVE! ROBIN! HELP! HELP ME!”

And then they were there, breaking out of the woods and racing towards you.

Your friends. Uninjured. Alive. Like the mirage of water in the scorching desert sun – only that they were real. So beautifully real.

“What happened?!”, Robin cried out, her eyes wide with terror as they found Eddie, slumped and bleeding, fading in and out of consciousness with weak cries of agony, his blood spilling all over your hands.

“We need to get him out of here,” you sobbed, your own gaze finding Steve’s, who gave you a curt nod before bending down, arms locking underneath Eddie’s to pull him across the yard, towards the spot where the ground had ripped open, a glaring abyss shedding pulsing crimson light into the darkness of the Upside Down, the gate no longer only a doorway because the walls had been torn down altogether.

Max was alive, alive alive alive and so was Eddie – but it hadn’t reversed the consequences.

Vecna had taken his fourth and final victim.

He’d torn down the walls between worlds.

But you couldn’t focus on that right now.

Because as long as Eddie was alive, as long as you could still save him…everything could be okay again.

As long as Eddie was still here…you could face every other thing thrown your way.

You couldn’t remember how Steve had managed to drag Eddie through the rip in the ground. Couldn’t hear the voices of your friends, Robin’s shaken, panicked rambling dulled and blurry as if you were under water; couldn’t feel Nancy’s gentle hand resting on your shoulder as she shouted something at Steve.

The only thing you remembered was the night sky when you emerged from the Upside Down.

It was a clear spring night, almost warm, a myriad of stars winking down at you as you raced towards the Munson trailer alongside Steve who was half-dragging, half-carrying Eddie across the grass of the lawn.

The black mist inside your mind was gone, the connection to Vecna and the Upside Down severed. No, not severed – erased. Gone for good.

The Forest Hills trailer park had descended into pandemonium.

It felt like a lifetime ago, since the ground had ripped open.

In reality, it had been mere minutes.

Screams and shouts and cries echoed through the darkness immersing the trailer park as people left their homes to assess the rip in the ground, like an angry gash bleeding crimson light into the once peaceful spring night, running through the entirety of the park and vanishing beyond the tree line of the woods, in the direction of the Hawkins town center.

If anyone noticed the four of you dragging Eddie across the grass, they didn’t care.

Somewhere on the other side of the woods, the kids were all alone in the attic of that horrible, decaying house which had never been a home but a graveyard of nightmares.

The first wails of sirens rang out in the distance, but they blurred.

Everything blurred, drowned out by the pounding of your racing heartbeat in your ears, the roaring blood, the world turning into the static of a walkie without a signal as all your senses zoned in on Eddie dangling limply in Steve’s grip, his eyes half-closed as the life was pooling out of him for a second time, and the muted cry on his lips, too weak to spill.

On the task of saving your songbird’s life.

The cresting flood wave of emotions was held back by a concrete wall of fierce determination locking around your heart as you reached the foot of the steps leading up to the trailer, the rip running straight through the Munsons’ living room – but there was no time to look for an alternate shelter. It would have to make do.

You raced past Steve, holding Eddie’s lifeless form, with Nancy at your heels as you burst through the trailer’s door, a wide-eyed Dustin greeting you inside.

“What the fuck happened?! Erica said Max died and came back and then Eddie cut the fucking rope and Max is alive again –“

“Mattress!”, you shouted, pushing the boy aside as you and Nancy gripped one half of Eddie’s mattress, sliced through clean by the rip running through the length of the Munson trailer, the edge still smoldering, but it was better than nothing.

“We gotta call an ambulance,” Steve began, dragging Eddie inside, but Nancy cut him off.

“They won’t be here in time. It’s chaos outside. We need to stop the bleeding now.”

“HERE!”, you commanded at Steve, before your gaze met Nancy’s, her blue eyes calm and collected, grounding you, before you announced, “Robin, get us all the clean towels you can find. Bathroom. In the drawer beneath the sink. Now!”

The vehemence in your voice seemed to work to tear Robin out of her shellshocked daze as her wide blue eyes left Eddie’s slumped form to lock on yours before she gave a dazed nod and vanished down the little hallway, careful not to fall through the freshly torn ground. The gate. Not a rip, but a massive gate not even El would be able to close again.

But that was a problem for another day.

Eddie’s choked cry of agony when Steve dragged him onto the mattress on the ground was tearing you apart as you fell to your knees beside him, your hand finding his, fingers intertwining.

Eddie’s skin was cold. So, so cold.

And his eyes were crazed with agony.

He wouldn’t make it through the torment of all those horrid wounds being patched up, you realized, if you didn’t find a way to sedate him.

“Towels!”, Robin shouted, her return only registering at the edge of your perception as your mind was racing, going a mile a minute – and then it clicked.

“Special K,” you breathed, head snapping up to meet Nancy’s gaze.

“Drugs?!” Robin blurted, dumping the stack of towels at the foot of the mattress, beside Eddie, “I don’t think that’s a good –“

“In one of his drawers,” you cut her off, eyes still on Nancy’s.

“What does it look like?”

“I – I don’t know,” you breathed. “Just…just look.”

Nancy raced away towards his room as you untangled your hand from Eddie’s.

“I’m going to undress you now, okay?”, you said softly, your hands clasping the hem of his Hellfire shirt, sodden with blood.

You couldn’t tell whether Eddie had even understood your words.

You clenched your jaw and ripped at the shirt, careful to keep the fabric away from Eddie’s wounds as best as you could as his weak cry filled the space, mingling with the sound of the material tearing beneath your grip, ripped open in the middle like the ground beneath Hawkins.

Nausea gripped your guts and fresh tears forced their way into your eyes as you took in the damage beneath.

“Holy fuck,” Steve’s queasy inhale filled the shellshocked silence.

Eddie’s chest was torn. His skin had been ripped off by dozens of needle-sharp teeth and talons.

And the blood…

You’d never seen so much blood in your life.

Eddie’s frail cries of agony had muted to shallow, ragged breaths.

It was not a good sign.

Panic clawing its way up your throat, your eyes fell on Dustin.

He was frozen in his place beside the front door, his blue eyes wide with shock, so uncharacteristically muted as he stared down at Eddie, at the torn skin and blood soaking the mattress around him.

“Steve,” you commanded, “Get Dustin out of here.”

Steve’s eyes were just as wide as the boy’s, frozen in his own shock and horror at the sight of Eddie’s wounds.

It dawned on you that in all the time fighting monsters alongside these people, this weird little found family…you’d never been much of a fighter.

Nancy and Steve, El and Max and Lucas…those were the fighters, the warriors.

But there couldn’t only be warriors. There had to be healers, too.

Those who mended the wounds from the battle field, who waited with open arms and calming words at the sidelines, who took charge to defend and mend.

Eddie was a healer.

And so were you, you realized, a strange sense of calmness freezing you over, a reflex you didn’t know you’d possessed locking up all the panic because with Eddie’s life in the balance, there was no time left to squander.

“No, no I want to stay –“

“STEVE! GET HIM OUT NOW!”

Your voice rattled Steve out of his own shock as he whirled around to grab Dustin’s arm –

As the front door of the trailer was slammed open.

You’d grabbed the shotgun from Nancy’s discarded backpack before any of the others could react, the sawed-off barrel aimed at the door before you’d even fully jumped back to your feet as your eyes met those of the intruders.

A woman and three men, all of them clad in dark suits, freezing in their spots at the sight of your weapon.

“Out,” you hissed. “Now.”

“We’re here for Eddie Munson,” the woman said. If she was scared, she covered it up like a true professional.

“Yeah, I know. You’re not getting him. He’s innocent.”

“We know that,” the woman replied calmly, unfazed by the blood coating your hands all the way up to your elbows, staining your clothes. “We’re here to help.”

“Yeah, sure.” The resounding click as you cocked the gun sounded too loud even in your own ears. “Go away.”

The woman slowly raised her hands in a gesture of surrender as her gaze flitted down to Eddie. “We’re here because Dr. Owens sent us to help.”

“Dr. �� Dr. Owens?”, Dustin began.

“How does Dr. Owens –“

“Can you help him?”, you cut them all off, despair forging your words. “CAN YOU HELP HIM?!”

“We can,” the woman replied, “If you let us.”

There was no time to check whether these people were actually working for Owens, whether they were friends or enemies.

Eddie’s time was running out. And it was running out fast.

You opened your hands.

And the shotgun thudded to the carpet.

***

You stayed.

When Steve shepherded Dustin out of the destroyed Munson trailer and Nancy followed the woman, Dr. Owens’ agent, into Eddie’s room to tell her what had happened, the men in suits – doctors, it turned out – started staunching the flow of blood from Eddie’s wounds, you stayed.

They told you to leave, but you ignored them.

Attentive like a hawk, hackles raised and adrenaline sharpening every speck of light in your eyes, every whisper of sound in your ears as your heart raced, you stayed, Eddie’s head resting in your lap while you watched the doctors.

“What are you giving him?”, you breathed, eyes focused on the syringe one of them had pulled out of the bags they’d brought with them. Medical kits.

“A sedative.”

You couldn’t remember whether they had told you their names.

You didn’t care.

All you wanted was for them to save Eddie. Save the love of your life.

With the nod at the clear liquid inside the syringe, the needle glinting in the dim light – when had the lights went on again in the trailer? Had they ever been out in the first place, or had the darkness simply been the panic, the all-consuming despair in your chest? – you settled at the edge of the mattress, your gaze already on Eddie.

His eyes were open, tears catching in his lashes and running down the sides of his face and mingling with the blood still spilling from the bite wound in his cheek.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m right here, okay? You’ll be okay again. I promise you’ll be fine.”

His lips parted – for another agonized cry or a reply, you couldn’t tell – but there was no sound.

“I know,” you said softly, biting back a sob of your own, “I know it hurts. But it’ll stop now, and when you wake up again, I’ll be right here.” Maybe your words would burrow their way through the daze of agony and reach him. You shuffled closer, your trembling hands gently lifting Eddie’s head to place him on your lap, your hands brushing a few blood-crusted curls away from his forehead.

“I promise I’ll be right here when you wake up, Eddie.”

And I promise that you’ll wake up again.

The liquid inside the syringe found its way into Eddie’s bloodstream.

Whatever it was, it was fast.

You could see it cloud Eddie’s eyes, the way he seemed to try and fight the leaden heaviness of his eyelids, the sudden darkness creeping in at the edge of his senses, and with a soft croon, you caressed his uninjured cheek. “It’s okay, Eddie. You’re safe. Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

A tiny spark amidst the glassy haze spreading in his gaze told you he’d understood your words.

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut.

The doctors didn’t ask you to leave. It was evident that you wouldn’t.

With your fingers gently combing through his soft curls in the hopes that the tender touch would seep through the peaceful darkness of the sedative in Eddie’s bloodstream, hoping it would reach him and let him know he wasn’t alone, you stayed.

[Monday, March 31st, 1986. NOW.]

When Eddie had been a kid, he’d made a kite all by himself.

Not one of those boring diamond-shaped ones, but one that had looked like a dragon.

He’d painted the fabric of its wings himself, shimmering scales in all shades of green. It had taken him two weeks until the dragon had actually been ready to conquer the wind.

He felt a little like that kite now; ripped away by the storm, the only tether holding him from being carried away the soft tune of a voice.

Your voice.

It pierced the darkness shrouding him, capturing his senses, the words strangely familiar as they painted pictures of rolling green hills, of dragons and adventures into his mind like brushstrokes forming a colorful landscape on a canvas.

***

“’If preciouss asks, and it doesn’t answer, we eats it, my preciouss. If it asks us, and we doesn’t answer, then we does what it wants, eh? We shows it the way out, yes’”, you read aloud from the book in your hand as your other carded gently through Eddie’s dark curls fanned out around his head on the pillow, “’Alright’, said Bilbo, not daring to disagree, and nearly bursting his brain to think of riddles that could save him from being eaten. Thirty white horses on a red hill, first they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still. That was all he could think of to ask – the idea of eating was rather on his mind. It was rather an old one, too, and Gollum knew the answer as well as you do.”

You paused, eyes flitting away from the pages of the copy of The Hobbit Dustin had brought yesterday, to glance down at Eddie.

Three days had passed since that night. Eddie had yet to wake up from his sleep.

The doctors had assured you it was normal, that he’d wake up as soon as his body had regenerated enough.

Beneath the blanket you’d tucked up to his chin to keep him warm, you could see the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, his breathing calm and even in his sleep.

In between visits from the rest of the party – Steve and Dustin, Nancy and Robin who’d been busy volunteering at the Hawkins High cafeteria which had been transformed into a temporary shelter for those who’d lost their homes to the four rips which had opened up in the ground, crossing right at the library at the heart of Hawkins, and the Byers and Hopper, miraculously alive, back from California – you hadn’t left Eddie’s side. You’d spent hours and hours those past three days just watching him breathe.

Scared that, should you tear your gaze away from him, he’d just…stop. Stop breathing, the tune of his heartbeat going silent again. Forever, this time.

It would stay this way, you figured, checking that he was still breathing, his heart still beating against your palm, making sure that Eddie was still here.

His pale features were calm, not a single flutter of his closed eyelids breaking the serenity, his lashes long and dark as they rested against his cheeks.

Whatever kind of sleep had been holding him ever since Owens’s people had brought him here, to El and Hopper’s cabin…it was a dreamless one, at least, void of nightmares.

It was better, you figured, if he slept through those first days of healing, anyways. They’d left painkillers behind, but you didn’t know whether there was any kind of painkiller strong enough to numb the pain of those wounds.

You’d washed the blood from Eddie’s skin as best as you could with a bowl of soapy water and a washcloth, and every morning and every night you cleaned his wounds and switched the bandages just like Dr. Owens’s doctors had shown you, with Joyce’s calm assistance.

Joyce Byers had taken one look at Eddie and shifted into protective-mom mode, and you loved her all the more for it.

While you watched Eddie now, you could hear them rummage beyond the closed door of El’s former bedroom as Hopper, El, Nancy and the Byers were busy repairing the cabin’s roof, the damage the Mind Flayer – Vecna – had done on the little home last summer.

Hopper. Max. Eddie.

Three people who’d conquered death and returned – two of them quite literally, even.

Maybe the odds were in your favor after all.

With your fingers still slowly carding through Eddie’s curls, you watched him a little longer.

The bruises Jason and his friends had given him at the boathouse only days ago had started to fade, replaced by those Jason had added to his face in the Upside Down, blooming underneath the pale skin of Eddie’s jaw like dark flowers.

His face was nearly as white as the gauze covering his left cheek, where the bats had torn open the skin, more bandages covering the side of his throat, his entire upper body beneath the faded blanket you’d spread over his naked body to shield him from the cold.

There would be scars. On his skin, and on his soul.

But you’d be there every step of the way, helping him heal, helping him let those scars fade over time just like he’d done with yours.

You gently brushed a few stray curls of his bangs away from his forehead. No matter how many hours you’d already spent trying to brush the dried blood out of his dark curls as best as you could, it clung to the strands, another horrid reminder of that night in the Upside Down.

Suppressing your fresh tears, you grabbed the book from where you’d placed it on the mattress beside you, your other hand still gently combing through Eddie’s curls.

There was the soft clatter of plates from the cabin’s tiny kitchen, the sounds of voices muffled through the closed door.

Swallowing against the lump in your throat, you resumed to reading to Eddie.

Maybe your words would find their way to him, through the unconsciousness holding him firmly in its grasp for now.

“Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, mouthless mutters. ‘Half a moment!’, cried Bilbo, who was still thinking uncomfortably about eating. Fortunately, he had once heard something rather like this before, and getting his wits back he thought of the answer. ‘Wind. Wind, of course’, he said, and –“

A tiny movement in the periphery of your vision drew your gaze away from the page. To Eddie.

Just as his eyes fluttered open.

For a breathless moment as his umber gaze – filled with life, the spark back within – met yours, you were frozen in place.

Then, with a muted sob, the dam you’d built over those past three days broke to open the floodgates. The tide of terror and loss, of hope, love and relief broke over you as you squeezed your eyes shut, a deep, trembling inhale not enough to keep the tears from spilling any longer.

With a choked sob, the book falling from your hand and thudding to the wooden floorboards, you barely stopped yourself from falling into his arms and accidentally ripping open the wounds.

Instead, you gently inched closer, hand untangling from his curls and lacing with his on the blanket.

He blinked up at you, the sight of his beautiful umber eyes meeting yours making it hard for you not to break down sobbing with relief at the expression of love and devotion shining within them. The life.

“Monster slayer,” he whispered. His voice was raspy from staying unused for so many days. Or maybe from his screams of agony which still rang through your mind when all else was quiet.

Choked by your tears, you raised his hand in yours to place a kiss on his knuckles, his skin so beautifully warm, but the fear to hurt him and the almost physically painful desire to take him into your arms warring in your chest as you whispered, “How are you feeling?”

“Fucked.” There was a weak smirk on his lips as he blinked. “‘n wrapped up in bubble wrap.”

The frail little smirk disappeared from his face as another thought dawned on him, making room for a frown as he whispered, “Max – my uncle…?”

“Live.” You felt the tears streaming down your face. Of relief. So, so much relief, all-encompassing. Because Eddie, your songbird, was alive, and so was Max. “Wayne is fine. And Max is at the hospital. Her bones…are broken. But she’ll heal. She’ll…she’ll be okay again. Lucas is with her, and Erica and El and the rest of the party. And Wayne knows you’re alive. We couldn’t risk bringing him here, because…you know. People tend to get sucked into the monster-hunting-shit pretty quickly but…he knows, and he’s fine. He loves you so much.”

For a moment, Eddie squeezed his eyes shut as he gave a frail nod of relief, a trembling exhale for the breath he’d been holding while the first stray tear rolled down his cheek.

“You saved her, Eddie. You saved Max and El. El told me. You distracted him from the girls.”

“I tried to kill him,” Eddie rasped. “From within. So he couldn’t hurt you again. But I remember that I failed and the rest is…the rest is blurry. You were there, and then we were back in that place and it hurt, it hurt so fucking much –“ His voice broke at the memories, arms rising to bury his face in his hands before, with a pained flinch, he let them sink again.

“I made a deal.” Your voice was quiet, even. “With Vecna.”

“I know. I…I remember. That place…” Eddie’s voice was strangled as the images flitted back to him, and you squeezed his hand, combatting your own memories. Of Eddie, limp and broken as he dangled in the chokehold of Vecna’s vines. “You gave it back.”

“I did,” you said quietly.

“Did it hurt?” It was so soft-spoken, the question catching you by surprise.

“What?”

“When you gave it back.”

“You’re the one who died, Eddie,” you breathed incredulously.

“Didn’t answer my question.”

“It did, but…it’s gone. Just gone now.” You took a trembling breath. “I could have killed him, Eddie. I had him right there, and I could have done it. But…but I didn’t care. About anything else but saving you. And I’d do it all over again. I’d always choose you, a million times over. And I don’t care one bit about the rest of the world. And now Hawkins has fallen, the ground is open and the barrier between worlds is down. It’s snowing, but it’s not snow, Eddie. It’s not snow. It’s this place, bleeding into our homes. But I don’t regret anything. I never will. I got you back and I don’t care at what cost and I’d pay it again.”

And this time, I don’t care what kind of person that makes me. A bad one, or just a desperate one.

It were the same words you’d used when you’d told the rest of the party about the choice you’d made.

They’d understood. All of them.

And of all of them, it had been Hopper who’d spoken first.

“That’s not bad. That’s love. And if we didn’t have that, what the fuck would there even be worth fighting for?”

“Well, uh,” Eddie rasped, his lips tucking into the softest of smiles as he turned his head a little on the pillow to face you, “I’d sure as Hell have made the same choice if it had been you. Not a single second of hesitation. Not one second, you hear me?”

More tears streaming down your face, you shifted in your chair, shuffling closer until you could gently rest your forehead on Eddie’s, his umber eyes never straying from you as, on a choked sob, you whispered, “Next time when I tell you to stay put, Eddie Munson…you stay put. Because I will drag your ass back from whatever afterlife-situation you managed to get yourself into and I’ll be goddamn furious.”

“I promise I’ll let you hold that against me for the rest of our life,” Eddie chuckled softly, his breath warm as it ghosted across your lips, inches from his.

For the rest of our life.

The most beautiful truth.

An entire lifetime ahead.

When your lips brushed his, the touch as light as a feather, too scared to somehow hurt him with his wounds barely having started to heal, it felt like the first saving intake of breath after nearly drowning in a freezing lake. It was, in a way. That’s what Eddie was.

The sun to light your day, the moon to illuminate your night, the stars to guide you through the dark. And the air you breathed.

Where your own kiss was cautious, carefully holding back not to hurt him, Eddie’s was fierce as if he couldn’t believe this was real yet, as if he feared that you’d be gone any second and he’d be back in that dark, dark place filled with its unspeakable horrors.

And with each slow kiss, tasting of the salt of both your tears mingling on your lips, each soft sigh spilling from Eddie, each move of his lips as his hand laced with yours on the bedsheets beside him, you could feel all the broken shards of your heart coming together, put back in their places and mended together until you were whole again.

Until that night, these ten minutes in which you’d been forced to live in a world where there was no Eddie Munson, faded into a distant memory, like the images of a nightmare already fading away beneath the morning sun.

Eddie raised his hand to cradle your cheek –

“FUCK!” It was a strangled, pained outcry, making you jump back in your chair as he hissed, “Goddamnit –“

“Don’t move,” you winced, your hands coming up to grasp his, “Don’t move, okay?”

“Yeah, noticed that,” Eddie pressed through gritted teeth. You could see the pain beneath the tough exterior he was putting up.

For a heartbeat, you stayed like this. Hands intertwined on the bedsheets, Eddie’s eyes momentarily squeezed shut and his fingers squeezing yours as he waited for the tidal wave of pain to ebb which had seized him upon the movement, his sharp breaths slowly growing more even as it subsided.

When his umber eyes fluttered open again, he whispered, “How bad?”

Instead of a reply, you slowly reached out to gently pull the blanket downwards to his hips so he could see for himself.

For a moment, Eddie fell uncharacteristically quiet as he glanced down, taking in the gauze wrapped all around his upper body, parts of his thighs.

Then, “Jesus Christ. I always made fun of people dressing up as mummies for Halloween. Uh. By the way. Whose…um, whose bed is it I’m so casually lounging in naked?”

“El’s,” you said as you gently pulled the bedsheets up to cover him again, careful not to brush against the gauze on the side of his neck as you tucked the fabric under his chin to keep him warm. “This is her and Hopper’s cabin.”

Eddie’s eyes widened.

“You and Max aren’t the only ones who conquered death.”

“And here I was thinking I’m special,” Eddie quipped, drawing a soft giggle from you.

“You’re the specialest,” you reassured with a soft grin.

“You just say that ‘cause you think I’m pretty.”

The laughter was already bubbling up your throat, but it was choked by more tears spilling from your eyes as you let your forehead gently fall against Eddie’s.

“Fuck,” you choked, “I thought we’d never have this again. I thought I’d never hear your voice again. See your smile. I…Eddie you can’t do that again.” Your words were fusing into quiet sobs, ripping out of you in waves too strong to suppress them any longer, “Promise. Promise you won’t leave again. Promise –“

“Hey,” Eddie breathed, shushing you as slowly, gently, one of his hands settled on the side of your face. Your tears were seeping into the bandage wrapped around his palm, covering the deep gash where he had caught the blade of Jason’s knife. “Ssssh, I’m here, monster slayer,” he rasped, “I’m here. You’re not gonna lose me again, ‘kay? I still got your ribbon, remember? Can’t lose me. That thing’s magic.”

You sniffled, wiping at your tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, before you breathed, “Okay, I’m…I’m calm. I got it. You really need to drink something. And eat. I think Joyce said she wanted to make some chicken soup for later. Come on, I’ll help you sit up.”

You moved to help Eddie sit up, stuffing the pillow behind his back for support, and your heart ached at the sight of the pained flinch contorting his still bruised features, his face growing even paler with the exertion of the small movement, cold sweat beading on his forehead and making the dark curls of his bangs stick to his skin.

“You’ll heal,” you breathed, gently squeezing his hands. “The doctors said it will take a few weeks but you’ll heal and I’ll be with you all the way. And for now…” You let go of him to pick up one of the Yoo-Hoo bottles you’d placed on the ground beside the bed, waving it in your hand with a budding smile, “You-hoo need to drink something. Come on, I’ll help you sit up, okay?”

As you moved to unscrew the bottle’s lid, the door to El’s room creaked open, a pair of warm brown eyes widening at the sight of Eddie sitting in bed, more or less upright and awake.

“Oh!”

You jumped up from your chair to help Joyce with the tray she was balancing in her hands, a steaming bowl on it already spreading the savory scent of broth through the room.

“Hi.” Eddie gave her an awkward smile. “Uh. I’m Eddie. Sorry for occupying the bed.”

“No worries, honey,” Joyce smiled, letting you take the tray from her hands to set it down at the end of the bed.

“This is Joyce Byers,” you said, and Eddie’s face lit up.

“The Christmas-Lights-Lady who’s never been wrong.”

Joyce gave you a smirk. “I like him already.”

With a glance at Eddie, she said, “You need to eat. I’ll bring you two a second portion of broth and –“

“It’s fine,” you said, sitting down in the chair beside the bed, “He can have mine. I’ll help myself later.”

With a nod and another smile at Eddie, Joyce pulled the door shut behind her.

“She’s tiny,” Eddie commented. “And I’m still pretty sure she’d win every fist fight she joined.”

You laughed. “That’s about the most accurate description of Joyce Byers I’ve ever heard.”

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but he stilled as the door creaked open for a second time, his eyes widening, and you followed his stare to the looming figure in the doorway.

“Joyce sent me with more soup.”

“It’s broth,” Joyce’s voice sounded from somewhere in the background.

“Same thing,” Hopper murmured, raising the steaming bowl. It looked tiny in his hands, like the dishes on a fairy’s tea table.

“Munson.”

Eddie seemed to sink a little deeper into the pillows behind him. “Chief.”

“Wait –“ you gaped, “You know each other?!”

Hopper chuckled. “Had a few run-ins in the past. Callahan got his ass for underage drinking three years ago –“

“One beer,” Eddie said, “It was one beer.”

“ – and while our Munson Junior here was waiting for his uncle to get from his night shift to pick him up at the police station, a good pound of bagged weed flooded from the boy’s clothes all over the goddamn floor.”

“The start of a wonderful friendship,” Eddie quipped with a smirk, and you laughed.

“No way.”

“And it was good weed at that,” Hopper grinned, and Eddie’s smirk made room for an incredulous grin.

“You kept the fucking weed?”

“Confiscated,” Hopper corrected with a mischievous drawl, “I confiscated it.”

The chief placed the bowl in your hands.

“Alright. ‘M gonna leave you to it.”

With a nod, he left.

When the door clicked shut, you let out another disbelieving laugh. “You need to tell me everything about that encounter.”

“He never filed a report,” Eddie said. “Not once. He’s a good one.”

“Don’t let him hear that,” you winked, before you placed the bowl of broth on the night stand. “Okay, Joyce is right, you need to eat. I’ll –“ You cut yourself off at the sight of Eddie’s pained flinch. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh. I gotta pee first.” He winced a little as he mumbled the words, and your heart squeezed in your chest.

You knew Eddie hated it to ask for help.

He’d always hated it to ask whether you could proof-read his assignments, hated it to need help with anything, no atter how much he loved helping others.

“You wanna try and go to the bathroom?”, you said softly as you rose from your chair. “I’ll help you. We just need to get you some underwear on first.”

Eddie gnawed his lip. “You…you’re sure? Like…you won’t find me less, uh. Hot, or stuff?”

You suppressed a soft laugh at the way he was staring at you with those beautiful umber puppy dog eyes.

“Eddie,” you said softly, “I’ve been washing you and changing your bandages every day. I was there when they…when they patched you up, all the way. We went to literal hell and back together. I think we’re both past the point where it’s weird to accompany each other to pee. Besides,” you quipped, giving him a grin to loosen some of his tension, “It’s either me who’s helping…or Hopper.”

“You’ve washed me?”

You swallowed at the memory of bowl after bowl of soapy water turning crimson, then pink, then finally clear as you’d washed the dried blood from Eddie’s skin. “How did you think the blood disappeared?”

“That explains the flowery smell.”

“I’ve never met a person in my life who’s so ready to always help others yet absolutely despises to receive help themselves, you know.”

“I don’t despise receiving help,” Eddie corrected with a mumble, “I despise needing help. Especially if that entails my girlfriend needing to help me pee.”

“Then look at it this way”, you whispered, “You’ve been there. All the way, helping me through the darkest time of my entire life. Every step. That’s the beautiful thing of being together. You don’t have to do things on your own anymore. And neither do I. So after everything you’ve done for me…please let me do this for you. Let me help you until you can do these things yourself again in a few weeks. And –“ you gave him a sultry smile, “There’s nothing that could ever make you less hot for me, anyways.”

***

You couldn’t tell what had roused you from your slumber, slumped in the chair, your feet resting on the foot of the mattress of El’s bed right beside Eddie’s.

A strange sense of foreboding perhaps, the way birds took to the skies before an earthquake or cats hid before a storm when the sky was still clear. An intuition sprouted from being connected to another person as deeply as you were to Eddie, heart and soul.

As you blinked against the pale moonlight seeping through the window to cast the little room into a silver glow, your hackles were raised even before the remnants of sleep had left your bleary eyes and dazed mind.

Eddie was still tucked in beneath the blankets, the rise and fall of his chest making relief bloom in your heart once again – but it was short-lived, this time. Because his breathing wasn’t even. It was shallow and ragged.

And his features weren’t schooled into the serene mask of peaceful sleep.

His brow was furrowed, and tears were rushing down his face, soaking the gauze patch on his left cheek and dripping into the dark curls fanned out around his head, like spilt ink in the silver moonlight.

He looked as if he were in pain.

Just as you moved out of your chair to sit on the mattress and rouse him from whatever nightmare was plaguing him, a frail, agonized whimper ripped from him to fill the silence of the moonlit bedroom, peaceful no longer.

“Eddie,” you whispered, your hands gently settling on his shoulders, careful not to startle him. “Eddie, hey. Wake up. Wake up, Eddie.”

Just as panic clawed its way up your throat, Eddie’s string of whimpers was broken by a sharp intake of breath as his eyes flew open.

You could see the panic brimming within like fish in a pond.

“It’s okay,” you whispered softly, taking his hands in yours on the sheets, “You’re okay. I’m here. Right here. You’re save, see?”

In the dim silver light, you could see the exact moment in which the nightmare’s talons which had been holding his mind hostage started to loosen as he recognized you.

But his tears didn’t stop spilling.

A strangled sob ripped from him, so horribly pained and helpless, making your heart bleed for him when you shuffled closer, cuddling up at the edge of the mattress beside him. Gently, ever so gently not to rip open his healing wounds in the process, you pulled him against you until the side of his face rested against your collarbone, his quiet, heart-wrenching sobs spilled against you.

You stayed like this, with Eddie next to your own heartbeat right where he belonged as you held him, the moonlight and the silence filling with his muffled sobs the only company.

“It’s okay,” you cooed softly, “I got you. It was a dream.”

Your fingertips carded through his dark curls in soothing motions, brushing them away from Eddie’s tear-stained cheeks while his tears soaked the fabric of your shirt.

“They were…they were back,” Eddie choked, “The bats. They got me and then they…they got you.”

“They’ll never get you again.”

“How do you know? He’s out there. He’s still out there.”

You were at a loss. “Because…because he’s hurt. And weakened. And we nearly had him. Next time, we’ll be wiser. Next time we’ll have El and Hopper and the entire Byers family and you haven’t seen Joyce with an axe yet and El got her full powers back. Next time, we’ll get him. And we’ll make sure he won’t get up again. But for now, we’re safe. And I got you.”

“Will it stop?”, Eddie breathed. “The dreams.”

You bit your lip, pulling him a little closer. “One day.”

“How did you do it?”, Eddie whispered. It sounded pleading. “How did you get through them?”

“At first, I didn’t.” You swallowed. “And then I met you. You found me. And you made them go away. You made them fade away, Eddie. And now I’m going to do the same thing for you.”

You placed the gentlest of kisses on the crown of Eddie’s head, stray curls tickling your lips, running your hands through his hair until the tension had left his body and the ears had dried on his cheeks, until the soft susurrations of his even breaths were weaving with the beams of moonlight once more.

“I promise I’ll make them stop,” you whispered into his curls.

And you did.

Like a dragon guarding its gold, you watched over Eddie’s sleep, beside him in bed with your back resting against the headboard and your eyes flying over the pages of a book illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window.

Every night, when his breathing grew shallow and ragged, you roused him from his sleep, already holding him close before the first tears started falling, letting him sob as he buried his face in the crook of your neck while your fingers gently carded through his curls, or painted soothing patterns on his back as he drifted back to sleep.

His wounds started to heal, his skin mending as night for night, the nightmares took longer to get him, their intensity fading.

There would be scars.

You knew that better than anyone.

The memories of Vecna’s collection of horrors, his crimson lair and the army of bats, the agony of being torn apart by hundreds of razorblade-claws and needle-teeth…they would fade over time, little by little, growing paler and paler like the colors of a polaroid picture left in the sun, until the pain would be numbed to a faint sting flaring up only occasionally.

It would take time, of course.

But time was what you had.

After a few weeks, Eddie was able to leave the bed for longer than the obligatory ten-minute shower.

He was still a wanted man. The Hawkins PD, back under Hopper’s orders, was busy in the aftermath of “the earthquake”, trying to find those who’d gone missing.

Hawkins stayed destroyed.

Finals had been postponed to the summer, the school’s gym and cafeteria turned into a makeshift shelter for those who’d lost their homes to the four clean rips which had torn the town apart.

You’d been to the cafeteria for a few hours to help Robin and Steve as they sorted clothes – but beneath the pity for all those poor souls who’d lost their homes, their friends and family, there was resentment simmering beneath the surface. Hawkins was small, and you recognized most of these people from the townhall meeting, staring at you with barely concealed curiosity and – in most cases – disdain. Because you’d told them a truth they still didn’t want to hear. Because you’d spoken up against Jason and his lies, taken Eddie’s side when they’d been shouting for vengeance.

He was ready to die, you wanted to scream at them, shake them, he was ready to die for this fucking hateful small-minded town and you will never accept that he’s a hero because you don’t want a hero who has long hair and ripped clothes and tattoos and plays D&D.

Some of them refused to take your help, even.

You couldn’t have cared less.

Safe to say, you never went back there – and none of your friends asked you to.

You all knew that there would never be a way to clear Eddie’s name – because people didn’t want it cleared. They needed their monster, and they needed it to be visible, someone they could point their finger at and say, See, I told you that boy was a bad apple.

There were things not even Chief Jim Hopper had enough power to change. So Eddie stayed hidden at the cabin in the woods, his five-minute-walks around the little wooden structure alongside you growing longer and longer until the two of you were venturing deeper into the woods, careful not to be caught.

Sometimes, El or Dustin accompanied the two of you.

Sometimes, you were alone, eager to make use of the solitude the woods granted the two of you when the sun was setting and your kisses grew heated, Eddie’s hands wandering beneath the hem of your summer dress – but never farther. You didn’t dare go further, still scared to hurt him, cause his still healing wounds to rip open again.

April blurred into May.

The ground stayed open, columns of smoke rising into the skies on some days. Flakes of white sailing through the air on others. Ashes, the officials and news said – but you all knew what they were.

But there were no monsters. No strange disappearances or mutilated bodies found, no sign that Vecna was still alive.

You knew he was, though, and so did Will, vigilant and jumpy most of the time, always a hand on his neck and a quick glance cast over his shoulders wherever he went.

For now, though, Vecna was gone. Rallying his strength and forces for one final blow. You managed to push the thought away on most days, store it in the trunk with all the bad memories and thoughts, at the bottom of your heart. The only thing that mattered was Eddie, breathing and smiling and laughing again, right beside you.

Spring flowers wilted as meadows of wildflowers started blooming all around. Fields of scarlet poppy dotting the landscape at the edge of the woods, forget-me-nots blooming at the edge of the path leading to Hopper’s cabin. You knew they remembered Eddie of that night, as much as they did you.

One day, teeth gritted as tears of hatred blurred your view, making the eerie blue color swim as your nails dug into the earth to rip them out one by one. It felt good.

“You’d make a very pretty, very aggressive gardener,” Eddie had commented as you’d righted yourself, a little sweaty in the late-spring warmth lacing the air even in the shade of the woods.

And each night, you rested beside Eddie, heartbeat against heartbeat.

Each night before you switched off the lights, you let your fingertips brush over the vibrant green silk still tied around Eddie’s wrist, whispering a silent thank you. For bringing him to you, and back again and again, like the thread pulling your lover out of the Minotaur’s Labyrinth.

It was a warm day in early June when the lady in the dark suit appeared on the front porch of Hopper’s cabin, her gaunt features stern and dark eyes locked on Eddie and you, sitting on the steps to enjoy the warmth of the day, before she handed him an envelope.

You already knew what was inside even before Eddie had opened it, his rings glinting in a beam of waning afternoon sunlight.

It was a fake ID.

“Harold?” Eddie scrunched his nose before squinting up at the agent. “Like, come on. You’re the government. You could’ve picked every imaginable name and what you came up with is Harold?”

“Let me see,” you snickered as you grabbed the ID, letting out a snort. “They picked this photo and you worry about them giving you the fake name Harold?”

“You know how to cheer me up,” Eddie scoffed good-naturedly, taking back the document to scrutinize the picture.

There had been some rather heated discussions with Hopper about cutting Eddie’s hair to “not stick out like a flamingo in a flock of penguins”, as Hopper had called it – but there had been something in Eddie’s eyes when he had protested, something that had raised your hackles – but Hopper had seen it, too, and he’d backpedaled faster than you’d even jumped up from the sofa to take Eddie’s side.

And you’d all agreed that pretty much everyone would suspect a person on the run to change looks, especially someone who stood out as much as Eddie did – and thus, he could be hiding in plain sight.

On the run.

It was so wrong that he needed to run, after having stayed to fight for this fucking town.

You pushed the thought away. It was of no help right now.

And as long as Eddie lived, things would be okay. Were okay.

Not a muscle in the agent’s face twitched as she announced, “You’ve got ten minutes to pack your bags and say your good-byes, Mr. Munson. I’ll be waiting by the car.”

“Now?”, you blurted, rising from your place on the steps, “But his wounds aren’t even fully healed –“

“With every second Mr. Munson spends in this town,” the agent interrupted you, her expression growing even sterner, “He is at risk to be spotted. This town is neither forgetting nor forgiving. And if the angry townsfolk show up here, there is nothing Chief Hopper or the government can do to tame their ire.” She paused, her expression softening a little at the edges. “For now, this is all we can do.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, suppressing a pained wince as he slowly rose from the steps. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet during the exchange.

With a curt nod, the agent turned to vanish between the trees again, her high-heels making a crunching noise on the carpet of dried leaves covering the forest floor as her steps faded away.

You’d known this day would come, that Eddie would have to go into hiding until Owens’ agents would be able to clear his name. However long that might take.

“Okay,” you sighed, “Let’s go and pack. I mean, Wayne already salvaged whatever it was that could be salvaged from your stuff, and I don’t actually need that much, though I might have to stop over to grab a few of my things and…and tell my good-byes for now. I mean, we’ll be back at some point but –“

“Monster slayer –“

“But,” you grinned, “This means we’ll actually get to the beach way sooner than we thought. I was thinking…California’s nice this time of year. A little hot but I think I’d prefer it over Florida and its alligators –“

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name, soft on Eddie’s voice, a strange gravity laced within, made you halt.

Deep, dark sadness clouded Eddie’s umber gaze as he looked at you, the final beams of light of the warm summer sun painting streaks of caramel into his curls, his posture slumped with the residual pain of defeat and an invisible weight resting on his shoulders.

You knew what he would say even before he began to speak.

It didn’t make the words hurt any less.

“You can’t come with me.”

In the silence that descended upon the two of you, the birdsong floating through the woods, the rustle of leaves in the breeze and wings in the foliage, it was all too loud all of a sudden.

Eddie swallowed. “I can’t let you do this.”

“You can’t?”, you said quietly, swallowing against the lump which was growing in your throat, “Or you don’t…don’t want me to?” Your voice was strained with the weight of the tears you were trying to hold back.

“That’s not what you deserve,” Eddie said quietly. “Life on the run. We have no clue how long it’ll take them to get my name cleared and even then, I’ll never be able to return to this goddamn shithole of a town. They’ll burn me at the stake. We both know it. There will always…there will always be a Jason pitting others against me. And always an Andy and a Chance and a Chad and whatever to chase me. I’ll never be safe here.”

“Nobody will ever be safe here again,” you said quietly, just as a single white particle floated down in front of you, like the flake of ash after a fire. “Nobody.” And it’s exactly what this fucking small-minded god-forsaken town deserves, a bitter little voice chimed up in your mind, for what they did to Eddie.

“For now, you will be. With your friends, your family –“

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered, echoing Eddie’s own words. Spoken only days ago, in the calm before the storm. “You’re my family, Eddie.”

“And you’re mine. Fuck, monster slayer, I’m not doing this to hurt you. But it’s me who’s the wanted murderer, not you, and I can’t drag you into a goddamn life on the run! You – you gotta graduate. You gotta walk that stage for both of us, and snatch that diploma because that fucking piece of paper is your future, and it will open all the doors for you that you want it to. And just ‘cause I don’t have that chance anymore, doesn’t mean I can let you throw yours away, too.” Eddie took a step closer, taking your hands in his. They were warm. Voice fragile, a desperate plea in those beautiful brown eyes, Eddie breathed, “You’re my future. But I can only be yours, too, if you don’t close the doors that scrap of paper will keep open for you.” Eddie’s hands squeezing yours, he leaned in to rest his forehead against yours, breathe in your scent, before he added on a whisper, “They postponed finals to the end of summer. Graduate, monster slayer. Get that diploma.”

“And then what?”, you choked out.

Eddie’s voice was fierce when he said, “Then we’ll find each other, like we always do. And run away together, if…if that’s what you want.”

He slowly raised your joined hands, until the sunlight caught on your green silk ribbon wrapped around his wrist. “We always did. We always will. Even when we’re worlds apart. ‘kay?”

“It’s not fair.” Your voice was nothing more than a choked sob. “It’s not fair. You haven’t done anything wrong. You fought for these people –“

“I fought for you. And Wayne, and Max, and the rest of your friends. Listen,” his voice softened as Eddie gently pulled his hand away from yours to cup your cheek, “This is not good-bye, ‘kay? I promise it’s not. It’s a see ya later.”

“And then we’ll find each other?”

“Three months. Then we’ll find each other.” And with the saddest of smiles, Eddie placed a kiss on your forehead. “This is not good-bye, monster slayer. I promise this isn’t goodbye.”

[Saturday, September 6th, 1986. NOW.]

“I don’t want to.”

“What else are you gonna do? Sit at home, wrapped in your eternal gloom and misery like the unmarried heroine in a period drama?” Robin huffed from behind you. “You’ve been doing that for the past three months.”

“I’ve been studying.”

“And look,” you friend tried, the grin she gave you through the mirror wide, “You’ve even taken a shower!”

“I take regular showers, thank you very much.”

“Bathing in self-pity doesn’t count.”

With a deep sigh, you turned away from the mirror, the hem of the ridiculous prom gown Nancy and Robin had forced you to don tonight swishing around the tops of your knees.

You’d bought the dress with Nancy at Starcourt Mall, on the first day of the summer holidays. Right before everything had gone to hell. Before the Mind Flayer and everything else.

Thinking back to this time, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Not because it had been the last day of things being okay – but because back then, Eddie hadn’t been part of your life. Back then, he’d been a daydream quickly swatted away because he’d been Eddie The Freak. The slacker everyone would have told you to steer clear of.

Wearing this dress now, bought for the final prom, the dance at the end of senior year right before you’d leave the cage that was Hawkins behind…it felt strange. And it felt wrong. Because Eddie was gone again. He would never take you to prom, or see you in that dress, because he was on the run for crimes he hadn’t committed.

And you didn’t know when you would see him again.

“Oh, no, no, no – Nance!”, Robin exclaimed as she carefully dabbed at your cheeks with the sleeve of her blazer, wiping at the tears you hadn’t realized had started to fall again.

“He’s on the run Robin,” you whispered, the words choked by a silent sob.

“So’s your makeup.”

The comment did nothing to soothe your heartache.

“Nancy, we got a situation here!”

When Nancy darted into the room, her own blush-colored dress glittering in the light of the setting sun, she took one look at you and groaned, “It took me half an hour.”

“Didn’t you think of using waterproof makeup?”

Nancy threw Robin a sideways glare that silenced her. “You do the makeup then, next time.”

“I’m sorry,” you said with a quiet sniffle, “Just…go without me. I’m not in the mood.”

It had been Dustin’s idea, to have a private little prom with the party, now that the Byers had returned to Hawkins and Max had been released from the hospital. To celebrate not victory – for there had been no victory, with Vecna still out there and licking his wounds – but survival. Even more in times like these, when the ground was still split open, and ashes – spores – drifted from the skies above Hawkins on most days.

“Go without you,” Nancy echoed, as Robin cocked an eyebrow.

“So you can do what, sit on the ground in that ridiculously sexy prom dress and weep? Hell, no.”

“To pack,” you said.

That had been the plan all along.

Graduate.

Grab the diploma.

Run.

Not away from Hawkins, but back to Eddie. Find him, wherever he might be now.

With a sniffle, you sunk onto the edge of Nancy’s bed.

“I know,” Nancy said quietly, taking your hands in hers as she knelt in front of you. “I know you miss him.”

“It hurts,” you whispered.

It did. A physical pain lodged deep within your chest. As if the thread tying your soul to Eddie’s was being pulled taut over the distance, tugging painfully at your heart with the strain of it.

It wouldn’t tear. You knew it wouldn’t. But it hurt, nonetheless.

“Have you heard anything? Like, a hint or something?”, Robin asked quietly, as she settled on the fuzzy carpet beside Nancy’s bed.

You shook your head.

“He can’t exactly risk a call,” Nancy said.

Robin shrugged. “A postcard, maybe. Without a sender or anything. It would give away his location without giving away it’s from Eddie. But I mean, she’d know.”

“No post card,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how to find him. But…I’ll find him. I always have.”

Robin gave you a soft grin. “Just make sure you don’t run him over with your car again.”

“If you’re gone tomorrow, anyways,” Nancy said, sadness in her dark eyes as she grabbed a Kleenex from the box on her night stand to dab at the tears now drying on your cheeks, “Then you should definitely come tonight. It’s our prom. We don’t know when we’ll see you again. Remember when we bought that dress at the start of last summer?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a faint little smile tugging at your lips as your fingers brushed over the tulle spread around you. It was the deep midnight-blue of a night sky, glittering beautifully in the waning light of another warm summer’s day. It looked like the November night sky underneath which Eddie and you had shared your first kiss.

“If everything had turned out, you know –“ Robin made an awkward little gesture, “Less monster-y, do you think you’d have said yes if Eddie had just, like, walked up to you and invited you to prom?”

The words Eddie had whispered to you on the clearing, right before you’d all went into the Upside Down for what you’d hoped with all your heart would be the final battle, came back to you.

“When this is all over, I’m gonna take you to prom. I mean, if you wanna go, that is. I’d love to be all sappy and cheesy and take you to prom. I’ll give you one of these little flower-bracelets and take you out for dinner first. Or milkshakes. Or both. Gotta treat my girl. Dance with you all night, twirl you around in whatever dress you’ll pick which doesn’t matter ‘cause you could attend in your pajamas and you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“We’d probably create a bit of a commotion.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

“I told you I’d wear my Hellfire shirt proudly. I wasn’t joking, Eddie. When this is over, I can’t wait to show the world that I’m Eddie Munson’s girl. That you’re the one who stole my heart.”

“Not stole,” Eddie had whispered, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, “Won. Stealing means it doesn’t actually belong to you, but winning means it’s been given freely. That it was a choice. So…you’re gonna go to prom with me?”

“Yeah. I think I would have.”

Nancy let out a chuckle. “But…Eddie Munson at prom? In a tux?”

You giggled. “I don’t think he’d have switched the leather jacket for a tux, but he would’ve given me flowers.”

“You’d have caused a hubbub,” Robin giggled. “You two might’ve won the front page of the Tigers Post.”

“Okay,” Nancy interrupted good-naturedly, “Now that that’s settled, I’ll freshen up your makeup and then we’re ready to go.”

“Go where, by the way?”, you wondered, but Nancy only smiled.

“It’s a surprise. You’ll see when you get there.”

***

“When you said surprise location,” you mumbled, glad you’d opted for the sneakers instead of the glittery heels, “I didn’t think we were going for a hike.”

You’d been surprised when Steve, who’d picked you up at the Wheelers’, had parked his car at the side of the dark road running along the edge of the patch of woods behind Hawkins High, before following him, Dustin and Robin into the thicket, not caring if the brambles lining the little dust trail would tear at the glittering fabric of your gown. You felt a little like a fairy tale princess on the run.

“We had to choose somewhere where nobody would notice us breaking curfew,” Dustin huffed from beside you.

Eight-pm-curfew. Another government-installed rule for those who’d opted to stay behind in what was left of Hawkins. As if a curfew would ever be able to stop whatever Vecna would send through the rips in the ground once he’d recovered.

“Yeah, and since you burnt down the boathouse,” Steve chuckled as he threw you a glance over his shoulder, “We thought this was a good alternative location.”

The thing was…the little clearing was Eddie’s and your spot. Your safe haven. And while you loved your friends dearly, having a private little prom at this clearing felt like breaking the sanctity it held for you, painfully reminding you of all the lunchbreaks you’d spend there with Eddie. The almost kiss you’d shared on this clearing, and all those kisses afterwards. It had been on the clearing where Eddie had helped you find peace and control the darkness you’d been so terrified of all the months before. The way he’d made love to on that picnic table, before he’d given you his guitar pick necklace with the promise to always find his way back to you.

“At least it has a picnic table,” Robin mused, and you bit your lip.

“Um. Yeah.”

Steve threw you an appalled glance over his shoulder. “Oh, hell no. Really?!”

“What? What’s happening?”, Dustin chimed in, confused for once, as you shrugged.

“Oh come on,” Steve groaned, raking his hands through his perfect hair. “In the fucking woods?!”

“What did you do?”, Dustin inquired, growing more and more exasperated.

“Nothing.”

“Picnic,” Robin drawled sweetly with the most devious grin you’d ever seen on her freckled features.

You narrowed your eyes at Steve. “I don’t think you’re the one who should be criticizing, Mr. Skull Rock.”

“Ew,” Dustin muttered.

“There.” Steve waved at the boy, who’d scrunched up his nose. “You traumatized the kid.”

“And your dating life has traumatized me, dingus,” Robin announced good-naturedly.

“So, um,” you began, “Nancy and the rest –“

“Are gonna bring the snacks and drinks and music,” Robin interrupted, hooking her arm with yours as she pulled you along.

The sun had sunken below the horizon by now, night creeping in at the edges to tint the sky the deep dark blue of fresh ink on paper, matching the soft fabric of your dress.

Dustin and Steve had started bickering again as they walked in front of you, their voices mingling with the evening sounds of the woods coming alive after another scorching summer’s day, the air cool as it brushed against your bare arms and legs. A beautiful summer night.

But the words were drowned out by your own thoughts already wandering back to the task of finding Eddie.

Wherever he was now.

You’d been caught up so deeply in your own thoughts that you nearly ran into Dustin, who’d stopped right in front of you, an endearing wide grin on his face.

“My lady.”

You gave him a gin in reply. “Sir Henderson.”

“You need a date for prom, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you’re offering?”

The boy’s grin widened, turning weirdly mischievous.

“Close your eyes,” Robin said gently as she let go of your arm.

“Why?”

“Just do what you’re told,” Steve chided good-naturedly, “Just for once.”

“This feels like a very weird Carrie-esque moment,” you said slowly as you complied and shut your eyes, listening to the sounds of wings in the canopy of trees above, the footsteps on the dried leaves covering the ground. “Nancy will kill you if anything happens to my dress or my makeup. Right now, you’d all take well to remember the girl’s hiding a variety of guns in her bedroom.”

There was a shift in the air in front of you, before someone chuckled, “Yeah, I promise I’ll behave.”

At the sound of the voice, so beautifully familiar, a voice you’d missed so much it had hurt, your eyes flew open, a chocked squeal already bubbling from your lips before your gaze met a pair of sparkling umber eyes and the most radiant smile you’d ever seen.

“Hey there, monster slayer. Did ya miss me?”

Your reply was already choked by the happy tears streaming down your face as you threw yourself into Eddie’s arms, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards a step as Eddie’s arms wrapped around you, his intoxicating scent of leather and cologne and the faintest trace of cigarettes, of home, immersing you as you breathed, “You’re here. You’re here. How –“

“Congrats for graduating, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered into your hair before he pulled back, dark eyes scanning you in a beat of overwhelmed silence as he took you in, wonder and disbelief and joy warring on his features.

He looked as beautiful as ever. His mane of dark curls had grown a little in the past three months, the dark brown tinted black in the half-light of the rising moon sending its pale beams through the leaves above, and the wound on his cheek had healed into a slender silver line cutting across his pale skin.

Tears were glittering in his eyes.

Happy tears.

And finally, his lips crashed on yours as he pulled you flush against him, and all the heartbreak and misery of those past three months without him, of worrying and hoping he’d found safety, that he was okay, that his nightmares weren’t plaguing him too much at night and that he knew, even if none of you was allowed to reach out in order to keep him safe, that your heart was with him...all of it faded into the past, scattering like confetti on the ground because Eddie was here, he was back and holding you and kissing you and that was all that would ever matter.

The kiss was passionate but chaste, and you could feel how much willpower it cost Eddie to hold back as long as your friends were still here – a sentiment you shared. And it got harder with every passing second.

“Okay,” you heard Robin chuckle softly in the background, as Eddie pulled away from the kiss, his hands lacing with yours as if he were scared you could fade like mist in the sun if he let go of you, “We’re gonna, um, leave you alone now.”

“Are we?”, Steve muttered. “With the poor picnic table?”

It took so much resolve to even momentarily tear your gaze away from Eddie and throw your friends a glance over your shoulder. Robin, with her cheeky, knowing smirk, Dustin with his wide grin and Steve, looking like an annoyed protective big brother, all of them looking a little funny in their festive attire in the middle of the woods.

“We’ll meet you at El and Hopper’s cabin for our little prom,” Dustin grinned, and with a wink, Robin added, “As soon as you’re…ready.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” Steve muttered as he steered Dustin away from the little clearing, “I need a drink.” With a glance at Eddie, he added, “Don’t bring her back too late.”

And with your friends’ footsteps receding, you turned back to Eddie.

He was watching you, the warmth of a summer’s day shining in his dark eyes as he took you in, adoration and disbelief still warring in the umber depths, as if he still couldn’t believe you were here.

“You look…you look beautiful,” he breathed, voice strained with emotions.

“This is real,” you breathed. “You’re real.”

Eddie tilted his head, the widest grin on his face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “Hell yeah. Told you I’d take you to prom, sweetheart. By the way, I, um…I got something for you.”

His grin turning a little shy, he pulled something out of the pocket of his leather jacket, careful not to crush it in the process.

A wreath of daisies.

“I couldn’t exactly walk into an actual flower shop so I picked these on the way here and did it myself but, uh, that’s what the girl is getting for prom, right?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, the tiny white petals of the daisies blurring beneath your happy tears, “It’s perfect.” The thought of Eddie the metalhead sitting cross-legged in a meadow of wildflowers weaving a wreath of daisies made warmth bubble in your chest like frizzing champagne as your lips curved into a wide smile.

“I’m a man of many talents. Catch me opening up a flower shop in disguise.”

A soft giggle bubbled from your lips as you watched Eddie gently tie the little wreath of daisies around your wrist, the tip of his tongue poking out in that endearing way he probably didn’t even know he was doing when he focused on something. The sight made a sob of relief rip from your throat.

Eddie didn’t get time to inquire about whether everything was okay before you grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and pulled him into another kiss.

And this time, with both of you alone in the clearing, there was no holding back anymore.

You could feel Eddie smile into the kiss as your tongue flicked over his bottom lip, the blood in your veins replaced by liquid fire, fire that wasn’t stolen from anyone but your own, a fuse lit by Eddie’s own greedy kisses as he gently steered you backwards, your back bumping against the trunk of the nearest tree.

“Fuck, monster slayer,” Eddie breathed, his lips grazing yours as he spoke, as if every inch further away from you would cause him physical pain, “I missed you so much. So fucking much. Those were the longest three goddamn months of my life.”

“I missed you, too,” you whispered, your hands tangling in the soft curls at the back of his head. God, how you’d longed to run your fingers through those beautiful curls again, feel their softness beneath your fingertips and breathe in Eddie’s scent, hold him close to your heart where he belonged. “So much it hurt. Every single day. Every first thought of the day, and every last one before falling asleep, was of you. That you were safe. And okay.”

“I need to show you something,” Eddie breathed, stepping away before he extended his hand for you with a dorky little bow that was so Eddie it made you giggle and put happy tears back in your eyes all over again.

Butterflies and sparklers dancing in your chest, you placed your hand in his, the smooth metal of his rings warm against your skin as his fingers gently closed over yours.

And with the soft hoot of an owl somewhere in the distance, and the stars rising in the inky skies above, the warm breeze laced with the scent of flowers and grass and the faint traces of smoke which was rising in pillars from the rip running through the town center, Eddie pulled you along with him, through the trees, away from the clearing and out of the woods.

When the first houses and street lamps were visible through the trees, Eddie came to a halt, a giddy smile on his lips as he turned around to you.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just close them,” he snickered, and you obliged in time as he stepped behind you, hands settling on your shoulders to guide you for the rest of the way.

“It’s just around the corner.”

With your eyes closed, you let Eddie steer you the last few steps, the soft carpet of rustling dead leaves beneath your feet making way for asphalt as you reached the street, the glow of the street lamps painting orange patterns into the darkness beneath your eyelids while Eddie’s breath stirred your hair.

Just when you were about to inquire how long he was planning on walking you around like that, he came to a halt.

“Gimme one second.” There was a soft creaking sound of metal on metal that sounded like…a car door being opened?

“Are you going to kidnap me?”, you chuckled.

You could feel Eddie’s grin, even with your eyes closed, as he snickered, “Would you like me to?” Voice softening, he added on a whisper, “’kay, you can open your eyes now.”

You did.

A little squeal of surprise bubbled from your lips at the sight in front of you.

At the side of the lonely road parked a van. Another model than Eddie’s old van, a little newer and free of rust but just as big, painted a light blue.

The doors to the back were open, revealing the coziest back of a car you’d ever seen.

The van’s interior was illuminated by strings of battery-powered fairy lights dangling from the ceiling to shed their golden glow like a swarm of fireflies above a large mattress that fully covered the floor, lined by a dozen pillows with tassels and flower prints matching the neatly folded blanket on top of the white bedsheets. And mounted to the windowless wall above the makeshift bed on one side, amidst a sea of band posters, were two guitars – an acoustic one, the words This machine slays dragons written on the wood with white paint, and another familiar one, the dark red surface polished spotless. There was even a small potted houseplant in the corner, on top of what looked like a carved wooden trunk pushed against the back of the passenger seat.

It looked warm and safe and comfortable. It looked like a home.

It felt like a home.

“What –“ you breathed, turning around to Eddie, who was fiddling with the little chain on the sleeve of his leather jacket as he watched you, looking anxious all of a sudden.

“Do you like it? It, um. It was completely bare when Owens’ agents gave me the van, so I tried to turn it into somewhat of a home. It’s not much but…it’s all I could do. I even picked the stuff with the flower stitching. If you…if you still, uh. Wanna come with me. I mean, I wanted you to feel at home but if you’d rather stay in Hawkins, in your actual home, I completely understand. Which is all to ask…” Eddie took a trembling breath, taking your hands in his, the golden glow of the fairy lights dancing in his wide dark eyes as he watched you, before he breathed, “Do you still wanna run away with me, monster slayer? Even if it means you’ll be leaving your home and everything behind to live in the back of a stupid van?”

It felt like your heart would burst with happiness, your own little supernova trapped within the confines of your ribcage.

“My home,” you said, hands locking at the nape of his neck, “Is exactly wherever you are, Eddie Munson. You’re all I’ll ever need.”

You could almost see the weight lifting off his shoulders and heart as your words hovered in the warm sliver of night air between the two of you, the relieved exhale of breath he must’ve been holding as he’d anxiously waited for your reply, as if there was anything that could keep you from him even a single second longer.

And when Eddie’s lips met yours once more, underneath the glittering summer night sky, you felt nothing but happiness. Pure, unfiltered happiness, setting you aglow from within.

You’d lost your songbird three times.

When you’d pushed him away that November night, breaking both your hearts because a broken heart was still a beating one, at least.

When Vecna had taken him, right out of your arms.

And when Hawkins’ festering hatred for everything different had chased him away into hiding.

And yet, each time Eddie Munson had found his way back to you.

If there was such a thing as fate, a thread tying two souls together in love, this was it.

Eddie was your Forever.

With your fingertips grazing his wrist, brushing over the soft silk tied around it, you smiled into the kiss.

Yes, if there was such a thing as a thread of fate, it was a silken green ribbon.

A lucky charm.

The world around the two of you blurred as you lost yourselves in the kisses you shared, growing greedy, feverish, with every passing second. Hawkins and its rage and small-mindedness. The rips running through the ground in the distance, shedding pulsing crimson light into the warm night. The spores floating around you through the air, settling on flowers and roofs, on lamp posts and leaves, like snow, testimony to a poisonous world bleeding into this one.

Maybe it wasn’t the Upside Down which was poisonous. Maybe it was Hawkins as well, the cracks in the ground merely a curtain having been lifted to reveal the ugly truth behind white picket fences and neighborly smiles shared across them, the rot festering behind the neatly painted walls and decorated front doors.

It didn’t matter. None of it.

All that mattered was Eddie, his lips moving against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks and your own fingers tangling in his dark curls.

Never breaking the kiss, you pulled Eddie backwards with you, towards the van with the cozy pillows and fairy lights.

Home.

You settled on the mattress, drawing Eddie with you, the doors of the van shutting with a soft thudding sound as he pulled them close behind him with one hand, the other never letting go of the side of your face, shutting out the world and locking the two of you in your own happy little bubble.

In the peace of the golden glow of the fairy lights glittering from the vehicle’s ceiling like your own personal skyful of stars, making Eddie’s curls shimmer in the softest hues of chocolate and caramel and dancing in his umber eyes as he sat on the mattress in front of you, you pushed the leather jacket off his shoulders, the fabric rustling softly as Eddie shrugged it off the rest of the way – but when your fingertips found the hem of his DIO shirt to lift it, Eddie’s hands shot out, wrapping around yours, and you froze mid-movement.

The sudden change of expression on his face, like a light switch being flipped, made your heart sink.

He looked almost…scared.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, pulling your hands away from the hem of his shirt. And it dawned on you that maybe you’d startled him with the sudden touch, the memory of the agony of the wounds the bats had torn into his skin too fresh. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly, “I didn’t want to –“

“No,” Eddie interrupted quietly, shaking his head vehemently enough to send his wild curls flying, “No, don’t – it’s not that. Just…uh. I…the last time you saw me, there was still…the wounds were still healing. And now it’s…uh…” He took a trembling breath, struggling for words.

“It’s okay,” you smiled, taking his hands in yours. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I want to,” Eddie said quietly. “Just…I look different.”

The way he said the word different felt like a punch to your gut. Laced with…not disgust, exactly, but insecurity.

He’d only talked about it once, but you didn’t need to be a genius to know someone like Eddie, who’d been different, looked different, for all his life, had experienced his fair share of bullying.

People at Hawkins High had left him alone, for all you knew – but there had always been other ways to bully someone without directly attacking. Vile words whispered loud enough to be heard, cruel names.

You knew the vile little nicknames people had given Eddie. Freak. Trailer trash. Sewer rat.

And no matter how confident he behaved, how he’d worn the name Freak like a shield, armor in battle, those words must have still gotten under his skin, burrowed deep in his mind to plant their roots and grow there like weeds in a beautiful garden.

“It’s me, Eddie. I’m…you don’t need to hide your scars. None of them. Not the visible ones and not the ones nobody can see, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know,” he whispered. “Still look like Frankenstein’s monster.” It was meant as a joke to conceal the bitterness underneath, but his voice was hollow all of a sudden. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.

He angled his head to the side, making his curls fall forwards to cover his left cheek where the bats had bitten him.

“Scars aren’t ugly,” you said softly. “They tell a story. And yours tell the story of a guy who became a hero and saved the girl he loved. I don’t know about you…but if that isn’t the most beautiful, most metal story, I don’t know what is. And while this is totally on you and if you want to keep your shirt on forever that’s something I’ll learn to live with, but –“

“These things ate my tattoo,” Eddie interrupted, his tone as grave as his expression.

“I know,” you said quietly.

“They ate my nipple as well.”

“I feel it’s time to clarify,” you said slowly, “That the reason I fell in love with you has never been your regular amount of nipples.”

There was a beat of silence as Eddie stared at you, at the sternness that had settled on your features, before the corners of his lips curled into the whisper of a smile. It was fleeting, the span of a heartbeat before it unraveled again.

“It’s bad,” Eddie said quietly.

And slowly, as if fighting some inner voice screaming at him to stop, Eddie grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tousling his curls in the process.

You’d seen his wounds that night, had tried to staunch the bleeding. You’d seen the damage afterwards every time you’d cleaned them and changed the bandages.

But still, you hadn’t been prepared for the pain in your chest at the sight of the scars which had stayed behind, the memory of death and agony, so much agony, the terror of all he’d gone through that night forever tattooed into Eddie’s pale skin.

A pattern of raised silver lines was painting his entire chest. From his neck downwards, disappearing beneath the waistband of his ripped jeans, the shape of dozens of gaping maws and curved talons.

Marks on Eddie’s skin to match those that night had left on his soul, nightmares which would accompany him for the rest of his life.

It was unfair, so horribly unfair, that he had to be reminded of them with every glance in the mirror.

It took so much resolve to fight back the images which had etched themselves into your own mind. Memories of Eddie, bleeding and dying in your arms. These few minutes in which his eyes had been empty, the life gone from them, an unseeing stare at a starless sky of eternal night. Of the way Vecna had tied his soul to one of his pillars, a beautiful, broken butterfly trapped in a spider’s web. Eddie’s screams of agony –

“Told ya it’s bad,” Eddie whispered into the shaken silence, reaching for the discarded band shirt to cover his chest again as you blinked back your tears.

“No,” you murmured, and his hand stilled, fist clamped around the hem of the shirt in his lap as he watched you inch closer to carefully cradle his face, “It’s just the memories of that night.”

But maybe you could combat those horrid memories summoned by those scars. Banish those restless, angry spirits with something good.

Until seeing these scars would lose its sting for Eddie.

Swallowing back the lump which had started to grow in your throat, you slowly leaned in, pressing the most delicate of kisses on Eddie’s lips before you whispered, “Can you lay down?”

You could see the confusion shining in Eddie’s umber eyes, but with the tiniest, most timid nod, he sunk down onto the mattress, his curls fanned out around his head like a dark crown and his gaze never leaving yours.

With the softest of smiles, you leaned down, brushing the curls away from the side of his face to place a kiss on the silver scar on his cheek, before you pulled away to glance down at him.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes still wide with nerves. “I can put the shirt back on if –“

“You’re beautiful, Eddie Munson,” you said softly, tracing the scar on his cheek with the tip of your index finger. “With and without scars. I just hate the memories they conjure. But you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and nothing will ever change that. Nothing, do you hear me? And I’ll spend the rest of our lives to prove it to you.”

You could tell Eddie was ringing with his words, and his tears – but he didn’t need to reply. You could see the relief shining in his dark eyes, the devotion for you dancing within them alongside the reflection of the fairy lights above, as you bent down to place another kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Does it still hurt?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. Just feels a little weird sometimes but…that’s all.”

“Can I…?” Your words faded into the slim space between the two of you, with Eddie’s lips mere inches from your own as your fingertips hovered over the silver line zig-zagging across his left cheek.

Watching you carefully, Eddie gave a soft nod.

Never breaking eye contact, you let your fingertips gently graze the jagged silver line running across Eddie’s cheek, slowly tracing the faded bite mark down to his jaw, the brush of your fingers as delicate as the veins in a dragonfly’s wing.

You could feel Eddie’s umber gaze resting on you, like sunrays on your skin.

This, right now, was the first time you were actually free, you realized.

No heartbreak standing between the two of you, no battle drawing closer, no time running out.

Just Eddie and you. Together at last.

His breath hitched as your fingertips followed the line of his jaw and down the column of his throat, and you stilled.

“Did that – hurt?”

Eddie’s lips pulled into a soft smile. “Hell, no. That feels good.”

You leaned down to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth, feeling his smile on your lips before you moved on to place a second kiss on the mark the bat’s teeth had left on his cheek, his curls tickling the side of your face. And with your heart overflowing with love for Eddie, your songbird with the sunshine in his smiles not even Vecna and his monsters had managed to steal, the music in his voice and the life, so much life and warmth in his umber eyes, you began to trail feathery kisses down the pattern of scars on the side of his neck, until each silver line was covered with a kiss, carefully observing Eddie’s reactions, ready to pull away at the slightest sign of discomfort.

But there was no discomfort.

With a smile unfurling on his soft lips, Eddie angled his head, melting into your kisses as you felt him starting to relax beneath you with each feather-light kiss, the tension leaving his body, and tears of joy stung in your eyes as you felt his pulse flutter right beneath your lips in the spot below his ear.

I will always, always come back to you, monster slayer. Eddie’s words, whispered between kisses on the clearing right before you’d headed into battle, came back to you. I promise.

And Eddie Munson had kept that promise, over and over again – even through death.

You trailed kisses down the lines of scars crisscrossing the column of his throat as Eddie’s hand travelled down your spine, shivers running through him with each kiss you placed on his bare skin.

It would take some time, to kiss the bad memories away. Maybe it would take forever.

But time, finally, was what you had.

An entire lifetime.

You followed the path of jagged silver lines downwards to his collarbones, to his chest, a lingering kiss for every healed bite wound until every square inch of Eddie’s skin was covered in your kisses.

You could hear the way his breath hitched with each lingering kiss you placed on his scars, laced with all the words you wanted to whisper to him but couldn’t because the tidal wave of love and happiness immersing you had washed away your voice.

You’re beautiful.

I missed you.

I love you.

I love you so much.

Eddie understood them, anyways.

The soft sighs spilling from his lips, the way his breaths had turned into panting, was spurring you on as you let your lips wander down his happy trail to the waistband of his ripped jeans, fingers already working to undo the buckle of his belt, your movements slow enough for him to stop you should he wish to.

When the button of his fly came undone beneath your fingertips, your gaze met his, his eyes wide and pupils blown with arousal as he leaned up on one elbow, his index finger tracing the side of your face.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t…I mean, you don’t. Yeah. Don’t have to.”

You smiled. “And if I want to?”

A timid grin lighting up his features, Eddie rasped, “Then I’m all yours.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice.

You pushed the ripped jeans down to free the already impressive bulge in his pants, and the sound spilling from his parted lips as your hand wrapped around him went straight to your own core, the embers already having built there with each kiss you’d shared.

Your eyes never leaving his, relishing the sight of the darkness of Eddie’s blown pupils, so wide that they seemed to eclipse the umber color of his irises, the blush dusting his cheeks and the way his lips parted for another sweet sigh as he watched you intently, you placed a kiss on his shaft, lips following the outline of the vein leading to his tip, and your smile widened at the shudder running through Eddie before he let his head fall back onto the pillow.

“Jesus H Christ, monster slayer,” he groaned, voice strained with arousal, “This is – “

He was cut off by the wanton moan spilling from his lips as you let your tongue graze his tip to test the waters, feeling him twitch in your grasp.

“You sure you good?”, Eddie breathed, and your heart felt like it would overflow with love for him as you raised your head to watch him, a blushing, flustered mess beneath your touches. You wished he could see how beautiful he looked.

“Better than good,” you whispered. And wrapped your lips around him, the swirl of your tongue around his tip coaxing another lewd moan from him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, fingers digging into the mattress before he sat up, gently cupping your face to guide you away from him to sit up.

“This is fucking amazing but I can’t go a single goddamn second longer without kissing you, sweetheart.”

And when Eddie’s lips met yours again as he pulled you into his lap, it felt as if every single cell in your body was thrumming with your need for him, to feel him closer still, his fingertips caressing the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck, tasting him, engulfed in his scent and warmth and arms, you knew that everything would be okay. It already was.

Lips moving against his, feeling his hardened length press against the insides of your thighs to fuel the flames licking at your core, your hand settled on Eddie’s chest, the pattern of scars and his heartbeat, steady and strong and racing against your palm reminding you that this was real, that he was here. Not just a beautiful dream, but reality.

It felt like sunlight glittering in the surface of a lake, like a hot chocolate in the middle of winter, the first flowers of spring breaking through the ice on the ground.

“I missed you,” Eddie breathed into the greedy kiss, before pulling back, just enough to look at you with all the love and adoration you were feeling in your own chest, “So fucking much, monster slayer. Not just this, but…everything. Your laugh. The way you giggle right before telling me something funny. How you frown when you concentrate on something. The way it feels when you’re in my arms. Shit.”

“I missed you, too,” you murmured into the space between you. “I missed you so much it hurt.”

When Eddie’s lips were on yours again, the intensity of the kisses growing along that glowing need in your core, his teeth gently grazing your bottom lip to drive you even crazier with need, you rolled your hips against his, clothed core rubbing against his length to cause the sweetest friction and draw a lovely moan from Eddie’s lips.

“I’m gonna take that dress off, now, ‘kay?”, he whispered, smiling into the kiss as you replied with a breathless nod.

But he didn’t just reach around you to undo the zipper on your back.

Instead, his hands settled on your arms, gently indicating for you to turn around, and you obliged, careful not to bump your head against the fairy lights strung along the van’s ceiling in the process.

But instead of the sensation of the zipper at the back of your dress being opened, you could feel Eddie inch closer, his breath fanning across the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck to send pleasant shivers down your spine, collecting right at your core to make arousal pool between your legs.

And when Eddie’s lips brushed over the spot at the top of your spine, the softest sigh spilled from your lips to float along the golden glow of the fairy lights.

You could feel him shift on the mattress behind you, sense the soft smile on his lips as he placed a second kiss on the spot below, curls tickling your back and breath ghosting across your skin like a caress of his own as he took his sweet time to grasp the zipper.

“You’re a tease, Eddie Munson,” you half-snickered, half-moaned as he placed a third kiss to the spot right between your shoulder-blades, the sensation of his soft lips on your skin sending warmth through your body, every single nerve ablaze and zoning in on his touches as you let your head fall back.

Eddie chuckled. With feigned shock, he crooned, “What, did you think I’d just shove up the dress and have my way with you? Nope. ‘M gonna worship my girl just like she deserves.

“Does that mean we can never have a quickie?”, you teased, and the sound of Eddie’s soft snicker travelled right along your spine to make your walls flutter with the need to finally feel him as he placed another lingering kiss to the spot between your shoulder blades.

“We’re never gonna need to have a quickie. We got all the time in the world.”

The sound of the zipper filled the air as Eddie slowly, so achingly slowly, pulled it down to open your dress, inch by inch, a string of kisses following in the zipper’s wake that made your back arch beneath the touch.

But before you could protest the slowness of the movement, beg for him to stop teasing, Eddie’s fingertips roamed down your side, before they dipped beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Oh god,” you groaned, head falling back against Eddie’s shoulder as he spread the wetness of your arousal, fingertips grazing the swollen nub of your clit, and you bucked your hips to meet his hand.

“That all for me?”, Eddie breathed, lips brushing over the side of your neck as his voice, laced with marvel, travelled through your body alongside the sizzling waves of pleasure as he let his fingers slowly swirl around your clit.

“One day,” you moaned softly, “You’ll stop asking this question and realize how fucking hot you are, Eddie.”

Your voice broke, shattering into another lewd moan when Eddie’s teeth grazed the spot right below your ear, where your pulse was thundering against his lips as his fingers danced over that sweet, sweet spot at the apex of your thigs, your hips rolling in tune with his movements to chase the friction of his fingers, the smooth, warm metal of his rings brushing against your skin as you reached over your shoulder to bury your fingers in his curls – but it wasn’t enough.

“I need you,” you murmured, “Now.”

With a soft chuckle, Eddie hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties to help you pull them off, but you didn’t want to wait a single second longer.

With deft hands, you reached down and ripped them away, the sound of tearing silk filling the air as you turned to straddle Eddie, a giggle spilling from your lips at the sight of his stunned expression, umber eyes wide with surprise as his lips tucked into a disbelieving grin.

“Can’t take all my panties on the run with me, anyways,” you grinned.

“What the fuck, how many panties do you have?”

“Enough to tear a few more to shreds.”

Eddie’s quiet laugh faded into the space between you, so close that you could feel his breath prickling on your lips as you reached down to pull the glittering dress over your head.

The warm air inside the van-turned-home kissed your skin as you discarded the garment beside Eddie’s band shirt.

“You’re so fucking beautiful it still takes my breath away every time,” Eddie whispered, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose as his hands gently wandered over your breasts, the caress beautifully innocent as his wide eyes locked on yours.

The fairy lights above were reflecting in the seas of black of his dilated pupils like a sea of tiny stars, painting streaks of gold into his dark lashes as he watched you reverently.

He was nearly close enough for his heart to flutter against your own.

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

Eddie was more than happy to comply.

As you shifted on his lap, his tip dragging over your folds with the movement to cause the glowing sensation of pleasure to flare in your belly again, Eddie’s kisses were sweet as maple syrup, slow and passionate, his tongue swirling across your bottom lip as you aligned yourself with him.

And with the loveliest moan spilling from his lips into the open-mouthed kiss, you sunk onto him, burying him deep in your core, drowning in the bliss of being as close to him as humanly possible.

No matter how much you craved our release, you stayed like this for a few heartbeats, kissing, simply relishing the feeling of each other as your bodies melted into each other, linked the same way as your souls while the world around you, the rips in the ground and the spores in the air, the final battle still ahead somewhere on the horizon, faded, drowned out by the duet of your hearts beating in perfect synchrony, their wild tune quickening as you shuffled closer, your chest pressed flush against Eddie’s.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, the pattern of scars pressing against your skin, the warmth of him as he shifted his hips a little, burrowing himself deeper in your core and dragging a blissed-out groan from the back of your throat.

You’d never get enough of this feeling.

Of him.

One of Eddie’s hands settled on the back of your head to deepen the kiss as you adjusted to him, his fingertips tracing your spine down to your shoulder blades and back up again as his other hand caressed your side, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“I love you,” Eddie whispered in-between kisses. “I love you so much, monster slayer.”

“I love you, too,” you breathed, starting to slowly roll your hips against his. “I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

[Friday, September 12th, 1986.

Six Days Later.]

“Hey there, fair maiden.”

The voice was soft, barely audible over the roar of the waves, and your head snapped up as Eddie slowly sat in the sand beside you, the water swirling around his bare feet.

“I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn and you were gone,” he said softly, nudging his shoulder against yours, “Thought I’d find you here. Didn’t think I’d find you sobbing, though.”

The lightheartedness in his voice couldn’t conceal the worry simmering beneath as his umber eyes found yours in the half-light of the sunrise.

“Happy tears,” you whispered.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow.

Your tiny smile grew into a full-blown grin as you reached out to tug a few of the stray curls the ocean breeze had blown into his face back behind his ear.

“Happy tears. I promise those are happy tears.”

It was the truth.

“No nightmares tonight,” you added softly, taking his hand in yours to play with the ends of the green silk ribbon tied around his wrist.

“No nightmares,” Eddie smiled. He’d told you how horrible the nights had been for him in those three months apart ever since he’d left Hawkins – and you’d understood. It had been the same for you.

But now, with him falling asleep beside you every night, his arms around you and the soft sounds of his breathing filling the air inside the van, his heartbeat thrumming against yours in a slow, steady rhythm, the nightmares started to lose their edge. Whenever you felt Eddie grew restless beside you, you pulled him into your arms, fingers carding through his curls to calm him before the nightmares could ever really reach him.

None of them would ever fully fade – not Eddie’s nightmares, and not your own.

But the monster’s teeth had been pulled out by each other’s presence.

And no matter what your mind showed you in your sleep sometimes…as long as Eddie was beside you when your eyes flew open, everything was good.

“I’m happy,” you said softly, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

And you meant it.

He smelled of sleep and warmth, the faintest traces of cigarettes and cheap cologne, and the salt of the ocean. It was as if Eddie’s curls were soaking up the scent of the Californian air. Salt and sunshine and wind.

“So am I,” Eddie whispered, resting his cheek against the crown of your head.

“Is that wrong?”

“To be happy?”

“Yeah. I mean, Hawkins is ripped apart. Vecna is out there, licking his wounds. He’s not gone. But still…I know they’ll always be able to reach us.” Dustin had given the two of you his walkie when you’d parted ways with your friends right before dusk after the night of your little prom.

You’d all danced and laughed together that night after Eddie and you had joined the others at the cabin, ruffled and flustered, but apart from a knowing smirk from Robin and Nance and a sigh from Steve, none of them had commented on it. You’d all shared stories with Eddie from the previous years, the happier stories. His favorite had probably been that of Dustin accidentally adopting a baby-Demogorgon, the anecdote having made Steve groan in exasperation. It might be your favorite story, too.

And when the time had come to say good-bye, the tear-stained faces of your friends matching your own, you’d all known it wasn’t a forever-goodbye. No matter when Eddie’s name would be cleared, you would never return to Hawkins. But you’d see them again.

For now, they were safe.

And if the tides turned…Eddie and you would return for one final battle.

And this time, win.

You knew it with all your heart.

“It’s never wrong to be happy, sweetheart,” Eddie breathed, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “The happy was what saved us from Vecna. So…we’ll collect it. Like polaroids in an album. And no matter how hard he might try, Vecna will be powerless against that. It’s our shield.”

His voice had taken on a solemn hue. You wondered whether that was his dungeon master voice. You loved it when he talked like that – and you were pretty sure Eddie himself never even realized that little shift.

Having been so caught up in your own musings, you let out a surprised little squeal when Eddie jumped up all of a sudden, water splashing around him as he gave you the most radiant grin while he extended his hand towards you as he sank into a deep bow.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

You giggled. “To what music, my lord?”, you teased as you placed your hand in his, watching his ringed fingers wrap around yours as he pulled you to your feet.

“I thought I was your songbird,” he grinned.

His beautiful umber eyes, sparkling with life and joy and love as they rested on yours, flashed as Eddie placed his hands on your hips, pulling you closer until your chest was pressed flush against his, heartbeat to heartbeat, resting his forehead against yours while your hands locked at the nape of his neck, fingertips tangling in his soft dark curls.

And with a smile on his lips, Eddie started to sing, his voice soft and low as it laced with the gentle sound of the waves, rising to a beautiful croon like a cresting wave.

“Woke up to the sound of pouring rain

The wind would whisper and I'd think of you And all the tears you cried – they called my name And when you needed me I came through.”

He guided you through the slow steps of the dance as he wove the song, the warm water of the ocean sloshing around your bare feet. “Remember yesterday - walking hand in hand Love letters in the sands - I remember you And through the sleepless nights, through every endless day I wanna hear you say, "I remember you."” You felt like your skin was aglow, the sunlight Eddie was putting into your chest warm and radiant, a flood of happiness – raw, unfiltered happiness – engulfing you as he led you through a little spin, nuzzling your nose as he pulled you back against him.

“We've had our share of hard times But that's the price we paid. And through it all we kept the promise that we made I swear you'll never be lonely.”

You wished there was a way to go back in time, to pull that frightened, haunted girl from the clearing that September night into your arms and tell her that everything would be okay. That there was love waiting for her, the kind of love she’d thought she’d never find – never deserve. “Woke up to the sound of pouring rain Washed away a dream of you But nothing else could ever take you away 'Cause you'll always be my dream come true Oh my darling, I love you.”

And a happy ending.

“Through all the sleepless nights, through every endless day I wanna hear you say, "I remember, I remember you!"”

“I love you, monster slayer,” Eddie whispered into the kiss.

Your hand settled on his chest, over his heartbeat, while you gazed into his beautiful umber eyes as the sun rose above the glittering waves on the horizon, painting a golden crown around Eddie’s dark curls and putting streaks of caramel into the strands.

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

There were more battles to fight, a war to win. A monster to slay, the most dangerous and powerful of them all.

But Eddie was here, the life back in his eyes.

And you knew, with all your heart, that it would stay there. That everything would be okay. It always would be.

You were the best team, after all.

The cheerleader and the freak.

The freak and the slut.

The monster slayer and her songbird.

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

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope the ending made you as happy as it did for me 🖤 With season 5, I might add a chapter - or rather, a few - to Eddie and monster slayer’s story - but for now, this is the end of the main story. There will be bonus chapters, though, some of which I’ve plotted out already, but if there’s anything in particular you’d like to read within the world of Worlds Apart, requests for bonus chapters are open now! 🖤

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things 4 fix it #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #joe quinn

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acesofspadess · 9 months

Text

Apples

summary: It only seemed right to show up to as many shows this year, even after your sad demise with a certain green eyed singer.

pairing: harry styles x model!reader

a/n I have no idea why this has just been sitting here but... here this is

GIF by harryshouse

San Siro June 2014

You were front and centre at the concert of the year and you had made some great friends around you. Of course Harry was being a goof and showing off his juggling skills with some apples. When he was done he chucked them into the crowd and unbeknownst to you and your closed eyes from how hard you were laughing- you were the apple's target.

The hard fruit hit you right above your eye splitting your eyebrow open. When you felt the blood make its way down your face you and your new friends quickly moved to alert a security guard asking to keep it lowkey. You truly didnt want it getting back to the boys in the middle of the concert. Sadly the wound was too bad and out of the medical staffs control so you were sent to the ER. The friend you had met facetimed you so you could see the rest of the show and you were truly thankful for Diana.

Almost 9 years later on the dot you and Diana were in Germany to see Harry once again. You had both become well paid models but weren't very popularly known, which let you do trips without the worry of being noticed.

You of course were in Johnny's place right against the barricades. You had made a sign with the help of Diana. You didn't go into the concert expecting it to be seen, you just wanted to make a joke of what was then a sad experience but now you had a wicked scar to show off -not that it matched the story-.

The beginning of Fine Line was getting ready to play and you were getting ready to put your sign down when the music stopped. “Sorry, sorry,” you heard Harrys voice through the speakers. “I just read your sign.” he laughed coming over to where you and Diana were. You hid your face in her shoulder and you heard him laugh. “Whats your guys names?” Diana went first and when Harry figured it out he started singing 1D’s Diana and you turned to her and she nearly passed out. “And whats yours love?” when you shouted your name it took him a few turns but he finally got it. “Y/N and Diana. Lovely names. Do you mind if i read your sign?” you sent him a thumbs up while Diana raised it higher.

“Your sign says, ‘i have a scar because of you’.” you laughed as you saw his confused face. “What on earth does that mean?” you laughed again flipping your sign over so he could see the back with the story. It was Dianas idea incase he ended up seeing it. “Oh that's smart, okay it says, ‘i was at the San Siro concert and when you juggled apples you threw them into the crowd and I got hit by one. All good though, I've got a wicked scar’.” he face palmed as the whole room laughed. “I am- let me do this properly,” he spoke as he bent down onto his knees and clasped the mic between his now interlocked hands. “I am so sorry, will you please forgive me?” you swore you had died, Harry Styles. On his knees. For you?? “Always.” you yelled out and the fans around you cheered as Harry fist pumped the air while standing up. “She forgives me! Okay back to the show!” you watched during Fine line how he would continue to make eye contact with you and you couldn't help the smile that stayed on your face. When he went off stage you watched Diana take a call and saw her face form to pout. “What happened D?” you asked immediately after she hung up.

“Auden isn't feeling well,” her 2 year old son who was with his dad at home came down with something. Diana was a great mom and would drop everything to take care of her son. “Ben told me I could stay until the end but something isn't sitting right. Aud doesn't just randomly start feeling unwell. He's on his way from the hotel now so by the time I make it out of this place he'll be here.” you gave her a hug knowing how sad she must be. “I'll facetime you, this is me paying my debt.” you laughed as last time it was you leaving early. She said her goodbyes as she made her way around the edge of the barricade and you watched her for as long as you could.

After taking pictures with some fans who had recognised you and shared their love for your outfit, a security guard who was not from your section came up to you. “Your Y/N, correct?” when you confirmed she handed you a LOT card much like your own, except this one said backstage on it. “I'll be back when the show ends to come grab you. Don't worry, just wait for your section to clear out a bit.” she smiled at your confused face and when you nodded silently she walked away.

During Sign of the Times you swayed back and forth with the girl next to you who was also alone. As it Was came on, you were lucky to find someone to recreate the Grammy performance with you. It seemed Harry caught you two as he laughed and pointed in your direction. When Kiwi came on you heard the famous ‘tell me what she did’ and you couldn't help but laugh when they timed it perfectly sending them a high five. You should have seen it coming when Harry came over to you and baptised your section. You were soaked as he made sure to splash both times and you couldn't help but laugh every time.

You were sad the show was over but knew that you would be heading backstage. You weren't positive as to why, but maybe someone recognized your work and invited you to the after party? You laughed silently knowing that probably wasnt true and sat and waited till the guard came back. She opened the barricade for you and you walked side by side. “Sorry i never got your name?” you spoke as you tried to make conversation. “Its Mara.” she smiled almost shyly. “Thats so pretty. Does it have a meaning?” she shook her head at you before laughing. “You remind me of him.” you cocked your head to the side.

“Of who?”

“Harry.”

Your eyes went wide at the name. “And what makes you say that?” you tried to cover up your shock. “Ill let you find out for yourself,” she said and you realised you were at a door. A door with a big fat ‘Harry Styles’ against it. She knocked and when the door opened you saw harry smiling. You turned to Mara to avoid eye contact with Harry and she definitely saw how you had froze as small smile played on her face.“Thank you so much for walking me here. I wasn't even paying attention. Can i follow you on something?” she seemed around your age or younger so the question was justified. She plugged her instagram handle in for you and you thanked her as you walked away. It was then you realised who you were still standing in front of partially soaked. “I really got you there didn't I.'' he said, and you werent sure if he was talking about the scar or the water. “The water! Not the scar, well yes the scar but the water- i'm going to stop talking now.” he said as he looked at you looking down at your shoes with a small smile.

“You can come in, if you want.” he said, opening the door wider to let you in. He pointed at the couch and you sat on it with him next to you. “I really am sorry.” he said the moment he sat down. He reached his hand but he froze as he realised what he was doing. You grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on your face. Normally you wouldn't do this, but it felt different considering he was the one who caused it. “I brought you back here to apologise and I don't think I can say sorry enough.” he whispered as thumbed the raised skin. You smiled softly, taking his hand lacing it with yours hesitantly. When he didn't move you spoke up. “I told you earlier and I meant it even 9 years ago when it happened, you didn't mean to do it, and there was no harm done.”

“I split your eyebrow open. What do you mean ‘no harm done’?”

You giggled at him looking down. “You do that a lot. Look down.” he clarified when he saw your confused expression. “Sorry, if i'm not in front of a camera or on a runway i'm pretty shy.” you disclosed. “That makes complete sense that you're a model, you're beautiful,” he whispered. “Oh, thank you.” you shyly whispered back. “Can I kiss you?” and as you said it your eyes went wide. “I said that out loud didn't I. Fuck! Ignore me,” you freaked out by lacing your hands and hiding your face. You felt the cushion dip very close to you and the brush of a thigh against yours. He took one of your hands and placed a kiss on every knuckle. “Look at me.”

You looked up from your hand and met his eyes. You never thought you'd be this close to him to see how green his eyes really were. “Your eyes are very pretty.” you whispered out, “you yourself are very pretty.” you added on watching him blush and look down with a breathy laugh. He moved his hand from yours and around your cheek. He searched your eyes for any tell of fake sincerity, a sign to keep his guard up, not fall into a trap, and he never found it. He rested his forehead on yours with a deep breath. “What are you doing to me?” he cried out softly.

“I don't know, but your doing it to me too.” you confirmed back, and who made the first move you'd never find out, but your lips were pressed into his and you melted. He must have felt you relax considerably as his free hand snaked around your back to hold you close to him. You moaned softly and he took that to slip his tongue next to yours. It wasn't a sloppy make out, far from it, it was longing and needy, as if being reconnected. The burn of no air in your lungs pulled both of you away Harry laid his head on your shoulder. “I want to get to know you. Want to be able to treat you and take you out on surprise dates. I know that my life is crazy and I'm sure yours is too, but I want to try.” he pulled his head back. “If i don't know anything I know that.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x famous!reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x reader fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #one direction #hslot harry #hslot22

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phantomphangphucker · 2 days

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Phic Phight - Too Fine Too Be Normal

@lexosaurus @hannahmanderr @zombiemerlin

When outsiders have to deal with any member of the weirdo trio it really is best to just roll with the punches. Plus, Orson actually LIKES his techy internet buddy; so what if he’s some kind of superhero pharaoh or something?

Orson blinks at his screen, not for the first time feeling confused and baffled over TooFine’s chat comments.

TooFine: brb gotta go eat a bat, nightshade found the plant paint I covered her fruit tree in

He’s assuming what the guy means is that ‘nightshade’, TooFine’s friend, is trying to hit him with a baseball bat. Strange and extreme but at least this time he’s not claiming to have ‘accidentally fallen into another dimension’. Whenever TooFine leaves suddenly it’s always wildy outlandish stories. Certainly there’s no way he thinks Orson actually believes them right? Yes it was very funny anyways. Reading TF’s impressive imagination always made him feel a little better about life, like even if your life is simple and plain you can bring some crazy into it with your mind.

Sometimes though, it’s clear he’s actually telling the truth, like that one time they were on voice chat and Orson dad popped in to try and convince him to let him teach him how to hunt again, Orson liked meat but he had zero desire to actually go and kill things. But TF started talking guns too, apparently that thing about TF’s in person friend having parents who made weapons was very much true. TF impressed Orson’s dad, meaning his dad now approved of the friendship. At least TF didn’t bring up that ‘ectoplasm’ stuff while his dad was around, the last thing Orson wanted was his dad thinking all his online friends were crazy too. His dad definitely didn’t believe the claim that TF’s friends parents also had a modified military vehicle they used on the actual road; something about how military treads can’t be used on roads because they’re too damaging. TF followed that up with ‘our roads can withstand some pretty heavy artillery’, Orson’s chuckle and eye roll probably convinced his dad that TF was screwing around with him a little.

Either way, hopefully TF gets back in time to keep helping him with this stupid drone he’s trying to build. He’d love to be able to go get the mail without having to actually go outside, so much wasted effort when he’d rather be gaming or reading. Then he gets a voice chat request, the voice that comes through is not TF’s

“Oh shit hey, you actually picked up, wow I can’t believe he made an outsider friend. Weird”, this new teen clears his throat, “okay so, Nightshade actually might have knocked him out in a fit of rage? So he’ll be a bit- hey! No! Put that down! You don’t get to hit him again just because I’m protecting his PDA!”.

TF actually used a PDA? Such old tech? Why? Weird.

“Emilie is PINK! PINK!”.

The boy teen groans, “ugh. Goths. Anyway, while he’s out, he give you any ideas for a good birthday gift? I’ve been banned from giving him weapons or explosives, and the last time I got him a souped up hard drive he hacked the federal government and filed the presidents taxes for some insane reason”.

Orson blinks, “I think he’s been talking a lot about electric cars and electric bikes? What happened after he… did the presidents taxes?”. He really just wants to know where this guy was going to take that level of bullshit.

“I’d rather ideas that don’t require me to steal my rich arch enemy uncles credit card. And eh, nothing much, just got abducted by some secret service folks up into the Appalachian mountains for some ‘one on one’ talks time. He got some new wicked scars out of it even, one looks like a hockey stick! I don’t even have one like that yet! But hey, what’s life without a few abductions here and there? The gov loves shooting me!”.

Orson makes a face, alright so were TF’s friends just as bad as him? Shaking his head, “get him a lock picking kit then, in case anyone abducts him with handcuffs or something”. What the actual hell? He absolutely has to google this.

“Oh that’s not bad-oh hey buddy! You good? No lumps and bumps? No booboos or owies?”.

“You jerk, I’m fine. Why is she still armed!”.

“Emile. Is. PINK”.

“It suits her!”.

“She’s a black apple tree! Pink is never her colour!”.

Oh so the goth did actually name her plants, odd but not insane. And yeah, a hacker did actually do the presidents taxes… weird. There’s no way that was actually TF right? Was he friends with an actual hacker?

“Oh T I totally voice called, or whatever, your online buddy? It seemed like the chat was recent and shit so you know”.

“Man, you are way too overprotective and way too much of a mother hen for a dead guy. Gimme that”.

“Hey at least dead hens can shoot laser beams out of their mouths, way cooler than living ones”.

TF clearly has his… PDA back, “you’re still working on that ‘let me be lazy’ drone right?”.

Orson blinks, “yes, but real talk, did you actually file the presidents taxes?”.

“Oh my zone! DP you shit head! Ugh, look the guy was trying to embezzle my towns funding to buy another yacht, so I figured hey why not forcibly report all his off shore accounts and that weird charity donation to a Russian network. I also might have gone after all his staff too? They weren’t impressed but I call anarchy and how was I supposed to know his people would actually not suck at tracking people?”.

“T, dude, I’m pretty sure the federal government and the goddamn president have better tracking than those G.I.W. morons”.

“Are you going to fix Emilie or what!”.

“Never”.

Orson flips through google results a little more and yeah, a ton of people got hacked for taxes… Hell Orson even stumbles on a whistle blower data leak about ties to Russia that he nopes out of real quick. “TF bud, that’s super concerning”.

“Heh. Fair enough and- oh shit!”. There’s an actual explosion over the line. “Hey, you wanna actually witness shit for a change, because good goddamn. DP! Have you been skipping sleep again! Why is the goddamn sleep god throwing a building at us!”.

What.

You know what.

Fuck it.

Orson sends the zoom invite, it’s accepted immediately. It’s actual pure chaos. There’s shouting, what looks like a sentient star cover blank wearing a mask in the sky, a glowing black and white teen throwing actual everything forbid bath bombs at the thing in the sky. TF looks like he’s from freaking ancient Egypt, with a helm on and everything. Then a bunch of glowing vines shove TF out of screen, a girl in a green and black body suit with a freaking cape chasing after.

For a second he’s wondering if TF is playing a massive prank on him and somehow created a hyper realistic superhero show set up. The… PDA is pointed up at the sky as the voice of the guy who started the voice chat shouts, “I HAVE MIDTERMS! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO!”.

The blanket creature shouting back, “SLEEP!”.

“Oh yeah I guess I should have seen that one coming”.

Okay so. TF’s friend, whose parents make weapons, is a superhero or something? Google to the rescue.

TF shouts, “why are you stabbing me! There’s a god in the sky! Fight him!”.

“Naw, UnderGrowth actually likes Nocturne, since sleeping humans aren’t actively polluting Mother Nature”.

“Fuck that stupid grass stain”.

“I’m going to end you”.

Orson blinks at his phone, DP, Danny Phantom. A real person, in a real town, that looked like a real superhero. It’s that rumoured haunted town actually, a real haunted town. What the actual hell? Is he friends with a superhero or sidekick? Who’s also a hacker? And eats a concerning amount of meat without getting sick somehow? Has all the stories he’s been getting, and not reacting strongly too, been real??? Alright, okay, gotta play it cool self. He probably actually thought Orson was taking him seriously and has decided that Orson passed some kind of weirdness meter test. This was basically almost an identity reveal wasn’t it? Holy crap he’s involved in a real life comic book secret identity reveal.

The ‘Nocturne’ guy gets blasted into a wall, DP pelting It with eggs he got from somewhere. The Nocturne holding up a massive canister over Its head, “YOU WILL FAIL IF YOU DO NOT SLEEP!”.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit”, TF comes sorta back on screen, grabbing up his PDA, the ‘facial markings’ don’t look like make up, it looks like it’s part of his skin. “Okay okay, so that right up there is a massive thing of halothane vapour from the looks of it, fun. So we’re all probably gonna pass out here, feel free to disconnect if shit gets boring”.

Orson squeaks a little, “boring? You get up to some insane shit. Why is a… sleep god? Trying to knock y’all out?”. Roll with the punches, gotta roll with the punches. Freak out later.

TF snickers, “DP doesn’t get enough sleep and has been frustrating this ghost since he formed. God’s am I right? Ha!”.

“Get back here you!”.

“Oh for crying out loud! I’ll fix your freaking plant okay! Ugh!”. TF gets smacked into a wall all by the plant girl anyways.

Orson eyes the parts of his drone before looking back to the screen, “why are you helping a random friend you made, build a drone when this crap is going on?”. Because it seriously has to be asked.

TF uses sand to push himself out of the wall rubble, “eh, normalicy is nice and shit, plus you’re impressively chill. I bring up sneaking into a death gods liquor cabinet and you just give me a ‘that’s nice, have fun. Don’t hospitalise yourself’. Sure, Red’s chill but she’s more DP’s friend”, smirking, “and his ex, plus she rides a hoverboard and shoots ghosts so…”.

Oh okay, so there’s a fourth one. This is completely insane. Whelp. Guess he’s in it now though. Orson shrugging, “I’ve always been a pretty laid back guy, though this is definitely the craziest thing I’ve seen. Way worse than that chic on drugs or something who was trying to bite people”.

“Oh yeah drugs are bad, way worse than hacking regardless what the government has to say about it”.

Then the canister explodes, giving Orson a serious anxiety spike as bits of metal impale in things and gas starts going everywhere. DP actually does a comedic salute in the air before just falling to the ground. The Nocturne guy looks very pleased with Itself and actually wraps around the probably unconscious teen, hissing at the plant girl when she tries to approach.

TF cringing, “stupid obsessive ghosts. DP looks like he’s been bent like a shrimp”, TF moving his PDA camera and yeah the black and white teens position is kinda shrimp like.

All Orson can think to say is, “great, now I’m hungry”.

TF laughing while hurling a fist full of sand, “HA! Yeah sushi would be great right now”.

“You disgust me”.

“NONE SHALL DISTURB HIS SLUMBER!”.

Was it normal for ‘villains’ to seemingly baby heroes? Because that’s what this looks like. Nocturne literally just wants the black and white teen to sleep, that’s it. Weird. And then freaking pillow monsters??? Start storming the screen, TF and Nightshade/plant girl doing battle with them. The zoom gets cut out so Orson is just going to assume the device got broke.

…

Okay.

So.

That happened.

One question, well many really, but why is someone so tech focused going with a freaking Egyptian theme? Nightshade made sense, he’s pretty sure even her ‘code name’ is actually a plant. And DP was, well, a literal ghost so the Phantom name made sense. Weird that ghosts were actually real still. Yes he’s seen some stuff about them on the news occasionally but it still seemed so far fetched. And he’s pretty sure he saw some people dressed up as DP at last years comic con.

Weird.

Very weird.

Well. Nothing for it now. So he sends TF a message asking if he’s good. It takes multiple hours but….

TooFine: we’re good, DP’s still out cold and has been abducted into a sleep gods lair but like, we good. Sleepy Blanket won’t try to skin him like some people.

OriOri: that’s good? I mean, his skin would probably make a poor blanket?

TooFine: HA! Thats the kinda joke DP would make! He’ll be proud

TooFine: he’ll be proud whenever he wakes up

TooFine: and when Sleepy Blanket stops acting like a crazy dragon protecting its horde

TooFine: and when he finds his way back to the land of living

OriOri: it’ll be a while

TooFine: good. He really should sleep more

TooFine: the dumbass

OriOri: if he gets so little his pissed off god then yeah. That’s impressive actually

TooFine: you have no idea. Anyways, tots sorry for dipping on your little project. I’d offer Techy’s services as make up but he’s an idiot with newer tech

Orson has no clue who that is and isn’t going to ask.

OriOri: at this point I’m more curious why the heck you went with an Egyptian theme for a guy who hacks the federal gov and makes visual horror games

TooFine: eh, it would be kinda weird if a reincarnated pharaoh wasn’t Egyptian themed, you know how it is. Technically you don’t but you know you know

Orson sighs, this was so weird. But he is so not going to let on that he never believe the shit TF said.

OriOri: I guess? Now do you know how to better connect female usb c to an hdmi, cause it’s pissing me off

TooFine: *snort*

TooFine: but of course I do. Debendint on how far you need the connection to work you might have to bike something from scratch. I tots got blueprints and they are definitely not stolen from the fbi terror investigations unit. Definitely not.

Orson was probably going to get arrested one day because of this, but screw it, TF was fun to talk too and made his mostly boring life more interesting. Not interesting enough to ever consider moving to the guys nightmare town though. Not a chance in Hell.

End.

Prompts: Tucker fucked up. Hard. But it’s like, how the hell was he supposed to know that hacking the federal government was a bad idea? Nocturne takes a liking to Danny and decides to help teach him a lesson, whether Danny wants it or not. Outsider POV. Tucker makes a new online acquaintance, and will casually allude to the crazy shit he and his friends get up to while ghost hunting. The new acquaintance thinks Tucker is just embellishing the truth, until…

#danny phantom #phandom #danny fenton #tucker foley #oc centric #pov outsider #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #my writing #phicphight24 #phic phight 24 #phic phight #phan phic #fan fic #pharaoh tucker #plant queen sam #hacking

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copiousloverofcopia · 4 months

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🎄Hey there ghesties for some late Yuletide fun here is a little something!!! 🎄

We are back again for another story featuring the adorable Sister Saccharine and her beloved Copia! A little Yuletide story for my ghestie @sistersaccharine

Thank you so much for letting me continue creating Saccharine's story with you! I hope you and everyone else enjoys!!!!

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info!

The Dysfunctional Emeritus Christmas

Sister Saccharine takes a winter stroll when her fellow Sisters of Sin invite her to her first Yule celebration with the Emeritus family since her and Copia were wed. Shenanigans ensues when the family comes together in a way only an Emeritus dysfunctional Christmas could.

Also available HERE on AO3!

Read below!

The snow was glistening over the fields that once held flowers. Icicles firmly established along the branches of all the trees. And wicked chill took hold in the wind as Sister Saccharine walked along the path sitting along the edge of the grounds. The western woods, just beyond, like bare bones in the cold. Not a leaf to speak of as she heard the crows cawing in the air and noticed the family of little ruby-eyed rabbits. Their white fur barely visible as they huddled together beneath the root of a tree.

Saccharine bent down to greet them. Lifting the smallest one up in her soft mittens. Watching them warming their little body asked the yarn like a hug. Her own breath, visible in the blistering cold as she spoke.

“Oh, my little one. This must be your first winter here…poor thing. You must be so cold.” she cooed, holding him gently in her hands. Saccharine, taking a moment to think before being struck with a brilliant idea. “Here... hopefully this will help.” she told him, placing the bunny back with its family. Now covered by her sacrificed mittens, help to insulate the heat of their bodies from the bitter cold.

It made her smile to see them warmed by her gift. Despite the winter solstice having taken hold, Saccharine didn’t mind the cold. Managing somewhere to be warmed from within. Her heart, so full and her pink-tinted nose, kissed by winter, nestled against the fabric of her favorite coat. Saccharine contentedly took in a deep inhale. Breathing in the scent of Copia’s cologne, still lingering there from their shopping trip from the day before, as she continued her walk.

Nothing made her happier than to think of him. Her beloved husband, for only a few short months, but already a lifetime lived between them. Her thoughts were never far from him. The dear sister, unable to control the smile that reached her lips. His voice echoing sweet nothings in the forefront of her mind.

She had often thought of him when she was alone. Even in the times when only moments had passed since they’d been together. Today was a bit different, with her thoughts occupied by the weight of Yule this year. It was to be her first Yuletide with Copia as husband and wife. Her first time as a true part of the Emeritus family, and the thought of it filled her with so much joy—and weary.

She wanted to make a good impression on them. Hoping to consult with Ren, Secondo’s Prime Mover, and her friend for many years. She had been a great mentor to Saccharine since she first arrived at the Abbey. Surely, she would be able to empathize with her, guide Saccharine as to how she could settle the nervousness in the pit of her stomach. She knew that her friend would have the exact right thing to say to calm her. It wasn’t too long after that Saccharine swore she heard her name being called. Stopping a moment to shake off her confusion before hearing it once again.

“What are you doing out here in the cold, we’ve been looking all over for you?” Prime Mover Ren called over to her. Saccharine turned to see her friends approaching her in the snow. The lot of them, bundled up in their winter best and carrying cups of hot chocolate in their hands. The rich smell, catching Saccharine’s attention as they drew closer. She instantly perked up. Ren, quick to hand her the extra cup she was carrying as Nova and Knell sipped away from their own.

“I am sorry, I must have lost track of time.” she laughed nervously, taking her first sip from her cup. The taste of the warm chocolate with a hint of cinnamon, glorious on her tongue as it filled her mouth.

“I’m honestly shocked you’re not frozen solid.” remarked Sister Knell. “You…ah…not own a pair of gloves?” she continued, noticing Saccharine’s bare cold scorched hands.

“Oh I do…well did.” she laughed.

“Never mind that Saccharine, come to Yule tonight with us!” Nova beamed, so excited to be the one to invite her. The ghoulette’s tail, swishing happily from side to side as she awaited her answer.

“You mean the ministry gathering? Isn’t that tomorrow night?” she asked her.

“What she means…” Ren continued shaking her head, “that you and Copia need to come to Secondo and I’s suite this evening for Yule celebrations. You’re an Emeritus now. This time is just for the family. Plenty of Ministry celebrations for later.”

“Oh well of course, I am sure Copia would be thrilled.”

“Indeed, now let's get you back inside before you become a snowman.” Ren laughed, wrapping her arm around Saccharine as the four of them walked back to the Abbey.

Saccharine spent the rest of the day getting ready. Outfits tossed to every inch of her and Copia’s bedroom as she searched for the perfect thing to wear. Settling on an adorable black dress with matching shawl, similar to her husband’s former cassock. Sheer tights and the most adorable black boots with matching bows. The focus of her outfit, a new blue sapphire encrusted necklace. Carefully draped over her decolletage—-a gift that Copia couldn't resist giving her early.

He watched her from the doorway. A smile, pulling at the corners of his mouth as she turned back to face him. Holding out her arms and twisting around so he would get the idea of the flow of her dress.

“What do you think?”

“You look incredible dolcezza. Most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” he replied, his words sending a blush of pink over Saccharine’s cheeks. He quickly took her in his arms, hugging her close before planting a small kiss on her forehead.

“Think they’ll like it?” she asked him, the worry unable to be fully hidden within the tone of her voice. Copia tilted her chin up to face him.

“Saccharine, they are our best friends and family…they will love you even if you wore a potato sack to dinner.” he laughed, his wife giving him a playful tap to the chest.

“I know, I know. I just want to make a good impression; you know what I mean?”

“I know. This is perfect…you are perfect. I promise.” he assured her. Saccharine, hugging him once again. Gripping him so tight, never truly wanting to let him go. This lovable, silly man who always knew the right thing to say.

Finally, hours later, they had made it. The two of them standing in wait before the door of Secondo and Ren’s Papal suite after ringing the bell. “Are you ready amore?” Copia asked her, feeling her uneasily squeezing his hand.

“Ready.” she told him, taking a deep breath. Her nerves, on edge for what may come next. When the door opened, Saccharine was awestruck. The suite was lavishly decorated. All of the Yuletide trimmings on full display. Garland lining every surface, with bright warm lights that twinkled a delicate glow. Ornate holly wreaths, hung carefully on the walls and a sprig of mistletoe in every doorway. The beautiful glow of candles, serving to fill the room with a warm ambiance which complemented the scent of poinsettias, cinnamon, and pine.

It was clear to Saccharine that Prime Mover Ren had spared no expense when it came to Yule. After all, an Emeritus celebration was always a bit of a show, but somehow, she had managed to make it still feel cozy and quaint. The warmth and inviting nature of it, reminding Saccharine of the Christmases she had back at home. A bittersweet smile sweeping across her face just as Ren spoke.

“You know the party's ALL the way inside, right?” She laughed, catching Saccharine’s attention before Copia and her finally breached the threshold of the door. “Would you both be a dear and put these candies in the stockings for the children. I have been meaning too, but I am swamped in the kitchen with dinner. Primo has taken over and has been shooing everyone but me and Knell out all afternoon." Ren told them, handing over the sack of candies to Saccharine.

“Oh…why yes of course.” Saccharine smiled. The two of them took to the mantle located in the main parlor, placing little chocolates and peppermints in each of the little ones' stockings as they carried on.

“They are so small.” Copia remarked, sending a sweet glance her way. They were, and charming just as everything else and the look on her husband’s face made Saccharine wonder if their own mantle would be home to small stockings someday. It was a small moment between them that made her heart soar as she filled the stockings. When she went to open the last of them her eyes widened in surprise. There, all curled up together and sleeping peacefully in the bottom was little Gnocchi and Rigatoni. Copia took a look for himself, placing a finger over his lips, hushing the both of them before waking the mice.

“Sweet Lucifer Secondo the sweater looks just fine, stop fussing about it already.” Ren said as she reappeared to check on them. Secondo huffed and crossed his arms as Ren went on, rolling her eyes as she tapped Copia’s shoulder. “Papa, do you think you can help us with reaching for something in the kitchen?”

“Oh course, I will be right back.” he told Saccharine as they headed into the kitchen. It made Saccharine a bit nervous to be left on her own, especially since Secondo. She never was quite sure how to approach him. It was moments like this Saccharine knew having Copia by her side always made everything seem more pleasant and comfortable.

It was the first time she had been to any gathering as an official member of the Emeritus family. Trying her best to hide her anxiety behind a soft smile, she turned to face out into the belly of the room. Immediately taking note of Secondo sitting quietly in the middle of the sofa. The former Papa was serving as both a jungle gym and lion tamer for his many children as they chased each other around the room.

All of them were brimming with excitement at the sight of their gifts, devastated that they would have to wait until after dinner to open them. It was then she noticed that Secondo and Ren wore matching sweaters, both black with sparkling holly wreaths and pentagrams. Saccharine immediately went to cover her mouth. Hiding her giggle at his grumpy, yet proud papa disposition.

The two youngest of the children were playing with Nova on the floor beside the tree. The ghoulette tangled up in the tinsel like a kitten as little Lucian clapped away. Nova was always so good with the children. Her heart was so pure, one of the best friends Saccharine had ever had.

Maybe I can relax a bit after all, Saccharine thought to herself as she took a seat opposite the bunch. Secondo, sending her a knowing nod and a welcoming smile as they both watched Nova and the children play. Suddenly from the corner of her eye, Saccharine caught sight of Sister Knell peering out from behind the door frame, leading from the kitchen. The sister’s eyes, shifting around as she snuck Nova and the children some cookies.

It was amusing to see everyone together like this. The joy of the season, reminding Saccharine just how much she loved all her friends. When she felt she wouldn't be missed, she took her leave. Deciding to check on Copia as she politely dismissed herself. “I’m gonna go see how Copia is holding up.” she smiled as she headed to the kitchen.

Immediately as she walked inside, she saw Primo shooing Knell away from the counter. “Sorella go—go. I told you I can do it myself.” he respectfully snipped, stirring the gravy in the pot as Sister Ren began making the final touches to the pies.

“Just trying to help out Peepaw…don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Knell winked. Saccharine smiled softly at her. Knell was quite the character and even though they had become fast friends, Saccharine was sometimes unsure of how to read her. Primo must have sensed this. He, better than anyone able to pick up on Saccharine’s mood. Caring for her, as her own father would have in his stead.

“It’s alright piccola…you know she won’t bite. Well maybe?” Primo laughed as Knell shrugged, handing Nova another cookie, before the two of them disappeared into the dining room to help set up the table at Ren’s request.

“Agh…it's been like this all afternoon…” Ren began as she passed by Saccharine to grab the cinnamon, “...but at least Sec and her are no longer going at it.”

“We will celebrate small favors.” Primo laughed before taking a moment to pull the turkey from the oven. Filling the air with the most mouthwatering scent of thyme, rosemary, and sage.

“I personally find it rather amusing myself—-ow!” Terzo howled, getting his hand swatted for swiping a bit of the gravy on his fingers.

“Tieni le tue mani sporche fuori da quello stronzo, non è ancora finita.” Primo hissed, furrowing his brows and shaking his wooden spoon in his brother’s direction.

“We are ready for the food!” Nova announced as she and Knell walked back into the room. Nova, taking Terzo’s hand to kiss the sore spot before he continued.

“Best part is the sweaters.” Terzo snickered under his breath, both him and Nova trying to contain their amusement.

“Alright, alright that's enough…” Ren began, motioning for her and Primo to bring the rest of the food into the dinning room. “...I’m lucky I got him dressed at all this morning. I swear the man is determined to make his own Ministry little league.” she continued sending a playful wink to Saccharine.

“Dinner children, fratello!” Primo called out as they all began making their way to the dining room. Saccharine watched as the family all filed in, each of them taking their seats. Happy faces and rumbling tummies ready for a delectable meal. As she watched them, she felt the familiar weight of arms around her waist.

“While everything for dinner smells delicious…what I am most looking forward to is dessert.” Copia purred, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. Saccharine turned to face him, her cheeks flushed by his words. “Do you see what I see?” he asked her. His eyes, calling hers to follow as they both looked up above them in the archway to see the mistletoe hanging there.

“Oh Copia, I love you so much.” She told him, waiting for him to make the first move. Her lips anticipating the sweet press of his against her.

“Amore, there is no one I would rather kiss for the rest of my life than you. Sei la mia vita, mio mondo, mio tutto. ” he confessed, closing his eyes before kissing her passionately in the archway.

“Come on now you too, dinner is getting cold.” Laughed Terzo from across the room. Both Copia and Saccharine pulled apart, playfully smiling as they approached the table. Both of their hearts, pounding. Their hands still locked together as they took their seats.

The table was a sight to behold. Its length, filled with a delightful spread of savories and sweets. It was clear that Ren and Papa Primo had worked so very hard on it. Everything made their mouths water as they all began filling their plates with the bounty of food. Just as the last roll was passed and the rest of the turkey was carved, Primo began tapping at his glass of punch. Announcing a toast for the occasion.

“May I have all your attention please.” He began, waiting for all eyes to be upon him. Even the children stopped their chatter to heed Primo’s request. Himself, more of a grandfather to them than Nihil ever could be. They loved him so very much and listened to his every word as if it were gospel. “I want to take this moment to thank our beloved Prime Mover…and Secondo, for hosting us this Yule. Such a fine spread and bountiful celebration we have here indeed.”

“Oh It’s nothing.” Ren smiled coyly as the group all lifted their glasses of wine and punch in the air.

“I want you all to know that this year we have so much to be grateful for. Lucifer has bestowed upon us a multitude of dark blessings. It is at this time we remember that through him, we find what is truly the most important in life…and most of all this year he has blessed us with a new member to the Emeritus family—-Sister Saccharine.” Primo smiled, his eyes doing their best to conceal his tears, “We welcome you to this family with open arms and wish for you and Copia nothing but all the happiness the Morning Star can provide. Nema!”

“Nema!” Everyone cheered. Saccharine immediately felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. Copia, sending a squeeze of her hand before the two of them began staring into each other’s eyes. Saccharine, feeling so in love and loved by those around her.

“Here, Here! Now let's eat.” Secondo called out. All of them holding their glasses out to cheers before taking a drink. Just as the swig entered his mouth, Primo immediately spit out the punch in a comical spray to his left. Nova and Terzo, erupting with laughter at the other end of the table.

“Now that I think of it…maybe that second bottle was a bit too much.” Nova chuckled, knowing they had spiked the punch with a bit of Ghoulish rum. The whole of the room, even Primo, joined them in their amusement.

After dinner they had all gathered in the parlor. All of the children had unwrapped their presents so fast that the air filled with the sparkle of wrapping paper and ribbon. Terzo trying his best to assemble the dolls house he and Nova got little Marianna, only to have him snap the stairway while forcing the peg into the slot.

“They don't make these things to last, you know?” he nervously laughed.

“Well not when un pagliaccio such as yourself is in charge of building it.” Secondo barked, Terzo raising from the floor to meet his gaze. The two of them, quarreling like small children themselves while the real kids played, ignorant to their father and uncle’s antics, alongside them.

The night had been filled with so much charm and love. Of course Nova had gotten everyone the best gifts. Something she had a talent for, even making Secondo get choked up by his pair of platinum and emerald cufflinks. Surprised that she had remembered he'd lost his old ones quite some time ago.

After all the presents had been opened and everyone's stomachs settled, Prime Mover Ren and Sister Knell offered everyone a cup of hot chocolate. Ren, making sure she offered one to her husband, lest it find its way to his lap. Sister Saccharine had settled herself alongside Copia on the chaise. The two of them cuddled up as they listened to the crackling of the fire. The sound, just audible beyond the children's laughter.

Saccharine sighed. I don't believe I have ever had a Christmas as wonderful as this before, she thought. So excited that this would be the first of many wonderful Christmases spent at her husband's side. She sat quietly, her smile beginning to spread across her face without her realizing.

Copia took note, watching her as she took in the scene before them. Now more than ever, feeling like a true part of the Emeritus family. With all its dysfunction and chaos, but also its love and compassion. Wondering to herself how she could have ever felt nervous before as they continued to watch the children gleefully playing with their gifts. Copia took her hand in his, inspiring her to glance up at him. Tears, filling her eyes once more as they desperately tried to balance themselves along her lashes.

“Is everything alright principessa?” he asked her. Saccharine smiled, nuzzling her face against his warm chest as they cuddled together on the sofa.

“Everything is perfect…just perfect.”

Notes:

Tieni le tue mani sporche fuori da quello stronzo, non è ancora finita.- You keep your filthy mitts out of it stronzo, it's not done yet.

Sei la mia vita, mio mondo, mio tutto.- You are my life, my world, my everything.

un pagliaccio- clown

#Happy Yule!!!!#Merry Christmas a bit late lol #Copia x Saccharine #Papa Emeritus IV x Sister Saccharine #commission work #An Emeritus Christmas Story #copia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

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faintingheroine · 3 months

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Based on this discussion (made into a separate post for the sake of length and I do have the habit of reblogging and reblogging my posts about Aşk-ı Memnu and I don’t want to do that to someone else’s post)

I agree that both Fire and Blood and Aşk-ı Memnu are examples of a Subverted Trope regarding Wicked Stepmother rather than a full-fledged Deconstruction. They subvert the expectations regarding the stepmother and the stepdaughter’s personalities, but don’t fully pick the trope apart.

I haven’t watched House of the Dragon, but I listened to the Rhaenyra chapters of Fire and Blood on audiobook some time ago, so I still have an idea.

If we reduce the Wicked Stepmother trope to its basic essence, yes Fire and Blood may not be considered to subvert it. Alicent is a stepmother who is wicked. “Hansel and Gretel” definitely uses the Wicked Stepmother trope, and that story definitely has nothing to do with sexuality or a Madonna-Whore dichotomy. But @la-pheacienne still very much has a point, because unlike with “Hansel and Gretel” where the children are of both genders and are very young in the story, Alicent and Rhaenyra are both women and the different sexuality of both of them is a very integral part of their dynamic. This makes it recall “Cinderella” or “Snow White” far more than “Hansel and Gretel”. Alicent is a stepmother who is wicked, that’s not subverted, but the “Madonna” and “Whore”’s roles are switched and the Wicked Stepmother (who is still wicked!) is the “sexually pure” one who apparently plays by the patriarchy’s rules. That’s still a subversion.

(Maybe Fire and Blood can also be called deconstructive in the way it uses its narrators to tell this story but I don’t remember enough to say something substantial on that).

Aşk-ı Memnu explicitly refers to the Wicked Stepmother trope and its prevalence. A character (who is characterized by her love for fiction and her propensity to search for what she had read in her life) actually thinks this:

“Finally that thing that had been feared, that had been delayed for a year, but that could never be kept from occurring, was finally beginning. Bihter and Nihal were taking out the claws that longed to tear at each other. The old girl was saying to herself, ‘whose fault is it? No one’s!… In the affair itself… Step-mother and daughter! After all, the lives of these people are, for all of history, either a comedy or a tragedy. How will this play end between Bihter and Nihal? I am afraid lest it be a comedy for one and a tragedy for the other…’”

(Chapter 7) (italics mine)

The fairy tale that is most similar to Aşk-ı Memnu is Snow White and its variations. Nihal has a little brother, but as is clear from above, this is a play between a stepmother and a stepdaughter. And sexuality is a very integral part of Aşk-ı Memnu of course. (“Cinderella” might also come into play here, but of course not as much as “Snow White”).

Aşk-ı Memnu does not reverse the “Madonna” and “Whore” positions of the stepmother and stepdaughter: The stepmother is still the sexually transgressive more active woman who is punished by the narrative, and the stepdaughter is the “innocent”, passive character who comes to a relatively happy ending. But Aşk-ı Memnu still subverts this trope in two ways and it then pulls a switcheroo and kind of plays it straight at the end, but also not really:

1- The personalities of the two parties are switched. Nihal might be the “sexually innocent” one, but she is also the one madly jealous of Bihter rather than the other way around.

2- The wickedness of Bihter is purely in Nihal’s head. Nihal completely believes that Bihter is wicked but it is not true at all.

Then the book seems to play it straight at the very end as Bihter becomes jealous of Nihal due to her now having Behlül’s love and has very vengeful, aggressive thoughts on Nihal:

“This emotion united Behlül and Nihal; she wanted to throttle them both in the same vice of wrath and enmity.”

“She did not pity Nihal. She had stored up many grudges against her; all the things she had tolerated had each become an excuse for enmity towards this girl, each bearing the weight of due vengeance. But beyond all this enmity was that in Nihal, who had been a child only yesterday, having emerged a rival. It was this more than anything that she could not forgive Nihal.”

(Chapter 21)

The latter passage is very “Snow White”. But the focus is still on Behlül and Behlül’s love, that’s what Bihter cares about. Snow White and Cinderella’s stepmothers (and stepsisters) really are mostly jealous about them, their beauty and their “virtue”, the Prince is only a symbol. Not so for Bihter. Her wrongs against Nihal (her sacking her governess, her ruining her engagement, even her last vengefulness) are about the affair Bihter had, not about any resentment about Nihal in particular. Bihter is still very much not a Wicked Stepmother, and Nihal is still very much the more jealous one overall.

Aşk-ı Memnu is also of course more subversive or deconstructive than Fire and Blood because in it both the stepmother and the stepdaughter are complicated and very human people. Aşk-ı Memnu is a psychological novel that reveals the inner thoughts of all of its characters and is about a domestic tragedy. Fire and Blood is a faux-history narrated by unreliable narrators that is a companion piece to a fantasy series. Maybe House of the Dragon might be more deconstructive than Fire and Blood in this particular way since in it Alicent and Rhaenyra are supposed to be more complicated and human than their book counterparts. Maybe @minetteskvareninova is right about the TV show being more deconstructive than the book in this particular way, though the deconstruction is apparently not done very competently.

Anyway, thanks for giving me the opportunity to ramble yet again about Aşk-ı Memnu.

#aşk ı memnu #aşk-ı memnu #fire and blood #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #wicked stepmother #house of the dragon #snow white #cinderella #nihal #bihter

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rosanna-writer · 10 months

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (6/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.4k

Feyre and Rhys finally get their reunion Under the Mountain

Read on AO3 or you can find the sixth chapter below the readmore.

"What the hell are you doing here, Feyre?" Rhys hissed, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl.

I'd expected this. It wasn't as if I'd thought he'd fall to his knees in gratitude, not after weeks of shutting me out. That didn't make it any less aggravating. If I could have growled like a faerie, I would have.

At least, though, he'd said it aloud instead of in my head. He must have put a shield up so we could speak freely. "I wasn't going to leave you down here to rot," I said. My voice had a congested quality that definitely confirmed my nose was broken. I winced, and even just that slight motion in my face hurt, too.

"You were supposed to be safe. If nothing else, that was the one thing—"

I cut him off. After spending six weeks with the family he'd bound to Velaris for their own safety, I didn't need to hear this. "Who did you kill, Rhys?"

His eyes flashed, and for a moment, I thought he might ignore the question and keep ranting at me, but he said, "A human woman about your size. I mangled her corpse so it was unrecognizable, glamoured it to smell like you, and left it for Tamlin to find. Amarantha was delighted I'd sent him a clear message to think twice about breaking the curse, and I didn't want anyone to come looking for you."

I'd thought he'd done something on her orders, not planned it all himself. That cold, calculating nature should have scared me, made me question exactly what sort of person I'd come Under the Mountain for. There was truth to the stories about the brutal, wicked Night Court. And I didn't really know Rhys, either.

But what I did know was that if it were me, I would have done the same thing. I wouldn't have come here if I weren't prepared to kill for him, too.

"What you're telling me," I said slowly, half-thinking aloud as I tried to understand, "is that you felt strongly enough about me to kill on my behalf after one night, but you didn't think I'd come back for you?"

The darkness rippled around him, and it nearly blocked out the last of the light. Something about it made his ragged breathing seem louder. "You have no idea how relieved I was when you got to Ve— When you got home. All of this was worth it if you were safe. But now you're not." His voice broke on the last word.

I didn't regret coming here, but I understood. Taking a life wasn't easy, even if it was necessary, and the guilt of learning it turned out to be in vain was a heavy thing. I knew that firsthand because of Andras. Rhys was carrying around fifty years' worth of that sort of baggage, on top of being violated in every conceivable way and terrified for me and his family.

That fury was fine by me, as long he didn't let it drag him down into inaction.

"You clearly think you're worthless, so If it makes you feel better, tell yourself I'm doing this for all of Prythian instead." He went quiet and utterly still, the way only a faerie could. Perhaps it had been too harsh, throwing his sense of self-worth out there like that, but I needed him to get it together enough to do something. When he didn't respond, I continued, "I can't go back now, so help instead of lecturing me."

If he didn't, I realized, it would break me. After years of shouldering too much responsibility in that cabin because no one else could get over their feelings enough to help, I wouldn't survive coming Under the Mountain just to discover it was more of the same.

But it would be just my luck to end up with a mate who'd do that to me.

"Did you think I haven't been helping this whole time?" he said, and if I wasn't mistaken, there was hurt there. "Tamlin gave her your name, not me. While those faeries were beating you, I broke into their minds and ensured they didn't leave any permanent damage. It was the best I could do without them realizing I was in their heads. There were too many of them for me to also get into yours and take away your pain. I'm…sorry it wasn't enough."

I let out a long sigh and leaned back against the wall, careful not to press on any bruises. Rhys was staring at a spot on the floor, not looking at me, and seeing the defeated slump in his shoulders hurt worse than all my injuries.

"Thank you," I said softly, "for all of it. I didn't— It's not that— I just…needed to know that you're in my corner. That's enough. You're enough."

I could have sworn his throat bobbed, but in the dim light I couldn't be sure. He reached a hand towards my face and paused. "May I?"

I nodded, and Rhys ran his thumb along my cheek, brushing the sliver of skin between my black eye and swollen upper lip. In the half-second his fingertips skimmed my skin, something electric crossed the bond. Our eyes locked—we'd both felt it.

His gaze turned predatory again, and some knot of tension deep within me unraveled, just a little. I liked it better when he was looking at me like that.

Even if my body was currently a swollen, bruised mess.

"I can't heal everything without arousing suspicion, but I won't let a crooked nose mar the most beautiful face in Prythian," he said.

I blinked, sure that a blow to my head must have addled my brain, too. No, he couldn't possibly… "Are you flirting with me? Now?"

"If not now, when?" he said with another graceful shrug. I couldn't argue with that. As unafraid as I was, especially with him so close again, there was still the very distinct possibility we'd both die here, sooner rather than later. He must have thought the same because his expression went grave. "I have to set it in place first. It will hurt."

I didn't hesitate. "Just do it. I won't scream."

"So stoic," he drawled, lips curling into a half-smile. I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not. "Are you sure I'm not the only Illyrian here?"

Until that mention of Illyria, I hadn't thought much about his wings. I hadn't known they existed until Azriel mentioned it offhand, but now I wondered if there was a reason I hadn't seen them. Amarantha certainly seemed fond of ripping wings off.

But now wasn't the time. I just looked at him expectantly until he brought his fingers to the bridge of my nose and pushed.

I dug my nails into my palms through the crunch of bone on bone and sharp stab of pain. I just looked into his violet eyes and let them keep me steady. It was over in a heartbeat.

I inhaled sharply, and pain lanced through my ribs where they were still bruised. But at least the throbbing in my face had stopped. "Thanks," I said.

He kissed the tip of my newly-healed nose, then carefully leaned his forehead against the patch of mine that was uninjured. I heard him breathe in deeply and realized he must have been scenting me. Or at least, scenting Mor's glamour that made me smell like I did before I'd accepted the mating bond.

With my dull human senses, I couldn't smell much on him, as much as I wished I could, just so I'd know for myself what the fae were all talking about. He'd probably glamoured himself, too.

Though I couldn't smell anything, I still closed my eyes and let it wash over me that he was here, touching me, and in one piece. The bond was less taut than it had been in weeks.

All too soon, he straightened up and said, "We need to plan while I have time with you."

"How did you manage to get down here for so long anyway?" I said, then regretted it as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I was probably better off not knowing the answer.

"I tired her out," Rhys said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. I nearly retched, but he just waved his hand to indicate it was no big deal, an elegant gesture completely at odds with the dank cell around us.

He was putting up a front, but there was no use pushing for the truth when I felt what it cost him.

Instead, I stepped around him and started to pace. It felt better to be up and moving, even if it was just a loop of the cell. He leaned against the wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"There's nothing stopping them from attacking me again, is there?" I said.

If that beating had been a greeting worthy of Amarantha's hall, it could only mean there was more to come. And if Rhys could winnow down here and put up a shield, anyone else could follow suit and do whatever they wanted with me. I doubted the guards would intervene.

"Whatever I'd have to subject you to in order to get you out of this cell might be worse," Rhys said. "I may be able to spare you pain, but not humiliation."

I considered that for a moment, unsure if I'd take a loss of dignity over broken bones. It sounded as if he was already considering something, though. "What are you thinking?"

"I can keep you with me if I treat you as a toy to taunt Tamlin with. Dress you up, degrade you in front of your so-called beloved, and make it clear to everyone else that I don't share."

It hardly sounded pleasant, but I'd endure it if it meant getting out of this cell. And beyond that, the mating bond kept pulling me to him, no matter the consequences. Perhaps the sensible choice would be to stay out of sight—and potentially out of mind—but I just wanted to be as close to Rhys as I possibly could.

There was also a small, vindictive part of me that hoped it might actually make Tamlin feel some guilt.

"There are worse fates," I said.

Rhys sighed, running a hand through his blue-black hair. The motion drew my attention to the way his hair shone in the torchlight, and I tried not to let thoughts about running my hand through it distract me. "The trouble is, it may cause complications when we all get out of here."

He said "when" and not "if"—his hope wasn't gone. But that wasn't the point, and I wasn't sure what he was getting at. "Complications?"

"A human will have enough trouble being respected as Lady of the Night Court, if…you want that," he said, and I didn't miss the note of uncertainty in his voice, that slight hesitation. Before I could say something about it, he added, "Parading you like that in front of everyone here will make it worse, even after revealing it's a ruse."

Rhys was right, as impossible as it seemed that we'd have a future where I'd be attending state dinners on his arm. That sort of thing was too ridiculous to even consider whether or not I wanted it, and I'd almost forgotten I'd inadvertently ended up with a title.

I made a frustrated noise and paced faster. It was still tempting to take him up on it and say we'd handle the long-term consequences when it came to that. But there had to be more options.

An idea came to me. I stopped in my tracks and turned on my heel to face him. "What about my maidenhead?"

Perhaps it was just a trick of the light in the dark cell, but Rhys's face seemed to go paler. "Your maidenhead?" he said, the first time I'd heard him sound anything close to horrified. "Cauldron Feyre, on Calanmai, did I—"

The logical part of me doubted he'd care I wasn't a virgin, not after what Mor had told me about how he'd reacted when she'd lost hers. But still, as unfair as it was, plenty of males and men did care, and my gut twisted with something unpleasant at the prospect of Rhys finding me lacking in some way.

"You didn't. And before you ask, Tamlin didn't, either." He visibly relaxed at that and started to say something, but I cut him off because I had no desire to swap our sexual histories here Under the Mountain. "But no one else needs to know that if you can ensure Tamlin and Lucien won't expose the lie. Tell everyone you intend to make an event of taking my virginity. It would give you a reason to make sure no one touches me and still leave me down here."

His eyes glittered again, his expression melting into something I'd seen on his face at least once before. It wasn't quite interest or fascination or wonder, but it was close. Rhysand looked…bewitched.

It was probably just another strange effect of the mating bond.

"Now there's an idea," he said, pressing his long, elegant fingers together under his chin. "It would work, if only for a short while. They'll question why I haven't just done it if it drags on too long, but I'll take whatever time we can get. I'll ward the cell and have someone trusted bring a change of clothes and body paint for when Amarantha drags you out for housework."

I smiled, understanding exactly where he was going with this. "And of course you'll have to come down here frequently to ensure the paint is still intact."

"It would be far too important a task to delegate," he purred.

I still wasn't quite sure what Rhys was to me or what I wanted—and I doubted I'd figure it out Under the Mountain—but at the very least, he was a teammate and co-conspirator now. And he seemed like an excellent one.

I resumed my pacing and pretended not to notice how closely his violet eyes tracked my movement. "And the riddle? Has she given it any consideration?"

"Not yet, and before you ask, we've all been barred from helping you solve it or telling you the first task. I have her ear, and I'll keep pushing her to make plans that play to your strengths."

I'd figured that would be the case, but it was good to hear Rhys confirm it. Prythian was not a place you could run on assumptions alone.

He shared as much information as he could—the locations of every room he knew Under the Mountain, the names and faces of the trusted shadow wraiths here with him, the schedules of when the dungeon guards changed shifts. The talons brushing my mind were familiar now, even a bit comforting, but I'd never get used to the way he could just deposit information directly with his daemati abilities.

Rhys cocked his head, and his eyes went a bit distant for a moment, as if he were listening for something a long way off. I wasn't sure if it was someone's mind or just a sound too faint for human ears.

"I don't have to go right this moment, but soon," he said.

I nodded. It would hurt to see him disappear again, but getting this much time alone together was a gift. I wished I knew when it would happen again.

If it would happen again.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing because when he spoke again, he stumbled over his words, something that even after a short time together, I knew rarely happened. Actually, it might never have happened before. "Feyre, do you mind if I…Could— Could you please come here and take a seat?" he said.

I didn't understand the request, but I trusted him, so I sat down on the pallet of hay in the far corner of my cell. Looking back over my shoulder, I watched him sink to his knees behind me. "That bruise towards the top of your ribs is going to make it uncomfortable to lift your arm, at least for another day or two," he added, as if that explained it.

I still wasn't sure what that had to do with anything until I felt him slide the tie off the end of what was left of my braid. He untangled my hair with his fingers, smoothing it out without pulling too hard or yanking my scalp backwards.

With more deftness than I'd assumed he was capable of, Rhys began braiding at my hairline, securely weaving in the sections around my face so they wouldn't fall out. The braid would probably last a few days, long enough for the bruise to fade by the time I needed to fix my hair—he'd clearly done this before. I almost asked about it, but Mor had mentioned a sister when she'd explained the bad blood between Rhys and Tamlin. It seemed better not to risk bringing her up now, if that was who he'd last done this for.

I suspected it might have been easier to talk about this when I wasn't looking at him; after a moment, he said softly, "I won't be there if you wake up and vomit tonight, so consider this my way of holding your hair back for you."

I willed myself not to cry.

Instead, once he finished, I turned to face him and thought back to Calanmai—perhaps we were destined to always end up on our knees together somewhere underground. "Thank you," I said, resisting the urge to pull the braid over my shoulder and fiddle with the end. "And you have a lifeline, too, you know. Use it." For emphasis, I tugged on the bond.

Rhys gave me a single nod, and I took that to mean he had every intention of continuing to shut me out as much as he could. I wouldn't push.

"Don't think I'm not still upset with you, but while we can speak face-to-face, I should say that you were brilliant in that throne room. It was a clever bit of bargaining. And I know you were training before, but that much tenacity can't be taught. It's an innate gift."

A smile tugged at my lips. "That's the nicest way anyone's ever called me stubborn."

And impossibly, Rhys smiled back, perhaps his first genuine smile in fifty years Under the Mountain. I wanted to make it happen again.

I stood, taking note of which parts of my body groaned in protest as I rose to my feet. I held a hand out to help him up, and he took it, not that he needed it. Somehow, even just the simple act of getting up from the floor was imbued with feline grace when Rhys did it. If he'd never done a single clumsy thing in his life, I wouldn't be surprised.

He didn't drop my hand, and somehow I could tell this was goodbye. "Stay safe," I whispered.

"You, too."

He studied my face for a moment, and from the way his gaze dropped to my lips, I suspected he was debating whether the swelling in my face had subsided enough to kiss me. Unfortunately, it hadn't.

Instead, he bent at the waist and kissed my knuckles in a gesture that struck me as strangely aristocratic, as if he were courting me in a ballroom and not stealing a few moments in a dungeon. Before I could say anything else, he disappeared into shadow.

I sighed and decided to take in my surroundings to get my mind off the empty hole that formed in my chest the second he'd left. My weapons were gone, of course, and other than the pallet, the only other object in the room was a bucket, probably for me to relieve myself in. I picked it up, debating whether it was worth trying to tear off the handle to use as a makeshift weapon.

At some point, a miserable meal of stale bread and water appeared for me. I scarfed it down, thinking to myself I'd survived on less before. Given the choice, I'd take deer tripe over the bread, but this still wasn't nearly as bad as the days I'd resorted to chewing on tree bark. I suspected no one here but me had ever known poverty.

If Amarantha wanted to break me, she'd have to try harder.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

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storytowrite · 3 months

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hey ml, how are you? 🫶🏻 thought i’d request something if that’s okay?

(i’ve been listening to this song and it gave me a wicked idea)

OT8 skz x 9th Fem!member reader where she argues with the boys and they all ignore her for a while which causes her to get into her head and she starts going a bit crazy? She is filming her solo MV as apart of SKZ-REPLAY and lets all of her crazy/psychotic thoughts out. The boys are told to come into jyp to talk about readers MV (which the boys hadn’t seen yet) and they all sit in shock whilst watching you go on a psychotic breakdown with the most sinister grin on your face?

Hello love ❤️ I really, really like the idea and I will definitely write it. Also I love the song! But please be patience because I have my finals so I’ll probably start writing again after I pass everything.

I’ll tag you anyway.

Kisses 😘

Hello love, As promised I wrote this idea and I hope that you would enjoy reading it. I'm so sorry that you had to wait for such a long time :C but the last week of January when I had my finals was so hard and exhausting that actually I needed to rest from everything. But thankfully I passed everything and now, being on my winter break, I can write more :D.

Anyway, here's the story I really hope you'll like it. Please enjoy and have fun reading it. ❤️

……………………..

Title: Happy Face

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2061

Warnings: swearing, mention of mental breakdown, Lee Know is kinda harsh on Y/N

……………………..

“...And I guess, they’ll never listen, ya know? Because I’m a girl.” Was the last thing you said before smiling creepily into the camera and tilting your head to the side. “But let me tell y'all a secret…” You said whispering. “I don’t need them anymore. Not at all.” You started laughing hysterically. There was something in your voice that made everyone, who was watching your live, shiver. Something’s changed. The switch had been switched and there was no way back.

……………………..

“Ya! Y/N! Stop acting like a fucking child!” Changbin screamed as you ran before him, trampling over his music sheets. “I’m working, don’t you see?!”

“I’m sorry Binnie! I’m just late and…” You started to explain yourself.

“I don’t fucking care!” He scoffed. He didn’t like being interrupted in his work and you knew that. Everybody knew. You sighed heavily.

“I said I’m sorry…” You said with a pout on your face and just left the room. Living with eight men in a dorm as a ninth member was sometimes hard. Especially before the upcoming comeback, when everyone was busy and stressed out. The season was just hectic.

You arrived at the practice a little bit late. You entered the practice room, being welcomed by a disappointed view of coldfaced Lee Minho. “You are late.” He said harshly. “Why are you always late?!” His voice raised a little, which made you squirm.

“I’m sorry… I got stuck in traffic and…” You started but he didn’t want to listen.

“I don’t care, Y/N. You should have left earlier then. We were waiting for you for almost 20 minutes! We don’t have this room reserved for long!” Minho was angry.

“I’m so…” You started but again was interrupted by someone.

“Okay, no need to actually fight… let’s start the practice again, all right?” Felix said softly and looked at you with a slight smile. “You remember the routine?”

“Y-yes, I remember.” You answered.

“Good.” Said Hyunin and turned on the music. “Let’s begin then.”

The practice was good, but the tension between you and Lee Know was strong. You couldn’t understand what got into him. You did your best and gave more than 100%. You were a perfectionist so you always tried to be better and better.

Dancing with the danceracha was most of the time fun. But this time you couldn’t enjoy it as much as you would like to. Minho was harsh and pointed out each mistake that you made or at least the mistake that he thought you made.

You were tired. You didn’t know what actually was happening with your body. You couldn’t stay straight most of the time. Your muscles ached and you felt a little dizzy. Your body didn’t want to cooperate with you at all.

“Minho, I need a break.” You stopped the routine in the middle, panting heavily. “I really have no strength and my body is…”

“I don’t care Y/N, you said that you remember everything. Just focus and dance again.” He said, rolling his eyes, creally annoyed. “You need to master these movements.”

“No.” You said looking at him. “I will not dance again now, I need a break. I’m tired.”

“Let me repeat it, Y/N. No one cares that you are tired. We all are! You are messing up the whole choreography. I’m not going to change the routine again, just because you can't focus.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that I am tired and my body can’t dance properly.” You rolled your eyes, snapping at him. “Maybe if you weren’t a douchebag you are right now and let me take a break just for ten minutes as you did with Hyunjin and Felix I’ll be in better condition to dance once again. I told you, my body…”

“Maybe if you practised more you wouldn’t be as tired as you are right now?” He raised an eyebrow. “Instead of spending time gossiping around you should come here and practise often!”

“First of all I don’t gossip! And second of all it’s none of your business what I do in my fr…” You couldn’t finish the sentence since Hyunjin interrupted you.

“Y/N, just listen to the hyung. He’s right. You are messing up the choreography. And we are as tired as you are of repeating it all over again . You need to focus.”

“I am focused! And stop interrupting me!” You raised your voice annoyed that Hyunjin is taking Minho’s side. “You both think that I don’t do anything?! I am trying to be as good as you guys are!”

“Then try harder!” Minho shouted. “It’s not the first time you are messing something up! You are always messing things up! You think being an idol is supposed to be a light job? It’s not a playground Y/N! We are all tired of you and your constant excuses and being fucking tired. If it’s too much then… ”

“I don’t have any excuses! What the fuck you are talking about Minho?!” You were pissed. “I get that everyone is stressed out because of the comeback but don’t yell at me just because you are ruthless fucking douchebag, who thinks that by being mean…”

“Call me a douchebag once again and I swear I’ll…” He started but you interrupted him.

“You’ll do what, hm? Hit me?” You looked at him provocatively and Minho clenched his fits.

“Okay, Allright.” Someone entered the danceroom. “Calm down everybody. Calm down. What’s all this fuss about?” It was Chan, who looked at you and Minho, seeking the explanation. Behind him the rest of the Stray Kids entered the room and looked at the two of you. “Why are you fighting? Everyone in the building can hear you.”

“Apparently Y/N is once again tired of actually doing nothing.” Minho said venomously. “She doesn’t want to focus and I had to change the choreography too many times and…”

“Apparently Minho is treating me worse than he treats others.” You said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “He doesn’t let me take a break while Hyunjin and Felix rested all the time!”

“Hey! That’s not true!” Felix and Hyunjin said at the same time.

“Y/N I told you that you are messing the choreography up and…” Minho started once again.

“And I fucking told you that I’m tired, okay?! Why is no one listening? I have no strength recently and…” You interrupted him. You could feel the tears that formed in your eyes, both because you were pissed and just sad.

“And that’s enough, watch your tongue Y/N.” Chan said firmly, sighing heavily. He didn’t let you finish your sentence. “Y/N, I heard from the boys that the only thing you've been doing recently is complaining. And I actually observed it by myself. If you need a longer break, we can talk with the managers about the hiatus and…” he looked straight into your eyes.

“But I don’t want to go on a hiatus! What are you even talking about right now? Why is no one listening? You know what? I’m done for today.” You said, feeling like you were going to cry. You literally felt betrayed but all of the boys. “I need some time alone, ya know? I am done with all of you.” You grabbed your belongings and left the practice room, leaving all the eight men behind you. Nobody even tried to stop you.

……………………..

A few hours have passed. You took a break and spent some alone time outside the building. You had time to rethink and calm yourself down. Maybe they were right at some point, but at the same time they didn’t listen to what you were going to say. It felt like you were just some kind of burden for them or they were annoyed with you with no further reason.

After a long while you decided to come back to the JYPE building once again. It was really late and you were sure that no one was even there. You went straight into the danceroom, where you were going to practise. In the upcoming comeback, you not only had the performance with the danceracha but also had your solo song and MV as a part of SKZ-REPLAY. And at this point Minho was right. You had to master everything.

You took off the hoodie you were wearing and put on the music. The routines weren’t that hard as you thought before. After some time of practising you, being content with the results of your hard work, decided to talk to somebody and share your thoughts. You were still upset with the boys so instead of calling them or your manager, you decided to make an Instagram live. The only people that you could rely on right now were your fans.

“Hello guys, this is Y/N from Stray Kids.” You greeted your fans with a bright smile on your face. “How are ya?” You asked them and started reading some comments. “Am I in the practice room? Yeah, I’ve been mastering the movements for the new comeback… Uhm.. No, no I’m here by myself.”

The fans started asking you questions about the comeback, the track and the boys and you tried to answer most of them with a big smile on your face. But it didn’t feel real. After a few more questions your smile started to drop. You didn’t want to show your fans emotions you were actually hiding all day, but eventually the bubble just burst.

“Y/N is everything all right?” You’ve read out loud as the fans started asking you more serious questions. “Actually… no. Nothing is okay, ya know? I’m tired of being in this band. No, I am fucking exhausted! Don’t get me wrong, the guys…” You started and suddenly smirked looking straight into the camera. “Or you know what? Fuck it. Get me all wrong!” You laughed a little. “Maybe if I say what I’ve been trying to say recently, you’ll actually listen. Because believe it or not, there are people who don’t listen.” You let out the little giggle. But it wasn’t a happy giggle. You were trying so hard not to show the emotions that culminated in your body, that now you couldn't even pretend.

Your fans started to be more concerned about your mental state. The people who were watching you at that moment were just scared. You didn’t act normal. You smiled at the camera, but there was something in your smile that no one could even name.

“I’m happy! I’m happy! I’m happy today!... Hey! Put on a happy face!” You sang and started laughing. And your laugh was echoing in the empty room. Everyone who was watching your live was scared. But you didn’t care. The comments have stopped. No one dared to say anything. People were just looking at you but they didn’t know what to do.

……………………..

At the same time that you were having a mental breakdown in front of thousands of people on the Internet, eight men sat in your dormitory, accompanied by managers, and watched you silently. They were either horrified or concerned, or both at the same time. Mixed emotions consumed them.

They were sure that they were the cause of your breakdown. Recently, they haven’t been very understanding. They didn’t want to listen to your silent cry for help. They were too focused on themselves that they didn’t see that you also had been experiencing a hard time. The instant remorse immediately seized them.

“...And I guess, they’ll never listen, ya know? Because I’m a girl.” Was the last thing you said before smiling creepily into the camera and tilting your head to the side. “But let me tell y'all a secret…” You said whispering. “I don’t need them anymore. Not at all.” You started laughing again, but this time you laughed hysterically. There was something in your voice that made everyone, who was watching your live, shiver. Something’s changed. The switch had been switched and there was no way back.

It was the only thing you added before you truly switched. They looked at your live with horror in their eyes.

“Hyung… We have fucked things up. We all did.” It was I.N. who dared to speak, breaking the heavy silence. And those words will stay with them for a really long time.

@ihrtlix

#stray kids #skz #skz fanfic #skz reaction #stray kids reaction #skz imagines #skz reactions brakdown #skz scenarios #skz story #short story #stray kids short story #stray kids fanfic #stray kids reactions #stray kids angst #stray kids sad story

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ozzgin · 6 months

Note

I'm bombarding you with asks but hear me out, it's 5am (in my country) But remember the Oni Y/N ask I sent you? I've been thinking about her story and how she ended up in a rock

So basically, as we know, Y/N is an Oni, a traditional one which meant that she lived during the Heian period (794–1185) according to Google...

I've been doing some small research about the onis and found out that they usually are found in mountains, Jigoku, or Japanese Buddhist hell

So what if, the reason why Oni Y/N is found inside a rock (A very big rock, probably an igneous rock, if you didn't know, igneous rocks are basically cooled off lava) is because she fell on lava while chasing a group of humans into a trap, I've read they are aggressive, so this makes the plan easy for humans.

So after she fell in lava, they quickly made sure to cover ALL of her in lava, wait for it to solidify and throw her underground, and throughout the years, rocks and rocks have been falling and burying her deeper and deeper, until fortunately (or unfortunately for humans) she was found and was accidentally released (I have no idea if onis are lava proof but for the sake of my story, let's say Oni Y/N is)

After she got out of the rock, she goes on a small rampage since she's confused and scared, she didn't know where she was, she didn't know what were the things she was seeing, until she remembered on what happened to her after being foolish and aggressive towards humans (the previous part) So eventually she calmed down, she won't let anybody or any humans try to take her mask off along with the long ass clothes she's wearing.

She calms down around Pickle, probably because she views him more as a pet ally/companion since they both don't understand humans (I'm guessing onis don't and they have their own unknown and secret language that professor payne can't crack) so both of them rely on body language

She doesn't want to repeat her mistakes again by underestimating humans so she just watches the fights, but she won't refuse a fight unless someone fully convinces her to (which I doubt anyone can)

So let's imagine Yujiro coming near her, she'd make him the only exception, he's the only human she'll attack and be aggressive towards. (Onis are meant to torture evil souls and as we know, Yujiro is a bitch)

-🎧anon

(I am so sorry for bombarding you with so much asks, but I'm not requesting you to write or draw, I just want to know your opinion and correct me for any mistakes that I did, it's 5am and I can't think straight anymore, I'm not even straight at this point, but in all seriousness, I love your work and keep it up, I genuinely just want you to give your opinion on this backstory/lore that I did and if you have any ideas you wanna add go for it!❤)

I feel like instead of your drawing helping me calm down about my ideas about Oni y/n, it just made it stronger...

All fine, I’m always glad to talk about monsters and demons!

The only question I have regarding your backstory is Reader’s difficulty in understanding humans. According to the yokai guide, oni are born when truly wicked humans die or when their soul is beyond redemption. So now it’s rather unclear, do they forget their past and strip away their humanity? Or do they have some remnants that allow them to blend in if they so desire? I think this is up to personal interpretation and to each individual oni.

By the way, as it turns out - something I didn’t know - the female demon is known as kijo. Kijo are supposed to be weaker than their male counterpart, as their strength lies in magic, excelling in curses and hexes. I myself prefer the brute strength. Although it would definitely be funny if Yuujirou was planning his comeback and noticed he’d been cursed with terrible luck in the process. Could he train to reach Reader’s level of power? Maybe. Casting spells, however…

#baki headcanons #oni reader

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googoobabajogwick · 1 year

Text

Hot Knife chpt.1

description: Trained as children at the Roma Ruska together to be partners, you and Jardani were bound to live a wild life together, just not in ways you’d expect.

What happens when after sixteen years of dating you break up and ten years after that Jardani, or should you say John, finds you and comes back with the one thing that still tied you to him.

Your marker.

triggers: Only putting major triggers such as; Lots of misogyny, talks of sex trafficking, trauma from sexual assault, smut and unhealthy coping mechanisms like drinking and drugs the reader is a bit unhinged. This chapter includes smut and talks of sexual assault and trafficking nothing too graphic. Lots of trauma

If ur watching the John Wick movies imma go ahead and assume you can handle what other stuff I have in here.

word count: 7k

mini authors note: this didn't at first contain spoilers but now it does but the only major spoilers from the movie aren't till later in the story like chapters 9 and 10. I posted this on my Ao3 (and tumblr but I didn’t rly try) up to chapter 8 but it’s on a mini hiatus bc I'm rewriting every chapter bc I'm crazy like that. Feel free to go read those but I will be reuploading the new chapters when I have them all done. Y’all get first peak…

--->

Chapter one: Hot Knife

You sat at the edge of your bed watching a violent movie where the woman was currently fighting back and winning. It brought a smile to your face. These types of movies always gave you different types of ideas to use when you were sent out on missions. Plus movies were the only thing keeping you preoccupied at the moment.

The Director had you confined to your room for “starting” a fight with one of her other students at the Ruska Roma. You were always getting in trouble but it's not your fault you're better than everyone else. It's also not your fault people are annoying and like to try you. That was just stupidity on their part.

You had been trained alongside the infamous Jardani Jovonovich, which meant you had just as much training as he did. On top of that you studied medicine from a young age with some guy appointed to you by The Director and were considered somewhat of a genius, so some may even say you were better than Jardani, but you had still only beaten him once in what was just supposed to be a sparring match.

A loud sigh escaped your lips as you took a bite of your sandwich. The woman in the movie had died, typical of these movies. You wished Jardani would finish his stupid hit so he could entertain you. It should be any day now that he’d come home. You might even go as far as to say you missed him…

Your relationship was complicated. More on your end. Jardani’s wishes were very clear. He wanted to be with you. Of course you wanted to be with him… Maybe? Like you did but something in your head kept telling you no; That things would not work out, he’d get annoyed with you… Scared of you even…

That one made you laugh. The idea of scaring a man like him would make anyone who knew him laugh. Jardani had gotten to the point where he liked to act in private, like you two are dating even though you’re not. He cuddles with you, makes out with you all the time, calls you when he’s away to ask how your day has been. Sometimes multiple times a day. It gets people mad because he’s using up the direct line and others have calls to make!

The two of you have long, deep talks with one another, go out together, hell the two of you have photos of the both of you framed and up on the walls of your room. He’ll tell people he has to ask you before he does anything and you’ll say the same about him, this leaves everyone rolling their eyes. All Jardani wants is you and anything you’ll give him. He wanted to walk around holding hands and kissing you when he felt the urge, even in public, but you were scared. Scared deep down you’d hurt him.

When you beat him it was a couple weeks after the most horrible experience of your life. People don’t realize how much shit you get as a woman for being one of the only ones who was not subjected to being a ballerina, learning the graceful ways of murder rather than the brute force the men did. Also the title of the future second most talented and master assassin going to a woman didn’t sit well with the men. You just didn't belong anywhere you felt.

The girls and women there sneered at you and the boys and men mocked and belittled you. You tried to be nice, but you’d never let anyone walk all over you. Many tried to harass but many ended up getting some bones broken, except one boy, his name was Vladimir. It came out of nowhere, a whole plan created right under your nose.

You were smart and for him to trick you and Jardani with such ease, you’ll never know how he did. Your whole life you were taught not to trust anyone, the one person you knew you could trust was your partner. No matter what anyone told you, you’d always blame yourself for that time even though as a girl you were always a potential target for that kind of hate.

There were multiple men there, they said, though you only remembered one. It was a blitz attack they said. Five months you’d been gone they said. It was a betrayal they hadn’t seen coming, they said. They’re sorry they said but you couldn’t hear them. You continued to stare out the window, dissociated, hoping to never feel again. The leaves blew and whirled around in the breeze. You wished you could feel as free as them. Your forehead pressed against the cool glass in the infirmary.

It was supposed to be an easy and simple hit.

Any progress Jardani thought you two had made as partners felt as though it had been erased. He saw the pain in your eyes, the unshed tears as you pretended you were somewhere far, far away. Five months ago you’d be making fun of him for being so worried, five months ago you were starting to open up to him. Five months, five months, five fucking months.

He should have saved you sooner, in fact you should have never even been taken. The betrayal of Vladimir was rough. Nobody had seen it coming and Jardani beat himself up everyday for it. The nightmares of bright blue eyes were taking a toll on you. All your feistiness, all your grandiose nonsense, he’d give anything for you to smack him upside the head or call him an idiot again.

Instead you were a shell. For the first time he saw a fifteen year old little girl. Someone who didn’t belong in all this nonsense, the girl you always tried to hide. Jardani was the only male you allowed anywhere near you. He was patient though, sitting at the end of your bed every night to make sure when your inevitable screams would come it was his face you’d wake up too and not a needle to sedate you.

He made you feel safe. Even in your most vulnerable; Clothes ripped up, hair matted, malnourished, beaten, bleeding and violated. You never understood how he made you feel this way. As you stood in the corner of that cold, horrible room, Jardani’s eyes seemed so familiar, you knew that no matter what he’d never hurt you, and he never did.

Jardani killed him. Vladimir. He beat him to death, in front of you with his bare hands, making sure that the older boy suffered but the others got away. Without any names though every lead fell dead. You refused to give him names but not because you didn’t want him to kill them, but because you didn’t want to think about it.

You had so many cuts and bruises when he found you cowering in the corner with a knife in your hand. When he asked, you told him you got it off Vladimir during all the commotion— in which you found out was him and other people from the Roma Ruska killing everyone— The now dead student had cut a ‘V’ into your shoulder leaving a scar as a forever reminder of the violation and dignity you lost.

Stuck with physical and invisible scars as strong reminders of your trauma it was no surprise your first day back to training was not good and it was the only time you've ever beaten Jardani. He had always been stronger than you in strength and more talented. Once you’d even compared the both of you to Mozart and Beethoven.

Where one was a natural prodigy the other had their talents forced onto them when they were young by their father. Jardani laughed at that and proceeded to call you Beethoven for a month. He was an expert at fighting even at sixteen, skilled and experienced. You learned how to fight from your father but even he wasn’t an expert but he did teach you how to get your way.

The Russian Hunter.

That’s what the media called him and it wasn’t even true. Your father was a proud Ukrainian and hated being called Russian. He owned the house when he moved to America with you at five years old and your mother. The small cabin-like house sat on a huge one hundred thirty acre piece of land. You and your father used to go hunting and camping together in the woods. It was how you bonded.

The two of you were so close and you knew he loved you. By the time the New York Police discovered he was literally hunting people deep into the forest, you had known but didn’t know what to do. Everything told you to call the police but you were twelve and he was your papa. Your mother had always wanted a son. You’d never think a father who liked to hunt and was so stereotypically masculine was happy to have a daughter.

He taught you how to shoot a gun, hunt, skin a buck, survive in the wild and off the grid, to slaughter animals— which helped you learn to kill people quite easily, it was almost the same thing— and to fight. Everyday, he’d make you practice since the day you could walk it felt. All the time when you’d mess up or get hurt he’d tell you,

“You have to toughen up and learn how to protect yourself, my little sun.” He would speak in Ukrainian while grabbing your face and staring deep into your eyes that looked so much like your mothers.

“There are evil people in this world, specifically men. As a girl you will someday become a woman. Many will think you’re weak but that’s not true because you’re my daughter.”

Little did you know, he was one of those evil men. He was strict but loving towards you. Everyone always told you that you looked just like him. People also told you that your personality matched your Belarusian mothers. Miserable, cold and liked to suppress feelings. Your parents almost seemed so formal with each other. In fact you didn’t even know your parents loved each other until one night you found them dancing and smiling.

Yet you didn’t blame them, having grown up in the U.S.S.R and surviving a famine, they were taught to be cold at a young age. That moment stayed in your memory forever; your mothers smile and your father’s laughter when someone would mess up. It’s the reason you loved to dance, even if it was by yourself.

As much as your mother made your life hell— pushing her insecurities onto you and never giving you the nurture you needed— you still loved her and missed her too. Your father gave you the love you needed as a child even with all the trauma of finding him stabbing a man in the woods when you explored a little farther than normal.

Oh and watching him and your mother be shot by the police when he pulled a gun out and she drove in front of him.

She knew as well as you but times were different. It was 1976 and she felt it was her duty as his wife to stay silent, which ultimately led to her death though she had not physically harmed anyone. At twelve years old you could never imagine loving someone that much.

The lead detective on the case took you under his wing for a little bit before confessing to you that he found you to be a very demanding, morbid little girl. He talked to some people who went to The Director. She made you fight a male student of hers when she saw how you overpowered the female student.

It wasn’t that big she was weak, you demolished him as well, your fighting was just… Different. Animalistic, brutal, and terrifying. You liked to bite, play dirty and go a little overboard. She knew with her training, you would be perfect, possibly one of the best. The Director also knew a current student who seemed to be heading in the same direction. What a partnership the two of you would make…

With that she took you into her care.

When you showed up to practice you were on edge. You had a bad morning. The nightmare you had last night left you feeling sick but The Director said it was time to move on. Life is suffering, she used to say. Not the warmest woman on earth. You walked into the training room and heard Jardani arguing with her. They didn’t hear you at first.

You could always sneak around and hide in the shadows. Growing up, you would always eavesdrop on important conversations and then you’d run back and tell Jardani everything. He was your best friend and it was fun to talk about the drama together. It was often you’d hear a,

“Y/N, get out from behind there this second!”,

And a smack across the cheek.

They stopped talking when you made your presence known but you knew they were talking about you. He looked at you with sadness in his eyes and you just shrugged your shoulders. With a sigh he joined you on the mat and prepared to spar with you. He went easy on you until you heard something.

You don’t even remember what was said, but after a couple of soft swings and light pushes you almost just felt as though the goddess Athena had entered you, you felt the anger and screams of so many scorned and abused women in the past and present coursing through your blood, but even worse, you saw your partner as him.

You let out a heartbreaking scream and charged at him. He was able to dodge and get a few hits in but you caught him off guard, not expecting an actual fight. Once he was on the ground all you remember was sobbing, screaming and his blood all over your hands as multiple people pried you off of him. You had to be sedated as you screamed and screamed and screamed.

His arm had been broken, his nose and you almost blinded him in one eye. You got quite the scolding from The Director before you were allowed to see him again. She wanted you nowhere near him but that wouldn’t stop you. You’d change his bandages, wash him with a washcloth and while he was passed out you sobbed by his bed.

You asked yourself how you could do this to the one boy— let alone person— you felt safe with. The one boy who made your heart flutter in ways you've never felt before, you couldn’t describe it to anyone, certainly not Jardani himself. Who protected you and made you feel like you could forget everything. All the pain.

When he could get up and do things himself you locked yourself away in your room refusing to eat or speak for days. Until he himself came into your room and hugged you, telling you that you were pretty fucking scary but hes okay and you will be too. Jardani was more worried about your mental state. He told The Director it was too soon but she waved him off.

That night he kissed you. It wasn’t the first time you kissed but it felt different. No kiss had ever compared, the closet thing that could come wouldn’t be for years and that would be exchanging each other's markers. The traumatic event made you not feel anything anymore. Not anything good at least and definitely not trust.

But that kiss, despite the fact you flinched away, felt soft and nice. So nice in fact you couldn’t get enough. When he left to go get you something to eat you couldn’t help but let your fingertips brush against your lips. You wanted him to come back and do it again and again. It was nothing like how Vladimir or the other men would kiss you. He could never hurt you, not like they had, that was a fact in your own mind.

Although things had never been official, you would always sneak into his bed and cuddle with Jardani at night. It stopped your nightmares. This wasn’t so out of the ordinary but when it became constant, it became a problem. The Director was not too fond of this relationship. She tried separating you two but then you both started acting out, to make up for it she started sending you both out on missions alone.

She thought you would get in his way, that your love would be too suffocating for him. All her hard work flushed down the drain because of a girl. That made you laugh because years later, now at nineteen it would seem to anyone that he liked you and you just… Weren't all that interested but they also didn’t see the two of you in private either.

You liked being brutal and you liked being scary and you liked gore and would even most likely be diagnosed as a psychopath, it did run in the family, where you could still see the humanity in Jardani no matter how much he liked to try and play it off. You could only feel sympathy for the women and girls.

Everyone here was an orphan, everyone here had a backstory and the girls were treated horribly. You experienced it yourself and it wasn’t fun. The pain and no free will. Having to practice over and over till you fall over exhausted. Just to get right back up and do it again.

A lot of other students would mock you two whether it was because they wanted to see it happen or because they were jealous. Jardani was hot, there was no doubt about that and you were too but that didn’t stop people from treating you like shit. They either wanted to be with you or they hated you. So you liked to be alone.

To you it felt like one of those high school based movies you’d watched with him a couple times. People respected Jardani so most of the jokes or remarks fell on you. They were scared of you but that didn’t mean they didn’t like to get underneath your skin. They pissed you off but you learned to deal with it. The students were good but you were better so at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Plus, you were his partner, so who really won?

With a bottle of coke in one hand dangling off the bed while the other held onto your half eaten sandwich, you heard a knock. Your head whipped around to look at the door. You dropped the bottle and threw the sandwich in your garbage bin a large smile, knowing exactly who it was. Jardani always announced himself before he walked in, it made your heart go crazy because it was his room too.

As soon as you saw his short shaggy hair that was getting quite long and his iconic facial hair you paused the movie. He always sorta looked like a puppy to you, well, at least when he looked at you or The Director was scolding him. Jardani was supporting a nasty bruise on the side of his face.

“Aww my pet is back and he seems to be hurt..” You caressed the side of his face

He rolled his eyes before pulling you into an embrace.

“I missed you, my Athena.” He breathed in the scent of your hair.

You let yourself fall into the hug. Everyone who asked got the same exact answer. The scary assassin was being used for sex. You’d even tell Jardani to his face that if you could marry his cock you’d have no use for him himself, but thankfully he had a pretty face too. And you guess he had a pretty charming personality.

You could never love someone though, you tell him you aren’t faithful to him, that you have men lining up to be with you, that he is disposable and he puts up with it. Even when you accuse him of seeing other women or just wanting sex like most men. You verbally abuse him trying to push him away and yet he stays.

The two of you fuck, cuddle, go out in public together, spend all your time together but won’t put a label on it. This caused a lot of issues. Like arguments that would be fixed with a simple promise and label. Although you know at this point he knows you’re a liar— that you don’t talk to anyone else—he doesn’t need to know that… you know he knows. So many small lies.

Lies that he’s not constantly on your mind and just how badly you want and yearn for the security of knowing he is yours forever and only. Life had taught you that nothing was secure and nothing was forever and that you didn’t feel good enough for him. But nobody would ever hear those thoughts ever. Or so you thought.

“Heard you were grounded.” A laugh left his mouth. “What did you do this time?” He asked.

“It was just some of the others. Guess they didn’t like the look I had on my face.”

“I’ll make them regret saying anything to you.” Jardani kissed your forehead while you scoffed.

“Oh don’t worry I already did that.” You giggled.

He smiled at you while squeezing your hips before leaning toward you for a kiss. His hands came up to hold the sides of your face, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone. After such a long time away you knew what he wanted and got straight to the point, like you always did, your hand traveled down to his belt. Your hands toyed with the buckle.

“They fucked up your beautiful face, don't tell me they hurt your best asset though, right?”

Jardani shook his head no with a slight smirk before pushing you down on the bed. His lips connected with yours in a passionate make out session that said ‘I missed you, I wanted you’. Your hands threaded through his hair but you couldn't help but press on the nasty bruise that was on the side of his face. He winced but moaned before moving one of his hands to shove down your pants. His fingers immediately circled your clit causing you to thrust up, groan and pull away.

“Are you going to pleasure your Goddess, Dani? I know you want my pussy.” You said in a lustful way.

“Fuck yes, yes.” He pulled off your pants and underwear before kneeling in front of the bed.

The black haired man started by trailing wet and sloppy kisses all the way from your ankle to your hip, the inside of your thigh to the outside, then he turned and did it to the other leg, all while thanking you for letting him touch you this way. He knows you hide the fact that you’ve never ever let a man touch you like this and in return he's sure to try and let you know he’s never touched or even wanted to touch another woman since the first time you’ve had sex.

Jardani always knew how to make you feel like you were melting. Like a liquid that would seep into the mattress of happiness and bliss. You'd go as far as to say he made you feel nice. But the niceness only lasted for so long. Your hand shot up to his head to keep that distance between the two of you. You felt guarded, you grabbed a fist full of his hair and yanked so he looked up at you. The two of you looked deep into each other’s eyes and you could see the love in his and he could see the cold in yours.

“You’re my John Doe tonight. Unidentifiable, nobody.” It was morbid but it had become a nickname of yours for him.

As he always did he just smirked at you before saying,

“I have served, and will be of service”

Usually he’d kiss every inch of your body but he couldn’t wait. He leaned down to suck on your clit. The minute his lips wrapped around your sensitive nub, you threw your head back. God, he had been gone for so long. Too long… Your hands worked just fine but almost nothing beat having your pussy devoured by the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

His tongue swirled around your clitorous before he brought his hand up to slip a finger in. Much thicker than yours plus with the angle he was at he could easily rub your g-spot. He could feel that it had swelled and continued to rub it. At this point you were thrashing around, gripping onto his hair and pushing him harder against your pussy. There was no doubt you’d be getting reprimanded later, you had always been loud when it came to him.

What was to be done though? You weren’t allowed to go out somewhere private and he had been gone so long. You could have left and rented a hotel to “celebrate” his return… It’s not your fault, so they must hear the noises of your wonderful and amazing fornication. You hoped they were jealous and disgusted.

You rolled your eyes in your mind thinking about how even as an adult you were confined to your room. Soon you and Jardani would move out. The two of you had been talking about it recently since you were almost twenty, it was time to move on and get the fuck out of the Roma Ruska. Be independent, take hits when you both want to and fuck everywhere.

He did mention that he considered joining the military to train under Marcus. A man he had met and formed a bit of a mentor ship with over the last few months. His friend was nice and very charming. You enjoyed his company but hated that he was trying to take your Jardani away from you. It scared you, you knew he could be gone for long, extended periods of time.

You didn’t like to be away from him, you always felt so lonely…

However you were pulled out of those thoughts by Jardani flattening his tongue as he looked straight into your eyes and shook his head like a dog. You felt like you almost crushed his head and killed him with how hard you wrapped your thighs around his head. Your hips bucked in wild motions as you squirmed, your back arching off the mattress and his arm came up to hold your hips to the bed. While his fingers rubbed your g-spot over and over.

“I missed your taste, come on my fingers and tongue, please beautiful.” He gasped out while he tried to catch his breath and his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Diving right back in, he moaned at you pulling his hair, hard. The vibrations were like heaven on your clit. A hard, loud grunt mixed with moan like noise left your throat. Never before had you ever made a noise like that but Jardani was good at doing that. You held his head in a headlock with your legs as you humped his face, taking as much pleasure as you could get from his fingers and tongue.

You released him and got up while panting. He was out of breath as well but smiled up at you as he licked his lips and then whipped his cheeks.

“God I’m addicted to your taste baby.” His face was covered in your wetness and it made you laugh.

You also laughed at his tight and uncomfortable looking pants. Your hand came and rubbed him through the strained fabric. Jardani closed his eyes and sighed, bucking up into your light touch. He needed you but you were evil. One more time. You’d tease him one more time. You palmed his hard cock and made out with him, swirling your tongue around his, tasting yourself.

With a nibble to his bottom lip causing him to grunt you pulled back.

“Fuck I need that again. Lay on the bed John. Now.” You commanded him.

Jardani didn’t even have time to lay on the bed before you shoved him down and crawled on top of him. You kneeled above his neck looking down at him and bit your lip. He looked delicious. Sweaty, his pupils dilated while looking up at you and panting as he waited for you to speak. Waited for you to order him what to do. You gave him a soft kiss and an even softer peck on the side of his face where his bruise lied.

“I’m going to sit on your face, John and you're going to eat me like you haven’t eaten in months.” You held him up by his hair and then let his head fall back onto the pillow.

Not like it would be hard, it had been months since he last tasted your perfect cunt. Your pussy was wet and it almost dripped onto his face but just in time you sat right on top of his mouth, leaving his nose uncovered so he could breathe. Jardani’s large hands came up to knead your behind as he tongue fucked you. The man tried to get the wet muscle as deep as he could.

He always called you his Goddess and it was times like these when believed it to be true. Your taste was addicting and the power he could feel coursing through you as you sat on him, using him like an object. He would be yours and yours forever. If Gods and Goddesses existed then he existed to serve and please you.

“What do you think the other students would say? If they saw you like this, hm?” You threw your head back.

His response was muffled but you didn’t care what he had to say.

“If they saw their perfect, big and bad assassin underneath my pussy.” The lustful laugh that left you was cut short by a groan.

His tongue went back and forth from licking your clit to fucking you the best he could. You leaned back and began to palm his hard cock through the dress pants causing him to moan. The vibration on your sensitive nub caused you to begin riding his face and before you knew it you were cumming again and cumming hard.

The noise that you made almost made cum in his pants but he just held his breath and wrapped his arms around your thighs to keep you on his face while you used him to ride out your orgasm. Intoxicated by pleasure, with wobbly legs you jumped off the bed and with very aggressive manners started to undo his belt buckle.

“Get these fucking pants off right now.” You felt like a sex crazed maniac at the time and maybe it was because it had been so long but you didn’t care.

When you pulled his boxers down his cock sprung up. Precum dribbled down the side of his dick and you couldn’t help but lean down and have a taste for yourself. The appendage twitched and you laughed. Sucking on the tip, Jardani hissed and grabbed the sheet of the mattress. It was a salty but a familiar, intimate taste.

Climbing back on top of him you grabbed his cheeks with one hand. He winced once again. You dragged the tip of his cock through the folds of your soaked pussy. After two orgasms you were sensitive but so ready to finally be with him again. You really did miss him, a lot.

“You see Johnny, I was going to make you go finish yourself in the bathroom, but like I’ve always said, your cock is just too irresistible.” You always got dirty during sex but something felt different this time.

“Do you think you deserve my pussy? Do you want to put your cock into my warm pussy? Tell me.” The grin you gave him was evil as you ground down against his hard cock.

“Yes, please, I know I am nothing but a John Doe to you but please, I serve and worship you forever.” He was breathless.

Only you could ever get Jardani to beg for anything.

“Forever? Just me?” You questioned and he looked deep into your eyes.

“Yes. Just you. Forever.” He whispered.

Without warning you sat on his cock. This time he let out a loud strangled moan as he tried to stop himself from thrusting up into you, wanting to be as deep in you as possible. It didn’t matter anyways because you planted your knees on the mattress and started bouncing up and down, riding his dick. His hands came up to help you as he watched your face.

You were in total bliss. Your head was thrown back as your nails dug into his chest leaving little crescent shaped indents there. A surge of pride ran through his chest as you showed him that it was him who was allowed to do this and see you. The woman who barely talked to anyone and when she did it was usually to say something so blunt or tell someone to fuck off because she was awkward and cold.

The woman he felt knew him better than anyone. The one he grew up with. His first and only real crush. How she didn’t care about what others thought. She didn’t shave, she dressed how she wanted and wore the same clothes, usually his, constantly, you weren’t afraid of others opinion.

There was just something ethereal about you, even when he’d walk into your shared room and find you sitting on the toilet with the door wide open and a beer in your hand. He loved you and he’s known that since the first time you were introduced and you called him a swine and expected to be pampered by him. When he didn’t at first you just ignored him, but he caved. Too curious to get to know you and he’s glad he did. Life didn’t feel so lonely.

Your hands ripping his shirt open and off snapped him out of his thoughts this time as the buttons flew everywhere. You started to roll your hips while you began to bite, suck and lick hickies all over his chest that was glistened with sweat. Jardani was not a loud man, not at all, but you could get him to sing. The moans, groans and grunts that left his mouth were like music to your ears.

You tapped his face gently making him look you straight into your eyes. As you knew his entire focus was on you, you began to roll your hips in a way that spelt your name. Your way of claiming him, it was your pussy that was fucking him stupid. You giggled when you saw the look of awe in his face and then bent down to swirl your tongue around his nipple.

Jardani didn’t know how much longer he could hold out, especially after months away, months of fantasizing about this moment. He couldn’t help it, he brought one hand to pull you into a kiss while the other rubbed your still very sensitive clit. You cried into his mouth as he started to thrust up hard. His cock kept hitting your g-spot over and over, you knew you were going to cum again soon.

His hand held the back of your head as he rested his forehead against yours. He watched your face as you almost couldn’t keep your eyes open. You reached around to fondle his balls and he groaned out. Then the pressure grew and grew and grew. It kept growing and you knew it was your approaching orgasm but something felt different… Like you should’ve used the bathroom before you fucked but it was too late to say anything.

“Holy fuck, I’m going to cum again baby!” You cried out feeling the familiar tightness in your lower tummy, “Cum in me Dani, I want it in me.”

You hadn’t even noticed the slip up or that you were twitching against Jardani’s chest, his hand no longer in your hair but holding down your hips. Your vision went white as howl like sounds came from your vocal cords. He was in awe. You were perfect to him as you came undone on his cock. Everything was wet and you almost felt embarrassed, thinking you had peed yourself.

At the moment you couldn’t care. The one time you ever felt all your walls come down. This was paradise, this was right where you belonged, this felt like Heaven. You couldn’t even think but you did feel the pressure on your hips get very tight and warmth inside you. Jardani held you hard against him, releasing his seed into you with one of the hottest moans you thought you’ve ever heard. You were squeezing him so tight it was unreal.

He rocked your hips against his with his hands as your pussy convulsed and you milked his cock. You were in a daze, like you literally felt drunk. Jardani stopped moving you as he became too sensitive.

“I think I pissed on you.” You slurred against his chest.

The rumble of a laugh was felt on your cheek as your lover began to kiss the shell of your ear and then nibbled on your earlobe, rubbing your ass and back in soothing motions. Softly, he gave you a couple hickies on your neck, tickling you and making you squirm your neck away from him, but you’d always let him mark you. For as much as you told everyone it was nothing but sex you sure were proud to show off your fresh hickies.

“That was called squirting, my angel.” He said the term of endearment in Russian and then chuckled again when you tried to hit him but missed and hit the pillow.

Jardani tried to move you off him but instead you grabbed onto him and told him to stop. You left small kisses on his chest as you laid on top of him begging him to stay like that for a little while longer. Your body still jerked every so often and you couldn’t believe you were still orgasming. Your lover's cock was already softening inside you and you twirled his chest hair and pulled at it making him bat your hands away.

“I love you Jardani Jovonovich. I love you, I love you, I lo-“ You always said it after sex and he cut you off before you kept going.

“You’re just saying that because I just gave you an Earth shattering orgasm.”

You leaned up this time to learn forward into his face. He let out a groan at the movement from his cock still being inside you. You kissed him again as much passion as your physical body would allow, hoping he could feel everything you had been thinking and feeling. Only death could stop you from wanting to kiss him but even after that you knew you’d still reminisce about the feeling.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while you were gone.” His heart throbbed at how shy you sounded. “I missed you so much.”

Jardani gave you a quick smooch.

“I missed you too, so much. You’re my reason to come home, my Goddess.” He pressed his nose against yours.

“Dani, I think this Goddess may have met the one human male that she could ever fall in love with.. Oh my god we can have little demi-god babies..” You smiled.

“If you don’t get off me that may be happening soon.”

You slid off of him sitting by his side. You didn’t look at him just at the wall as you thought. The cum that leaked out of you was warm and your heart had started to race. You wanted to run but you couldn’t move. Based on the way Dani was looking at you let you know he was too, lost in his own thoughts. Oh my god you were feeling so many emotions. What had that orgasm done to you?

Without even thinking you began to trace the scar on your shoulder. You wanted to just run away to the bathroom and cry but before you could you felt him adjust up so he was sitting behind you. his hand grabbed your wrist where he started to kiss your palm and fingertips. Jardani is so good, so nice. You wouldn’t cry even if you wanted to. That’s what you always told yourself but the past few years it’s felt like all you did.

“I’ve been thinking about it. While you were gone… A lot. Well more than a lot. I’m terrified it's going to end in hurt. Everything does.” You press your palms into your eyes and take a deep breath.

“I’m scared that if I make this real you’ll know the real me.”

“I already know the real you.” He kissed your cheek.

“I meant it though. I’m a pretty sick fuck but you make me feel some.. Not fucked up things. Besides the thought of killing anyone else who tried to get with you. You’re all mine, Jardani Jovonovich, if we do this. I’m scared.” You removed your hands from your eyes and he grabbed your wrist.

Ever since your capture you’d been going down a dark road. More cruel and unnecessary kills, being scarier and taking your anger out on anyone who got into your way. What if one day he gets sick of your actions, of your mental agony, and decides to leave after you let him in? His lips against your wrist made it hard to entertain those thoughts.

“Always. And I hope that means you’re all mine as well?” He kissed your palm again.

“Always.” You blurted out with no thought whatsoever.

He looked at you with a soft expression and then all of the sudden he was worried by the devious smirk on your face as you turned to face him fully.

“Now that's out of the way. We still aren’t dating. You have to take me on a nice date!” Demanding as ever, you wouldn’t have him ask you after sex!

Jardani smiled, showing off his slightly crooked teeth. There was his feisty girl. He laughed his rare but adorable laugh before wrestling you so you were under him. A yelp left you as he pinned you down and nibbled on your collarbone. There was no escape but you felt safe. You knew he’d let you go if you wanted him to.

When he was done assaulting your collar bones with his tongue, teeth and lips he looked up at you with a grin that took your breath away.

“Baby, I’ll take you on the best date of your life but first… I don’t think our little reunion is over yet.” He hinted at his hardening cock that slapped against your thigh.

“Well then,” you reached around to line his cock up with your entrance and guide his hips forward by digging your heels into his ass, “I’d say it’s time for round two.”

“I agree.”

By the end of the night, the two of you were well spent. You felt proud of yourself, for talking to him and for finally giving this whole relationship a chance. As Jardani got up to run you both a shower— excited for his date with you after you two washed and he convinced The Director to let you leave the theater— you couldn’t help but think about everything.

You two fought it for years and you just couldn’t believe it was one orgasm away from coming all together.

#john wick fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #good lord I love this man

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