#she wants more kids rainstorm

[sixosix]

I DON'T WANNA HURT YOU (I JUST WANNA BE) | LYNEY

warnings 3.5k words, vague descriptions of wounds, lyney crushing already, cesar appearance:(

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“This is crazy,” Lyney whispers frantically as they stumble over their steps, eyes wide and darting all over the place. “This is insane.”

“Lyney,” his sister whispers sharply, “she can hear you.”

Lyney swallows and steals a quick glance at The Knave, yet she’s staring ahead. But with Lynette’s words, Lyney notices that she’s gotten a bit closer than before. She was listening. Not that Lyney really cared.

Lyney tightens his grip on Lynette's hand as they advance further inside. He shudders at the scathing feeling of numerous curious eyes on him, uneasy about the idea of those gazes focusing on his sister. Though he can't see her while she's hiding behind him, he senses that she has tucked her ears and tail.

“A bond stronger and thicker than blood.” Lyney blinks and realizes that The Knave has been talking to him this entire time. She doesn’t quite smile, but it’s something close as she lays her hand atop their heads. “You’ll find a family here, Lyney, Lynette. From this day forth, you’re my children, and I, your ‘Father’.” With the claws of her hands in Lyney’s view, he feels as if that’s more threatening than a promise, yet Lyney feels warm all the same.

As ‘Father’ signals for Lynette to step forward and introduce herself, Lyney remains steadfast and refuses to loosen his grip on her wrist. He scans the crowd and feels like he’s looking at mirrors—orphans staring back at him, all of whom have been compelled to build a new and found family. Someone among them waves. Lyney takes a moment to collect his thoughts before reluctantly waving back.

And then he meets your gaze. Your cold and hateful gaze.

Lyney doesn’t know what he did for you to look at him in such a way. His heart skips a beat or two, enchanted. He wants to ask, but as soon as ‘Father’ asks him to tell everyone who he is next, you have turned away and walked off, disappearing into the long hallways. Lyney’s eyes never leave your figure until you’re completely out of sight.

“Lyney,” he says, hopefully loud and confident enough for it to reach your ears. It most likely wouldn’t.

As ‘Father’ dismisses the crowd and declares her leave, Lyney guides his sister over to the other orphans, their hands clasped together. They navigate the unfamiliar surroundings, their gazes and steps wandering.

The warmth envelops him, akin to stepping into a hot shower after being left out freezing in a rainstorm. It’s been too long since he experienced that—his recollections are filled with images of his shivering form, attempting desperately to share heat with his sister, whose lips are blue and trembling. The sensation is a distant memory. It's been too long since he last felt this way.

“Who was that who left just now?” Lyney asks.

The kid is sitting criss-cross apple sauce on the floor, a plate by his feet. He picks at his food. “Hm?”

Lyney points in the direction you’ve stormed off to.

The boy snorts as he follows Lyney’s gaze. “That was Y/N. Everyone knows who she is.”

We literally have just arrived, Lyney wants to snap, but he sees no point in picking fights when ‘Father’ has just promised a bond stronger than blood or whatever. There would be no bond to match what he has with his sister—he’s sure of it.

“And…? Why did she leave?” Lyney questions slowly. He watches the kid slurp the soup until it’s empty and clean and feels his stomach growl quietly in envy.

“No one knows,” he says halfheartedly. “It’s not worth the trouble. Provoking a confrontation with Y/N is signing up for a beating, and you wouldn’t want ‘Father’ to single you out when she’s the standard. Stick with your sister.” The boy sounds terribly bitter, as if having experienced it first-hand.

“Right.” Lyney has no idea what any of that means, but his pulse thrums, excited at the prospect of a mystery.

His sister fidgets beside him. Lynette eyes Lyney warily as if reading his thoughts. Don’t cause trouble, Lyney could hear her telepathically. I wouldn’t dare, Lyney communicates with his smile.

Lyney thinks he can never be as brave as you. He wonders how you manage to stand alongside ‘Father’ so frequently and maintain such composure—looking as if that’s exactly where you belong.

You look more like a soldier than an orphan, Lyney thinks. It’s beautiful in all the wrong ways.

While he diligently enjoys his homemade warm breakfast (it’s already his second plate), Lyney poses some very crucial questions to a new friend.

His name is Freminet. He jumped out of his seat when Lyney tapped him on the shoulder as a greeting, and he said he was expecting Lyney to get annoyed by his reluctance to speak, but all Lyney told him was that he was used to his sister already. Freminet warms up to them after. Well, mostly Lynette, but befriending her means would mean you should expect her brother as well.

Lunch ended, then came a new routine Lyney had to familiarize himself with.

“Where is she going?” Lyney asks in a murmur, eyes chasing your footsteps. The other orphans remain seated while you were the first to scurry off, foregoing the attempt to clean your plate. Were you so important to be able to do that?

“To train,” Freminet says simply, his eyes glued to stacking porcelain plates. He slides the chair back and heads to the kitchen.

Lyney follows after him with glasses in hand. “To train?”

Freminet nods. “We should follow. Is Lynette…?

Lyney glances off to the side, an unbidden smile tugging his lips as he sees Lynette curled up on the couch by the fireplace, eyes shut and body language relaxed. Like a cat hoarding a warm window. “I’ll get her.”

As much as it pains him to interrupt his sister’s sleep, he doesn’t know what ‘Father’ will do were they to miss a routine in the House of the Hearth. He doesn’t want to risk finding out, either.

She grumbles and sends him a biting glare but obliges all the same. They tail after Freminet.

You reemerge back into view, a weapon on your side, your face serious.

The other orphans head to the side and come back with different kinds of weapons. Lyney’s eyes bulged out of their sockets when small Freminet pads over to them with a great sword twice his size. A claymore, Freminet said, unbothered as he practically dragged his weapon around.

“This is crazy,” Lyney whispers to his sister again, who jabs his ribs with her elbow.

Lyney has never touched a weapon in his life. A butter knife here and there to cut bread nice people give him, but that is nothing compared to the long one you’re carrying. Freminet gestures to the corner of the room where it lays a chest cracked open, heaped with rusty weapons.

Unfortunately, Lyney doesn’t see any more of the weapon similar to yours. Lynette eyes the sword with muted interest, so Lyney takes the other weapon available.

He’s familiar with a bow and arrow; he’s seen how people wield them from afar and in plays. That doesn’t make it any easier when he has to hold it in his tiny hands. Lyney feels his muscles strain as he pulls, wincing at the ache that unfurls in his arms. Lynette clumsily swings around with her sword.

He cranes his neck to observe the other kids sparring, stumbling when his gaze wanders, catching you looking at him. There’s a smile on your face, but it’s not a kind one. You chuckle under your breath, then turn away.

Lyney doesn’t know what comes over him. One second, he’s at the corner of the room; the next, he’s forcing himself into your view.

You’re prettier up close. Lyney nearly misses his lines.

“I’m Lyney,” he says, face pinched with a seriousness that hopefully he conveys well to fight the blush threatening to creep up.

“I know,” you say, fixing him with a blank stare. “You saw me when ‘Father’ introduced you.”

“Do you think you can teach me?” Lyney then shows his chosen weapon as if he’s offering it to you.

You appraise him for a silent moment. Lyney shuffles on his feet. “I don’t like bow users.”

The statement hangs in the air awkwardly, with Lyney unsure of what to make of that.

“Lyney,” a soft voice calls after him. He turns and sees Lynette looking at you and her brother. “Hello.” She waves shyly at you.

“Hi.” You don’t quite smile, but Lyney feels it there. He realizes you resemble Father’s attitude quite a bit, just a ghost of it, never visible when genuine. “Lynette, right? How’s the sword?”

Lynette takes a moment to answer as if unsure what to respond to that with. “I like it.” Her gaze flits to Lyney, curious. “What’s wrong?”

Lyney feels caught, for some reason. “I just introduced myself.”

“Should you need it, seek me out if you want me to train you,” you tell Lynette, staring right ahead. Lyney feels as if he’s older than you, yet the way you carry yourself has him feeling young and small, a fawn prancing around a tiger.

You must have seen whatever face Lyney is making. “A bow is further off from a polearm than a sword; it’s nothing personal.” But the sickly sweet smile you flash at him feels very personal. However, instead of feeling miffed by this bold start of war, Lyney feels himself grinning.

“So you’re not good at every weapon?”

You start walking. “Astute observation for someone who isn’t good at any weapon.”

He trails after your steps with ease. “Hey, have we met before?”

“No.”

“You’re not acting like it’s a ‘no’.”

“Will you please let me train in peace?”

“Only if you agree to make me your sparring partner.”

You pause, sizing him up. Lyney attempts to hold a straight posture, but he noticeably deflates when you unleash a mocking laugh. “Surely you’re aware how idiotic of a request that is?”

Lyney then realizes the whole room is pin-drop silent, watching with bated breath for Lyney’s next move. And he is, of course, nothing but a performer.

“The harder the challenge to overcome, the greater the benefits to reap,” Lyney says with full-body confidence. Lynette snorts quietly because he stole it from a children’s book they found in a dump.

“A challenge,” you murmur, head tilted. “Is that why you look at me so strangely? You see me as a challenge?”

Lyney has no idea how he looks at you. “Uhm, yes?”

You seem satisfied with the answer, though. You roll your shoulders back and nod. “Very well.” Jeez, do you always talk like that? “I will be your sparring partner.”

Lyney babbles in confusion when you start walking further away before whipping around and pointing the tip of your polearm in his direction. “Try to land a hit on me. Do your worst.”

Long-distance is a bow user’s advantage. “Are you sure?”

You narrow your eyes fiercely. Lyney blinks and fumbles with the weapon in his hands. It’s begun to feel heavy now that he’s acknowledged its presence. He screws one eye shut and aims right for your head, then watches in awe as your polearm spins in a perfect circle and deflects his arrow.

“Again,” you demand, unbothered.

You are so cool.

Lyney tries again, unsurprised when he fails. But you swipe at your weapon this time, batting off his arrow as if an annoying fly. He tries once more, realizing belatedly that with each flimsy shot, you’ve been moving closer and closer.

His breath catches in his throat when you press the tip of your dull spear inches away from his nose.

“You’ve got guts to face me head-on,” you say, poking his skin, “but you’re new, so I can’t praise you for your naivety.”

He blinks. “I wasn’t—”

“Here, in the House, you prove your worth. Loyalty is your worth. How can you prove your loyalty if you can’t even live up to your words?” He releases a heavy breath when you lower your weapon, standing idle by your side. Goosebumps blossom on his arms. “Overcome me if you see me as a challenge.”

Lyney doesn’t know how to say that he sees you as a person. He’s breathless, in cold sweat—and he might be a little in love.

Lynette has become more adept with her sword under your guidance. Lyney can’t quite get the arrow to where he wants it to go, but his grip has been getting firmer—more sure and confident. He is still too far off from beating you, however.

But that’s not all that they’ve been practicing. Months have passed, and they must master other important skills if they are going to prove their worth.

Whenever they can, he and his sister sneak off to meet up with a talented individual that was kind enough to lend his knowledge to them. He’s caring and doesn’t push when they don’t answer honestly—exactly who they need, considering their identities.

Cesar pats his head, “What’s got you so distracted, bud?”

Lyney blinks up at him, schooling his expression carefully. “I was just thinking about a new trick I want to polish.”

“Hmm.” Cesar studies his face. Lyney feels a little uncomfortable. Can master magicians like him read minds? Will Cesar look into Lyney’s and ask about who it is? “You know, the more you try to cover something, the more it’s likely to show up.”

Lyney flushes down to his neck. “Um.”

“Did you meet someone you like?” Cesar grins, kneeling down to his eye level. “It’s okay. I won’t tell your sister if you want to. Though she probably knows already, that smart lady.”

Lyney shakes his head rapidly, hands waving all over to hide his unguarded expression. “There’s nothing to tell!”

Lyney wasn’t lying: there’s really nothing. He hasn’t made any progress with you. You look at him as if you see a scrap of paper, and Lyney should really back off and move on, but he likes the expressions you give him when he speaks to you either way, scrunching in annoyance or grinning in a way that makes his heart dance with fear and anticipation. It feels more human compared to when you stand across him with the air of a seasoned warrior.

“You’re a good kid,” Cesar says, toppling Lyney’s top hat over when he ruffles his hair. “And you’re going to grow up and become a wonderful magician. You will meet all kinds of people with your talent; don’t be afraid to let them in.”

This is a bit sudden. Nonetheless, Lyney dips his head in a nod.

“Lyney,” Lynette calls out, peering from the dove snug in her palm. “It’s sunset.”

“Right.” ‘Father’ is returning, and Lyney and Lynette are finally privy to a dangerous mission for the first time together. He looks back up at Cesar, who has this distant look in his eye that matches his smile. “Master, thank you for all your guidance. We will never forget all you’ve done for us.”

Lynette rises from where she’s been kneeling, bowing along with her brother. “Thank you.”

Cesar laughs heartily. “Just look for me if you kids ever need anything else apart from magic tricks, alright?”

Lyney and Lynette don’t doubt it, but they don’t need to trouble Cesar with their problems. As Fatui, they must uphold their sworn secrecy, no matter how kind and understanding Cesar would be.

“We should head back,” Lyney says. Her hair has been whipping around her face for far too long, hindering her actions during their missions. Lyney can’t really tuck them behind her…ears, so he reminds himself to buy some hairclips for her. “I don’t want to miss dessert.”

“You should try tying your hair,” Lyney says, sighing when a stray strand flicks her in the eye. “And yes, let’s head back. ‘Father’ will be assigning us to a new mission, right?”

Lynette has a delicate skip in her steps, and Lyney is content with the conclusion of a successful mission. Yet the air feels stifling when they arrive. ‘Father’ is nowhere in sight, and there’s a crowd of orphans huddled by the sofa, a first aid kit littered by the coffee table.

Bewildered, Lyney taps one of their shoulders and asks, “What happened?”

The girl farthest to the scene and closest to the twins sighs. “Y/N snuck out to a mission not meant for her. And, well, you can assume how that went.”

Lyney’s heart sinks to his stomach. “What?”

“See for yourself,” she says, pushing Lyney and Lynette to weave through the cluster of murmuring people.

Then, he notices you—your face contorted in a scowl, your body swathed in bandages. Lyney’s eyes catch it swiftly: the burns of your skin and the wince that flickers in your expression when someone gets a little too close.

“Everyone, please return to the dining hall,” Lyney says before he can even think about it. “Space!”

They don’t move, but they pause to look at Lyney. His jaw ticks. So they can rush to gossip but not direct orders?

“Now!” he barks out, gesturing to the other room. They follow, albeit unsurely, as their stares linger. The whispers subside as they do, birthing an upsetting silence that has Lyney running a hand through his face as you stare at the twins warily.

Lynette nudges Lyney, murmuring, “I’ll look for Freminet. Unless you want me to stay?”

Lyney nods, meeting Lynette’s eye. “Don’t worry.”

Your expression clears when Lynette shuts the door softly behind her. Lyney sits on the armrest and lets his eyes rake over your wounds, studying them. They all look nearly fatal, but they look as if Lyney and Lynette have come too late—no longer fresh, leaving an unpleasant taste on his tongue. What would’ve happened if you were not treated quickly?

You glower at him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Lyney keeps his face carefully blank. “I just wanted to tell you that I’ll still be requesting sparring sessions after you’ve healed.”

Your stare became incredulous, but anything is better than the wounded look on your face when the orphans fret over you. “Fine.”

He isn’t even certain if you want him close. What hangs on his back is a bright Pyro vision, the same element that has seared your skin. If it were him, he’d be wary of himself.

“Why did you do it?” he asks quietly.

Your reply takes a while as if you debated with yourself whether you can trust Lyney or not. Luckily for him, you come to the right conclusion. “I don’t have a Vision. I don’t have the ‘potential’. They all said—Father said I could be the next director, but I don’t feel worthy.” You look back up at him. “I don’t think you would understand—”

“You wanted to prove yourself,” he finishes.

Your forehead creases, face shattering at the reminder of your mistake. Missions as perilous as these are meant for Vision users for good reasons. Regardless of someone’s skill with a weapon, it becomes an uneven playing field when there are circumstances that affect those without Visions, or even when facing enemies as highly trained as you yet have the advantage of using their elements with their surroundings to their advantage. Most of the time, those without Visions who take on missions meant not for them don’t make it out alive.

Had Lyney not received his Vision on the day he needed it, he and Lynette wouldn’t have survived. But you…

“This is all I have, Lyney,” you murmur lowly. Lyney hasn’t heard you say his name before.

“Still, you shouldn’t have done that,” he says lightly, trailing off when you gaze to the distance. “What happened out there?”

“Cecilia was too young, even with a Vision. I thought that if I teamed up with her, I could protect her and prove that I’m as good as you Vision-holders and… Well, something went wrong. It was my interference, most likely.”

Your gaze flicks back to his face, brows knitted. “It was stupid, I know. This was the first time I did something as foolish as this, under no guidance from ‘Father’.”

Lyney has an inkling; it was suspicious you pulled this off a few days after he and Lynette got their own Visions. There were barely any orphans who didn't have theirs, either. Were you feeling…?

“I still think you’re too far ahead of me,” Lyney says, hoping you’d pick up on what he’s putting down. “I don’t know how to beat you just yet.”

And then you laugh. Lyney jumps back in surprise at the full-blown laughter bubbling out of you. He’s never heard you laugh like this, and he doesn’t know why he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away. He can’t let anyone take your joy from you now that he’s seen how bright you are with it.

“You can go, Lyney,” you say. “Don’t worry about me. Whatever punishment ‘Father’ decides to give is mine alone. I can see it in your eyes—you were planning something.”

Lyney sags, pouting. “I wasn’t really—”

“We’ll spar in two days.” You smile, and Lyney’s protests die on his tongue. “Once you prove that you can defeat me, I’ll let you help me.”

y/n: i don’t like bow users me, leveling lyney to 90: haha yeah i know right

TAGLIST @thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101

side note i am SO in love with this song so this chapter is very special to me. also hope u liked it... this was longer than last chapter!! tell me what u think if ure still reading all the way here

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER FIVE — CHEERLEADERS MAKE BAD NEIGHBORS

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summary: after you get kicked off the cheerleading squad by an enraged tina, you're stranded in a rainstorm of biblical proprtions- and the only safe haven is eddie munson's trailer. fuck. content warnings: MINORS DNI I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU HERE- male masturbation, sexualized language, some mild objectification, cursing, smoking, drinking, drug mention, reader backstory (i do it for the plot the plot the plot), steve harrington cameo, reader is a pretentious bitch word count: 10.1k

Dear reader, Joan Didion said something because Joan Didion is always saying something. Particularly to me. She comes at me hard, smacking me in the back of the head with perfect clarity and I have not gotten around to not resenting her for it yet. 

‘I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.’

Joan Didion probably did not have to stay on nodding terms with a girl she used to be in order to score a cheerleading scholarship because her family blitzed her college fund on ill-chosen legal advice. 

But she’s got a point.  

You remember that day with perfect clarity. 

Middle school had been a lesson in elocution, thanks to your then-best friend Phoebe’s older sister Casey. Phoebe was a relic of your former life– a bookish indoor kid with Coke bottle glasses, a slight stammer and a distinct lack of style. Despite this, you loved Phoebe and she loved you. But more than that, more than anything, you loved that Phoebe had an older sister. 

A cool older sister. 

Casey was popular in the best way, which is to say that she wasn’t showy about it but she wasn’t humble either. By recognizing the power of being hot and likeable, she knew nothing could ever touch her. 

You wanted to be just like that. 

You remember the first time Casey told you you’ve got potential. Her hand-me-downs were a little too big for Phoebe, because Casey had boobs and Phoebe’s hadn’t come in yet. Even as a pre-teen, you knew an opportunity when you saw it. Can I try that top? And you did, flipping your hair and adjusting yourself in the mirror just like you’d watched Casey do a hundred times, sitting on her bedroom floor and soaking up her knowledge while Phoebe moaned and sulked about being bored. 

Check you out, hot stuff, Casey had smirked, but not in a way where you felt stupid. You’ve got potential.

The shirt didn’t feel entirely right on you, but the way Casey regarded you did. 

Fast forward– your first day of freshman year. You were in the parking lot, stepping out of the passenger side of Casey’s car. Phoebe slid out of the back seat, shoulders slumped forward. You were dressed in an outfit that you and Casey spent hours agonizing over the night before–first impressions are everything, girl–while, again, Phoebe looked on glaring. 

Come meet some of the crew, Casey said, pointedly to you and not to Phoebe. 

Hey– I thought were were going to find our homerooms together, Phoebe protested, grabbing you by the elbow. She knew she wasn’t invited. And she didn’t care– she’d never cared for Casey and her ‘airhead ways’, as she so derisively called them. 

Yeah, girl! you affirmed, a note-perfect impression of her older sister. Phoebe’s big eyes flared with disbelief. You’d spent junior high carefully studying Casey’s every movement, absorbing and adopting her behaviors as your own. Stella Adler would have loved your ass. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch up with you later, ‘kay?

Make a move, freshman! Casey yelled, and you came trotting after her. There would be no catching up later, and you knew that. You bit back the sinking in your stomach with a Bonne Bell-glossed smile. 

Look, I love my sister, Casey murmured, but I’m glad that you’re my little freshman experiment, ‘kay? You are way more fun that Phoebs and her goddamn library card. 

You nodded, wordlessly grateful. Way more fun. The older girl confiding in you like this made you feel warm, included, grown-up. But not quite so grown-up that you remembered to watch where you were going– the laces of your left Chuck Taylor All-Stars came undone, sending you tripping– tripping–

Oof! Right into the muscular arms of Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington and his autumn colored eyes, his swathe of hair that seemed to grow more voluminous the more girls he flirted with, his shock of grown-up cologne and his perfect, perfect, perfect smile.

But it wasn’t just Steve Harrington. It was also all the surrounding popular kids that had already made a name for themselves coming up alongside you in middle school–Tina, Carol and her boyfriend Tommy Hagan–mingling with the older kids. 

You okay? Steve asked, his voice all breathy and cute the way boys voices are when they’re halfway making fun of you. 

Uh-huh, you nodded, lashes fluttering like crazy as you wracked your brain for something smart to say. 

Let me help you out here.

Then Steve did something you never thought possible, something right out of your daydreams. He got down on one knee and started to re-tie your shoe. 

Better watch yourself, Lacy, he said, tightening the bunny ears, gazing right up at you, Wiping out on the first day is not a good look.

Lacy. Lacy. Your heartbeat quickened at the nickname, hammering like hummingbird wings. It was the greatest thing you’d ever heard– it makes you feel fresh. New. Seen for the first time. Seen by Steve Harrington for the first time. 

Can you blame me? you said before you knew you were saying it; a common occurrence with you, You’re just too easy to fall for, Harrington. 

You drawled out too easy like you’re making fun of him, which of course you weren’t, because he’s Steve Harrington and you would never– but it earned some warm guffaws from the surrounding kids and a little ugh, please, from Tommy Hagan. 

Hagan’s something else. Hagan’s hated you since day dot, and you him. You remember his merciless teasing of some kid during Nancy Wheeler’s thirteenth birthday party, the last boy-girl party of your middle school careers, goading that they were too chicken to go into the closet with you for Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Steve grinned at you, eyebrows quirking upward. A fizzing feeling ran through your sternum and you felt like you might faint. Casey threw an arm around your shoulder, a magnet for attention. Well, it looks like some of you already know my little Lacy! You guys better be fuckin’ cool to her, okay, or else you’ve got me to answer to. 

You smiled up at her, the older sister you’d always prayed for, and she looked impressed with you. That’s all you wanted. That’s all you craved. That, and for Steve Harrington and everybody else to never quit calling you Lacy. 

And they didn’t.

Everything you’d gleaned from Casey equipped you to cruise through freshman year with no speedbumps, no checkpoints– you knew exactly how to wear your hair, how to flirt, how not to flirt, what not to eat, who not to be seen with… and even better than that, these people really took a shine to you. The girls especially.

Hawkins isn’t kind to teenage girls. It’s heavy with passive-aggressive Midwestern sensibility, with all the backwards, misogynistic attitude that comes along with that. It’s not overt, it’s insidious. It makes sense that these girls were scared. Few women make it out of here, and look at the ones that don’t. Their mothers. Your mother.

But what was even scarier was to want something more. To strive for better and be met with the begrudgery of your attempt. To think about life outside the snowglobe of this wicked little town. 

That's the thing with wanting. It doesn’t leave you alone. It gnaws at you while you zone out in the cafeteria, churning around with the half fat yogurt in your stomach. It finds you in the middle of the night, awake on the floor of your friend Carol’s room after an evening of pounding secret wine coolers and picking apart the rest of the Hawkins student body for their flaws and faults, looking around at your friends and thinking, 

God, I fucking hate these people. God, I’ve got to get out.

And you were working on it. Like a motherfucker, you were working on it– perfect grades, perfect attendance, the perfect extracurriculars in an excruciating balancing act with your demanding social life. Keep your record spotless and you could fly the coop to any college you wanted.

One such extracurricular was–is cheerleading. And god, you were great. You’re a flyer, one of the shining, pretty faces responsible for revving up the Hawkins Tigers and their adoring fans. Given your propensity for perfectionism, it’s an obvious position for you. Tina, the reigning captain of the cheer squad, had even taken you under her wing and spit shined up your back handsprings when you tried out as a freshman. Tina had a prior career as a child gymnast, making her a shoo-in for the title come senior year. And here she is now, hollering you all into formation. 

It’s Thursday, and it’s still the week from hell. You had almost forgot about cheer practice, but here you are, in your green and white and gold, ponytail too tight and bruise fading out. The tension between you and Tina casts a thick haze over the gym, the other, less-clued-in members of the squad not exactly knowing where to look. 

It probably wasn’t fair, outing Tina and her indiscretion with Hagan like that. But you felt like a cornered animal. It was all you could do, after all of them subtly chipping away at you for weeks when you’d done nothing but be there for them. Wiped their tears. 

Bought their crabs lotion, in Tina’s case. 

“Sloppy, Lacy! Again!” She’s drilling you like you’ve never been drilled before. Each twist and flip you perform, she finds something wrong with it– and you can’t even tell her she’s wrong. You have gotten sloppy, because your head’s not in the game. While cheerleading was a social and athletic high at one time, it wasn’t high on your list of priorities right now. Dismounting your bases and tugging your ponytail ever tighter over your skull, you stalk towards her. 

“Alright, Tina!” you yell, bubbling over with frustration. “How about you just drop the Russian gym coach bit and tell me what I’m doing wrong? Or is yelling at me all you got?” 

She does her best attempt at a withering glare. You can’t help but think it looks like something she learned from you. “How about I show you instead?”

Tina shoulder checks you, hard, and calls to one of the underclassmen. A mousy sophomore with sandy bangs and blazing Bambi eyes. This kid looks terrified, and knowing Tina’s reputation, she should be. “Cunningham! You’re up!”

Chrissy Cunningham. Right. Heir to the throne of Hawkins High. You don’t think you’ve heard her speak more than a couple of words and most of those have been in response to her Aryan meathead boyfriend, Jason Carver. 

But for what Cunningham lacks in vocal force, she makes up for in aerodynamics. This girl makes a basket toss look like ballet, ponytail pirouetting as she lands in the bases’ arms. Every move, faultless. She’s locked in. 

“That is what I want. What I don’t want, Lacy, is a flyer that looks like she’s losing control of her rectum mid-toss,” Tina hollers. “We all know how crucial this weekend is. Not just for us, but for the Tigers, too. Right? So that means the last thing we need is dead weight dragging us down.” She locks her laserlike stare on you. “Right?”

The squad mumbles in the affirmative. Chrissy Cunningham visibly gulps.

And you? A knife slices right through you, cold and exacting. You almost gag, trying to swallow through your thickening throat. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

“You tell me, Lace. You’re the one that knows everything.”

You don’t waste a second of time trying to counter-argue, because you can’t be sure it won’t end in your limbs flailing, trying to smash Tina’s head against the waxed floorboards of the gym. Instead, you grab your bag. You give the squad a grimacing nod and head to heave the double doors open. 

The sound of your sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor makes you want to tear your shoes off and throw them through a window, just to watch the glass shatter.

You really never thought of yourself as a violent person, not until– everything happened. 

But now, god, now you just want to punch and tear and rip everything apart. This slow burn of your social status, your friends, your tether to reality as you know it slipping away is torturous. You’d rather burn it all up than let it swallow you whole. 

Standing on the front steps of the school, your eyes automatically dart to the parking lot. 

It’s not there. He’s not there.

And why would he be? you think, starting in the direction of the trailer park. You hadn’t spoken to him since that day in the record store, leaving him hanging with his hands behind his back and his mouth in that grin.

There was a reason for that. Call it post-high clarity or something else, but you knew right then you needed to focus the fuck up. Quit acting out because of your daddy’s mistakes and prove all of these shitheels wrong once and for all. 

Blend in. Stop causing trouble. Fall in line and study hard and cheer harder and get the hell out of dodge once you get your hands on that high school diploma. By whatever means necessary. Those means really did not include hanging out with Eddie Munson for even a second longer than you already had. 

–which is a nice thought and all, but Tina really shit all over that one with this shedding the dead weight move. 

The clouds above you carry the most pathetic of pathetic fallacies, gray and pregnant with rain that starts to hit you square on the crown of your head in fat, heavy drops. You’re still fifteen minutes from the trailer park, at least, and you don’t have a raincoat. You don’t have an umbrella. And you don’t fucking care.

You stomp up the dirt drive leading into Forest Hills, the pleats of your green skirt heavy with water, your cheerleader’s cardigan weighing down your shoulders. Your white knee-high socks are flecked with mud and getting dirtier with every sloppy step. And the rain, the relentless relentless rain, is streaming into your eyes, streaming mascara with it. 

You gasp against the cold of the downpour as you approach your trailer– and a glowing yellow light catches in your peripheral vision. His bedroom, the one you can see into from your bedroom. Though you try not to look. And sometimes you fail. 

You don’t see much, when you do look. It’s mostly his hunching figure, bent over his guitar or some binder or book or map or figurine. But he always seems calmer, the frenetic energy he wears around like chainmail finally falling to the floor. Watching him like that makes you want to breathe a sigh of relief right along with him, just to see if you’d feel similarly. Calmer. 

Calm is not how you feel right now, wiping the rain from your face as you dig in your bag for your keys. Once, twice, thrice they slip out of your hands, and on the fourth try, you finally get them in the door. And then– the key strains in the lock. Come on. This door has always been unnecessarily sticky, but this wasn’t really the time– you push and you push the silver key to the left with no give. 

Was your mom in there? Had she left her key in the door by accident before she went on another overnighter with Prince Valium? “Mom! Mom!” you yell, hammering on the door. No dice. You pull at the key again, and pull and pull and– 

Snap.

You shudder, a full body shake that’s only partially down to the rainwater that’s soaked you right to the bone marrow. The key has snapped off in the lock, leaving you standing there with a useless silver nub. 

“Fuck!” you holler, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuck! Fucking–shit!” 

Your fists go straight to the side of the trailer, banging one after the other against the metallic veneer. You don’t care that it hurts your knuckles, you want it to dent or crack or something, you want to not feel so impotent and fucking useless, but here you are! 

“Hey! Asshole!”

Your head whips around, heavy, sodden ponytail smacking you in the face. 

Eddie Munson is leaning out his bedroom window, barely visible through the downpour. 

“Keep it down! You’re in a residential goddamn area!” He’s not smiling that shiteating smile. He’s not even grinning. He’s just glowering at you, which is the look you’re most accustomed to seeing him wear. Even so, it feels– it feels– it makes you feel worse. 

“Fuck you!” you scream across to him, “Who died and made you the fucking neighborhood watch?!”

“Go inside, you lunatic!”

“My fucking– my key broke off, dickhead!” 

That makes his brow loosen a little bit. You just stand there, gasping in the rain. And then he disappears from the window–

–only to fling open the front door of his trailer. 

“Come on,” he grumbles, massaging the space between his eyebrows like he can’t believe what he’s fucking doing. 

“No.” 

“What? Cut the shit, Lacy, come inside.” 

“No! I don’t want to!” 

Munson’s face opens up in an expression of sheer incredulity– and you partially can’t believe yourself either. What is it about him that just makes you shove and shove and shove, unable to let him win– or in this case, unable to let him help? 

“Fine! Fucking drown out there for all I care!” The trailer door slams.

Your teeth have started to chatter, and your options from here on out are… walk or hitch your way back to town and drag your sodden ass somewhere there’s a phone where you then call your mom and pray she’ll pick up (she won’t) and tell her about the lock and try to tell her about the cheerleading squad and pray she’ll understand how upset you are (she won’t) and how much of an awful spiral this whole year has become and it’s not even Christmas yet and–

The trailer door swings back open. 

Eddie Munson comes stalking out into the rain, white Reeboks splattering mud everywhere. He’s wearing that shirt from his Dungeons and Dragons club, the one with the big fucking smug Satan splayed across it and you wonder, did he model that after himself? 

“What’s your fucking problem?” he asks, point blank. It feels like he’s aiming something at you. 

“I’m having a shitty fucking day!” you scream in response, making that dog belonging to that red headed kid sister of Billy Hargrove’s yap somewhere in the distance. “And I keep telling you, I don’t need your fucking–”

“Help? Right!” he scoffs, loud and indignant, crossing his arms across his chest. The fabric of the ringer tee is changing color before your eyes, clinging to him. “You don’t need my help yet you always take it, you don’t wanna be seen with me yet you end up at my lunch table, in my van, smoking my weed– you know, it may shock you but I’m not exactly thrilled to be seen with you either, Lacy! I mean, playing chauffeur to a grade A certified bitch that wouldn’t give me the time of day unless she was desperate? Who stood by and let her shitty friends, who aren’t even her friends anymore, make mine and my friends’ life a living hell for how many years? What kind of an asshole does that make me? How pathetic is that?” 

The way he spits the word bitch– it was different from the way he said it in the record store. There, it felt like a come-on. A compliment. Here, it feels like a curse. But oh, he doesn’t stop there! You are rooted to the spot, an unmoving target for his justified rage. 

“You can’t even play ignorant, y’know, because I’ve seen you. You’re smarter than them. You know how godawful those people are–Harrington, Carver, Carol, fucking Hagan worst of all–and you just let ‘em run. Because you needed that status, you needed to be the most evil fucking twat at the twat table, and for what? They left you, Lacy! They all left you!” 

You’re not sure at what point in his speech you started sobbing but at its crescendo, you yelp. It’s a high, pathetic sound you wish you could stuff back inside your throat and hopefully choke yourself with. See, you know all these things. You’ve told them to yourself in your most honest moments, of which there are not many, but having Eddie Munson lay them out for you in the pouring rain– it’s horrible. You’re horrible. 

Eddie’s arms move from where they were bound on his chest. Okay, that was an outburst, sure, but he didn’t mean to make you cry. And you’re like, really crying. He can’t stand it when girls cry, and you, in particular–you, having never displayed much emotion beyond bemusement and annoyance and mild disgust toward him–is especially frightening. 

And then you let out this scream. It comes right from the center of your chest, rumbling and primal and visceral and real. It’s a real noise, not one you put careful, curative thought into, tuning it just right before you let it out. Because in this instance, he’s right! You’ve worked so hard, and for what! For fucking nothing! For it to blow up in your face! So you let out another howl– and it feels so, so good. A feeling of satisfaction, more than a feeling of relief–

–so Eddie screams too. God, that feels fantastic.

His is heavier than yours, obviously, because he’s a guy and he probably screams as a hobby in whatever metal band he supposedly plays in. But you like that sound. You like the way it seems to ring off the exteriors of the trailer, ricocheting around like a pinball in its machine. 

A couple more painful sobs escape you, and Eddie’s taking tentative steps toward you, like you’re a snarling animal he’s trying to coax. 

In ways, you are, but that’s because you feel hunted. You have to blink, through tears and through rain, but you see that his shirt is so soaked that it’s see-through. You can see a vague suggestion of a tattoo on his chest. You see that he’s fighting a smile. 

This is so stupid. This is so ridiculous, that you could make a noise like that and completely short circuit the white hot anger he was spewing at you. 

“Come inside,” he breathes, a little less than a foot of space between you, “You lunatic.”

Your head, so heavy on your neck, so heavy from crying, so heavy from carrying your spiteful brain around, falls against his chest. 

“Uhh…” Eddie mumbles, hands hovering behind your back, not sure if he’s supposed to embrace you or if you’re about to rip his heart out of his chest. Either could be true. 

You know what you’d prefer. 

You’re positive he doesn’t here you exhale into his chest, into the mouth of the cartoon Satan, into the thrum of his jumping heartbeat. Sorry. I’m really… I’m so sorry.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “hey. Shit.” His hand finally rests in between your shoulder blades. You let him guide you inside, and he even picks up the book bag you had thrown in the mud. You reach, try to grab it from him, but he yanks it out of your grasp. Half teasing, half assuring you that it’s okay.

A squeaky, squelching silence settles between you two as you stand in his doorway. You’re creating a puddle near some old work boots. You wonder if they’re his– you’ve never seen him not wear those Reeboks. 

“So… welcome,” he cringes, emitting a pitchy, awkward laugh. You follow him through to the kitchenette, which is identical to your kitchenette, except every surface is not covered in legal correspondence or empty wine bottles or too-expensive tchotchkes. The light in here seems dimmer, warmer. There’s a distinct aroma of stale cigarette smoke and old coffee, which you breathe in deep. “Sorry for the mess–”

“It’s fine. It’s good mess,” you say, a little distant. You peer around the place like you’re in a gallery. 

“Good mess?” he queries, crossing to the kitchen sink where he attempts to wring his shirt out by hand– still wearing it. 

“Lived-in mess,” you say. What you mean is, it doesn’t look like a mausoleum of a life someone left behind. A storage locker. A haphazard sarcophagus. Before you moved to the trailer, your house was so clean– that was a whole other problem. The same tchotchkes that are scattered on your counter were kept behind glass, only touched when your mother polished them, the only housework she ever did. You stare at a collection of trucker hats nailed along the living room wall, the shelf of novelty mugs that accompanies them. 

“Living in mess? What is that, like living in filth? You better start showing this fine abode some respect before–”

“Lived. In. Munson, I said, lived in if you would just listen– it’s good, it’s fine. It’s n-nice.” 

It’s warm in the trailer, you can tell, but you’re shivering. You bear down in your body, jaw all set so your teeth don’t start chattering again, but he hears it in your voice. 

“Uh-oh,” he says, somehow not at all betraying any signs of being out in the freezing rain except for being entirely soaked. You bet his skin is still running hot, like you felt through his shirt, like you felt grabbing his wrist. “Star cheerleader’s coming down with a case of hypothermia. Right before the big game!” 

He slaps his hands to his cheeks in mock horror. 

“I’m–” you’re about to tell him a couple things; one, that you’re fine which would be stupid, because you are so clearly not fine; two, you’re not the star cheerleader anymore; and a third, forgotten thing. “--cold,” is what you settle on. It sounds small, vulnerable.

Eddie holds his breath for a second. You sound so delicate. Hard, terrible you.

“No, sure, of course you are,” he fumbles. The way his wet hair has flattened to his skull makes him look younger– exposing a nervous boy behind the metalhead posturing. “You can– take a shower. If you want. To warm up.” 

Take a shower. In Eddie Munson’s trailer. Your eyelids flutter closed, taking on their own vibrations from the wracking of your body. This is a hell of my own making. “Yes. Sure. Thank you.”

“I can also,” he starts, crossing the kitchen again and knocking something over on his way– it just clatters to the floor, whatever it was, and he lets it, like he’s used to leaving crashing sounds in his wake. “I can take your clothes if you want. Put ‘em in the washer.” 

You hesitate a beat, then follow him down a hallway. 

“I probably have something you can wear,” he says. There’s a note in his tone that’s high and nervous. “You’re for sure gonna hate it, but hey– beats freezing to death.” 

“Just barely,” you murmur. 

“Huh?”

“This, uh– this is dry-clean only,” you correct yourself, gesturing to the uniform. 

He rolls his eyes. “Of course. Only the best for the pom-pom shakers.” 

He ducks into a room that must be his bedroom, but you don’t follow him. Instead, you linger in the hallway, near the dingy bathroom, staring at the corn themed wall calendar. Going into his bedroom feels too personal– too intimate, as if preparing to take a shower in Eddie Munson’s trailer only to change into his clothes isn’t intimate. 

“I figured,” he says, emerging from the bedroom with clothes and a towel in hand, “since you like all that rinky-dinky-tinkly garbage, you wouldn’t hate wearing a Stooges shirt.” 

“I–” the shirt is soft under your wrinkled fingers, as are the boxers he passes off to you. Boxers. You hold them up between your forefinger and thumb, stepping into the bathroom. “These are clean, right?”

Eddie stares at you for a second– then leans his head into the bathroom and shakes his sopping locks at you, just like a dog. You let out a shriek that he thinks almost sounds like an involuntary giggle. I’ll take it.

“No comment!” And he slams the door on you. 

Then you’re standing. In Eddie Munson’s trailer. In Eddie Munson’s bathroom. Holding his old Stooges shirt and his boxers, with mascara running down your face. 

You pinch yourself, hard, just in case. 

The shower heats up quick–quicker than yours, you notice–and you rest your head against the tile as the steam swirls up around you. This is so weird. This is so fucking weird, and you can’t scrub away the weirdness fast enough. There’s not enough Irish Spring in the world. You reach into the shower caddy to replace the bottle and notice something familiar– wait, that’s–

Wait. 

Do you and Eddie Munson use the same brand of shampoo? 

You had to switch from your favorite to the best that the Big Buy had to offer, given the change in your personal means, and this was the top score in terms of quality. Eddie Munson apparently agrees– but better yet, you realize as a grin spreads across your face, Munson uses women’s shampoo. 

It’s nice to have a fresh piece of arsenal to aim at him once you get out of the shower. 

Toweling off and changing, you do give the boxers a wary sniff before you put them on– but luckily, they smell like generic detergent and aren’t stiff in any way. So you slide them on.

They fit snugly– naturally, given he’s all sinewy and you have hips. He is really sinewy, now that you think about it. 

His wrist wasn’t bony, but it was active. Tendons flexing under the thin, soaked layer of his shirt. You wonder, absently, was that a tattoo you saw. What is it. What does it look like. Is it shitty. It’s his, so it’s probably shitty, but I want to see it. Does he have any more. 

You shiver, slipping the Stooges t-shirt on, and blame your hardening nipples on the cold.

The cheer outfit is another problem. You emerge from the bathroom, clutching the still-sodden uniform with Eddie’s– Munson’s towel thrown over your shoulder. 

“Do you have, like, a garbage bag or something?” you ask, eyes rising to look at him where he stands in the doorframe of his room. He’s still in his soaked clothes. 

He takes a second to answer you, and when he does, his voice is all thick. Avoiding eye contact. 

“Suuure,” and he disappears and reappears with a plastic bag, quick as a blink. 

“Thanks.” You dump the uniform, sneakers and all, into the bag and make for the door. 

“Hey, it’s still raining–” his voice follows you, as if you hadn’t heard the raindrop gunshots hitting the trailer roof. 

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’. You yank Munson’s door open and fling the garbage bag outside. It lands squarely between your trailer and his. 

Munson appears over your shoulder, looking out at the garbage bag. His face is twisted in confusion, concern, curiosity. 

“I got kicked off,” you explain, plain as biscuits. 

“Off the pom pom squad?” he whispers, eyes flaring in surprise that you think might actually be real. You’re looking at his lashes again, fanning around the almost-perfect circles of his eye sockets. 

“The very same.”

“Escándalo. What happened?”

“How about you go and shower first,” you suggest, poking a finger into his chest. He makes a little breathy noise, a little ‘unh’, that you don’t… hate. “Can’t have the star dork of the make believe board game club catch his death, can we?” 

“Anything happens to me and you’re the prime suspect, babe,” he grins and snaps the towel off your shoulder. 

“Hey!”

“This is the last clean one. What am I, a fuckin’ Rockefeller?”

-

Christ, he wants to jerk off into this towel but he knows that’s weird. That’s perverted. That’s fucked up. That’s everything everyone says about him and that’s everything you make him feel. 

So he strips, turns the hot water to scalding and furiously rubs one out down the drain. One, because he feels bizarre about leaving you alone among all of his things for too long and two, because hot water is in short supply. 

And three, because he’s achingly rock hard at the sight of you in his boxers, tossing your cheerleading outfit into the mud and the wet. 

The metaphors. The implications. The feeling of your forehead against his chest. The stab of your finger in his sternum. 

He cums jaggedly, almost silently, with his mouth rammed against his forearm. 

If you heard him– God, you’d be so nasty about it. God, he’d never live it down. God, he’d love to know what you’d say.

He makes damn quick work of sudsing up and rinsing down, wrapping a towel around his waist– only to run into you as he’s coming out of the bathroom. 

You stare. You stare at him, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry, and all the blood drains away from his brain. Again.

“Stare much?” he sneers, but only just about. Because his first instinct is to drop the towel and give you an eyeful. See what you’d do– hopefully something with your mouth. God, he hopes it’d be something with your mouth. 

“Where are your smokes?” you snap back. “I know you have some.”

“Kitchen. There’s probably–,” he needs you to stop looking at him like that; like you’re going to snap his neck, “--kitchen.”

Eddie slams his bedroom door and smacks his face with three quick strikes. “Come on, man! Get it together!” 

Because it’s go time. 

He has to formulate some kind of plan. 

He hadn’t exactly thought ahead when he invited you inside–or, demanded you come inside–and since you now had no place to go and Wayne had specifically told him not to go near you and your boobs were stretching out his dad’s old Stooges t-shirt…

Christ. 

He’s entirely, massively, completely at a loss. Eddie paces around the room like an animal in panic, grabbing a Scorpion shirt and some worn flannel pants as he goes. 

“Like, I’m supposed to go out there and do what? Ask her to hang out? Fucking paint her nails, read Cosmo? Study?! Jesus!” he angrily mumbles to his reflection, tearing the towel away and tugging his t-shirt over his sopping hair. “Hey, Lacy, you wanna beer? Who am I, Steve fucking Harrington? Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ, dude!”

“Munson. Are you talking to me in there?” He hears your voice from a minute distance away– see, that’s the thing about trailers. Small space, thin walls, and Eddie Munson’s voice travels at super speed. 

He stops, seizing, cringing, shoulders hitching up to his ears. 

That was not enough time to formulate a plan. 

Eddie, jankily tugging his pants on, sweeps out to the kitchenette area like something is chasing him and stops dead when he sees you. You haven’t trashed the place. You haven’t even tried to stick your head in the oven, two things he was kind of concerned about given the way you were wailing outside. 

You’re standing in the middle of the room with your hip cocked out, smoking a stolen cigarette and studying his uncle’s trucker hat collection. 

All the air in the room seems to orbit around you like a tornado in slow motion. 

How is it that you make an old shirt and boxers look like a skirt set? How is it that you can be sobbing your lungs out one minute, then the picture of poise and sophistication the next? 

All that air and none left for Eddie to take a breath.

“Hey, Lacy,” he strains, “you wanna beer?” 

“What,” you purr– like, he’s so sure that you actually purr, “You mean you’re all out of Sancerre?”

He does not know what the hell that is, but he can only assume it’s some rich people bullshit– and he’s relieved. You’re mocking him. At least that’s some tether to normalcy. She’s baa-aack. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, not entirely meaning it, but if he beams right at you he’s going to give the game away. 

“Think fast!” He tosses a can of the cheapest beer available at the Big Buy your way and you just about catch it, hands above your head and the cigarette dangling out of your mouth like Keith Richards. 

“God, Munson,” you mumble around the filter, “What kept you off the basketball team?” 

“Half a brain and a big dick,” he smirks, cracking the pull top and snatching the soft pack of cigarettes you’d left on the countertop. You cross from the living room, propping yourself up on the counter stool in a fluid movement that can only be described as feline. 

“Well, we sure can account for one of those things,” you say, ashing with your right hand and tapping at your temple with your left. 

“And the other?” Eddie asks, voice dropping a mocking octave. 

“I’d sooner drink arsenic than find out.”

He raises his beer can to you. “In that case, cheers!”

Your mouth twists around a smile and Eddie can see you’re fighting hard to keep it at bay. And that you’re losing. You tip your beer to your lips and he braces his elbows on the counter, looking around for a lighter. He spots a Bic, but the trigger won’t light it– just sparks, no flame. 

“That thing’s dead,” you say, “I lit this off the toaster.” 

“Oh! Right,” Eddie goes to turn, but something chilly snaps to his forearm. Your fingers. Damn. What is it with you? Circulation thing or what?

“Don’t do that,” you shake your head. “I don’t trust you not to burn the whole trailer down.”

“This is my trailer, y’know.”

“Yeah, and I’m in it. So burn it down on your own time.”

You motion for him to light his cigarette off the half-burned length of yours and Eddie tentatively places the filter between his lips. You prop yourself up on the stool, ass raised from the seat, leaning toward him. He leans in too and you cup that little hand with the perfectly painted fingers around the cigarettes. Like you’re whispering a secret. You look down, focusing on making fire, but Eddie’s eyes follow the tiny crease of your brow, the slope of your nose. The little wipe of mascara still underneath your eye. 

Tips touch and Eddie inhales just as you do. The cherried ends of the smokes glow orange and you pull back and Eddie just stays there a moment, frozen with the now-lit ember hanging out of his mouth. 

You pull back and inhale that smoke like one of those chicks from those black and white movies Wayne is always watching. You exhale all daintily, in one perfect clouding stream. You’re all– you’re so–... 

“Fucked,” you groan, shoving the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I am so fucked.” 

Eddie finally tugs the cigarette from his mouth, filter gone a little soft with the low-level salivating he’d been doing. “Oh. The cheerleader shit?”

“Yes, Munson. The cheerleader shit.” 

“What happened, anyway?” He resumes the position of being elbow-up on the countertop, which incidentally brings him a little bit closer to you. Incidentally. “You crack some skulls this time?”

“Huh,” you chuckle emptily, “Almost. Um, Tina more or less took me out at the knees. Which, I understand of course. If I were her, I would have obliterated me, but–” 

“You’re not her, and it doesn’t feel awesome to be on the other end of obliterated,” Eddie nods, giving you a squint-eyed pout of mock-sympathy. “Poor Lacy. Getting shitkicked by the consequences of her own actions.”

Thunk! You punch him in the shoulder, which hurts and he gasps, but it’s so funny and categorically unladylike coming from you. These little peals of violence that keep coming off you are a seemingly bottomless source of amusement for him. 

She’s so funny-looking when she’s mad. 

“Fuck off!” you bark, as if reading him like a goddamn horoscope, but there’s a glimmer to your narrowed stare. “I got replaced by a sophomore, as if I needed an insult topping on that injury shitshake.” 

“Oh, she Old Yeller’d your ass!” Eddie gasps again, chuckling heartily, “Took you out back and–” He mimes blowing your brains right out, nailing you right through the forehead. You stare at him square, unimpressed. “Who usurped ya?”

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

Oh. Well, isn’t that interesting. Eddie’s lips flatten into a straight line and he makes a little mmh sound. And you pick up on that immediately, being that you’re annoyingly perceptive. 

“Munson! Come on!” 

“What? Whaaat? I didn’t say anything!”

“That’s a child.”

“That is a sophomore and you said so yourself. Besides…” he trails off, pointedly crushing the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray until it’s oversquished. “...we have history.”

If his cigarette extinguishing was pointed, yours is needle sharp with the way you crush it into the ashtray right next to the remnants of his. 

“Go on,” you hum, just like you did in the van that last night. I really wanna know. It’s conspiratorial and intoxicating and makes it feel like you’re on his side, which you know he’s not but it’s so, so tasty to think that for a second you might be. 

Is this how you make everyone feel? Lull ‘em into a false sense of security? Hoard your ammo and go apeshit later? 

Eddie draws back, nearly congratulating himself for doing so. “That’s for me to know, and you to die ignorant.” 

The way your lips pop open is almost too good, your little doll face turning to a mask of betrayal too quick for you to hide it. Too quick for you to be all like fine! Keep it to yourself! You’re both totally irrelevant anyway! or whatever other bitchy retort you’re bound to come up with. 

“Wow. Well, if that holds any water, Carver’ll shit,” you start, sipping on your beer, “His little virgin Mary deflowered by the devil’s first alternate.” 

“Hey, I never said–!” Fuck. Fuck! How do you do that! Eddie pinches his lips together as you smirk over the rim of the beer can, all stuck under your gaze. Fly in the spider’s web. 

“A-ha,” you say, irritatingly smoothly. “So nothing happened. She’s just spank bank material.” 

“Didn’t– say that either,” Eddie mumbles, mind going annoyingly blank under your rapid fire tearing and the inebriating way you’re delivering it. He hates this and he has no intention of telling you to stop. The duality of man. 

“Didn’t not say that, though.” 

“You oughta be a lawyer,” he tells you, swigging deep, “the way you find a loophole in everything.”

“The way you want me to get you off, you mean.” 

You come out with that, something so incendiary, oh-so-casually and slip off your seat. She can’t just do that. You’re padding around the living room again, bare footed and small-looking, but Eddie’s staring at you like you’re a hand grenade with the pin missing that also has the secret to everlasting life inside. Terrified. Fascinated. 

A little stiff.

“What?” he breathes, but doesn’t really want you to answer the question. 

And you don’t, you just keep looking around the living room with your arms crossed over your chest. “You need money to be a lawyer, Munson. To go to law school. To go to any school. And I don’t have that. And I foolishly figured getting a cheerleading scholarship would be a cinch of a backup plan, and now I can’t do that either.”

“What are you looking for?” he asks, finally willing his dick down and his legs to work, rounding into the living room with you. 

“Your, like… stereo, or record player, or something,” you murmur, smoothing down his boxers over your hips. “It’s too quiet in here.”

Eddie blinks. What should really happen is he should say, no, stay out here in the silence, you insolent wench. Think on your crimes. Reflect. Repent. Stop being such a bossy little ballbreaker and give my balls a break.

“Room. Uh– it’s in my room,” is what he says instead. 

“‘kay,” is all you say with a little shrug of your shoulder, grabbing your can from the counter and padding down the hallway toward that same bedroom. His bedroom. Eddie Munson’s bedroom with his bed and his shit in it. “Let’s go.”

How irregular does your heartbeat have to get before you classify it as a cardiac event?

-

There’s only so many times you can flagellate yourself with the ol’ what the fuck are you doing thing before it becomes redundant.

Songs get overplayed, nail polish color gets overused, trends die. Things become redundant all the time, and you discard them. 

The notion of what the fuck are you doing in Eddie Munson’s trailer in Eddie Munson’s boxers walking towards Eddie Munson’s bedroom has become redundant because you simply are doing all those things. Not much point in questioning them. The chips have fallen. 

An eerie calm had come over you when he was in the shower and you were staring at all of these trucker hats on the wall– if the insanity is temporary, you might as well lean into it. You can’t go anywhere else. You’re trapped. Might as well get comfortable.

“God, this place is filthy, Munson.” You, with your arms still bound across your chest, toe a discarded t-shirt out of your path as you move into the bedroom with that same reserved interest of a gallery-goer. The place is cluttered, posters and flyers and doodles torn out of notebooks tacked up on the wall in total disarray. Every surface area is covered in what could be organized chaos, but knowing Munson the little that you do, you doubt it. 

To test the theory, you ask, “Where are your records? Tapes, anything?”

But he’s just lingering in the doorway, chewing on the end of a lock of hair. Watching you stand in the middle of the room with astronaut eyes, unblinking. It’s kind of– sweet, in a deeply unnerving way. He looks like a kid. 

Your brow furrows, grimace turning your lips into a point.

“Fine. Ogle me like a goddamn lobotomy patient, then.”

You resume your perusing of his things, when you spot the most precious piece of hardware hanging by the mirror. A marbled black and red body fashioned into nasty spikes. You reach out to give the strings an aimless thrum but your wrist is rapidly snatched away. 

“Nuh-uh. That’s where I draw the line,” Munson says, shuffling you away from the guitar like a security guard. A flash of something as your calves hit his mattress– him shepherding you toward your own bed, you drunk out of your gourd. “Siddown.”

And you sit, bouncing against the sinking mattress on impact. Rubbing at the spot on your wrist that his fingers had been squeezing. Staring up at him glowering down at you. “Ow.”

And Munson, it turns out, knows where everything is in his nuclear fallout of a room. He shoves a shoebox of tapes into your hands and nudges a bigger milk crate full of records nearer to you with his foot. 

“Knock yourself out,” he huffs, flinging himself face-down on the mattress next to you. You jerk; always the court jester, this guy. “Not that you’re gonna find anything you want to listen to.” 

A scoff flies out of your mouth before you’ve got a chance to suppress it– he’s gotta know, right? He’s gotta know he can’t just say shit like that to you without you fully activating that I can do anything you can do better–backwards–bleeding–in heels chip in your brain. You’ll show him. There’s nothing that matters to you more in the world right now than showing him. 

Though, rattling through his box of tapes, each one bearing a different variation of hot chick and the Devil artwork, you’ve got your work cut out for you. W.A.S.P. Mercyful Fate. Dirty Rotten Imbeciles. Witchfinder General. Some band that’s literally just called Loudness, for Chrissake. As you flick and flick, hope wavering, one catches your eye. There’s a jump in your throat. Scrawled letterhead against a draped satin background. A photo of something you always figured was a headless marble statue, though you could never be sure. 

“Why do you have this?”

No response from the corpse of Munson, presumably smothered by his own comforter.

“Hey!” you tap the back of his skull with the plastic casing. One eye appears, glaring up at you from the mattress. Rattle rattle goes the Cocteau Twins tape as you shake it in its case. “Thought this was haunted doll music.” 

“Ow.” Munson slowly raises himself onto his elbows, looking like he’s about to start kicking his legs in the air behind him. Twirling his hair around his finger. A grin is edging onto his lips, lips he’s pulling strands of hair away from. 

“Sometimes the five finger discount chooses you.” 

A feeling akin to heat spreads rights across your breastbone. You want to pry, secretly. You want an explanation. Why would you take that? Do you like me, or something? But asking speaks it into existence, and the insanity is temporary, and you’re so waiting for dawn to break on it so you can resume some hobbled together semblance of a normal existence. 

One that doesn’t include Eddie Munson stealing tapes that make you feel ticklish in order to, I don’t know, listen to them on his own so he can feel ticklish too. 

He hadn’t listened to it, for the record. Not all the way through, at least. 

He’d gotten as far as track two and had to switch it off, ejecting it out of the tape deck of his van with such speed that he was sure it’d shoot clean through the doors in the back. Too close, too real. That had veered a little out of the lane of objectifying you as someone whose crotch he maybe wanted to bury his face in and a little into the lane of you being like, a person. With feelings. 

The events of tonight aren’t helping that case. He hoped that lying face down for as long as he possibly could might let them just unfold around him, like he’d roll over and you’d just be gone, no evidence left behind except for your hair in the drain. 

But you demand attention. Eddie might be obvious, but you demand attention. His attention, at least. 

He grabs the tape from you. “We’re not listenin’ to that bullshit. Try again.”

“Fine!” you snap, but there’s this irritating bemusement dancing around your face. 

You lean forward from your spot on the mattress and tug the milk crate between your calves. Now, this is more your lane– in here, Munson’s got the classics. Or as close to the classics as he will deign to recognise. Zeppelin, Sabbath, Alice Cooper, Blue Öyster Cult– the combination of which you have something borderline mean to say about, but you’ll leave that ‘til later. You dig around, and then.

And then. Hello there, handsome.

In your hands are twelve inches of beauty, belonging to a grisly-voiced Tom Waits. Blue Valentine. Straight to the record player with this old bastard.

“People give this record too much shit,” you remark, and Eddie watches you as you tentatively lift a sock off the turntable. Yeah, he’ll cop to it, he doesn’t take such good care of some of his gear, but sometimes his brain behaves like a police scanner. Lotta channels operating at once. Anyway. Doesn’t matter. He’s watching you lift the needle onto the vinyl right now. “People say that this is a mediocre addition to the oeuvre, but what is mediocre about this–!”

Rousing strings seep from the stereo speakers– it’s Waits’ cover of Somewhere from West Side Story. Eddie knows it within the first half a second because, and now he’ll never admit it since he knows you like it so much, he has played this album to death. 

Somewhere around the halfway mark of Christmas Card For a Hooker in Minneapolis, the record will skip because it's scratched. Or well-loved, if you ask Eddie. 

“Fucking Robert Christgau thinks he’s being funny, doing this, y’know,” you sneer, examining the record sleeve as if you hadn’t seen it thirty thousand times before. Your copy had been lost in the move, among a number of your little sonic secrets. The records you’d keep to listen to by yourself, lying on your bedroom floor. “As if the whole core of Tom Waits’ whole thing isn’t heartache, the sentimentality of what-if. What if we could, what if life wasn’t garbage. That’s sentimentality, right there. It’s West Side Story, I mean, c'mon. Tom Waits is singing to us with his heart on his sleeve, but Christgau wants to suddenly be pedantic, turn around and be like, it’s a vaudeville act! because Waits sometimes also wears his dick on his sleeve.”

It’s a tirade you’ve often repeated to yourself, in your diary or alone in your room, pretending like you’re on a panel, pretending like you’re Susan Sontag and people actually give a shit what you actually have to say. You can’t exactly figure why you’ve said it again now. Maybe because you always found the strings on this song too much to bear without emoting, and you’re already vulnerable and tired. 

Munson, for his part, has flipped over onto his back on the mattress. “Who?” he drones.

“Robert Christgau,” you say, momentarily distracted by the way his shirt has rucked up around his belly. No six pack. Some meat there. Tendons, like you’d noticed before. “Just one of the most seminal rock writers of our time.”

You have a well-thumbed copy of his Record Guide: Rock Albums of the Seventies somewhere in a still-unpacked box.

Munson has a happy trail that curls like brushstrokes.

“You fucking trifler,” you grumble.

His face takes on that terrible look that he’d given you in the record store, all enraptured and cloudy at the corners of his eyes. Looking at you from where he leans on his elbows, one knee propped up, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. You want to shove it back down. 

And see what he’ll do about that. 

“How do you know all this shit?” he asks. Eddie can’t help this. He can’t help that he keeps changing his channel about you (again, police scanner) because one second you’ll be such a massive pain in the ass, then the next, you’ll say something so clever that it’ll make him want to vomit. 

“I like music,” you say, flatly. You give it to him straight, because you suddenly feel searched. You clutch Waitsy’s printed face to your chest in an effort of self-defense. “And I like… words. Kind of makes sense that I would enjoy music journalism, if you’re not totally stupid.” 

“I’m only a little stupid.” 

“Debatable.” 

“Wait, but I mean–” and he’s gearing up, because Eddie is about to ask you a real question. Something that’s been on his mind, the more ice shavings he can tear off of you. Considering you, all three dimensions of you– four, if you add in how much you like to punch him and stuff. “You’re like, incredibly smart, right.”

“Yes.”

“Like, perfect grades.”

“Almost. Save Kaminsky, because he can’t teach for shit and he can’t grade for piss.”

“And you’re a cheerleader… like, an important one?”

“Artist formerly known as, but yes.”

“And you’re on the newspaper.” 

“Very perceptive, aren't we.”

“You’re also popular– or, yeah, were. You party and stuff. You’re always hanging out with those assholes who don’t do half the shit that you do.”

 “Are you closing in on a point here, Munson?”

“How?” he nearly whispers, tone close to dreamy. “You’ve gotta have like, body doubles running around or something because no human person could possibly have that much time in the day. How the fuck did you do all that and also be running around ready to cite, like, an issue of the New Yorker from 1975, and not go completely insane?”

How do you know I’m not completely insane. Because, if he had ever witnessed how Jekyll and Hyde you could get, smacking the shit out of yourself with your hairbrush before you could turn on and be Lacy the cheerleader, Lacy the hot chick, Lacy the playground bitch, he would think you are totally insane. 

You answer him half-straight this time. 

“Diet pills.”

This makes him sit up, and makes you take a couple of steps back towards the bed. You flop down, tossing the Blue Valentine sleeve to the side. 

“Diet pills,” he repeats. 

“Oohhh, yes,” you nod, drawing the shape of the cylindrical pills on his comforter with your finger. You don’t really want to look up at him. “Rainbow diet pills. Soon as I hit my menses, I started lifting them from my mom.” 

“Isn’t that stuff illegal?” Eddie murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, mimicking your criss-cross applesauce seating position. “It’s basically speed, right?”

“Said the drug dealer,” a snort bursts from you. You’ve moved your fidgeting, starting to braid your half-damp hair. “And it is. It’s fully speed. I was doing baby Valley of the Dolls at age thirteen.”

“That is fucked up, Lacy.” 

“Yeah. Well. I'm a little fucked up, or haven't you heard?” 

“There’s been rumblings.” Eddie watches your fingers work, weaving locks of hair, one over the other. He’s never braided his hair. He wonders what it might look like. You come to the end and twist it around your finger, at a loss for a hair tie. He sticks a finger under his leather and silver bracelet, digging out an elastic he keeps handy, just in case. There are a lot of times that Eddie needs to yank his hair out of his face just to focus. “Here.” 

You mouth a silent thanks and wind the elastic around the tuft of hair. Tom Waits whines away about rain washing memories from the sidewalks and you feel weirdly… at ease. You’ve shared a couple of rainbow diet pills with Nicole and Carol (Tina doesn’t mess with amphetamines, a consummate athlete), but you���ve never had anyone ask you how you’ve managed to be the person you’re pretending to be. 

To put the clues together about your impossible do-it-all identity.

And not react in disgust when he finds out you’re fallible. 

“Hey,” Eddie says. Something about hearing you rattle off, not sniping for once, saying something real… it eased the heartburn. It has loosened his tension around you, a little. He figures it’s his turn to say something real. “I’m sorry I called you evil.” 

Most evil twat at the twat table, you nearly correct. “You had grounds.”

“No, no, I didn’t. You–” this is actually harder for him to get out than he thought, “You’re trying. You’re trying really hard to make the best of a messed up situation, and maybe I should’ve seen that– but I didn’t, because it’s high school, and it’s dumb, and I’m trying too, and we’re all trying, just to survive this messed up microcosm of the world– and– and–" He huffs. It's you gazing at him this time. Eyes sparkling in the half-light cast by his bedside lamp. You're... really pretty. "Jesus, can you just forgive me so I can stop talking?”

“That’s a first,” you say. “Microcosm is a five dollar vocab word, Eddie.”

The way you say his name. “I’m a changed man.”

“Can you use adulation in a sentence next?” Your big grin is devastating.

He leans right into you, dastardly looking suddenly. “Is this provocation getting you hot, you psycho?”

Fingertips braced over your knees, your torso keening just the right amount of degrees to favor him, your stare making an unsubtle job of darting from Eddie’s lashes to his lips to his lashes to his lips… 

“Maybe.” A beat. A heavy beat. “What are you gonna do about it?” 

In any other world, with any other person, the wanting would completely make sense. Wanting him to say nothing more and just do, to plant a big, ringed hand either side of your hips and pull you into his lap. To crush his lips against yours. To dig his hands into your thighs, to wind your fingers into his hair. To feel the chill of silver traveling up, under the back of your borrowed shirt, to press down onto him and–

Hey Charlie, I almost went crazy-ayzy-ayzy-ayzy-ay–

Eddie doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t mean to, but his head snaps away from you just as the record starts to skip. 

Then the door slams.

Fuck.

“Ed?”

Wayne.

He totally forgot to formulate that plan.

author's notes: ZOOWEE MAMA HOW WE FEELING ARE YOU STILL WITH ME longest chapter in the fic so far. thanks for keepin up. i love you, let's not waste any time, i don't think i've got a lot of notes for you this go around but i love you - there is nothing more secretly pretentious teenage girl than loving joan didion and susan sontag (i know this because i was her, i am her to this day in fragments) but particularly joan didion on keeping a notebook really sticks to one's ribs. this is not the last joan didion ref in this fic, sorry for being unbearable - stella adler, the mother of method acting - steve harrington being the originator of the nickname lacy is a tribute to him showing signs of being a goofy motherfucker from day dot. please see this post. it was always there, we just couldn't see it in freshman year because of all the hairspray - what's going on with tommy hagan? does anyone really care but me, probably not. but for those that are keeping tick on the timeline (don't)- he got held back senior year, hence why he did not graduate with steve and is in the same grade as eddie, lacy, carol, et al. - WICKED LITTLE TOWN!!!! - the stooges t-shirt is yet another flight of icarus pick; al wears a stooges shirt and i creamed because i love the stooges. let's listen to one of my favorites - loudness are a metal band from osaka, japan! they got signed to an american label in 1985, but how did eddie munson get that tape in hawkins, indiana in 1984? well, my theory is that eddie loves music and jerry from main street vinyl loves benzos. a trade's a trade's a trade. - reader, you are an 18y/o girl who thinks you're better than everyone. of course you're stealing lester bangs' opinions on blue oyster cult and making them your own - and shitting on robert christgau bc you've got a wetty for tom waits - also, here is tom waits' cover of somewhere! my theory on eddie being a tom waits fan-- of course he is, that man looks and sounds like billy goat gruff and is a storytella just like eddie is. he would especially be into his later stuff, like the megalithic orphans album. y'all remember this song from shrek 2 - rainbow diet pills were a real insane thing! this seems more accessible than adderall for the time period, which modern!lacy would certainly have been abusing - for the time that's in it, let me present tom waits' anti-christmas song, christmas card from a hooker in minneapolis my loves, if you've still stuck with me this far, i thank you greatly. i know i'm nutso but i'm having fun writing this fic. i would've been writing it if nobody was reading, but it's a billion times better now that you are. reblogs are always appreciated, and the inbox is always open to chat shit ♡

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder

[ephemeral-cryptid]

why some gods are more commonly worshiped than others

So, we all know that some deities are much more commonly worked with and worshiped than others, and most of us have our own ideas as to why. I think there’s a multitude of reasons, including the unsavory myths surrounding them, cultural bias, and lack of pop culture fame. However, the factor I want to talk about in this post is this: a lot of the less popular deities are deities with less obvious/direct impacts on our lives. 

I’m going to go through each of the 12 Olympians (plus Hestia) and explain how I believe this impacts our view of them and how we can recognize and get closer to them in our everyday lives. I’m only doing the 12 Olympians because I am most familiar with the Hellenic pantheon and if I did every single deity in this post, it would take a million years. I might do other deities in the future if anyone is interested or I feel called to.

Zeus:

So, I have to address the elephant in the room on this one. The big reason that people are wary of working with/worshiping Zeus is because of the popular myths surrounding him. With that out of the way, another thing influencing his worship, or lack thereof, is the fact that many people only think of him as the god of thunder, lightning, and rain. So, for the people that live in very dry areas, especially areas in a drought, it might feel unimportant to worship him. 

However, that is silly, as Zeus is not only the god of rainstorms. He also rules over the sky as a whole, all forms of weather, law and order, destiny and fate, and leadership.

Some ways to connect to Zeus in your day-to-day life are admiring and appreciating the sky and the weather, being thankful for nice weather, following fair rules and laws, acknowledging their importance, and being appreciative of them, taking initiative when necessary, and being a good leader if you’re in a leadership role. Zeus affects everyone in a very direct way, but a lot of us fail to realize it.

Hera:

Another deity whose worship is negatively impacted by her mythology is Hera. She is also affected by the common misconceptions about her dominion. For lots of people, when they think of Hera, they think of weddings. Everyone knows she’s the goddess of marriage, but a lot of people ignore the part that comes after the wedding, and weddings aren’t exactly an everyday occurrence, so this means a lot of people skimp out on their worship of her. 

She is not only the ruler of weddings though. She also rules marital harmony (the part that comes after the wedding), family, women, and a protector of women during childbirth/some say the goddess of birth itself. 

Some ways to connect with her in daily life are spending time with your family and/or partner, showing appreciation to your family and/or partner, setting healthy boundaries and having an open line of communication with your family and/or partner, researching parenthood/childbirth before you have kids or if you already have kids, expressing your femininity (this goes for men to, everyone has different levels of femininity and masculinity, no matter the gender) if you feel comfortable doing so, celebrating/appreciating the miracle of birth and fertility, and just in general being a good family member, partner, and parent. 

Poseidon:

Poseidon also has negative connotations due to his myths, though to a lesser extent than Hera and Zeus. Many people also choose not to worship him because they live inland far from the ocean. They feel disconnected from him because they’re so far from his domain (or so they think). Many of us don’t take into consideration his other aspects besides being the lord of the sea.

However, he also lords over earthquakes, any ocean-related storms (such as hurricanes and tsunamis), horses, droughts, and floods. If you have a connection to horses or experience a lot of floods, earthquakes, and/or ocean-related storms, you probably have a deeper connection with Poseidon than you think.

Some ways to involve him in your everyday life include being aware of and prepared for any incoming storms, possible floods, droughts, and earthquakes, getting involved with horses if that’s something you are interested in and capable of doing, conserve water, support foundations dedicated to cleaning the ocean, hurricane/drought/flood relief, and horse rescues if you are able, staying hydrated, doing what you can to reduce pollution (like not littering and picking up garbage off the ground), learning about geology/the ocean and the creatures in it/horses, and just appreciating water, horses, and the earth.

Demeter:

Demeter is an interesting case because I feel like a lot of us know how directly she impacts us but don’t feel close to her because of how uninvolved most people in first world countries are from the harvest. Most people inhabiting developed nations don’t grow our own food, so we aren’t knowledgeable about planting and harvesting, therefore we don’t feel connected enough to Demeter to worship her, much less devote ourselves to her.

She is primarily the goddess of the harvest and agriculture, but she also presides over fertility, plants in general but specifically grain, the life cycle, sacred law, and soil.

Some ways you can include her in your daily routine are planting a garden or even just a few flowers, appreciating and being grateful for the food you eat, educating yourself on what types of plants grow in your area and how to grow/harvest them, growing your own food when possible, learning about the life cycle, acknowledging the beauty of life and death, enjoying nature, and grounding yourself with the earth. 

Athena:

Athena is perhaps the most popular deity on this list so far, but she is still underappreciated in the modern era. I’m not exactly sure why she is worshiped so little. Perhaps it is because many people find her primary domain (wisdom) to be boring or maybe they just don’t think they’re “smart” enough or “good” enough to worship a goddess so revered as Athena (which I personally think is likely in a lot of cases). 

Athena is not only the goddess of wisdom but also war, good council, weaving and sewing, handicraft of any form (pottery, arts and crafts, etc.), and practical reasoning. You don’t have to have a certain “level of intelligence” in order to connect with her, only the desire to gain wisdom and knowledge.

Some ways to honor and connect with Athena in your everyday are learning about what you’re passionate about, reading, doing any form of crafts or handiwork, sewing or weaving, using your reasoning skills when you need to, making well-informed decisions, asking for and listening to advice from people more knowledgeable than you (if the advice is good), controlling your temper and impulses, learning how to channel your anger into something productive, standing up for yourself when necessary, and just in general pursuing wisdom and knowledge. 

Ares:

Ares is also a victim of unfavorable myths and representation in pop culture, which makes him less popular to worship. Unlike many of the other deities on this list who are unpopular only in the modern era, Ares was never popular, even in Ancient Greece. He suffers from having a domain that not many individuals like and most people nowadays will never directly experience. Most people in most developed countries will never go to war and a lot won’t even know anybody directly impacted by war, so they don’t think worshiping Ares is important. Seeing the Russia-Ukraine war is not enough for a lot of people because they’re just not there. In reality, everybody is impacted by war all the time, but I think a lot of people just don’t really consider how deeply it affects them. War is a core foundation of the human experience, but a lot of us fail to realize it.

Ares is the god of war (particularly brutal war), courage, battlelust, civil order, and the spirit of war personified. For this reason, I believe a lot of people are also afraid to worship him, but war is a constant in the human experience, whether we like it or not (which most of us obviously don’t), and Ares is much more important than people give him credit for.

Some ways to connect with Ares on the daily are being as courageous as you possibly can (without being stupid, of course), educating yourself on wars of the past, why they occurred, how they went down, etc., educating yourself on and perhaps getting involved in ongoing wars (what I mean by this is just spreading awareness and donating money if you can), being an activist for causes that are important to you, standing up for yourself, learning how wars from the past and ongoing wars are still affecting people in the modern day, acknowledging both the positive and negative aspects of war, and channeling your anger in a productive way.

Hephaestus:

Hephaestus is unpopular, in my opinion, mostly because people either think he’s unattractive and wrongfully judge him for it and/or they don’t do metalwork themselves, so they think that he has little impact on their lives. Of course, that’s not the only thing he rules over, but that’s what he’s most known for, so people tend to forget him.

Hephaestus is not only the god of metalwork and blacksmithing, but also fire, volcanoes, carpentry, the art of sculpture, metallurgy, artisans, and technology in general. (I personally also see him as a protector of people with disabilities, but that’s just a UPG.) The device you’re using to read this post right now is a blessing of Hephaestus.

Some things you can do to include him in your daily life are acknowledging and appreciating all the ways technology helps you everyday, building and putting together things (this can be as simple as building with legos or doing a jigsaw puzzle), building a fire in a fireplace or creating a bonfire if possible, appreciating the beauty of fire and acknowledging how it benefits you, sculpting if that’s something you enjoy, and creating new things (even doing art falls under Hephaestus’s sphere of influence). Anytime you are creating something new, you are honoring Hephaestus.

Aphrodite:

Aphrodite is the first deity on this list that I feel doesn’t suffer from a lack of popularity, likely because love is something almost everyone has some form of experience with. Aphrodite impacts us all in a very obvious, direct way, which makes approaching her easy and desirable. It’s crazy how much of our lives revolve around love.

Aphrodite is the goddess of all forms of love, beauty, sexuality, desire, lust, fertility, and procreation. 

Some ways you can honor Aphrodite are by being a good friend, family member, and partner, seeing the beauty in everything, setting boundaries and having healthy communication in your relationships, loving the little things in life, being kind and loving to others, seeing the beauty in yourself and others, having confidence in yourself, not feeling shame over lustful feelings, educating yourself on reproduction and healthy relationships, not judging others for their physical appearance, and appreciating the beauty of life and fertility

Artemis:

Artemis is less popular than Aphrodite, but she doesn’t have the lack of popularity that the other deities on this list do. She has a very direct impact on people’s lives as well. The moon is something everybody has experience with and it comes out everyday and nature is everywhere, which makes her sphere of influence very noticeable, hence the popularity. Nature and wildlife is also everywhere and has a very easily observable effect on our lives. She is also a very empowering protector of women, which adds to her popularity. 

She is the goddess of the moon, the hunt, nature, wildlife, young women, animals, virginity, archery, sudden death of women and girls, and childbirth.

Some ways to get closer to Artemis everyday are appreciating the beauty of nature and the moon, treating all animals with kindness (unless they’re endangering you or something), volunteering or donating to animal shelters if possible, not littering, cleaning up litter, learning archery if you are able and want to, getting involved with feminist movements and other movements you’re interested in, help hurt animals or women that need it, if you go hunting, thank your prey after you kill it and use all parts of the body that you can, thank all the meat that you eat for their sacrifice and don’t take it for granted, get educated on reproductive health, treat  all people, but specifically women, nature, and wildlife with respect and kindness, learn about the wildlife and nature in your area, and learn about moon cycles and how the moon affects the earth

Apollo:

Apollo is arguably the most popular deity among modern day polytheists, which makes sense given the sheer amount of domains he rules over. Health, the sun, art, prophecy, and archery are probably the first things that come to mind for most of us, but that only begins to cover the things that he rules over.

Apollo is the god of health, archery, prophecy and oracles, music, all forms of art, plague and disease, protection of the young, the sun, knowledge, herds and flocks, light, truth, guilt, poetry, protection of cities, and more (if I listed everything, we’d be here for days). So you can probably see why he’s so popular.

There are so many things you could do to honor him in your daily life. You can make art, music, or poetry, you can listen to music, read poetry, or look at art, you can keep yourself as healthy as you can, you can learn archery if you’re able, you can help the sick and the young in any way you can, you can sit outside and enjoy the sunlight when it’s out or just open your curtains, you can learn about things you’re interested in, you can try to be as honest as possible, you can work through your guilt and overcome it, you can protect children if you see they’re in danger, you can learn an instrument, you could share your knowledge with other people, and I’m sure you could think of much more given his wide sphere of influence.

Hermes:

Hermes is probably the second most popular deity in modern days after Apollo. Again, this makes sense given how many things he has dominion over. His realm of influence is also very important and easy to see the direct influence of in your real life, which also boosts his popularity. He’s also said to be the “most human” god because he interacted with them the most often through his messages and being a psychopomp, and he’s known to be quite easy-going and easy to work with, which definitely helps. 

He is the god of communication, herds and flocks, travelers, hospitality, trade, thievery, cunning, heralds, diplomacy, language, writing, athleticism and competitions, astronomy, astrology, merchants, wit, speed, commerce, and he was a psychopomp and messenger of the gods. Like Apollo, I’m sure there’s some things that I’ve missed, but if I covered everything it would take forever.

There are soooo many things you can do to connect with Hermes, more than I could ever list, but some things you can do are improving your communication skills, setting boundaries in your relationships, travelling if you want to and are able, learning a new language, journalling, working on your writing skills, being kind and hospitable to strangers, talking to people, doing sports/taking a walk/anything athletic, participating in competitions if that’s something you enjoy, learning  about astronomy and/or astrology, and being diplomatic in your conversations with others (unless you have a good reason not to). Again, I’m sure there’s much more, but these are just some ideas.

Dionysus:

Dionysus is another fairly commonly worshiped deity among current polytheists. Unsurprising considering how popular alcohol and theater is in most cultures. Dionysus has always been and will always be popular due to his fun, chaotic nature and how popular his sphere of rule is. 

He is the god of alcohol (specifically wine), theater, madness, ecstasy, festivity, insanity, orchards and fruit,  vegetation, fertility, and wild frenzy. 

Some things you can due to get closer to Dionysus in the day-to-day are drinking alcohol if you are of age (responsibly), watching live theater and movies/tv, doing things you enjoy, dancing (bonus points if you’re dancing erratically), eating fruit or drinking fruit juice (especially grapes), taking care of your mental health, educating yourself on mental health, learning about the history of theater, and just enjoying life.

Hestia: 

Hestia is another deity that does not get enough appreciation. She used to be one of, if not, the most universally worshiped deity, but now it’s very rare to find someone that regularly worships her. I think maybe a part of it is that she’s considered more “boring,” but I also think lots of polytheists are uneducated on what she actually has influence on. I think people hear that she’s the goddess of the “hearth” and think that she must be outdated since we don’t have hearths anymore. Meals also aren’t as valued as they were back in Ancient Greece because they are so much easier to access, so she just isn’t quite as relevant as in the past. 

Hestia is the goddess of the hearth, the home, sacred and sacrificial fire, virginity, family, and the state. She has some very important influence in our life, but a lot of people just don’t know what she’s really the goddess of.

Some things you can do to honor Hestia are cooking, cleaning, burning a fire in your fireplace or starting a bonfire if you’re able, being kind to people, being good to your family, and being a contributing member of the state.

I hope some of you found this useful. If you disagree with me on anything, that’s alright. My word isn’t law. This is just my opinion, and you’re free to leave yours in the comments. There are many nuances and details that are left out of this post because it’s not comprehensive, so just know there’s a lot I left out. If you got this far, thanks for reading, and I hope you got something out of this :)

#helpol #deity work #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #hellenic deities #hellenic devotion #pagan #paganism #spirit work #aphrodite devotee #apollo devotee #hermes devotee #dionysus devotee #witchcraft #witch #EPHEMERAL: HELLENIC POLYTHEISM

[bittersweetresilience]

ladynoir in my bookmarks for @sleepysebris and @luckychatons

our hands would not be taught to hold another's by @ladyofthenoodle (38,147 words)

Adrien knew that wasn’t fair to blame Ladybug for this. There were rules, and now that Master Fu was gone, it was her job as the Guardian to enforce them. There were rules, and he knew the rules, and he broke them. He hadn’t meant to, but he did. That didn’t make losing the ring hurt any less.

downpour by @frostedpuffs (7,080 words)

Ladybug and Chat Noir tell each other their ages during a heavy rainstorm, but with the new bit of information they learn about their partner, they start developing other sorts of questions a little too deep for two teenage kids.

All My Life by Faithxoxo (12,080 words)

The thing Marinette is quickly realizing, is that love means more than wanting to spend every day with someone, or knowing their schedule by heart, or wanting to get married and have three kids with them. Loving someone means being able to talk to them for hours, and missing them all the time, and trusting them with your life. Her mind always goes to one person, and it isn’t Adrien.

Ma Chérie by Miss_Nihilist (4,912 words)

Chat Noir is ready to move on and start pursuing a girl in his class. Before he does, though, there’s just one thing that he needs from Ladybug. Too bad that it’s the one thing she can’t give him.

Like Smoke From a Furnace by @wackus-bonkus-maximus (7,518 words)

Marinette and Adrien give up their Miraculous. Ladybug and Chat Noir never meet again.

I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat (49,733 words)

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She’s struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she’s never felt lonelier. If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it’s not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

all of your flaws and all of my flaws (are laid out one by one) by @coffeebanana (7,968 words)

Ladybug and Marinette have both been acting strangely since Monarch’s defeat, and Chat Noir would give anything to know why—to be able to help them. He just... didn’t expect his answers to come when Ladybug drags him to his father’s statue in the middle of the night along with a bag full of spray paint.

#how do you make a fic rec list look nice AHH #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #🌃 #🦚 #sorry i only included the first half of your summary noodles #ml fic recs

[frenchkisstheabyss]

7 Psychopaths: Yeonjun

x Summary: You are X, a seasoned assassin, and your boss has just assigned you an unusual task. You have two weeks to gather six men for a top-secret mission that requires their unique brand of psychopathy. The trick is, you've got romantic history with all of them.

A detail that might make this a walk in the park or the fight of your life. Time to find out...

x Pairing: assassin!yeonjun x assassin!chubby!fem!reader

x Genre: angst/crime au/smut

x Word Count: 2.1k

x Warnings: violence, blood, knives, guns, general criminal activity, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, strong language (naturally), a smidge of rough sex but nothing crazy, misogynists and xenophobes get their karma quite painfully

x A/N: This is #1 in a series of 6 stories featuring members of TXT/ATEEZ/Stray Kids. They all follow the same theme and can be read chronologically or you can jump around. I support the chaos.

| | Next Psychopath: Lee Know | |

This? This is bullshit.

You should be sitting first class on that bullet train to Kyoto right now, sipping tea as you watch the bustling streets of Tokyo fade into a blur of neon light. Instead, your ticket is ripped to shreds at the bottom of a gutter two countries over and you’re slumming it in the back alleys of Nowhere. With the exception of a few flickering streetlights ahead of you, it’s almost too dark to cast a shadow out here. “Too dark,” insists one of the drunken assholes trailing behind you, “For a pretty little thing like you to be out here all alone.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you count five of them. The ring leader, let’s call him Red Shirt, has enough liquid courage in him to lead the pack in announcing every filthy thing they’d do with you if you let them. You roll your eyes, pushing forward to your destination, dying to escape them and the unpleasant stench that the mugginess after tonight’s rainstorm has left lingering in the air. “She’s not listening to us,” teases Black Jacket, “Maybe she thinks she’s too good for you.”

The childhood trauma of rejection at the hands of an unloving mother flips a switch inside of Red Shirt that he’d know was there if he’d gone to therapy like his ex suggested and he’s charging towards you in seconds. Shoving your hands in the pockets of your long leather jacket, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for a confrontation that you aren’t even kind of in the mood for. There are much bigger things to worry about tonight. Much more pressing issues than Red Shirt and his band of sexually insecure misfits.

You reach the edge of the alley, almost clear of the group, when a hand slams down on your shoulder squeezing tightly enough to leave a bruise. “I know you hear me talking to you! Do you know what we do to girls like you around here?” Red Shirt hisses, venom dripping from his words. Grasping the handles of the switchblades in your pockets, you whip around, unfolding them at the speed of light and burying them in his shoulders. The flesh squishes like raw meat on a butcher's slab. You love to hear it.

Red Shirt drops to his knees, deep burgundy blood soaking through his shirt and dripping down his shoulders. The scream of anguish he lets out is enough to split the earth in two. The other four stumble back, the shock of their leader groveling in pain for likely the first time ever enough to make them want to shit themselves. You stare down at him, your eyes cold and void of any sympathy, “You know what I do to guys like you?” Twisting the blades, one of them knicks bone, making him whine like a wounded animal.

“Do you want me to show you?” you ask, smiling warmly, “Or are you gonna gather your friends and get the fuck away from me before I make sure you never use these arms again?” There’s an attempt at speaking. A croak, drowned out by the waterfall of tears rushing down his cheeks. “What’s that? I can’t quite hear you.”

“Leave. We. Leave” he manages.

It’s not the groveling that you’re used to but it’ll have to do for now. The blades ease out of his shoulders smooth as butter. His body hits the concrete hard enough that he early splashes water---at least you hope it’s just water---on your high-heeled boots. You squat down, casually cleaning your blades on his shirt. “If it makes you feel any better” you sigh, “Red is your color.”

“Do I have to talk slower so that you understand me? I Don’t. Owe. You. Shit.” 

The words of the cocky American cooking up dope in the basement of this hole in the wall laundromat echo in Yeonjun’s mind. They call him San Jose for the time he spent in California locked away in a supermax prison. You learn a lot when you’re shoved into a cage in a strange new place with people you don’t know. And, for Yeonjun, English was one of those things. This American didn’t need to speak slower. San Jose understood him the first time.

The insult was just overkill which is precisely why he feels no guilt popping coins into the max load dryer the American’s currently folded into. The window's smeared with blood from the bones that had to be broken to wedge him in there, to begin with. Messy but necessary. Beneath the stained floors, marbled with dirt, Yeonjun’s associates facilitate more bloodshed among the guards too loyal or too stupid to run before things got this bad.

“You don’t have to do this!” the American begs, suddenly confident in the lack of a language barrier, “Please! I’ll get you your money! I promise!” Yeonjun taps at the glass, watching the American squirm like a panicked fish swimming in poisoned water. “So sorry” Yeonjun apologizes, “I don’t speak English.” The press of a button sets off the buzzing noise that signals the start of a cycle. 

Tiny green lights glow beside the options Yeonjun patiently selected. Cycle: Heavy. Heat: High. Door: Locked.

There’d been a point where this was all about the money. But now? If he handed it over Yeonjun would throw it into the dryer and let it burn right along with him. Hypnotized by the clanking of the American’s body as the drum makes its labored turns, Yeonjun almost doesn’t hear the front door creak open. You stop dead in your tracks when you’re greeted by the barrel of a 45 ACP pistol. I said he almost didn’t hear the door. Just almost.

You throw your hands up, more as a peace offering than a sign of surrender. “You aren’t gonna shoot me are you, Yeon---” “You don’t get to call me that anymore, X” he snaps, raking his fingers through his platinum blonde hair, “You’ve got 10 seconds to turn around before I pull this trigger.” “Yeon---” He turns to you, his left eye twitching, and cocks the pistol. “San Jose” you say in an alluring tone, taking baby steps toward him, “I just wanna talk. Five minutes. That’s it. Can you give me that?”

Yeonjun can hardly look at you but he can’t bring himself to turn away. Why are the flowers most likely to kill you always the prettiest to look at? He groans, his rage softened by the sight of your face after almost a year apart, “Five minutes.”

Bent over the wooden desk in the manager’s office, you dig your heels into the floor, desperate to keep your trembling legs from giving out. You could say that you’d forgotten what it was like to have Yeonjun’s tongue performing acrobatics inside of your tight pussy but that would be a lie. There’s simply no way to forget how talented this man is with his tongue. Your memory though, pales in comparison to the real thing, and experiencing it for the first time in a long time has juices dripping down your lush thighs.

From his position behind you, the second time you’ve had a man on his knees tonight, Yeonjun’s fingers press into the softness of your ass. It looks glorious beneath the teal overhead lighting. Flawless in every way. Just like everything else about you. The taste of you is addictive. Sweet enough to rot his teeth. He squeezes your ass harder, raising you up to create the perfect angle for him to swipe his tongue between the slickness of your folds. His tongue brushes over your clit, making you moan in ways he can’t help but grin at.

“Why me?” he asks between sloppy, eager laps at your slit, “What does your boss want me for?” Nails tapping on the desk, nearly scratching the cheap plywood, you arch your back at the tugging in your lower belly. “She has plans. Something big and I don’t---aah---question her. I just---fuck.” Your body collapses, a spark traveling through your veins like liquid fire. “I just know she wants you back with us.” Yeonjun rises to his feet, pushing your dress up further to reveal the small of your back. He kisses it with the gentle lips of a man born to be a lover and bred to be a killer.

“But do you want me back?” he asks in a rare moment of vulnerability. You groan, rolling over onto your back, hands covering your face. Spending time with him, talking to him, loving him, the entire experience of being with him had been one of the only things that made waking up in the morning worth it in a life like this. None of it was ever just about the sex, as amazing as it is. It was always about him. Do you want him back? Of course, you do.

The head of his cock nudges at your slit, smearing your juices through the delicate petals of your pussy. Yeonjun runs his hands along your curves, indulging himself in the nostalgia of nights like this. “Do you?” Taking him by the collar of his shirt, you drag him on top of you, kissing him passionately as you lower yourself onto him until every inch is buried within you. “I do” you whisper, the sincerity in your eyes swearing to him that you aren’t lying. You wouldn’t. You can’t.

The feeling of being wanted by you again, knowing that you’ve wanted him all this time, is a high unlike anything else. Your legs wrap around his waist, keeping him flush against you as he dips in and out of you. The ridges of your walls when you clench around him. The blood pumping through those gorgeous veins that travel up his shaft. It’s almost too much. You kiss his forehead, stroking the back of his neck, unsure if that thumping is your heart or the body in the dryer just beyond the door. “I missed you so much” he moans into your chest, licking beads of sweat from between your cleavage. 

“Fuck me harder then. Prove it.” You pose a challenge that he takes on without hesitation. Pinning your arms over your head, one hand keeping your wrists locked together, he thrusts into you with a force that carries a certain finesse civilian men painfully lack. He doesn’t miss a single sweet spot, making every tiny movement count. Every sensation pushes you closer to the edge of oblivion---and the desk. You don’t even have to speak for Yeonjun to know you’re about to cum. Your body tells him. It always has.

That thumping? It was your heart after all, and it’s at maximum volume in your ears as you come undone beneath him. The death grip that your walls have on him, your moisture coating him, leaking out to make a mess of his pants, has him coming right along with you. The warmth in your belly as he fills you up has you silently begging him not to stop, your brain still too lost in ecstasy to formulate more than a few incoherent whimpers. If he had it in him never would but you’re milking him so well, draining him of everything, that all he can do is stumble backwards before you take his soul too.

“Fuck” he pants, his body propped up against the wall behind him, “You’re the devil.” Pushing yourself up, you use what little balance you have to get your clothes back together. You wink at him, throwing your coat back on, “But you love me.” Locking eyes with him, you help him fix his pants, teasing the rim of his tip before tucking it away, “I’ll see you in Berlin then?” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world” he answers, lips hovering dangerously close to yours. You kiss him once more and his arms come around you, desperate to keep you here forever.

A cutesy ringtone blares as your phone vibrates in your pocket. You know by the sound of it that it’s your boss. “Answer it” he insists, kissing you one last time before turning you loose. With the phone in your hand, anticipating an interrogation from your boss, you march out of the manager’s office, ignoring the half conscious man with salami for skin hanging out of the dryer. “You be a good boy now, San Jose!” you shout behind you.

Yeonjun follows you out of the office, shoving the body back into the dryer without taking his eyes off of you, “You can call me Yeonjun again!” You can only laugh to yourself, disappearing back out into the night. You like that name better anyway. 

#yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x y/n #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt au #yeonjun angst #yeonjun smut #txt angst #txt smut #chubby reader #plus size reader #thick reader

[1d1195]

Neighbors II

Read the first part here: Neighbors I

(At least two more parts after this one, I think!)

Harry could feel his cheeks warming at her assessment because even though his mum and Gemma told him he was a lovely human being, they were his family. They adored him because he was lovely but they would have thought that anyway. There was no greater praise than hearing it from the mouth of a pure angel.

It was Friday. Which meant the three of them were supposed to be in her living room watching one of Rory’s movies and eating pizza. But instead, Harry was looking at the house across the road wishing he could see through the walls more than ever. Did she miss him? Did Rory ask about him? He had no business of being missed or asked about. But Harry was so invested in their lives. Rory was arguably his best friend. He told him just about everything and was happy to teach him all the things he needed to know to be a little man. And then her...

Well, Harry had never missed a woman before like this.

It was different though; he couldn’t just ask about her. She had a child and that was her priority—Harry knew that. But something was off, and he didn’t know what he did but all he wanted was to mend the issue.

So, he watched their house from his window hoping for an answer to float across the way.

Rory was watching the TV quietly nibbling at his pizza while she watched the sweet boy giggle at the funny parts even though it was unbearably quiet in comparison to when Harry was here for pizza on Fridays. She thought back to the time Rory invited Harry the first time.

“Mumma, can we have pizza with Harry?” Rory asked. It was a sudden question. The little one looking at Harry on his front porch reading a book and sipping some iced tea in the middle of the summer. She bit her lip. There hadn’t been a single day that week where she wasn’t asking Harry for something.

On Monday he hurried to her car when he saw her pull in from the grocery store while he was at the mailbox getting his mail. Tuesday morning brought in a rainstorm and dropped a sizeable branch in the middle of her yard that needed to be removed ASAP before the kids could play in the yard on Wednesday. It was the very next morning the sound of her scream sent Harry flying across the street knocking anxiously at her door wondering what was harming her. “I’m sorry, I know this is stupid, but there is a frog that snuck in the house.”

“Mommy doesn’t like frogs,” Rory giggled cutely from behind her leg and biting her lip impishly. The relief Harry felt that she and Rory were unharmed was immeasurable. Chuckling to himself (and to Rory) he coaxed the little creature out with the help of Rory while she stayed in a different room waiting for her nightmare to be over.

“My heroes,” she said kissing Rory on the cheek when he came running to tell her they thwarted the frog.

Harry wished she would kiss him on the cheek.

Of course, Harry took his duty seriously watching Rory that Thursday evening as well. Which meant by Friday, when Harry had a long week of working and doing whatever he did to help her out every single day this week, it seemed unfair of her to ask him to hang out again. Surely on a Friday night, in the middle of a beautiful summer, Harry would have better plans than hanging out with a four-year-old and his mom eating pizza.

“I don’t know, baby. I think Harry might need some space from us.”

“Harry said he loves playing with me,” Rory pouted.

She frowned. “Well of course he does, baby. But...Harry has other friends he might want to play with,” she told him. Rory was always a good listener. He did exactly as he was told from the moment he was born.

But this was the first time he ignored his mom in favor of asking for his neighbor.

“Harry!” He shouted loudly from the porch and took off from their little porch.

“Rory James,” she scolded. She remembered the first time she used Rory’s full name in front of Harry and how sad Rory looked. It was nothing to him now, the feisty little boy took it in stride and raced away from his mom.

Harry gave a wave at his name and Rory took off for the road before she could say otherwise. “Look both ways,” she called at the same time Harry did. It made her melt a little to know Harry cared about her son’s well-being as much as she did. (And Rory did look both ways, because he was a very good listener for a four-year-old.)

Harry hurried off his porch to meet Rory in the yard—she was still close behind but at a leisurely pace. Harry got the sense she didn’t want to be a bother (as if that was possible). He wondered what Rory was so up in arms about. He crouched in front of the breathless little one. He heaved his little lungs.

“Do you want to have pizza with us?” He asked excitedly. “Mommy said you need space from us,” he told him. “But I tolded her that you love playing with me.”

She sighed and smirked, slightly annoyed at her little boy for telling the whole truth. “Uh...” Harry chuckled. “Rory, I don’t—”

“You are always welcome over, Harry,” she said softly. “We are getting pizza if you want to come over. I just told Rory you might have plans already.”

If Harry did have plans, he would have cancelled them to hang out with his two neighbors; nothing sounded better than being with his beautiful neighbor and the adorable boy for the evening. “I do like pizza,” he winked at Rory.

“Can we finish our game?” He asked grabbing Harry by the hand and tugging him back toward his house. “Can we show Mumma?”

“Sure lad, we can show Mummy,” he smiled at the sweet girl. “Hi, beautiful,” he greeted finally.

She looked at Rory nervously and Harry swore her face warmed at his greeting. No one had ever greeted her like that in her life. It made her stomach flutter and she turned on her heel letting the boys follow behind her.

Harry missed having pizza on Fridays with them. Since she stopped talking to Harry the days felt endless. He couldn’t focus on anything. His clients probably noticed how differently he’d been acting since the onset of the silent treatment.

As important as it was to mend the relationship between himself and her, Harry really hoped Rory knew it had nothing to do with him and Harry wasn’t abandoning him. But for those two Thursdays that passed, it was breaking Harry’s heart to be without his little best friend.

*

“Mumma, can we have a fire?” Rory asked. “Maybe Harry has s’more stuff.”

She knew there would be no avoiding Harry if they had a fire out front. Sure, they could have it out back, but then it would be obvious from the smell and the smoke that she was hiding from Harry. “Not today, baby,” she said softly. “We’ve gotta go soon,” she reminded him.

Rory sighed heavily. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to have s’mores like that first day he learned about them back when he was too young to remember the day but knew what happened because there had been so many days he had s’mores after that first one.

Harry was finishing his run just before the sun fully set when he saw a flurry of bubbles floating through the air. At first, he thought he wasn’t getting enough oxygen to his brain due to his run and his vision was going right before the point of fainting. He slowed to a jog and turned his music down. As he rounded the corner of the street, he followed the trail of them to Rory and the pretty girl in their yard. “Rory, this is not something we can play around, do you understand?” She asked. He nodded obediently, sitting in his little lawn chair beside the small fire she had started making the entire neighborhood smell like a candle. It was so homey and lovely. Harry loved living across the street from them—loved being part of the neighborhood that had the beautiful girl and sweet boy.

“Can I blow bubbles still?” He asked.

“Yes, baby,” she smiled and tended to the little fire pit she had set up. Her eye caught Harry’s and she gave a small wave. Rory caught it and waved excitedly at him.

“Hi Harry! Come here!” He shouted, waving his hand over to him hurriedly. Harry sauntered over, admiring once more how she gave this sweet boy everything she possibly could and then some.

“Are y’having a s’more party?” Harry asked.

“S’more what?” Rory asked curiously. Harry laughed at his misworded question.

“You remember s’mores, Rory,” she giggled as she went over to her car and Harry knelt beside the little one while he blew bubbles. Harry knew she was only meters away at most from him, but Harry would jump into the fire for that little boy...and her. She pulled another chair from the boot of her car and Harry felt stupid not realizing she was being kind to give Harry a seat. He hurried quickly to take hold of the chair from her and brought it to Rory’s side while she closed her car back up. “We had them at Auntie’s cookout, with the marshmallows and chocolate. Auntie likes them burnt, remember?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Oh!” He said suddenly then turned to Harry blowing more bubbles. “Mumma doesn’t like them burnt. She likes them golden brown.”

“My kinda marshmallow,” Harry winked at him.

“Can we have s’mores Mumma?” Rory asked.

She frowned briefly. “I don’t think we have the stuff for s’mores, baby, but we can go to the store tomorrow and—”

“I think I might have ‘em, hold on,” Harry said and darted across the street. Harry thought nothing of it but to her it meant the world.

“I like Harry,” Rory said to his mom blowing more bubbles.

“I do too,” she answered.

“Do you want to blow some bubbles?” Rory asked her so inquisitively it melted her whole body, and she didn’t know how to love anyone as much as she loved this adorable little boy.

“I’m okay right now,” she smiled at him.

But then Harry returned carrying s’mores sticks, a box of graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows and she thought she spontaneously grew a second heart just to fit Harry in the space of her chest that she would only ever have for Rory once he was born.

“Harry, do you want to blow some bubbles? Can you show Mumma the really big bubble?” Rory asked excitedly holding the wand out to him.

“Rory, baby, he brought over a treat for you, give him a moment, yeah?”

“Sorry,” he smiled excitedly.

Harry snorted with a grin. Handing the s’mores ingredients to her, he took the wand from Rory and looked at her as she opened up the graham cracker box. “S’my one party trick,” he told her.

“I see,” she smiled. “I’ve heard all about it.”

Harry took a deep breath and blew a sizeable bubble for sure; one that had Rory in awe once more. “Isn’t that cool Mumma?”

“Very cool. You’ll have to ask Harry to show you how to do it,” she winked at Harry.

“Mumma’s good at blowing too,” Rory nodded at Harry knowingly.

Harry had the biggest grin on his face as he pressed his hand over his mouth to keep it under wraps. “Jesus,” she muttered under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose pausing her opening of the supplies. Harry snickered.

“Blowing bubbles is a good skill,” Harry said ignoring Rory’s unknown innuendo once more but couldn’t help but think about it anyway, he sent a wink in her direction, and she rolled her eyes. Kids say the darndest things and all that.

“How come you have s’mores supplies?” She asked curiously diverting drastically from Rory’s mishap.

“S’summer,” he shrugged. “Y’have t’be prepared for s’mores,” he said.

“A regular boy scout you are, Harry,” she smiled.

Harry wondered if she would even ask if she needed something now. Or if she had to be prepared for everything. He knew it was only two or so weeks and it wasn’t as if her house was going to suddenly catch fire. But after two years of seeing his neighbors just about every day, he wished he could just ask what went wrong and how he could fix it. All he wanted was to be there for the two of them.

But really, he wanted to be there for her. She was always there for everyone else. She didn’t have a choice and Harry knew it because of the fact she was a mom, a babysitter, a hard worker but most importantly herself. There wasn’t a world in which she wouldn’t give someone a piece of her if they asked politely.

With all the time Harry spent across the street he wanted nothing more than to be the person she was for everyone else. The one she could depend on for anything. It broke his heart to know she was trying to do it all on her own and gave up on Harry after so long. And really, he did know it wasn’t all that long of a time. But for a five-year-old (and Harry) it felt like a lifetime.

*

“Rory, Harry’s driveway and back,” she said.

Harry had truly gone above and beyond for them today. Rory’s bike had seen better days and she decided it was time Rory got a new one (especially with his new growth spurt). This one had its training wheels still intact and so not only did Harry go to the store to help him pick out a bike (and nearly tried paying for it when she wasn’t looking), but Harry also strapped it to her car safely, and found the tools to remove the training wheels and fix the seat. He didn’t even mind when Rory insisted he help despite it making it an unnecessarily challenging and lengthy process. Once the wheels were off though, there was no stopping Rory. It was agreed that as long as he had his helmet on Rory could ride the little path between their houses.

“Thank you,” she said so gratefully. She always sounded grateful, but it made Harry’s chest warm over. He didn’t need the heartfelt thank you, he would have done it anyway. Her kindness just made him happier.

“Of course, beautiful. Anything for you guys,” he smiled at her sweetly and reached out to give her arm a squeeze. It sent a tingling sensation all the way through her veins and Harry wondered if she ever felt electricity like the way he just felt it. “M’jus’ gonna put this away,” he said nodding toward her backyard. While putting the forgotten wheels and tools back in her shed, Rory came racing back nearly breathless.

“There’s people at your house!” Rory said excitedly. “They like my bike!”

Harry tilted his head curiously. He wasn’t expecting visitors, but he was glad they liked Rory’s bike, nonetheless. He snagged Rory off the ground and placed him on his hip. “Well, they must be good company. Let’s go see ‘em,” he grinned and Rory nodded.

Harry pushed the gate back to the front of the house open and he smiled. “Ah...” he hummed. “Well isn’t this a surprise,” he called. The three women turned to the sound of his voice and Anne and Gemma waved to the two boys.

“Who are they?” Rory asked.

“That’s my mum and sister,” he whispered to Rory, but he was sure they could hear.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know you had a mom too,” he said.

“Sure do,” he smiled and set Rory back down on his own feet. The sweet girl was just ending her sentence that sounded like an introduction that melted into telling his family how much she loved having him as a neighbor. Harry could feel his cheeks warming at her assessment because even though his mum and Gemma told him he was a lovely human being, they were his family. They adored him because he was lovely but they would have thought that anyway. There was no greater praise than hearing it from the mouth of a pure angel.

“Is this Rory?” Anne asked.

“It certainly is,” she smiled.

“Well, hi Rory,” Gemma said crouching down in front of him. “Harry’s told us so much about you! Thanks for playing with him all the time!”

“Say hi,” she encouraged the little one. “That’s Harry’s sister. Like me and Auntie,” she winked at Rory when he shyly hid behind her leg. Rory knelt beside her leg as well.

“This is Gemma,” Harry said. “And my mum,” he gestured. She waved back.

“Mummy was just showing us your new bike,” Anne said.

Rory nodded. “I can ride it all by myself,” he said proudly.

“No way!” Gemma said in surprise. “You must be ten years old!”

He giggled and shook his head. “No m’five!” He said holding his hand up.

“FIVE?!” Gemma gasped dramatically. “Oh my goodness, you look so much older,” she nodded knowingly. The pride on Rory’s face continued.

“Do you want to show us how you ride?” Anne asked.

“Harry helped teached me,” he nodded and gathered the bike up to standing so he could show it off.

“Harry taught you,” she said sweetly nodding. “Harry does a lot of teaching around here,” her voice was full of admiration, but Harry was busy helping Rory in the middle of the road. He smiled back at all the ladies in his life.

“She’s stunning, Harry,” Gemma said to her brother while his mum stood by with the girl in the yard. Rory was zooming back and forth between the driveways while the siblings stood in the middle of the road. Harry felt a smug proudness and he smiled shyly, nodding at his sister’s words.

“She’s amazing, Gem,” he hummed quietly, the admiration was so thick in his voice and there wasn’t a reason he should be so enamored in that moment, but he was. Gemma smiled at her brother who only had eyes for the girl chatting with their mother.

“I really love that,” she said giving his arm a squeeze.

*

After Gemma and Anne left, Rory was quite tired from all the excitement of meeting new people. With a sweaty little helmet head, she turned the water on in the bathtub to a warm temperature. “Go pick out some jammies,” she said sitting on the tub edge.

Rory nodded and rubbed his fist against his eye getting tired by the moment. “Mumma? I like Harry,” he said from the hallway.

Smiling, she nodded. “I like him too,” she said softly.

“Is Harry going to be my dad? Will we move across the street?” He asked with a giant yawn.

The questions were so innocent. Harry had been in their lives for two years and a few months. Every day they saw him made her heart flutter as if it were that first day he pulled into his drive and came over to introduce himself to Rory. There were so many times he made her life feel so complete—helping Rory learn and being there for him when she couldn’t answer his questions made her long for something she didn’t think was possible after Rory was born.

How many nights had been spent praying for someone that would love her and Rory so much? How did she get so lucky to meet Harry? How many times had she thought about living with her neighbor since she met him?

But somehow it twisted and spiraled into awful thoughts when Rory asked it.

The questions and prayers she used to beg to be asked and answered devolved into horrible what-if questions that couldn’t leave her mind.

What if he finds someone else? Someone that doesn’t have a son... What if he gets a new job and leaves? What if he gets a girlfriend? What if we do date and then it changes everything? What if he doesn’t like me anymore?

Why would he want to be in a relationship with someone that has a son?

“Oh...oh Rory,” she whispered softly. “I...I don’t think,” she felt the pain of saying Harry wouldn’t be his dad in every part of her body. She could feel it stabbing like thousands of tiny needles on her tongue. It made her feel sick. “Harry isn’t...” she shook her head and sighed prepared to break Rory’s little heart. “Rory, I’m sorry, baby,” she started.

And her own.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #hs fic #one direction #one direction writing #neighbor!harry #neighbors

[gg-pedro]

can you hear the music (ch. 5) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano, and you find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 5: new life, old wounds. a honeymoon has to come to an end eventually.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, hurt/comfort, sickfic?, joel needs taking care of, non-gratuitous descriptions of a wound, mentions of death, swearing, references to gun violence, fluff at the end, angst, and more angst.

words: 4.4k (eek)

a/n: edited this one to death. go listen to adrianne lenker.

-

Weeks passed. Rainstorms rolled into Jackson. 

Dark clouds eclipsed the sky, releasing sheets of rain that melted away most of the snow and rendered the ground a muddy brown. The storm system lasted days, save for an hour or two of sunshine between downpours.

Joel had asked you to move in with him. You refused. Then he begged you, saying that he wanted to be around to help you get back on your feet, but still, you declined the offer.

You always figured your honeymoon winter would have to come to a bitter end at some point. Watching Joel execute a man in cold blood probably wasn’t helping to close the divide that had been growing into a chasm and stretching you thin. 

Your wound was halfway healed now, too. It still left a scar that made you nauseous when you had to look at it in the mirror. 

You’d been allowed a week off from your usual duties around the commune. You asked to be removed from the position you had in the clinic, and Maria personally saw to that. You helped out at the school instead, with the kids you had grown so familiar with. They were the only thing bearable about your day.

You stopped offering piano lessons. That irked Joel the most. He’d gone even paler when you told him that than when he watched a bullet narrowly miss ripping a hole through your center. 

Maybe this is what you got for complaining about the quiet sanctity of your life in Jackson. 

You still played. You had long since memorized most of the scores you had collected over the years, so you’d taken to composing your own. It was all harsh, rolling sonatas that poured out of you whenever you sat before the keys. You’d pause to scratch the notes down on paper, skipping over a title because you knew you’d only be able to come up with one thing.

Joel. Joel Miller. Joel #3. Joel and I. Joel… why didn’t you ever ask his middle name?

You’d left him in the dark almost entirely about how you were feeling, save for that conversation you’d had in the clinic. By consequence, he was treating you as if you’d suddenly become fragile. As if you couldn’t handle getting hurt or witnessing death. You wished that you could say any of that was what was bothering you. 

Still, he came. He showed up for you. He was sweet. He cared. He barely even flinched when the little things would set you off. It made it all the more difficult to try and push back from him. 

On a cool evening, one where the air was almost warm but the breeze was bitter, the two of you sat on his back porch. 

He was strumming on his guitar, trying to remember how to play Led Zeppelin's Going to California.

He paused to tune the high E string and looked over at you. “Tommy said he’s goin’ on a supply run next week. Might try and hit up that old college I told you about. Want me to look for some more sheet music to bring back? Beginner stuff, or stuff for you?”

You blew on your hot mug of tea, watching the steam swirl in the air. “No. You’d have to sift through some old performing arts building. No use in that.”

“You sure? I know you said you wanted–”

“–I promise, Joel, it’s fine. Don’t make more work for yourself.”

“Alright, baby,” he said quietly, plucking away at the strings again.

“But for Ellie,” you interjected. “She mentioned wanting some more movie scores. Might be worth finding that for her.”

He played a little softer as he spoke. “It’s no good if she doesn’t know how to play it.”

“She can read music,” you countered. “She’s welcome to use my piano anytime.”

He stopped playing completely this time, groaning a little as he stretched to prop the guitar up against the house. You watched his expression mold into concern as you made eye contact.

“You’re shakin’, honey. Let's go inside. Or I can walk you home.”

The liquid in your cup mirrored a choppy ocean from the tremors in your hands. “I’m okay. Just cold out here.”

Joel got up and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay. Then I’ll get you a blanket. Gonna catch your death out here.”

Your knuckles were turning white with your grip on the mug and you flinched away from his touch. “Stop it, Joel.”

He paused. “Stop what?”

“Treating me like I’m another child,” you said. “Did you hear me when I said that I was fine?”

“That ain’t fair. I’m just tryin’ to look after you,” he responded.

You started laughing. “Really? It really feels like you’re trying to make up for something.”

It started to drizzle again. You watched as the rainwater began to dilute your tea. 

“Yeah? Make up for what, exactly?” He shot back. “Protecting someone I care about?”

You stood to meet him and the rain picked up. “Protect me from what? A man alone in the woods with no weapons?”

“Just ‘cause he dropped his gun doesn’t mean he had no weapons, doesn’t mean he was alone–”

“You beat his fucking face in, don’t act like you did it out of anything but emotion you couldn’t control.” The two of you were nearing drenched, but neither of you seemed to care. “Just admit that it was a bad decision. And that it was cruel, Joel. So fucking cruel.”

Joel just stared at you. “I’m walkin’ away from this, baby. You’re mad, I know. You don’t have to see things the way I see ‘em.”

You followed him to the back door. “I’m not done, Joel. Give me one good reason as to why you did it. A rational, true reason.”

“No,” he said as he opened the door.

“Then fuck you. You were wrong, it was cruel, and there is blood on my hands. How does that make you feel? To know that I blame myself for what you did?”

He slammed the door shut before walking inside, his face washed with anger. “Don’t you come into my fuckin’ house yellin’– not with Ellie upstairs,” he seethed. “ Blamin’ me for shit. For makin’ decisions that you couldn’t even imagine.”

You brushed wet hair out of your eyes. “Oh, but I could imagine it, Joel. I’ve been alive through all of this too. I still came out human on the other side. Not everyone is living in the world that you are. Not everyone acts like a fucking animal everytime they get the chance.”

“So that's how you see me, hm? A fuckin’ animal. You along with everyone else in this goddamn place. Just some old man who likes havin’ to kill people?” He looked away from you and shook his head. “I’ve got my reasons. Bein’ here isn’t gonna make me soft. Won’t make me forget,” he inched closer to you, “the ways that I lost people. I can promise you that.”

Joel had had a part of his humanity brutally gutted from him when his daughter died in his arms. Even still, he found it again in places he hadn’t expected. In Ellie, especially. In you. 

“And listen to this closely– real fuckin’ close,” he began again, “I don’t give a shit if you hate me. Move on, never speak to me again. As long as you’re alive, and I know that I did what I could to keep you that way, I’ll sleep fuckin’ easy at night. You understand that?”

He inhaled and went on. “Maybe that man made a stupid goddamn mistake tryin’ to hunt. Maybe I did, too. I wish I could say I was sorry for that. It’s a cruel world out here.”

“Sleep easy at night? Is that really the truth?” You crossed your arms over your chest and watched his expression shift.

“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t make it any harder.”

You knew that was a lie. 

You could see it now. Joel in another universe. A few less fine lines on his face, a few less grays threaded into his dark hair. No bad memories that would pull him from sleep. The right pocket of his jeans wouldn’t be ever so slightly stretched from storing a handgun there. Wouldn’t look at himself in the mirror like he was searching for the person he used to be. Wouldn’t look at you like you were an impending flatline on a heart monitor.

But this was now, and he would always be so stubbornly him, and you wished your feelings were important enough to him that he could see things the way you do. 

He dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “Look, I’m just tryin’ to make things easier on you. Clearly you took this real hard, and I never should’ve brought you out there, and–”

“Enough, Joel. Don’t act like that was the mistake, or that you ‘ruined’ me, or some stupid shit like that. One of us has to feel remorse for what you did to that man and if you won’t, then I will,” you countered. “And sure, It’s been difficult on me. I’ll give you that. It hurts. There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?”

The look on his face told you that you had cut deep. You immediately wanted to back down, but you were tired and it hurt and he still felt like he wasn’t listening.

“I ain’t gonna yell at you, baby, if that's what you want. Just… just go. Go on, go home. I’ll still be here if you need me.”

You were angry because you were hurt. He read right through you, too. Knew you didn’t mean all of that. You were trying desperately to stay hurt and mad at something, anything, because once that faded, all you’d be left with was sadness and guilt.

You turned your back on him anyway, soaking wet and furious, and made your way home. You couldn’t help but cry. God, you hoped you hadn’t just ruined everything.

He’s still there if I need him, you kept repeating to yourself. He’s there if I need him.

-

Joel wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t.

He used to get at least a few hours every night. Took him a while to get there after settling into life in Jackson. Even when you were with him, lying close to his chest, he’d still wake up with the sun, hours before you did. 

At least you quelled the restless anxiety that accompanied the morning exhaustion. You’d slip your hand under his shirt, rubbing circles into his side and his chest, and beckon him back to sleep. He almost never did, but he loved it anyway.

And now? He was getting almost nothing.

Sometimes, he could swear that he heard your pleas. Those strangled sobs echoing through the dense forest. Joel. Joel. Joel, stop it, fucking don’t, please–

A single gunshot, and the sound of you sobbing. 

There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?

He laid awake, the rain pelting the roof and the rolling thunder in the distance making his heart rate spike and setting his body into fight mode. It was a feeling he’d grown accustomed to. He’d check that his pistol was on his dresser, then he’d check on Ellie, and finally, he’d look out his window, hoping to see that light on in your bedroom. Maybe your backlit silhouette. Anything. 

You didn’t need him trying to protect you all the time. Worrying about you. Losing sleep over you, for fuck’s sake. If anything, he thought, coming into your life had just made things worse for you. If anything, he needed you a hell of a lot more than you needed him. 

Powering through sleep deprivation wasn’t an uphill battle. It was all downhill. After the third day in a row with almost no rest, he was flagging. The world around him felt blurred, his senses and awareness all dull. He barely got through the work day with Tommy. He felt, in a word, awful. It was strange. He felt even worse than he had after all those nights on foot with Ellie where he would insist on giving up his sleep for hers.

He wanted you. With more sleep, maybe he could push those thoughts away if he tried, but now, all he wanted was you.

Fittingly, Ellie was the only one that noticed. Well, Tommy must’ve noticed, but he didn’t mention it. 

After dinner, he could hardly keep himself awake to listen to her talk about her day. Sitting on the couch, with his head lolling to the left and subsequently making his hearing muffled on both sides, he dozed off.

“–el? Joel? The fuck, man, I was just getting to the good part of the story!”

A hand shaking his shoulder jolted him awake and he was slow to reorient himself with the room. Breathe. He was in the living room. The fire was lit. It was still raining. Ellie was there. You were… fuck, where were you–? Oh. Right.

“Are you good?” Ellie asked.

He nodded quickly, swallowing around a raw throat. “Yeah– m’fine,” he said. “Keep goin’, I’m listenin’ to ya.”

“Uh, no, you weren’t. You fell asleep. And you’ve only been sitting for like, five minutes.”

Joel sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Wanna tell me somethin’ I don’t know?”

“You look like shit.” She told him pointedly.

“Mmh. Shouldn’t have even asked.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Come on, dude. Are you sick?”

“No.”

“You sure? You look sick. And super fucking tired.”

“Yeah, m’tired. Storm’s been keepin’ me up,” he said, which was only half of a lie.

Ellie didn’t believe him. “Huh. Fine. Sleep away then, old man.” 

Joel’s eyes were closed, but by the way Ellie’s voice got quieter as she spoke, he knew she was walking away. He was a little too tired and a little too deaf to hear the front door open and close again a few minutes later.

-

“He looks dead.” A pause. “Is he dead?”

“Jesus. No, Ellie, he’s not dead.”

A palm smoothing over his forehead, then the back of that same cool hand against his cheek. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Too tired, and the touch felt too nice.

“Oh, Joel,” you exhaled. “He’s burning up. Probably killing his back, too.”

Warily, he opened an eye to see you crouching in front of him, Ellie close to your side. He would’ve thought he was dreaming, but in his dreams, his entire body didn’t typically ache. 

“I knew something was wrong with you,” Ellie proclaimed, looking proud of herself.

“Why’re you…?” Joel rasped. 

You cut him off. “Hey, Joel, you with me? Is there any possible chance that you got bit?” You asked. Just covering all bases.

“No,” he replied. “And fuck you.”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Ellie, go heat water up on the stove.” You interjected. “See if there are any tea bags left.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Joel’s eyes slipped shut again just as you sat down beside him. He was sitting upright, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“C’mon, Joel. You should be in bed,” you said softly. Your fingertips brushed his forehead again, confirming the fever you had felt earlier. “Figures… Ellie says you haven’t been sleeping.”

He shook his head and tried to dodge your touch. “M’fine, babydoll,” he said like it was a reflex.

“Yeah, you’re fine, I know. You’re always just fine,” you replied. “Wake up a little, though? For me?”

He couldn’t argue with that. Slowly, he rubbed at his eyes and sat up more fully. “...Ellie got you? Shouldn’t of fuckin’ done that…”

“It was fine. It’s barely six, It’s still light out. I’m glad she did.”

He opened his eyes again, looking panicked. “Six? Fuck, I gotta–”

“Six PM, Joel,” you clarified. “You haven’t missed a thing. In fact, it’s a great time to catch up on some sleep.”

After you grabbed both of his hands and threatened to go get Tommy, he finally relented, letting you help him up from the impression he’d made on the couch. He all but collapsed into bed, hardly putting up a fight when you tugged off his shoes and jeans to get him into something more comfortable.

On second thought, maybe this was more than exhaustion. He didn’t have much recollection of the fever that came with that infected stab wound, not until he dragged himself up from the floor with what dredges of consciousness he had left to find Ellie. This was sort of akin to that hot-and-cold aching feeling. Had a fever when he killed those two men, too. 

He groaned audibly at the thought. 

“You okay?” Your warm voice rang through the room.

This wasn’t that, though. He was safe. Probably picked something up from being out in the rain with you. Is that how that worked? More likely from the insomnia, which surely must’ve shot his immune system.

“Mhm, yeah… you’re stayin’?” He mumbled.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” You kissed his temple and pushed his hair off of his forehead. 

“Why?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you were wondering that yourself. But when Ellie showed up at your door in the rain, her face awash with concern, you didn’t even think twice about coming.

“Ellie was worried about you. I had to come,” you said. “And… the things I said the other week, they– they weren't completely fair to you. I’ll try to make it up to you, if you’ll still let me.”

“Nothin’ to make up for,” he told you, words slurring together.

“I think there is, but–” you sighed. “Get some rest. You need it.”

He fell asleep easily after that. 

Joel’s nightmares were so vivid that he woke up feeling like someone had died in his arms all over again. He didn’t know who. When he sat up and looked around the room he saw you asleep, clinging to his arm, and a glass of water on the nightstand next to a mug of tea that went untouched.

He was freezing, shivering under multiple layers. His skin and the fabric clinging to it hurt. Everything hurt. He sucked in a breath, too overwhelmed to do anything about any of it. The only thing he could manage was to call your name out into the dark.

Your bleary eyes met his in an instant and you had to untangle yourself from him to sit up. “Hold on, I’m awake,” you said, clicking on the lamp.

Joel was pale and his eyes were glassy. 

“Did something happen? No, just feeling like shit? You’re still so warm… poor thing.”

He shook his head and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. When you opened your arms, he melted right into you. 

“Okay, baby. You’re okay, I still got you. Bet your fever’s just spiking.”

After a long while of him in your arms, he spoke up. “M’sorry for what I did,” he whispered. “Thought I was gonna lose you.”

You felt the ache in the wound on your arm that pulled from holding him. 

What could you say? That you would just put it past you? That all was forgiven? Was there anything at all that could be said with him in this state, sweating out a fever and shaking in your arms?

After mulling over the entire situation while you had been keeping your distance, you weren’t

sure if he would ever be sorry for pulling the trigger. He was sorry that it hurt you. That the golden image of him in your mind was tainted by what he’d done. That just made you angrier.

For Joel, part of that was true. He wasn’t sorry for pulling the trigger. He’d do it 100 times over, even if there was only a fraction of a chance that it made the difference between you living and you dying. But he was sorry for letting all of his past experiences haunt the decisions he made in the present, and he was sorry that he never did try hard enough to be better for you. 

He couldn’t magically change, though. Nobody could.

The fork in the road was clear. To hold onto hope that you could just love Joel deeply enough and some softer, unscarred version of himself would start to appear through the cracks, or to let him go. Let him be who he is, far away from you. 

Or maybe, maybe, maybe– keep loving him for who he is now, perhaps even if a little hardened and cruel, in this life with him. Love him deeply enough, love him long enough, and one day who he isn’t won’t matter. 

“You won’t lose me. You won’t. We can talk about it more when you’re feeling better.”

And if he ever finds those old pieces of himself, or if you manage to bring them out– you’ll love those, too. And if not?

He brought his face up from your shoulder and took your face into his hands. “I love you. I love y’too much. Don’t lose yourself in all this. Not for me, not for nothin’. Okay? Promise me.”

There wasn’t an ‘if-not.’ The harshness of this life hadn’t taken away his capacity to care about you. To want to give you the world. To love and be loved. Some things, some far away and buried things, the most important things, they had never left him. 

And Joel did. He did love you. It was a universal truth. It felt more certain than the sun rising each morning, than the salt in the sea, than the earth spinning on its axis.

“I promise,” you whispered. “I love you, too.”

-

You made sure Joel got better. Sleep was the best medicine. He was so bone-tired and out of it that you hardly had the chance to say anything else to each other for the next day or so.

You woke on Saturday morning to an empty bed. Joel’s room was tidier, empty mugs and dishes having disappeared from the nightstand along with the clothes that were scattered on the floor. 

You could hear Joel and Ellie bickering about something downstairs, and the oaky smell of coffee was permeating the entire house. It made you smile. You wanted to stay in bed and bask in it for a few minutes– that lazy morning feeling, and the growing warmth inside your chest that told you that life could be good again. In the heaviness there was still warmth, light in the darkness, sunshine after the storm.

It was still drizzly out, but everything was remarkably greener. Even the pear trees that were scattered between houses in the neighborhood were blooming. You found yourself looking forward to summer.

After soaking in as much time in bed as you could, you got yourself up and went to check on the commotion in the kitchen. Joel was busy making breakfast– eggs and a few strips of bacon that were sizzling loudly. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder and was gesturing rather aggressively at Ellie with a spatula.

“Come on, how’d you know that one?” Ellie asked incredulously, throwing her hands into the air from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. “It was good, too. Admit it.”

“It was the worst out of all of ‘em,” he retorted.

“Wait, wait, listen to this one– how did Benjamin Franklin feel when he first discovered electricity?”

Joel glared at her over his shoulder. “Shocked?”

She laughed. You were starting to think it was less about the joke itself and much more about Joel’s obvious hatred of them. “You’re killing my flow here, dude!”

He could pretend all he wanted. That smile and the way he shook his head afterwards told you he loved it. Maybe not the joke, but hearing Ellie laugh.

He came over to where you were leaning against the doorway, handing you a cup of coffee and pecking your forehead. You took both things gratefully.

“I see you’re feeling better,” you said, catching him by the arm before he could walk away. “Breakfast, too?”

He nodded, pulling you into him again to kiss you for a little longer. “Mhm. As a thank you for lookin’ after me.”

You smiled against his lips. “I’ll take it, then.”

The three of you sat down to eat together before Ellie, who finished three times faster than either of you, asked if she could meet Tommy at the stables. It was more like a declaration, one that gave Joel no room or time to say yes or no. 

You helped him wash and put away dishes, talking and laughing with him about completely mundane things. A part of you hoped that he wouldn’t want to bring up the last few conversations you’d had. This all felt so fragile and you would’ve done anything to keep it intact.

“I got you something,” he said after you’d sat down again. “Shut your eyes.”

Doing as you were told, you brought both hands up to cover your eyes. You could hear him leave the kitchen and bring something in from the dining room.

“‘Kay, open ‘em.”

He’d set a small vase of flowers on the kitchen table. The arrangement was made up of pink and white tulips, interspersed with golden poppies. You’d seen them when you went out with Joel– when you got hurt.

“I went out early this morning. You should see the fields, they’re covered in flowers,” he said. “I went out there to bury that man. Said a prayer for him and all that bullshit. He was alone, you were right. Someone would’ve taken him by now if he wasn’t.” He sat down in the chair next to you, reaching out for your hand. “Thought it was the least I could do… the right thing to do.”

You squeezed his hand as you stared at the flowers. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly. “You’re a good person.”

And somewhere, along the northern edges of a forest, there was a pile of freshly disturbed dirt and a cracked rock in place of a headstone. The rain would still come and wash over Joel’s work, but you hoped that nature would be kind to it. And in a few weeks when the sunlight gave birth to new growth, flowers would spread over the gravesite, too. 

“I’m tryin’ to do my best, baby. For you.”

This time, you really did believe in him.

-

#joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #thou hbo #Ellie miller #Joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #tlou fanficiton #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #Pedro pascal fic #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller smut #Pedro pascal smut #pedrito #tlou hbo

[theesirenteller]

*ೃ༄: ̗̀➛☄ Prologue ⋆╰┈➤☄. *

ℜ𝔦𝔬 & OC 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 【Minors DNI】 Masterlist

"I've been thinking a lot about this little relationship of ours and uh…I'm gonna have to cut you loose, sweetheart."

A look of shock smacked across Ephipany's face, Her once happy-go-lucky expression and wide smile now turned to pouted lips and saddened eyes. It would've been better had Rio smacked her across the face and then told her the unfortunate news.

"W-what? Why?" she questioned. Blinded and flabbergasted by his statement, she couldn't help but be filled with questions, "Wait, don't even fucking bother lying, it's Beth isn't it? She's your girl again isn't she?" Epiphany started to feel her hot tears slip down the sides of her chubby cheeks, "She's making bank on the club and all of sudden is your shiny new toy again" At this point, Epiphany was wailing like a baby.

Everything had happened so fast. Their relationship developed faster than a speeding bullet shooting into someone's chest. He was a star that burned too bright. His world moved fast and sucked her in even faster. He was nothing like anyone she ever met before. No one touched her as deeply as he did. She was no different to him. Rio shared the same amazement towards her as she did to him. Epiphany came into his world like a shooting star on a dark cloudy night. Like a rainbow after a rainstorm, she came to him during a dark and tense time.

And he couldn't ruin her. But what's the worst that could happen to a girl that's already hurt?

Despite the disdain for seeing her in distress over him, Rio remained with an indifferent expression. Numb on the exterior to her pain. "Look…" He leaned in close to her, hovering over the console as he did so, "I gotta tie up all my loose ends. It's nothing personal darlin' " his thumb firmly pressed against the side of her cheek as he brushed away her tears.

"And I'm a loose end, huh? That's all I am to you?" she whimpered through her tears.

"I don't want you hurt. "

"You can't hurt a girl that's already been hurt."

His long fingers and wide palm pressed against the side of her face as his eyes lingered across her face. Her bright brown Bambi eyes and plump-pouty lips were instilled within his mind along with the memories they shared over the last three months.

"Christopher" she whispered with a saddened tone, "Please don't do this I lo-"

His lips were firmly pressed against hers. Greedily savoring the taste of her mouth for what he felt was the last time. With the lingering kiss followed a loud sound from the passenger side door unlocking. “See, that’s where I know you’re lying because I’m incapable of being loved,” he whispered sinfully an inch away from her lips as he broke their lip-lock.

Epiphany opened her eyes and looked at him with a dumbfounded expression. Before she could utter another word Mick had opened the passenger side door. Her attention shifted from Rio to Mick before she grasped her purse and slowly got out of the seat. "Why are you shutting me out?", she frowned.

"How can you say you love me when you don’t even love yourself, Epiphany?" He answered her question with a question, followed by sending her a sarcastic smile, almost a grimace.

A sharp pain shot through her chest and sank into her stomach. nausea overcame her. She felt like throwing up. Using all her might she raised her purse and flung it towards his face before she ran off down the parking lot. Epiphany had made the fucked up mistake of thinking that they could've worked out. that two pieces of a broken heart could make a whole. Nothing felt more treacherous than a person who you put your deepest, darkest secrets into throwing it back at your face. Using her vulnerability as a weapon. She didn't know whether to be angry or just hurt. She felt both and so much more that it hurt to breathe, hurt to think.

Meanwhile...Beth, Ruby, and Annie watched from afar from behind the strip club back doors.

"That was kinda harsh man...she's just a kid." Mick muttered as he got into the passenger side.

"Yeah. That I got no business messing around with." The gangster rasped out with a hostile tone. He proceeded to toss her purse into his backseat before speeding off. Rio and Beth briefly made eye contact on his way out of the parking lot. If looks could kill...Beth Boland would be six feet under.

*ೃ༄: ̗̀➛☄. *. ⋆╰┈➤☄. *

Taglist

@darqchilddaydreamz

@danzer8705

@yaliee

#theesirentellerstories #theesirenteller fanfic #rio good girls x oc #rio good girls fanfiction #manny montana #good girls nbc #rio good girls

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Under Way

Thalassophile (Sea Lover) AU

Here have 3k i have more written but eh I'll save that for later

Thalassophile: noun. (plural thalasophiles) Someone who loves the sea

For as long as he could remember Jay had dreamt of the sea.

Laying back on the beach with the waves rushing past him and then receding again with the tide. Sand wet and clinging to him, stars bright above him.

The funny thing was that he’d never been to the sea.

His life was about as far away from it as you could get. In the middle of the city, dryer than the dust of the desert next to it. There were no pictures of the sea in their house. There were no books or movies about the ocean. He didn’t realize it until he was older how strange it was that the only water in the house came from the taps.

He remembered being ten and turning on the tap just to watch the water run until his mother had come in and switched it off, scolding him for something he didn’t understand. He remembered pausing on his way to school to watch the sprinklers that had gone off. He remembered sneaking outside the apartment during a rainstorm just to tilt his head up, letting the rain fall on his face and soak his clothes as the lightning reflected in his wide eyes until his father had pulled him back inside.

Jay didn’t consider himself a weird kid. No more than the regular kind of kid-weird at least. He did well in school, he was smart, he enjoyed being around people, he was well-spoken (or so his teachers told him,) and he made friends easily. Sure, life wasn’t perfect, there were bullies here and there, family drama, money issues, struggles finding a job, struggles picking what to study, a couple medical scares but he managed alright. He was normal.

Unless it was raining.

Or there was a fountain near the museum.

Or the tap was running.

He couldn’t stop staring.

He ended up studying Marine Biology in college.

“What made you pick that?” his mom asked, worrying at her thumb, chewing on the nail there.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You’ve never shown interest in that before. You like building things don’t you?”

“I mean… yeah but…”

“...but?”

I want to be near the sea.

But she looked worried so he didn’t say that.

“If you’re going there you should at least be doing something you enjoy.”

He enjoyed building things. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do the marine biology courses, his parents just knew he preferred to work with his hands a little more than that. They sat him down and they talked about it and in the end he swapped to marine engineering. He packed his bags and gave his mom and dad a hug goodbye and moved near the sea.

And so, at 22 years old Jay set foot on a beach for the first time.

///

Well, first off… he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

It was 4am. The sun was just beginning to rise. There was a chill in the air that lingered through his thin sweater. The smell of salt greeted him on his inhale, familiar despite never having met his lungs before.

His shoes were closed-toed. It was cold out. He wasn’t sure he should, but before he knew it he was plopping down on the sand and dropping his bags to wrestle his shoes off.

Once his feet hit the sand it felt right. Cold damp sand between his toes, yet to be warmed by the sun. He wanted to roll in it. More than that though--he turned his gaze to the horizon--he wanted to touch the ocean.

It was a feverish sort of speed that came over him. He stumbled over the beach, kicking up sand and leaving his things behind him.

He came to a halt just before the tide could touch him and stared down at the line where wet sand met dry for a long while.

He took one breath. Then another. And he stepped in.

It was shockingly cold. Cold enough to hurt. His teeth chattered just from the short contact alone, but he kept going. His ankles were engulfed quickly. His plan was to stop there. His pants were rolled up just above his ankles with that in mind, but he found himself taking another step. And then another one, faster, faster, faster still--

He was up to his chest and gasping for breath. The beach sand was harsh on his feet. The cold was even harsher. The waves leapt up to touch his face. He tasted salt.

“Hi,” he gasped out. And then, “I’m back” even though he’d never seen the sea before.

A wave hit him in the face.

///

He made it back, soaking wet and shivering hard enough to make his teeth chatter and rattle his skull.

“Whoah--dude? You’re soaking wet--”

“Thanks m-man, I didn’t n-n-notice.”

His roommate ran to get him a towel.

“You fall in or something?” he asked, snorting at the sight of him bundled up in as many towels as he could get his hands on.

“No,” Jay bit back. And then he decided against elaborating since he technically had walked in of his own free will and he had a feeling that would be the quickest way to get made fun of.

“Anyway,” his roommate continued, “I’m glad you could make it. A day later and I would’ve gotten kicked out.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Let's just say, both me and our landlord are glad that you’re here.”

“Well it’s n-nice to meet you in p-person finally.”

“Yeah, back at you dude.”

///

Kai was weird.

But it was like… Weird like Jay was weird. He’d wake up early some mornings to sit out on the porch and stare at the water before anyone else was at the beach.

“What are you doing out here?” Jay worked up the courage to ask one evening after a meal of ramen and slightly burnt eggs.

“I dunno,” Kai shrugged. “I like the beach.”

“Huh,” said Jay. “Me too.”

“Cool,” Kai grinned with all his teeth. “Race you out there.”

It was just as shockingly cold as the first time.

///

Jay spent most of his free time by the water.

Breathing in the smell, letting it wash over his feet, usually getting his pants wet.

“Look, I drew you.” He turned his notebook--one he was supposed to be using to work on blueprints--out to the sea. “Not my best work. But you’re hard to do justice, y’know?”

The waves lapped at his ankles.

He gave into the urge and tucked his notebook into his backpack so he could lay down on the shore staring up at the sky. It was still light out, too early for the sun to dip beyond the horizon, but it still felt familiar like his dreams. As if he’d done this a million times before.

“It’s weird, y’know? I could be doing anything else but I’m here.”

The sea had no reply.

///

Jay caught a ride out on the fishing boat Kai worked on.

“Watch your head!”

Jay ducked just as Kai flung rope over him to another man on the boat.

Honestly as long as he stayed out of the way it wasn’t so bad.

He was soaked to the bone less than two hours in. But land was out of sight and it was him and the sea so he didn’t mind.

The waves crashed against the side of the ship every now and again and he reached out so the splashes would be able to brush his fingertips.

“You’re not so bad,” he said.

The water moved slowly, almost like it was reaching up the side of the ship for him. He didn’t realize he was leaning over the rail until his hands slipped.

He went into the water headfirst.

It was weird. He couldn’t tell which way was up but he didn’t feel afraid of the drowning bit.

Kai’s hand on the back of his jacket yanked him out of the water.

“ARE YA INSANE LAD?” the captain roared at him.

“Sorry,” Jay spluttered. “Sorry, lost my balance.”

“Sorry, man,” Kai told him once they were back home. “I don’t think he’ll let you on the boat anymore.”

“It’s fine,” Jay muttered. “I get it.”

He got his own boat.

A little rowboat. Rickety. Odd. Chipped and peeling paint. His.

He took it for a spin.

It took some practice to get the rowing motion down. Less than he would have expected. Then it really was just him and open water.

He pulled the oars back in the boat and settled down, laying on the bottom of the boat. He listened to the sound of waves on the sides of it.

He woke up when the boat capsized.

He was trapped underneath it for a moment. He was scared then. Having something hard and wooden against his head shoving him further down and under, the water shoving him back up against the boat so he couldn’t push himself out from under.

He was lucky that he managed to get out. Even luckier that, when he coughed out water he didn’t inhale more. He clung to his capsized rowboat, his teeth chattering.

The nature of the sea.

Unforgiving. Special treatment to no one.

Jay couldn’t feel his fingers. He grinned.

“C-can’t get rid of me th-that easy.”

Another wave dragged him under.

///

He remembered chubby little hands touching seashells. Collecting them. He remembered stepping foot on a rock and slipping.

Little and confused there was no one to tell him to hold his breath.

Upside down underwater, or maybe rightside up. Dragged under, dragged against the jagged sea floor by an unseen force. Sand and seaweed rushing past his eyes. Water in his lungs.

Coming to on the beach with his mothers distressed face above him and his fathers tears. Coughing up water and being taken back to the house.

He remembered not being able to breathe but not dying.

///

He opened his eyes and he was on the beach.

The waves pushed up next to him, making his hair and clothes float before retreating back to where it had come. He could hear a voice--Kai--calling for him. It was dark. Stars above him.

He coughed up water.

///

“It’s cool,” he told the sea the next day. “I get it. It’d be stupid if I got mad about it, right? You’re just doing what you do. Not like you singled me out or anything. I was just being stupid. So I get it. Just wanted to let you know I’m not mad.” He shivered a bit and tugged his blanket around him a bit tighter. Loose sand tickled his ankles as the waves rose up and then back down.

“I’m Jay,” he said. “Just realized I didn’t introduce myself. My bad. It’s nice to meet you again.”

Again?

He huffed a laugh. “I keep saying stuff like that. Weird right?”

He spotted his boat covered in seaweed a few days later, broken and battered and all around unsalvageable.

“Thanks for bringing it back,” he called out to the sea. “I appreciate it. Would’ve been nice if it were in one piece, but I get it.”

He found another boat.

“You’re crazy, man,” Kai said.

“Yeah,” Jay admitted. “Maybe a little.”

“Don’t be stupid this time.”

“Who’s crazier, me for going out, or you for letting me?”

Kai threw back his head and laughed.

Never did answer.

Jay tucked his oars back after rowing out far enough. Still close enough to the shore to be seen if he capsized again.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s try this again.”

He lowered himself into the water this time. He kept a firm grip on the side of the boat. Cold. Cold cold cold cold. His teeth chattered.

He stayed like that for a little bit. Then when he started to lose feeling in his fingers he decided that was good enough.

He realized quickly that getting back into his boat was another matter. Every time he tried to pull himself up, he’d nearly end up pulling the boat over to capsize it.

In the end he had to swim back, halfway on the boat half off.

Kai was waiting at the shore for him.

“You’re stubborn.”

“I didn’t see you launching a rescue mission.”

“Eh, I think you were fine.”

Jay sneezed.

Kai grounded him to bed for the next three days while he recovered from his very aggressive cold.

“No more swimming,” he told him. “Just wait till summer, man.”

“Right,” Jay said, his teeth chattering. He sneezed.

///

Summer.

It was so long away.

“Don’t take it personally,” he said as the water washed around his feet. “I really would like to head out and spend time with you. I’m just very much a human person. I can’t do cold for very long. Besides, I’m pretty sure Kai would kill me if I tried that again.”

He lasted about a week. Which was pretty good for Jay, he thought.

He waited until Kai was asleep and then took the boat out on the still, calm, midnight waters.

“Wow,” he breathed.

Kai hit him with an oven mitt when he got back inside.

“You have a problem.”

Jay thought of dipping his fingers into the sea and touching the stars.

“Yeah.”

There was a strange sort of tightness in his chest.

Jay built his own boat. He hooked up a motor to it. Used scraps he collected from shipyards. It kept him busy and distracted him from the fact Kai had hid his boat.

///

“I’m just taking it out for a spin.”

“You’re an idiot,” Kai said. “You know the ocean like… doesn’t care if you like her right?”

“I know.”

“You’re gonna drown.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Kai stole his motor. Jay cursed himself for not bolting it down to the boat early enough.

“I don’t know what his problem is,” he vented to the poor unsuspecting cashier at the small convenience store. By now they were on a first name-basis. Stiix wasn’t a big town to begin with. Everyone at least knew of him by now. “There was nothing wrong with me testing out my ship.”

“...Haven’t you almost drowned like… eight times?”

“Four,” Jay corrected him. He sniffed. “Technically three. Kai pulled me out the one time before anything happened.”

What he got in return was a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I think you’re both crazy.”

“I’m going to ignore the insult and thank you for agreeing with me. What kind of person just steals a boat motor?”

“I wasn’t talking about that. You seem a lot like him.”

“Who?”

“Kai.”

“I don’t see it.”

“It’s there.”

“I’m choosing to ignore the comparison as I am currently upset with him. See you, Ben.”

“You should ask him how many times he’s almost drowned,” Ben called after him as he left the store.

///

“Twenty-six.”

Jay stared at him.

Kai chewed his sandwich. “Twenty-seven if you count the bathtub incident, but I don’t. I just fell asleep--”

“And you’re getting after me for three?”

“Four,” Kai corrected. “You’re stupid about it. And also I’ve lived here for six years. You’ve only been here for like two months. Comparatively, I’m doing better than you.”

Jay spluttered. “How many times has your boss almost drowned?”

Kai shrugged. “I dunno, three?”

“How long has he lived here?”

“Not sure. His whole life, I think.”

“You’re doing terribly actually,” Jay told him.

“Yeah well,” Kai said, tossing his knife in the sink, “I’m weird.”

Jay caught him outside one morning when he stumbled from the bathroom at 3am, sitting on the beach. Jay paused at the window and stared as Kai reached in a way that no one would be able to see unless they knew what they were looking for, letting the waves rush over his fingers as they reached up the shore.

Six years. Kai was only a year older than him. That meant he’d moved to Stiix when he was seventeen. He lived alone. He never mentioned any family. Jay wondered if he spoke to the sea too.

“You’re weird,” Jay said at lunch later when Kai had gotten back from fishing.

Kai nailed him in the face with a balled up towel.

///

Jay got out on open water about a week later. He finally had the new motor hooked up (and bolted down as anti-Kai-theft measures.) He waited until his roommate was asleep and then pushed it out onto the water. He rowed for a bit, until he was far enough out that his engine wouldn’t wake anyone, then he started it up and took off over the water at full speed.

He only almost fell off like twice while he was figuring out how to keep his balance.

He found a little cove as the sun started to rise and anchored his boat before slipping out onto the fine sand.

Looking back, going swimming alone in a secluded little cove at 4am was a bad idea.

It was fine for the first ten minutes. He had a wet suit so the cold was slightly more manageable. The water was nice. Small waves, mostly calm.

Then he went to investigate and an undertow got him.

Being dragged along the floor of the cove really was not ideal. It went from rocks to sand to coral surprisingly quickly as he was thrown out, tumbling head over heels, salt water stinging his eyes and nose. It was everything he could do to keep his mouth clamped shut. If he could just manage to push off something and figure out which way was up--

Then his foot got jammed into coral.

The good news was, he figured out which way was up. The bad news was that he couldn’t get there. He pried at the coral with his hands trying to yank his foot out without success. He scrabbled for something to smash it with and found nothing bigger than a lime. The need to breathe hit him all at once. Aggressively. His mind and body screaming at him.

He closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his ears.

He was actually going to die.

Stupid, he could almost hear Kai’s voice echoing in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter for just a moment, and then let them crack open again, because, if he was going to die, he at least wanted to die looking at the sea.

There was a face two inches from his face.

He gave a startled yell that came out in a flood of bubbles and he slapped his hands over his mouth. Dark black dots were starting to creep in at the edges of his vision. But he stared with wide eyes and it stared with wide eyes back. It could be mistaken as shadows cast through the churning waters above him. It was there but not. It was blurred but it was there, Jay knew it was there. It was like looking at a storm, a mountain, a ten story wave curling above you preparing to crush you in your little rowboat. It was knowing on a gut level instinct that you were looking at what could only be described as a force of nature.

A current pulled him back, away from it, and he realized then it was a lot bigger than just a face. Light seemed to wobble, twist and reshape into something so much bigger and just as terrifying. It wrapped around him, engulfing him like wings. Its eyes were bigger than his head

He blacked out.

///

When he came to, he was back on his boat, drifting in the middle of nowhere.

He sat up, gripping his at his chest, that same anxiety and primal fear lingering from the hallucination that didn’t feel like a hallucination at all. It felt real. It felt so real.

He looked out ahead of him. There was no land in sight. He had no idea what time it was or what direction he’d come from or how he’d gotten back into his boat. He glanced down at his ankle, bloodied and bruised and swollen. Pieces of coral were still dug into it.

The sea was utterly still.

A drop of water landed on his nose.

He glanced up at the sky to find it cloudless, but obscured all the same, by water. Water stretching up over him at an unbelievable height and remaining still. Water that had a shape and a face of a creature, staring down at him. Something that very much resembled a dragon.

Jay’s breath stuttered to a halt in his chest.

He wheezed.

#LEGO Ninjago #ninjago #jay ninjago #jay walker #jaya #writing this for the dynamic and less for the ship #Thalassophile (Sea Lover) AU #KNOX WRITES (me) #not sure what else to tag this so tadah #this is unedited and written in like two sittings so forgive the... everything. enjoy )!

[broke-art]

Saw this and couldn't resist

You stumbled through the forest carefully stepping over fallen branches and attempting all the while to be as silent as possible. Your village wasn't far, but it was certainly far enough for this excursion to be an issue. You had left to pick some pears and apples for your family to sell at the market. Typically, you would never dare to go through the forest. But the path you usually took had been washed out by a large rainstorm the previous night.

Not willing to let your family go hungry for the month, you decided to go through the forest. However, these forests belonged to a powerful warrior known as the Monkey King, his brother the six eared macaque, and their apprentice; the monkey kid. They were aggressive about their territory and had a bad habit of kidnapping villagers for servants or food depending on who was telling the story.

The Prince Red Son had done everything he could to be rid of them, but they proved to be a nuisance that would not be removed so easily. So, the towns people were warned to avoid the forests at all costs. Thus far you hadn't run into any trouble. You would be home soon. You had just begun to wonder if you were going to be lucky when-

"What's this?" A low voice questioned amusedly from the shadows.

You froze midstep and looked around frantically for the source of the voice.

The shadows around you shifted and a black monkey leaned halfway out of your own shadow that was cast against a nearby tree.

You gasped a bit and stumbled backwards until your back met something firm and warm.

"Looks like a new servant." The Monkey King spoke making you jump and dash away a few steps.

"N-no way!"

Both Monkeys exchanged amused looks.

"So she talks." The darker mused stepping fully from the shadows. "And here I just thought she was a pretty face."

You sucked in a breath to speak but just then a third voice cut you off.

"Who's this?" A thud sounded behind you with a hint of a metallic ring.

You flinched and turned only to pause. Before you stood a brunette holding the legendary staff with a raised eyebrow. When you met his eyes your heart skipped a beat. His glowing gaze gave you a once over. Then his lips parted into a cocky grin.

"Aw you guys got me a gift for my birthday. You shouldn't have."

Macaque and Monkey king exchanged grins.

"You gotta catch her first, kid." Monkey King pointed out folding his arms. "Seems to me she was about to put up a fight."

The monkie kid's grin grew, which made your stomach twist into knots.

"A chase huh?" He twirled the staff. "Sounds like fun."

You paused for a moment then threw the fruits you had picked into his face and took off in a dead sprint.

The elder two monkey's laughter followed you as you raced through the trees. For a moment you heard no sound that would indicate you were being followed.

But in an instant the monkie kid fell right infront of you. You came to an immediate halt stumbling only slightly.

"Nice try." The monkie kid smirked before lunging at you.

Which you dodged narrowly and picked up a rock.

The monkie kid chuckled darkly before zipping behind you.

"Gotcha!" He cheered catching your wrists and pinning them behind your back. In an instant you felt something akin to rope binding them in place. You were then tugged backwards your back hitting his chest.

"Welcome to your new home."

*So, I didn't want to spoil so welcome to the end of the story. I the picture and had to write a oneshot where the Demon Bull family and Monkey King's lores were somewhat swapped. I might do more in this A.u with monkey King and macaque. Enjoy!*

#lego monkie kid #jttw sun wukong #jttw wukong #jttw #lego red son #lego monkie king #lego #lmk #lego nezha #redson #lmk monkey king #lmk red son #lmk tang x reader #lmk theory #lmk tripitaka #lmk sandy #lmk x reader #lmk xiaotian #lmk xiaojiao #lmk x y/n #lmk sun wukong #sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #wukong x reader #macaque x reader #six eared macaque

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Promptober: Day Nine

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 667 words.

Steve’s usually clean and tidy kitchen island was now a riot of kids and pumpkin innards. 

No one cared, not really, especially Steve. His parents weren’t home, as usual, and the kids were having fun. Everyone was, with Nancy helping El cut out triangles from her lopsided squash, Johnathan smiling behind the camera he was holding to capture the chaos of it all. 

Eddie had seeds in his hair, stringy pieces of pumpkins hanging from his curls that Max kept launching at him from across the room. Will and Mike were silently carving, sneaking glances at each other’s designs, a competition between the two of them that no one else was really privy to.

Robin was elbow deep inside her own pumpkin, a permanent marker bitten between her teeth and she glared at Lucas as he tried to steal it from her, declaring helplessly that his own pumpkin's teeth weren’t crooked enough.  

Dustin was trailing at your side, crowding you at the stove as he waited impatiently for the hot chocolate you were making to start simmering. He was peering over your shoulder, eyes on the bag of marshmallows you were yet to open and before he could reach out for them, Steve batted at his hand, frowning.

“Jesus, Henderson, let the girl breathe.”

You laughed, uncaring at the way the younger boy was plastered to your side but Steve shooed him as Dustin argued back, mumbling under his breath about being hungry. 

But Steve got what he wanted, sent the boy away to sit by Lucas again, the two of them taking great joy in stabbing what looked to be a bent screwdriver into their pumpkins flesh. 

“Your kitchen looks like a murder scene,” you quipped, smiling when Steve shrugged, moving to stand behind you, arms around your waist. 

“S’fine,” he mumbled, “they’re not outside hunting demon dogs and finding interdimensional gates, at least.” Steve kissed your cheek, crowding round you to slide his lips over the corner of your own. 

“What a boring Halloween for them,” you mused, laughing when Steve tugged at your chin impatiently, fingers guiding you towards him. “What? You want something, Harrington?”

Steve pushed his nose to your hair, breathed in cinnamon and cocoa powder, the leftover smell of the rainstorm you’d all been caught in. He stole another kiss, one to your temple, another underneath your ear. His hands curled into the soft of your sweater, holding you close. 

Someone behind you both gagged. It sounded like Mike but you knew well enough that it could’ve been Robin. Or Eddie. Maybe Max.

Any of them really. 

Which is why neither of you bothered to look, Steve simply just holding a middle finger salute over his shoulder and Max gasped, acting scandalised, all faux shock. 

“I’m telling my mom, Steven.”

It made Steve snort, turning around with his head leaning against your own as you stirred in more heavy cream and chopped chocolate, smile on your face because you knew where this was going. 

“Snitches get stitches, Maxine,” Steve goaded, “in fact, snitches don’t get a ride home.”

She threw a glob of pumpkin guts at him, grinned victorious when it hit wetly against his back and then? Well, all hell broke loose. 

Eddie threw the next handful, worse than the younger kids when it came to creating carnage and soon Steve’s kitchen was lined with pumpkin seeds and the stringy insides of them. You were bent over your pot of chocolate, protecting it from flying squash and no one stopped until Nancy stood on a chair and yelled for a ceasefire. 

The pumpkins were left on Steve’s table, half carved, some deformed, some entirely decimated. Lucas’ was missing half its face and Will’s intricate pattern was left unfinished, goop in his hair that El was trying to comb out. 

The hot chocolate was burnt, seeds floating in the mixture you’d spend too long on and you were glaring at Eddie as if it were his fault.

And well, it kinda was. 

#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things fic #upsidedownwithsteve's promptober

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Zuko cannot be torn away from his search from the Avatar...until his best friend gets ill and his true feelings come out.

You’d known Zuko since you were children and you got along because you were both similar. Rich kids from important families but neither of you were particularly good at fire bending or showed much promise. You were both the disappointment of the family and pretty much each other’s only friends. So when Zuko was banished it was a no-brainer. Even if he wasn’t your best friend the fact you were pretty much in love with the Prince would’ve made the decision for you. So you decided to go with him and stowed away on his ship but honestly it was probably a week before your parents noticed you were missing. Iroh warned you the journey would be dangerous and you’d potentially never go home but you didn’t really care about that. 

Secretly Iroh was happy you’d come along. You were Zuko’s best friend and the only one who was able to make him smile during the first month of his banishment. As much as Zuko was now pretending to be hard and cold you were his Achilles’ heel. Zuko seemed to melt around you and you were rather oblivious which made the whole thing rather cute. However as you all became outlaws running from Azula your situation got direr and direr until Zuko announced you were leaving Iroh. Iroh could tell you felt guilty by the way you couldn’t meet his eye for more than a few seconds but he told you it was okay. Zuko needed you more than he did. 

So that was how you found yourself alone with Zuko, riding an ostrich horse as you hunted the Avatar while trying to avoid his sister and anyone else who might want to kill you. You’d been riding for days at this point and you were tired and sore. To make things worse you also had a cold. You figured it was for following Zuko out into the middle of a rainstorm and tried to power through but each day was getting worse. The constant swaying of the ostrich horse made the world spin and when you broke down into a coughing fit Zuko slowed the mount. "Y/n are you okay?". You couldn’t speak for a while, busy trying to breathe but when you could you nodded "of course I am". Zuko frowned but kept going. He knew you weren’t well but it was of the utmost importance he caught up with the Avatar, 

So you pressed on, you didn’t mention to Zuko how you were struggling to keep your eyes open or how you felt your strength failing. After a few hours of rest Zuko asked if you were really well enough to keep going. You didn’t have much choice so you told him you were and started riding at dawn. You lasted two hours before passing out. 

Zuko felt a breeze behind him and was about to ask what was going on when you slipped off the ostrich horse. Zuko cried out your name and tried to grab you. The result was he got pulled off the horse by gravity and tumbled onto the floor with you. “Y/n!” he yelled shaking your shoulders. Your eyes were closed and you weren’t responding. Zuko was madder at himself than he’d ever been. "Y/n! Y/n! Are you okay? Y/n wake up!" Zuko cried. You didn’t respond and he held your body rightly, panic spiralling in his brain. He didn’t think you’d hit the ground any harder than him and he couldn’t see any cuts or gashes on you from the fall. "Y/n!" Zuko screamed and you made a noise. It was only a grunt of recognition but it was enough. Relief swept through Zuko. You were alive, atleast for now. He’d make sure you stayed that way. Zuko gently picked you up and placed you on the horse in front before he got on behind you. He held an arm around you and snapped the reigns. He knew there was a settlement about 8 hours away and figured if he rode none stop he could get there quicker. "Don’t worry y/n, I'll make up for all of this" Zuko muttered.

When you finally reached the town Zuko ignored the tired ostrich horse’s moans and forced her down the main street "does this town have a doctor?" he asked. The people on the street just stared and his temper flared "are you deaf? Answer my question!"."Yes there’s Dr Gohen, she lives on the west side of town next to the grocers" one woman replied. Zuki groaned, of course he was on the east side. He snapped the reigns leaving the villagers in a dust cloud. 

Zuko found the grocers and identified the doctor’s house beside it. He dismounted and carried you inside kicking the door open with his foot. "I need the doctor" he called "now". A woman appeared who Zuko assumed was Dr Gohen. She moved immediately to help you and Zuko was reassured. "Place her here" she said clearing a bed and Zuko lay you down anxiously "she was ill a few days back...I thought it was just a cold but then she collapsed earlier today and I couldn’t wake her up". The doctor nodded touching your forehead "she hasn't regained consciousness once?". Zuko paused "not properly, she’s been muttering and speaking in her sleep but nothing coherent, I worried the fall maybe harmed her. The woman opened your eyelids and examined the pupils "she doesn’t have concussion, I think it's just exhaustion from a bad flu that's going around". Zuko frowned "can you heal her?". "It's not about healing but letting her recover. I can give her remedies to take away her temperature and help her to rest but she needs time to get better. You've obviously been travelling too hard the both of you. Once the fever has broken she should wake but if you leave straight after that it will only happen again. You need to let your...friend" the doctor said pausing "rest, if she’s more important then wherever your destination is". "She is" Zuko nodded and the woman nodded approvingly "then I'll get to work". It was only afterwards it dawned on Zuko he’d put you before his honour and throne...he was surprised at how comfortable he was with that and thought you might be the only thing in the whole world he cared about more. That thought made him blush but he refused to acknowledge why and turned back to the doctor. 

1 day later You shot awake gasping for breath. The last thing you remembered was falling and now you were in a dark room...in a bed with a blanket. "Y/n?" a voice asked and you paused "Zuko?". A flame appeared and Zuko’s worried face popped into view "hold on let me light the torch". You heard Zuko fiddling around before light filled the darkness. You were in some small room, a makeshift doctor’s office by the looks of it. Zuko was seated in a chair beside your bed and you realised he’d been sleeping there. "What happened?" you asked. "You collapsed" Zuko told you "it was my fault I kept pushing us to keep going". You went to disagree but Zuko hurried on "so I brought you here and the doctor has been trying to bring your temperature down since yesterday. How are you feeling?". Zuko moved closer to examine your face and you only now realised you were very sweaty. Your shirt clung to you and you could feel how wet your hair was against your neck. You were sure you smelled awful and looked even worst. So you moved away and tried to fix your hair. "I feel fine" you shrugged and Zuko raised an eyebrow "really?". You nodded "yeah. When do you want to leave? First thing in the morning". "Not happening” Zuko shook his head "Doctor Gohen said you needed rest otherwise you'll get ill again so we’ll stay right here until you're 100% better!". "But Azula..." you started and Zuko shook his head "she won’t find us here and even if she did...well I'd take that risk then you getting ill again. We got lucky y/n, the doctor was nearby. If we’d been 5 days away or in the middle of nowhere...well it's not a good scenario". Zuko’s words and how much he wanted to assure your health made your heart flutter. When you looked up you realised Zuko was looking away and blushed slightly. "Well okay if you’re sure?" you asked. Zuko nodded meeting your eyes again "I am, now are you hungry? If so I can wake Gohen". You shook your head "I'm fine". "Then let's go back to sleep, morning will be here soon". You nodded and laid back down, your heart still beating fast and your cheeks still flushed which had nothing to do with the fever. 

You woke up the following morning to find Zuko awake and sorting through your meagre possessions. He was counting your coins nervously and you frowned. He was clearly worried but Zuko was someone you had to let come to you with his worries. If you ever tried to force it he’d just shrivel up. So you made a show of waking up giving Zuko time to hide everything. "Y/n" he said jumping up "Dr Gohen she's awake!". A woman hustled into the room and she looked at you making a noise. "Still pale..." she placed a hand in your forehead and nodded "but the fever’s broke so that's good, how are you feeling?". "Good...well I feel like I could really use a bath but other than that I'm fine!" you lied. The woman nodded her head "mhh hmm well we can do a bath, you come and help" she cried at Zuko who paused "me?". "Yes two hands are stronger than one, you can help me carry the water". Even in your ill state the look on Zuko’s face at the idea of doing menial labour and the fact the Prince was running you a bath made you smirk.

So Zuko carried buckets to a tub from the well and heated them slightly in his hand for you. The doctor seemed to sense this and nodded "I'll leave you go it. Go grab her when she’s ready and stay near in case she needs your assistance". "Me but I..." Zuko blushed "with her bath?". The woman raised an eyebrow "i’m sure your friend would prefer you over a stranger...now stop being bashful and go help her, she might need help walking here". Zuko approached your room and knocked "you ready y/n?". You nodded and Zuko came closer "do you need help getting up?". "No I can do it" you said adamantly and stood up. Zuko saw the strain of your hands as you clutched the bed and how you wavered but you took one step at a time until you reached the bathroom. "Do you...need any help?" Zuko asked blushing and you blushed too "no I'll be fine". Zuko nodded "okay call if you need me" and left. 

You locked the door and slumped against it. You were exhausted from the walk and took a few minutes for the room to stop spinning. Then you made your way unsteadily to the bath and climbed inside. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking but the warmth was nice. You realised Zuko must've done this and smiled. When you got out of the bath your legs would barely support you, worrying you. You knew you’d have to ask Zuko for help so you used your remaining strength to drag clean clothes over your head and legs and leant on the wall. "Zuko..." you called "I don’t feel so good can you help me get back to my room". "Of course are you...are you ready for me to come in?" he asked clearly hesitant. You called yes and Zuko cautiously opened the door, eyes on the floor until he realised it was safe. "What's wrong?" he asked and you shrugged "i just feel a bit faint and walking is hard, can i use your arm?". Zuko nodded and held it out to you. You gripped it tightly and took a step forward. Your knees began to shake and you felt the room behind you spin. You went to call to Zuko but he’d already predicted what you needed. "Y/n" he cried and he wrapped an arm around you. Your legs gave out and he picked you up easily bundling you to his chest. "It’s okay don’t worry" he told you and rushed you back to bed. He placed you down carefully and called for the doctor scared. She ran in and Zuko explained what had happened. He covered you in blankets as you couldn’t seem to stop shaking and the doctor smiled "this is my fault...the poor girl is starving that's why she’s feeling faint. I will bring her some soup but make sure she eats it slowly". Zuko said he would and waited anxiously for the food. "Thank you...for helping me" you said softly and Zuko nodded "no problem". Dr Gohen appeared with two bowls making Zuko frowned "I can see she's not the only one who’s skipped meals" was all she said and pressed the bowl into Zuko’s hands. Zuko went to argue when he remembered the purse and sighed. He sat down next to your bed and watched to make sure you were eating slowly and began eating his own.

After the soup you were tired so you napped. Zuko was nervous you would never get better but when woke up a few hours later you had your colouring back and the shaking had stopped. "I feel so much better" you cried before sneezing. Zuko smiled "your fever and shakes have gone but you’ve still got a cold y/n, don’t even get ideas of going anywhere". You rolled your eyes but were secretly relieved. 

You spent most of your time in and out of sleep and next woke up in the middle of the night. Your throat was dry and so you tried to grab some water from the jug but knocked your cup on the floor. Zuko jumped up from his chair beside you at the sound and his eyes shot around "what’s wrong? Are you okay?". "I'm fine I just knocked the cup" you explained and Zuko nodded. "Okay...good, are you feeling okay?". You nodded "yeah...just it's a bit cold". Zuko nodded. He walked over to the fire and fire bent. "Zuko" you scolded but he just smirked "they won’t know” and returned to his chair. He passed you his blanket and you sighed "aren’t you cold?". "I'm fine" he told you but when you touched his fingers they were ice cold "Zuko not you're not you're freezing!". Zuko shrugged "so? You're cold too". You sighed "yes but you're worse probably because you've been on that chair for days...why don’t we share?". Zuko blinked "I'm not taking the bed from you". "No not like that! At the same time, it's big enough for both of us and that way we’ll both be warmer. Zuko blushed "y/n...the bed isn’t big". "still...I'm freezing and I know you give off good body heat so come here". Zuko chuckled "you know that's the most assertive I've ever heard you". He stood up and came closer. You moved to one side and Zuko laid down. It was a small squeeze but it was warmer. Zuko arranged the blankets over you both and you laid together. When Zuko thought you were asleep he shifted you fully onto his chest and wrapped the blankets around you tighter. He placed his arms on top of the quilt further warming you. The cold didn’t bother either of you the rest of the night

A few hours later the door opened and Zuko clutched you tighter. He saw it was the doctor and paused. He supposed he should’ve been embarrassed to be caught in bed with you like this but he actually didn’t care. Instead he just covered you up and looked at her. "What's wrong?" he asked and she whispered "there’s a Fire Nation tank coming this way. There’s a decoy town in their way but they're coming and if they find us...we could all suffer". Zuko blinked, it had to be Azula. "I came to you because I know you're skilled. I've seen the swords and I have my suspicions about who you are". Zuko blinked as her eyes went to his scar. "I healed your friend, can you save us? Or atleast go scout and tell us if they're coming close so we know to evacuate?". Zuko nodded "of course. I'll leave right away. Don’t tell y/n or she’ll try and follow me. You can’t let that happen". The doctor nodded "I won’t let anything happen to her". Zuko nodded "then we have a deal".

You woke up a few hours later to find Zuko gone which was odd. The sun was shining brightly but you couldn’t hear a noise in the house or even the town. You got up and were pleased you felt a lot stronger. You made your way slowly to the door and pressed your ear to it. Nothing. 

Confused you opened it slowly and finally heard some soft noises. You followed them and paused outside an open door. "He’s the prince of the Fire Nation! What do you think drove them here?" one of the nurses cried in a loud whisper. "We’re not certain" Doctor Gohen said and the nurse laughed "know anyone with those burns? Plus the bath water was lukewarm when we cleared it! He’s from the fire nation. If we help them find him or even hand over the girl they might leave us alone". "There's no guarantee!". "Well we can’t just do nothing" the other cried and you rushed away. You had to get away. You packed your things, taking some clean clothes and medicine before you went to the window. You opened it slowly and hopped out without making a sound. The streets were deserted but you headed to the area of the stables. Sure enough your ostrich horse was there and she recognises you. You quietly saddled her and rode out of town. You followed some fresh tracks in the correct direction and hoped to see Zuko.

As you got close to the decoy town you heard noises and hid your horse, proceeding on foot. You stuck to the shadows and ran straight into Zuko. He jumped and quickly pulled you down into a hiding place. "Y/n what are you...". "The nurses know who we are and were debating turning us over to Azula. We have to leave". Zuko sighed "dammit she’s already here". You looked around nervously and Zuko noticed "not here here, on the other side of town. The Avatar is also here. I'm hoping he'll distract her enough for us to get away. I'm gonna go lead them to one another. You stay here and I'll come get you when it’s time to go. You frowned "no way! I'm coming too!". Zuko shook his head "no y/n. You're not well. You couldn’t walk to the bathroom yesterday without feeling faint. Your firebending won’t be strong enough and Azula will notice that and focus on you. You know how she exploits weakness, we can’t have you getting any more hurt so stay here, please?". You sighed "Zuko...". "Y/n please” he said taking your hand "for me?". You blushed surprised and Zuko also had a blush on his cheeks but he didn’t drop your hand or look away. "Okay" you nodded and his shoulders relaxed in relief "I'll be back soon. Stay here" and he disappeared.

You stayed with the horse and soon heard the fighting. The floor began to shake and you heard houses collapse. You could hear yelling and grunting that was either Zuko or Azula. In case it was the former you crept out of your hiding place and approached the noise. 

When you got there Azula was being backed into a corner by Zuko and team Avatar. Azula losing and Zuko working with the Avatar were both such strange sights you forgot to keep yourself hidden. You were behind Azula and Iroh spotted you. His gaze softened and he smiled “y/n...” before he could stop himself. Zuko rushed forwards but that was all the distraction Azula needed. She shot a bolt of lightning right at you and you felt a funny sensation go up and down your arms. You heard someone yelling your name and then some more shouting. You felt someone grab you and hold you in their arms and then everything went black. When you eventually regained consciousness you heard raised voices once again. This time it was a very recognisable angry voice. 

Zuko. 

"If you hadn't revealed her presence Azula wouldn’t have shot her! Why did you just call out her name like that? You're supposed to be a wise old man". "I've admitted it was a mistake and apologised. I will do both again when y/n wakes up which we can be assured she will. What more can I do? I cannot trade places with her no matter how much we both want me to". "I do want that, it should’ve been you" Zuko agreed and silence fell. 

You heard the words but didn’t really process them as you felt fuzzy. You blinked your eyes open and tried to sit up but your chest felt heavy. "Y/n!" Zuko gasped suddenly "you're awake, wait don’t sit up". You blinked as Zuko’s face came into view and he gently eased you back down "hey don’t try and move okay. You're safe, you're okay". You blinked "Zuko?". "I'm right here" he told you and you felt him grip your hand "how do you feel?". You blinked "fuzzy...my chest feels funny". Zuko nodded "we gave you some pain medication so that's the dizziness and your chest is heavily bandaged which is what the weight is. Are you thirsty?". You nodded, your mouth felt all crisp and dry. Zuko pressed a cup to your lips and you drank a little bit. "Are you hungry?". You shook your head and Zuko nodded "okay". "She should try and eat something" Iroh said and Zuko glared "I know but if she doesn’t want to right this second then she doesn’t have to!". Iroh shrunk away and you frowned, more of your senses coming back to you. "Azula....she shot me right?" you asked. Zuko nodded "yes with lightning. It was bad but it looked worse than it was, you'll get a scar but you should make a full recovery". "Where are we?" you asked and Zuko explained a house near the town but not so close they’d find you. 

Iroh had left at this point to get water and Zuko sighed "I'm just so glad you're okay. Two near-death experiences in one week is far too much y/n". You chuckled "really? I thought they made things more exciting that’s why I kept doing them!". Zuko shook his head but his smile soon vanished "I don’t blame you for either. It was my fault the first time and my uncle’s this time. We must keep getting you injured and it sucks...what if one more time it's too much and we lose you for good. I'd never forgive myself or him". You frowned "you know it wasn’t either of your faults don’t you?". Zuko smiled badly "I knew you’d say that but it was y/n". 

You sighed unhappily, whenever Zuko was in one of these moods there was no reasoning with him. He’d just sit in a ball of self-hatred and brood. Zuko noticed your expression and frowned "it is y/n. You can’t convince me otherwise". "Trust me I know and that's the problem...I hate hearing you talk about yourself in this way. Berating yourself for things you had no control over...it’s painful". Zuko looked at you confused "but I'm just being honest. I can’t just lie and tell myself I've done nothing wrong when I have". "Yes but you disproportionately scold yourself. You view events in a skewed light and never see the other side...sometimes it’s just so frustrating! If only you could see yourself how I see you, how we all see you...". Zuko stared at you "and how do you see me?" he asked not taking his eyes from you. You blushed slightly but didn’t look away either. "When I looked at you I see Zuko. My oldest friend who has been through so much pain and suffering. I see the toll it's taken on you but I also see the good there in your eyes. I see a good young man who questioned himself because others constantly did. I see a caring person who was punished for his best quality. I see someone I respect and admire who I do anything to protect...I see a pretty amazing guy" you smiled and Zuko stared at you. "What about all my faults? My temper, my stupidity and weak bending? My scar?". You shook your head "those aren’t your qualities they're just opinions you have of yourself. They don’t define you and they're not what I see". Zuko carried on staring at you for a while longer before he swallowed "I...I wish I was the man you see me as. You deserve someone like that". "I deserve and want you" you said finally biting the bullet "exactly as you are". Zuko jolted as you spoke and he frowned "wait do you mean...". "I like you" you said simply "you Zuko". Zuko blushed "I...is the medication affecting you? Do you still feel loopy?". "No...just rather nervous and apprehensive of your response. I mean I did just confess my feelings to you and you asked if I was loopy..." you started when Zuko cut you off with a kiss.

"I wasn’t rejecting you, more making absolute sure before I did that" Zuko told you "I like you too y/n. These last few days made me realise how much. When you were lifeless in my arms because of me however indirectly...I knew if you died I'd never forgive myself. That’s why I can’t let myself off for this or uncle. You matter too much to me". You bundled Zuko closer and he pressed himself against you. “You matter to me too” you told him and felt Zuko sighed in relief to hear someone tell him that. 

You never stopped telling him that for the rest of your happy lives together. 

#zuko #zuko imagine #zuko x reader #zuko fic #avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar imagine #avatar fic #avatar zuko #avatar the last airbender imagine #avatar the last airbender fic #avatar the last airbender zuko #atla fic #atla imagine #atla zuko #iroh #azula #Avatar aang #prince zuko #fire nation

[somnambulic-thing]

nothing like a storm

Eddie Munson x OFC Rating: E (there will be smut, 18+) Words: 10k read on ao3 no upside down, Goth!OFC Warnings: mention of child neglect, mention of alcoholism ||fluff, angst, arguing, making up/happy end, established relationship, slice of life, first Ily, piv, oral>f, teasing, edging, fingering, rough sex, soft sex, affectionately mean sex (I guess)||

Summary: Eddie's girlfriend got stuck in a rainstorm on her way to his trailer and he was trying to find her, unaware that this storm would be the most significant weather event of their lives. When he finally pulled Finch into his van, more than the sky started to unravel.

1

It had been a long day.

A long day of mowing lawns and raking leaves and Eddie was exhausted. But the two things that changed after Rick had been locked up were that good weed was much harder to come by, which meant a decrease in income and that Eddie had discovered that he was actually not bad at gardening, even though it had turned out that being a small town undercover weed farmer was an unrealistic feat for him to take on alone. But the one thing Eddie always had been was creative. Making the best out of a subpar situation was his second language. So he had started knocking on doors, hanging out flyers and to his absolute surprise, had scored one gig with a wealthy old couple and their ginormous lawn. They had moved to Hawkins to retire recently, which was good for Eddie because they weren’t fluent in the small-town gossip yet. They also paid well. Far more than he had expected. Which was very very welcome, because it wasn’t even half a year left until graduation and he could use every damn cent if… well if. Word got out that the Munson kid actually had some skills and was a rather friendly guy and so it came to be that Eddie worked three to four different properties on the weekends. Today though, it had felt like double that amount and only the generous tip from his last client made him not want to quit that shit altogether. Eddie lay on his bed, head propped up against the wall, a guitar on his stomach strumming along to some of his favourite tunes droning into his ears over his headphones. Time to play and practice had been sparse lately and he utilized every time he could find but it wasn’t as much fun as it could be when your arms felt sore from landscaping most of the day. A slow lazy evening with Finch was all he wanted today. He wanted to stay in bed, he wanted pizza and Finch’s fingers massaging his scalp, playing with his hair while she told him about her week, with some music playing in the background. It had been far too long since the last fuck that hadn’t been rushed and squeezed in between things but his legs were really killing him and he never had been good with just laying back. So, If he got lucky, Finch would read to him while he strummed some more on his unplugged guitar and he’d probably be out like a light before midnight. The jaws of half of Hawkins would hit the floor if they knew how the Freak preferred to spend the majority of his evenings these days. As the current song ran out, Eddie could hear a loud noise from outside. He turned his head to the window and wondered when it had gotten so dark. He put down his headphones and guitar and went to look out the window. The sky had opened and unleashed all the water there was in the world. Thunder was rolling over the trailer park, the sound made the fine hairs on his neck stand up. “Shit,” he hissed, knowing that by now Finch would be on her way over. On her bike. “Shit!” Eddie stepped into his pants that lay next to his bed and pulled some clean clothes from a drawer, put his jacket on and on his way out grabbed a towel from the small bathroom. He shielded the clothes from the rain by tucking them under his shirt as he sprinted to his van, praying that on this one occasion, Finch hadn’t taken a different way out to the trailer park than she usually did. Driving slowly and carefully while the windshield wiper worked hard against the relentless rain, he kept an eye out for his girlfriend, chewing his bottom lip with worry. It couldn’t have been that long ago since he had left the trailer park, but it felt like forever until a dark silhouette finally emerged from the endless haze in front of him. “There you are,” he huffed out relieved and pressed the horn in his signature rhythm, making another mental note about the many advantages of dating a Goth girl. Through to downpour, he could see Finch lift her head and wave. He stopped next to her, rolled down the window just enough to call out “Side door.” and closed it again.

When he slid the door open, Finch handed him her bike. “Oh god, you are saving my life,”

“I live to serve you, milady. Now get into the damn car.”

As he made sure to safely stow her beloved bicycle in the back, the door closed behind him and he smiled as a stream of punched-out curses quietly flowed from Finch’s mouth. He turned back to her and paused:

It was almost infuriating, how the list of states in which she was just absolutely gorgeous kept growing and growing. Cold and drenched, long black hair sticking to her face and neck in strands that almost looked ornamental, a red hot blush high on her cheeks while small streams of water ran down her soft skin and pooled a little in the hollow of her collar bones. Like a siren he had just pulled out of the vast and violent sea; he was just mesmerized. Finch was pushing her hair up her forehead, the black liner around her eyes smudged and runny and she beamed at him like the autumn skies didn’t just try to viciously drown her. “I’m dripping all over your floor,” she said, shaking her arms and flinging drops of water everywhere. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Tilting her head slightly, she smiled in that sultry way that made him weak and crawled over to him until their faces were only inches apart. “This is just what you do to me, Munson.” She cupped his face in her cold wet hands, a stray drop running down his jaw and neck, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Eddie eagerly grabbed her wrists, feeling goosebumps under his fingertips and instead of leaning in as he wanted to, pulled back. “You’re freezing, Finch. Christ.” He pressed another quick kiss to her mouth and moved to the front, grabbing the bundle of warm clothes from the passenger seat. “Here,” he handed her the towel first, “I brought you dry stuff, so you don’t catch some nasty cold that you pass on to me because I can’t stay away from you for more than five minutes.”

“As altruistic as ever. Thank you.” Finch pressed her face into the towel and groaned, then dried her hands and began to peel out of her wet coat while speaking with a casualness that made the words coming out of her mouth even more surreal. “Fuck, have I told you that I love you?” Suddenly, Eddie’s heartbeat was pounding in his throat. He’d imagined those words in her voice before so many times, was equally scared of them as he craved to hear them and now it had just happened, in the back of his van while the world was drowning and she wasn’t even looking at him. “Ahm, no,” his brain said on autopilot. “No, never.”

The soaked coat dropped on the floor with a wet and heavy thump and Finch’s head shot up, eyes slightly widened and full of– what? Regret? Embarrassment? “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Eddie nodded. She looked at him for a few more moments before speaking again. “Was that… ahm, bad timing or is the overall message the problem?” “Huh,” he mumbled out of his stupor, “What problem?” Finch crossed her arms in front of her stomach, wringing her hands that still looked so cold with red knuckles and fingertips. “Eddie, you suddenly look more in despair as I’m sure I look dishevelled–” “No, you’re beautiful!” Fuck. What was he doing? This wasn’t supposed to be this awkward. “I’m sorry— I…” “It’s alright,” she said with a careful smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Can you hand me those? I’m really cold.” Finch pointed at the bundle of clothes in his hands and he snapped into motion again. This he could do, handing over clothes was an easy enough task. “Yeah, sure. Of course.” She carefully placed the clothes on a cardboard box next to her and started to take off her drenched Siouxie Souix shirt; not without a little difficulty as the wet fabric stuck to her skin. Eddie’s mind went a mile a minute while his sublime girlfriend undressed in front of him and still, there were no words, not even an inkling of what to say or do and the fear that his silence was ruining everything while he was pondering if she’d just given him the greatest gift or if she had cursed him was almost overwhelming.

“Shit… this… stupid…” Finch sighed, struggling to take off her wet jeans. “Eddie?” she asked almost timidly and he hated himself. “I’m stuck.” “Come here… let me…” She had pushed the pants past her hips herself and Eddie carefully hooked his fingers under the soaked black fabric and started to pull. “Can you lift your hips a little?... Yeah, like that.” He tried to find her eyes with his but Finch had focused her gaze on her knees and as his hands slid over her kneecaps she turned her face towards the ceiling. He’d fucked up.

Finch sighed in relief when he finally pulled the pants off her ankles and threw them onto the pile with her other things, knocking over one dirty boot. She was shivering, rubbing her thighs with her palms. “Did it hurt?” he asked uselessly, sure he saw the answer to what he really wanted to ask on her face and the way she pulled the towel to her chest and lap as soon as her legs were bare. “No, all good,” a sad smile. “Was just sticky.” Of course, I fucking love you too! his mind roared. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because in less than six months an era came to an end and he wasn’t stupid enough to tell himself that staying together would be easy. Because love didn’t conquer all - he’d seen it countless times - but it sure as hell would rip your chest wide open and leave you bleeding on the floor when you let it. And a part of him had hoped that he could cushion the blow somehow. Make it less jarring, by not stating the obvious when he walked into his room and Finch was spread out on his bed, her legs crossed up on the wall, feet twitching in the rhythm to whatever was coming out of his headphones while she hummed along so out of tune that sometimes the song was unrecognisable. Or when he’d planned his escape from the country that one time she’d asked him to trim her sidecut and he had messed up badly and then she had started to laugh, for fucks sake, her loud wild contagious laugh and he had ended up laughing so hard himself that he’d gotten the hiccups.

So yeah, he wanted to grab her and kiss her and say corny, sticky, filthy things into her ear and make her wet in a different way, wanted to feel her skin turn warm again under his touch and tell her that he wasn’t terrified that knowing now that she loved him too would make it hurt so much more when their lives broke apart eventually. But he was terrified. “Do you need anything else?” he asked like he was working at a checkout and hauled himself to the driver's seat when she shook her head while taking off her bra behind the towel. It felt like aeons passed while she changed; Eddie repressed the urge to check on her in the mirror and watched the water stream down his windshield instead. Finch let out a sigh when she finally slumped down into the passenger seat. She’d chewed on her lip and there was a little dot of blood at the corner of her mouth. He knew it was a cliche but he loved to see her in his clothes. It felt warm and familiar and like home, his little Goth in his flannel; he’d always loved red on her and there were so few occasions to enjoy it. But he’d made an effort to not stupidly stare at her when she appeared and looked out of his window instead. You’re an idiot, Munson, he thought and opened his mouth at last. “So–” “It’s alright, Eddie.” Finch looked at him with sad eyes. “You can drive me back home.” “What?”

“It is what it is. I understand–” He didn’t mean to laugh and it sounded harsh and wrong in his ears, “No, I don’t think you do.” “You haven’t even looked at me since I sat down.” Eddie looked at her now, trying to ignore his racing heart, the stupid urge to just kiss her. “Because it, ahm, doesn’t help with the thinking to look at you like this.” “Ok, yeah, you’re right, I don’t understand, just–”

“It’s a big deal for me, ok?” Finch huffed a surprised laugh and looked at her hands. “So I’d hoped…”

“And, ahm, I am stumbling over my own fucking feet right now, terrified that I am colossally ruining everything.” “That’s a big word. A little, maybe…” “Don’t!” he said through his teeth, face hard, “please don’t fuck with me right now, Finch.” “Eddie, relax. It’s ok. I'm not expecting you to say it just because I did. This isn't a transaction... if that's not how you feel then that's just life, I'd just like to know if we're driving to your place or if I'm going back to mine. Or you drive me back and we talk about it tomorrow–” 

“You still don’t understand.” Finch turned in her seat, facing him fully, her brows drawn together. “You know, I think my mindreading abilities struggle with your thick skull, so just say what you want to say, please?” “I never want you to go back to your place ever again…” he flinched, “shit... that sounded like I'm kidnapping you... but it's fucking true. I don't want there to be a your place and a my place anymore but I don't fucking know if that's a possible scenario… like ever.”

“Why do you never say anything?” “Because I’m scared of you telling me to fuck off.” Finch looked upset and tapped his leg whit an accusatory finger. “Am I that shitty of a girlfriend to make you even consider this a possibility?”

“No,” he groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. “Then why?” “Because,” Eddie kicked off his muddy sneakers and pulled his legs up on his seat, “you have big plans, Finch. With your art school and all the travelling you always daydream about. And you absolutely should do all of those things but I… I have no idea how I could follow you–” “Eddie… you have big plans too—”

“Unless, uhm, there is an estranged grandfather out there for me too who leaves me with a surprise trust fund when he croaks I have no idea how I can keep up with you because I’ll be busy working my ass off making rent and shit before I get even close to where I want to be.”

He felt shitty as soon as he said it. It sounded petty but the truth was, that since she had almost kicked in his door with the letter from her late grandfather's lawyer a little short of a year ago, the outlook on things had changed. One day they were just two poor kids making the most out of a little and the next Finch had the key to a door he couldn’t follow her through no matter how many lawns he mowed.

She was silent for a moment, jaw tight and brows low. “I had no idea this was weighing on you like that… I mean you never want to talk about what comes after school, not really, anyway. I know you talk to Steve about it–” “Christ, Harrington!”

“He never tells me details,” she shrugged. “So what, does that mean?” “What does what mean?” She waved her hand, pointing between them, black nail-polish chipped on the two nails she tended to chew on when she was nervous. “This… whole situation here.” “Nothing! I… listen, I just had an exhausting day trying to make some money to put to the side for… you know, after school. And I miss you because shit‘s been so busy lately that I feel we never really just talk anymore like we used to, you know? All of that is in my head and then, uh, I find myself looking for you in the fucking flood of the century hoping you're ok and then you get in here, looking like a nymph, or a goddamned siren and just casually drop this like… like you mean it–”

“I mean it.” Eddie groaned and pressed his forehead to his knees, muffling the whine in his voice at least a little. “What I’m saying is I wasn’t prepared.” Finch laughed, “Did you want a formal announcement? In a fancy envelope? Should I’ve contacted the press?” “Fuck off.” He couldn’t help but smile a little and looked up at her again.

“Eddie… I’m spending all my free time with you, I tell you that you’re my favourite person at least once a day, I wear your underwear and not just during thunderstorms.”

Finch had lifted a hand in front of his face and counted with her fingers. “I make you mixtapes, try to come to as many Corroded Coffin shows as I can, I draw your stupid face on every surface I get my hands on - it’s a little embarrassing, actually - I leave you silly little notes with hearts and shit everywhere and I punched a bitch last year because she insulted you in front of me and got suspended for two weeks and I don’t even want to get into all the things we do to each other when we’re naked and you’re telling me you weren’t prepared to hear me say that I love you? Ouch?” Something ruptured inside Eddie's stomach and flooded him with warmth with a bitter layer of guilt on top. He pinched one eye close and tried to explain. “But you also call me your best friend all the time.” “Duh,” she rolled her eyes and leaned forward, “that is because you are my best friend, Munson.” The contrast between her voice - peak annoyed and angry - and her face - soft and caring - was astounding. “And you know what, I think that is the best part–” Eddie put down his legs, grabbed Finch by the wrist and pulled her over to his seat and into his lap, wrapped his arms around her back, his face buried into the bend of her neck, holding her like he was scared she could realize this very moment what an idiot he was and flee out into the rain. Which a part of him still was. Finch was tense at first but then settled against his chest, one hand on his back and the other nestled in his hair. “You alright, Eds?”

“I love you too,” he spoke his lips pressed against her skin, “so much.”

He could feel her chest expand with a deep breath and he pulled away, anxious to see her face.

She smiled. “Christ… you really scared me for a minute. Started to think I’ve been hallucinating this for all this time.” “Yeah, guess I’m somewhat of an asshole.”  “No,” Finch leaned down and kissed him, soft and sweet. “You’re caring and kind and you make me laugh and you’re safe and you’re loving and sometimes fucking impossibly dramatic in your passionate way…” “Well, yeah,” he laughed, head spinning a little, “you make being difficult very easy sometimes.” “I have no idea what that means,” Finch laughed with him.

“Neither do I,” he sighed and ran his hands up her back. “I’m just glad I didn’t fuck this up.” Finch tapped his forehead and he blinked in surprise. “Ouch again, when you think that all that it takes to scare me off is one awkward fight.” “You told me to drive you home!!! I almost perished with the shock.” She rolled her eyes again and kissed him, longer this time, and the warmth spread further inside him. “I still want you to drive me home, I’m still cold and I love the sound of rain on the roof of the trailer.” “You calling my place home now?” a wide smile spread over his face. “Been calling it that to myself for a while now.” She brushed a wild strand of hair off his face, voice serious. “I’m sorry when I gave you the feeling that you couldn’t keep up… or whatever. I Never even considered that; in my mind, you’re always right by my side.”

“Yeah, uh, how about you don’t make me cry right now because I’m already seeing shit far out of my windshield as it is.” “Ok,” she kissed his nose and got up from his lap. “Home, hot shower, then making you cry. Sounds like a good plan.” Eddie nodded and chuckled. “And I could eat something.” “Pizza?” “Fuck, I love you.”

2

The drive back to the trailer park had been quiet, but not in the mind-numbing awful way like after she had told Eddie that she loved him. They had that figured out pretty quickly when they had become friends; how to be in silence with each other. And there were many different kinds of silence to explore. There was the silence Eddie needed after his gigs. Still strumming with every fibre of his body from the high it gave him even if the crowd was only five guys and a deaf dog, he needed time to process, to go over every song in his mind to assess the parts that needed more practice or filter out those which sounded ok during rehearsals but didn’t work during live shows. There was the silence Finch needed when an idea struck her and she had to sketch it out or write it down. This could happen in any situation - during meals, in the middle of a movie or even on Eddie’s lap with him thrusting deep inside her - and while it had confused him in the beginning, especially during sex, he had learned to embrace it. More so, it had made him aware of the thrill it gave him to delay coming as long as possible.

The silence in the van on the ride home had been a space to adjust, for both of them. They both knew that the current fight had blown over - different than the storm outside - but that it had laid open something big and pressing, something that was potentially threatening their little capsule of adolescent romance. They rarely ever fought - they bickered, had their disputes and got annoyed with each other, sure - but something that felt this high stakes hadn’t happened often. Maybe not ever until today. Finch kept glancing at him, elbow on the windowsill, chin propped on his knuckles; just watching Eddie exist was one of her favourite things to do. It was rare to find someone who was as bluntly and unapologetically himself as Eddie was. There were many days when being her true self felt safer when she was with him than when she was on her own. She knew this was a problem but one day after the other, right? It gnawed on her, that he had held back all of what she had just learned for such a long time. It wasn’t like him and it had scared her. Eddie parked as close to the trailer as he could and they ran up the stairs giggling and howling while the wind drove the rain on mercilessly. The silence was over again and they both felt needy. After adjusting came healing and they both healed faster in each other's arms. The nagging feeling inside her chest abate when as soon as the door had fallen closed, Eddie took her wrist and spun her around, pulling her close to his chest a grin spread over his face, dark eyes fixating on her. She never got enough of this. “You want some company in the shower?” Finch wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. “You smell like you took one recently.” She got up on her toes and pressed her face up his neck, inhaling his scent mixed with his soap that made her think of evergreen forests. “You smell so nice… hmm.” She let her lips ghost over the skin of his throat up to his jaw where she settled, pressing her lips to gently suck on his skin. “Uhm, yeah, no way you’re showering alone now, Christ.” 

Her skin still was so cold that the water stung on her upper arms and thighs, but Eddie wrapping his arms around her from behind, kissing up her shoulder to her ear, distracted her from the feeling. They stayed until the warm water ran out, kissing, touching, squeezing, running their hands over all their favourite parts until they both had fully mapped each other out once more. Finch loved to cup Eddie’s sharp jaw, to slide further up, slicking his wet hair back as the water streamed down his face, eyes closed and lips parted. This was home too, being here with him, naked, soft and sensual and close. This was a need different to lust, a desire that didn’t burn white and hot but was not less urgent. He had fucked her against those shower walls many times before, but there were no words needed between them to know what they both needed in this moment. She felt it in the way he touched her.

When they were dry and dressed again, the rain had gone from pouring to a strong drizzle. They watched it from the window in Eddie’s room, as they discussed what kind of pizza to get, still unable to keep their hands off the other one. “Okay, alright,” Eddie sighed in feigned defeat, pulling her close to his chest again, “a few olives won’t kill me, I hope.” “You don’t have to eat them, you know? Just pick them off and I’ll take them off your hands gladly.” Eddie scrunched up his nose. “But you can still taste them after… intense little fuckers,” he chuckled.

It hadn’t been too long after they had started to hang out that this chuckle had made her realize that she would stand no chance of not falling for this goofy antsy guy who gathered outcasts around him to take that very title away from them. Finch had to kiss the corner of his smirking mouth. “Or,” she said still in kissing distance, “you could tell them to only put them on one side of each pizza.”

“Ohh,” eyes big and wondrous, “that is a smart idea. You’re a smart woman… why did we never think of that before? All the suffering…” Finch snorted and Eddie kissed her, long and soft, his arms around her almost a little too tight but sometimes -like today- that wasn’t close enough. It was hard to pull away and even then their foreheads still stayed together. “So, uhm, you get cosy and warm in bed and I get us something to bite? I’m getting really hungry.” “Hmm… me too… better you get going.” “Yeah,” he stole a quick kiss, his hands wandering up her sides, “Otherwise, we’ll end up eating at midnight again…” “Or, hear me out,” Finch almost purred, “I come with you. Just to supervise the nasty olive business… Not because I don’t want to let you go…” “Good!” Eddie straightened up and smirked, “that makes everything way easier. Put on some shoes!” He gave her a little clap on the ass as she followed his orders and another tingling kiss before they stepped out into the rain again.

This ride wasn’t quiet; there was music and laughter and every now and then Finch or Eddie turned up the volume on their favourite parts, singing along, loud and out of tune. The upside to being used that people stared at you on the streets no matter what you did other than looking different than the average shop window suggested was that you could let yourself go like that. Two freaks out on a rainy Saturday evening, blasting the streets of downtown with the wildest shit their by now pretty mingled tape collection had to offer, living their best life. People had started calling them fire and brimstone when they officially had started dating and while they acted all annoyed and grumpy on the outside, they had loved it from the first second. There had been no question that Finch was fire and Eddie brimstone. On a trip to Indianapolis to visit Finch’s cousin and - really - just to get out of Hawkins for a few days, Eddie had pulled Finch into every record shop they had passed. In the last one Eddie had hyperfocused on the crates of records as in the shops before, while Finch had rummaged through a box of merchandise with a big discount sticker on it. “EDDIE!” she had shrieked and startled not only Eddie but the other three customers and the very stoned shopkeeper. “What?” he had jogged over to her. “Did something bite you? Do I need to slay a monst–” his eyes had gone wide and a grin crept over his face as she held the loot into his face. “No. Way.” He’d held the patch into the air like a precious artefact; the alchemic symbol for sulfur - brimstone - inside an upturned triangle, the alchemic symbol for fire. “Is there another one?” he’d asked and started to rifle through the box himself, soon impatiently throwing out shirts and patches left and right until he found a second one with a cry of triumph. They had been a few coins short for both patches and a record Eddie had searched for months, but the inebriated salesman either didn’t care or wanted them out of the shop and let them have everything for less. They had spent the evening listening to the new record, fucking on her cousin's couch and with Finch reading to Eddie while he stitched the patches to his vest and her favourite jacket.

Now, while they waited for their pizza, Finch played with Eddie’s patch that was just on the hem of the vest right above his left hip, running her fingers over the raised lines. “You feeling me up, sweetheart?” “Something like that, Sulfur.” Eddie turned to her, fast. “What did I tell you about calling me that in public?” “That I better be prepared for dingy-back-alley sex?” “Exactly,” he grinned, then he rolled his eyes and sighed. “If I wasn’t sore as hell and starving right now, you seductive demon…”

Five minutes later they were on their way back with their pizza loaded. They stopped at a gas station; filling the tank and grabbing a six-pack before Eddie broke a new record in scaring the shit out of Finch with his driving. Finch jumped out of the car as soon as it had come to an abrupt halt. “YOU MANIAC!” Eddie almost fell out of his door laughing, “YOU LOVE ME!” “DON’T WEAPONIZE MY LOVE FOR YOU, MUNSON!” Finch had rounded the car with the sixpack in hand, shoving it at Eddie who struggled to keep it together and juggled the beer and the pizza cartons while Finch got her wet clothes from the back of the van. “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF SUCH ATROCITIES!” Somewhere in the trailer park, someone joined the conversation. “Shut the fuck up, assholes!” “Rude,” Eddie deadpanned and Finch dropped her boots laughing.

Back inside, Finch started to throw her wet clothes over the shower door while Eddie carried everything to his room. “Uhm, hey, babe?” he called from next door. “Yeah?” “Would you mind if I invited Max over for some pizza?” Eddie appeared in the bathroom door behind her. “Not sure she has been eating enough lately. Her mom had a rough couple of weeks.” “No, I don’t mind. There’s always room for another stray, right?” Eddie leaned in, kissed her cheek loudly and vanished around the corner. Finch smiled and wiped at her wet cheek. “God, you’re so precious…”

There was some shuffling and then a pause. “Mayfield! It’s Eddie —  Uhm, no, why would we scream outside? — Yeah of course that was irony — uh-hm —  No, we were just messing around, don’t worry —  uh-hm —  listen, we have pizza, do you want some? Still hot, I hope —- Yeah, just come over — You don’t have to bring anything, your delightful self will suffice — No really, we have two large pizza pies — Ok, see you in a bit.” Finch had moved to the living room mid-call and hopped to sit on the kitchen counter and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s head when he hung up the phone. “You’re a good man.” “I’m parting with a few slices of pizza, nobody will declare me a saint over that,” he moved between her legs and run his hands up her thighs. “You’re not usually rejecting flattery.” “And you’re talking too much…” Eddie moved close bit her bottom lip and held onto it for a moment. Then he licked the spot before he kissed her; open-mouthed, tongue finding hers. Finch moaned and held onto his shoulders, surprised by the sudden onslaught.

“Wha a’e yu d’in?” she asked, not quite willing to break the kiss. “I must be doing it wrong if you have to ask… let me try something else,” he brushed her hair off her shoulder and licked a long stripe up her neck. The attention went straight to her groin. “Eddie…”

The breath of his chuckle tickled on her wet skin, “I love it when you sound so turned on by so little.” “Max just stepped out her front door… why are you turning me on now?” “You started it.” Again, he licked into her mouth, holding her in place with his hand on her neck and the other one cupping her breast under her shirt. “I what…?” she whispered, head spinning. “Sulfur?” “Fucking hell, Munson… ” There was a knock on the door and Eddie smirked like the devil himself. “Pull yourself together. We have a visitor.”  Eddie opened the door and spread his arms, “Maxine, my dear friend! Come in, come in, out of that ghastly weather into the cosy parlor!” Finch pressed her thighs together to snuff out the sparks he had just lit and grumbled over how Eddie just flicked the switch between horny tease and silly inn-keeper. The never-ending wonders of dating a top-tier Dungeon Master.  “Hi guys,” Max said, rolling her eyes at Eddie then bowed. “Thank you for the kind invitation to the feast, Eeedwaaaard.” “Okay, yeah, Max, alright, Max, very sorry, Max.” “I liked it,” Finch said and got off the counter. “You both sound very royal like that,” she offered and got two middle fingers in return.

3

“Remind me to never feed you again, Max.” Eddie pouted while Max and Finch not only high-fived but mocked him by popping olives into their mouths. Olives that they had picked off a slice of pizza that they then had trojan-horsed into his corner while he had been in the bathroom, to prove that he would not notice the difference. And he hadn’t. “Aww, sore loser?” “Uhm, yeah, you are corrupting my girlfriend to play tricks on me, I’m allowed to be sore about that.” Finch nudged Eddie’s leg with her foot, “I’ve been playing tricks on you on my own for the better of two years now.” “What?”

“We’ll feed you again, Max. Don’t worry–” “Excuse me?--” Eddie interjected but Max’s embarrassed face stopped him from making a scene. “Hey, what’s wrong?” “Nothing, it’s just…” she shook her head and waved her hands in the air as if the right words were there and she just had to catch them. “You don’t have to feel bad about this, alright?” “Yeah,” Eddie agreed, “We’ve all been there.” “I know,” Max said, eyes a little wet. “It’s still fucking shit, isn’t it?” After nothing but crumbs were left, Finch found Eddie in the kitchen as he tried to stuff too much cardboard into a too-full trashcan. “What about we play one or two rounds of cards or something? Her mom is out drunk on the sofa again.” “Yeah, sure,” he nodded and gave her a kiss. “You know where all the stuff is, let her choose something.” Eddie looked after her as she walked back to his room and let out a sigh. Helping Max out had become an almost daily occurrence now. Even Wayne had started noticing despite his schedule of mostly night shifts and he had started stacking some extra cans and boxes in their pantry. He would hand her some later when she left. She probably would protest and call him names but he knew she was grateful and that being prickly helped her cope with the situation so he didn’t mind. “Alright folks,” he cheered as he made his way back, “who is ready to get annihilated?”

—

Someone was shaking him and his whole body protested against the intrusion. “Eddie, wake up babe. Hey, Eds…” “Hmgrrmb, l’mme sl’p.” Soft laughter reached him, then again, “Come on, just a moment, you’ll be in so much pain tomorrow if you sleep like that and then I have to endure your whining all day.”

Eddie cracked an eye open. The small light was on and in fact, his neck already didn’t feel quite right. He sat up from where he had slouched against the wall, rubbing his face. “What’s going on? Where’s the carrot?” Finch immediately started rubbing circles into his back, fingers kneading the sore muscles in his neck and he groaned. “You fell asleep mid-game. Max just left a minute ago.” “Shit… wasn’t I winning?” “Yeah, three out of five, I guess you annihilated us.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Good. Revenge for your horrible olive plot.” “You’re a menace,” Finch laughed, now massaging his shoulders with both hands. “You had a perfectly good pizza experience.” “I guess you’re right… if one can overlook the betrayal.” Eddie yawned and his eyes started to fall shut again. “This feels very good, Fin. But I think I’ll just pass out if you keep on…” he turned his head to her and gave her a kiss, missing the centre of her mouth by half. “I better go find my toothbrush before that happens.”

—

The mattress dipped, pulling Eddie out of sleep again. It was dark and his arm hit empty space as the tried to find Finch’s warm body. “Shit! Disappointing.” 

He managed to stay somewhat awake until the mattress dipped again and the blanket lifted. Eddie let out a sleepy sound that was something reminiscent of a welcome. “Sorry,” she whispered, “Didn’t mean to wake you.” She swiftly slid back under the covers and pressed her back into his chest, wiggling a little to perfectly slot into the space as Eddie reached out his arm again and this time wrapped it around a soft waist. He nuzzled his nose to the back of her head, smelling her hair, taking in her warmth and sighed. His hand started to move on instinct, sliding up the side of Finch’s body, bunching up the shirt she wore and back down to the thick of her thigh and all the way back up. Between the soft drizzle of the rain above them and the rustle of fabric, Finch let out a small moan and Eddie suddenly didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. “What time is it?” he asked, still stroking the length of Finch’s side softly. “Almost four.”

He hummed and slid his hand up her arm and over the curve of her shoulder, brushing strands of hair off her neck before shuffling down and kissing it. Gentle fingers found his cheek as he left a trail of soft kisses, whispering in between. “A good time to fuck.” Finch started to turn under his arm but he pressed a hand to her stomach and tutted: “Keep that pretty ass right where it is.” Shoving his hips forward, he raked his nails up her soft skin between her breasts and finally slid his palm up her throat, turning her head to him as far as her tendons would allow while pinching her chin between his thumb and index finger.

“I know that voice,” Finch breathed out between her restricted jaws while Eddie started to suck a bruise right under her ear, “you’re goin’ to wreck me, aren’t you?” Eddie’s cock twitched deliciously in his boxers. He shifted and slid his other arm underneath her to replace the hand on her throat while shoving the now free one straight down to her crotch, nestling it between the warm squeeze of her thighs. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” “Yeah,” she tried to nod. Her hands were clasped around his forearms, nails digging small half-moons into his skin. It hurt. Finch might look like a delicate creature most of the time, but she was stronger than her exterior let on and not at all helpless. The fact that she could knock him out if she wanted to, that he felt the soreness in his muscles flare up as they worked to keep her in place; it all drove him fucking nuts. “Yeah, what, little demon? Use your pretty mouth to tell me what you want.”

Finch ground her ass into his groin in lazy circles. He hadn’t moved a finger yet between her legs, just pressed the full length of his hand against her pussy. He could feel a wet patch seeping through the fabric that separated him from her. “I want you everywhere, I want you to give me all that you have and more and for you to fucking wreck me, Eddie– ahhh!” He had sunken his teeth into her neck, unable not to when she begged for him like that. “Did that hurt, hm?”

With an eerie speed, Finch dipped her chin, chasing for his hand and he heard her teeth click together as he pulled it away at the last moment. He chuckled deeply. “Unruly behaviour for someone who wants to get fucked so badly, don’t you think?” A punched-out moan escaped him as Finch angled her hips further back, putting tight friction on the tip of his already swollen cock. “But if you insist on having my fingers in your mouth,” he gritted out, thumb sliding over her bottom lip already greeting him with the tip of her tongue, “who am I to deny it to you?” Finch greedily sucked two of his fingers into her mouth and he used the moment to tilt her hips a little backwards, pull her panties to the side and slide two fingers between her slick and wet lips. She gasped and cursed around his knuckles and Eddie felt his cock leak sticky precome against his belly. “Hmmm, that’s right,” he hummed into her ear, “just the way you like it… I know what you need...” Circling her swollen clit, slow and dragging, kissing and nibbling on her neck, feeling her swallow hard under his lips; he drank in all her noises, every movement, the soft tongue sliding around his fingers. Eddie could drag this out forever. “You want a taste of yourself, little demon?” He could feel her nod. “Yeah? Then open your mouth for me…” Finch whined as he stopped touching her, turning into a moan when he replaced the fingers in her mouth with those coated in her wetness. Eddie had propped himself up on his elbow to watch her face but it was too dark and this wouldn’t do. He wanted to see her while she slowly lost it for him. He untangled himself from her without a warning and rolled over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp, then looked for something to throw over it to dim the light down. “Don’t move!”

But she wouldn’t be Finch if she didn’t challenge him even a little bit. While he was rummaging around on the floor, a hand crept to his cock, stroking him through the fabric, and teeth sunk into his shoulder. “You can’t just leave me unsupervised and expect me to behave… you know that… don’t you, Sulfur?”

“FUCK!” Eddie threw his head back and turned fast, pushing her back with the movement. He knew it was probably silly how much it turned him on when she called him that but it just fucking did and he didn’t care either way. Finch sat upright now, hair a tousled mess, deep red marks on her neck and shoulders, grey eyes defiant and full of lust and hunger for him. He grabbed a fist full of her shirt, shoved it over her head and proceeded to throw it halfway over the lamp behind him. When he turned back again, Finch had leaned back, knees bent and thighs spread wide, with one hand down her panties, touching herself. Eddie tilted his head and pursed his lips in a smile, speaking calmly despite his racing pulse. “Well, if you don’t need me, I can go back to sleep.”

“No, you couldn’t,” she bit her lip and Eddie could see her fingers speeding up. “You want me so bad.” Reaching out, he grabbed her by one ankle and pulled her to him. She thumped to her back and laughed as he groaned while unceremoniously pulling her panties off of her. It left a glistening wet streak on the inside of her thighs and he slid his thumbs all the way up along it while he parted her legs and came to kneel between them and without hesitation, plunged two fingers deep inside her all the way to his knuckles. Finch threw her head back, back arching as he set off at a furious pace. He grinned as her breath hitched a few times before she could let out a long deep moan. “What? Did I fuck the bratty air out of you, sweetheart? Oops.”

“Fu-huck- tha-t’s– go-od…” “You can still talk, though. That’s no good.” Shifting his weight, feeling the pull in his sore legs, Eddie leaned over her and pressed his lips to her panting mouth as soon as he started to curl his fingers up into the special soft spot. Finch jolted beneath him, muffled curses streaming directly into Eddie’s mouth. He pulled at her lip with his teeth and felt Finch’s hand slide between their bodies to give attention to her clit. He stopped and grabbed her wrist, licking the tangy wetness from her fingertips, then looked at her reproachfully. “Don’t you think that I would have taken care of that myself if I thought you already deserved it, hm?” “I’ll behave,” she panted, cheeks flushed bright red and gorgeous, “I promise– just don’t stop… please… ple–” Eddie had started to take off his boxers while she had made pretty promises and he grinned sultrily when the sight of his hard flushed cock made her forget her words. “Look,” he said, pushing his slick fist over his whole length, “how do you like it when I do this -- ah -- when clearly all you want to do is get your hands on me–” “And mouth–” Still grinning, he stroked himself slowly and nodded, “--but I’m doing aaall the nice things to myself and don’t leave any to you?”

When she didn’t respond immediately, he leaned down and firmly tapped her clit two times, making her jolt again. “Not fair,” she breathed. “What was that?” he cocked an ear. “Not fucking fair… Eddie, please let me taste you!” “No,” he smirked and started to lower himself to his stomach, “not today, babe.” Eddie saw on her face that there was protest lurking in her throat and he throbbed with the knowledge of how badly she wanted to suck his cock but he was nothing if not stubborn. When she realized what he was about to do, her eyes closed and she grabbed the sheets in anticipation. He thought of teasing her a little longer but so close to her swollen dripping pussy, being a menace was exceedingly hard. A vibrating moan slipped through her lips when he licked the first long stripe over her clit and combined with her taste, it was enough to drive him mad. He pushed his fingers back in, returning to the former merciless pace. The sting in his scalp was thrilling as she held onto his hair for dear life. Toying with her clit - licking, sucking, circling; all of it - and watching what it did to her was one of the hottest things he could think of. It was a special treat to fuck her when she was just short of unravelling, fully here and present with him, her racing mind blank, registering nothing in the world but him.

He had brought her to the edge two times and let her cool down again when she squeezed him with shaky thighs, reached down and cupped his cheeks between her legs. “Fuck me, please.” No snark, all sweet and spent. She kept her hands on his face as he started to crawl up her body to kiss her. “Are you good?” “Hmm-hmm, perfect,” she hummed with heavy eyes, brushing hair from his face that fell back into place immediately. Eddie pressed his cock to her slit and moved up and down. “Can you go one more time, hm?” “Three times is torture, Eddie…”

He chuckled and kissed her chin. “One more, Fin. And then I’ll make you come, promise… you can shatter aaall around me… doesn’t that sound good?” “Fuck,” she laughed, “you’re really selling this.” “I promise I will deliver,” he whispered into her ear between kissing up her jaw. “One more…” she pressed one finger to his lips and nose and he nodded, smiling softly.  Eddie sat back on his knees, hands splayed out on her thighs, pulling her closer and slid all the way inside of her in one fluid motion. The tight warmth was intoxicating, as was the way Finch lifted her hips to take him in even deeper as she made the prettiest noises. “You’re so sensitive, sweetheart. The way you moan for me.” he just twitched his hip a little, still deep inside her.

“Fuck-Jesus-Eddie–” “Nah, the dude is not my type and I’m busy here.” With a long groan, Eddie started to pull out slowly just to thrust back in fast; he found a rhythm and watched Finch’s eyes roll back as she finally fully let him take over. “Finch, Finch, Finch…” he chanted her name, while heat pooled inside his abdomen, “you’re s-so beautiful like– like that, how you take me.”

He lifted her right leg and leaned it against his chest, changing the angle and sunk his teeth into her calf with a grin. Finch pushed her palms into the mattress and herself halfway up, gasping, her pretty small tits jumping every time he drove into her. “E-Eddie… I… god… so good– I-I…” “I know,” he grunted, “you’re getting reeeally fucking tight now… just… a little… more… fuck!” The overwhelming sensation pushed him forward, and he caught himself with clenched fists before he could smack down on Finch’s body, pulling all the way out, drawing a frustrated moan out of both of them. He usually just stopped inside her, but he’d drawn it out for too long and suddenly had been very close to coming himself and he wasn’t going to do that to her now.

Eddie cowered over her, panting, focusing very hard on the muscles in his loins as Finch’s legs were pressed into his sides, warm and sweaty and trembling. Her hands found his face and laced together behind his neck. “C’mere… please.” Eddie followed her pull into a kiss that was slow and sloppy and sweet while her shaky hands roamed every bit of his skin she could reach. “Stay close now, yeah?” “Want to sit in my lap?” he panted against her cheek, then chuckled. “Won’t take long for either of us now.”

“You have to hold me,” her voice soft and needy and his chest felt tight with, well, fucking everything. “I’ll hold you, babe.” Eddie kissed her, thumb stroking her cheek, watching her eyes close, then flutter back open, “you can lean on me and I’ll fuck you good one more time.” “Are- are you good?” “Absolutely!” He beamed at her.

Finch shook her head slightly with heavy eyes and brushed hair off his forehead again. “You have the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen, Munson.” “You’re so cute and tame when you’re all fucked out, nobody would believe me.” She almost pouted, brows drawn together. “I say nice things about you all the time, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” Eddie huffed a laugh and pushed himself back up, pulling Finch with him by her wrists. “You’re getting delirious.”

“Now that you say it, I really could use something to drink.”

Eddie turned and grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand. “Here, hydrate.” He positioned himself while she drank and stroked his aching dick a few times, really ready to come apart with her now. Finch climbed into his lap, balancing her weight on his thighs; he would be so sore tomorrow like he’d never been in his life. “Left you some,” she handed him the bottle and as he drank, reached down and let herself sink down on his cock with a long sigh.

“Shit,” Eddie spluttered, water running down his chin and their chests. He wiped his face with the back of his arm and looked into a hot, smirking face. “You already getting cocky again?” Finch ground her hips down, “Something cocky is going on, yeah.”

Eddie laughed, let the bottle just drop off the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pushing up inside her. “Goddamnit, I love you.” “Eddie…” she whined and sunk all the way down on him, “m’ gonna come right now if you do that…”

He steadied himself with a hand placed behind him and pulled her to his chest, holding a slow rhythm with his thrusts. “You like that?”, he said close to her ear, “Hearing that I love you while I’m buried inside you?” “Ohmygod…” Finch let her face sink to his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. “Because now that– oh fuck, Fin– you feel so good– because now that it’s out there, I’ve no qualms –ah— w-whatsoever to moan– it– into your ear.”

She bit his shoulder in response and he sped up his thrusts again; he would fucking explode any minute, he was sure of it. “Finch, babe?” he shifted a little, the arm around her gripping her tight while he shoved the other one between them down to find her clit. “Ye-ah- E-d-die?” her voice broke every time he pumped into her, hard.

“I love you.”

“Shitshitshit–please–please d-on’t stop…” “You g-gonna come with me?” Finch placed her palms on his chest and pushed herself up to look at him and the sight of her face alone almost did him in. She moved her hips with him, meeting him hard every time, mobilizing all energy she had left while starting to squeeze tight around him again.

“Come for me,” his breath came in short hard bursts, “m’ right behind you… oh holy f–” First her thighs started to tremble, then her hips twitched uncontrollably as she threw her head back, a scream locked in her throat unable to escape as she came hard, pulsing rapidly around him. Eddie looked at her in awe and complete ecstasy, not even feeling where her nails drew blood on his shoulders. She finally drew one deep, enormous breath and let it back out in the filthiest moan he’d ever heard and Eddie came too, hot white heat devouring him. He slumped forward, his face pressed to her heaving chest, barely hearing the quiet praises Finch spoke into the crown of his head as he rode it out. They stayed like this, tangled and close, until their breathing was even again. Finch ran her hands over his back in soothing circles until he was ready to let her go. His legs were killing him. “Want me to dismount? You’re trembling…” “Just the earthshattering orgasm, nothing to see here,” he pulled his face away from her chest, “but yes, please.” He flopped down on his back, arms spread out, feeling heavy and spent but also needy. The latter became apparent as Finch got out of bed and walked toward the door. “We’re you going?”

“Getting more water,” she bent down and gave him a kiss. “And going to the bathroom. We’re dripping down my thighs… like a lot.” Eddie groaned after her as she left the roam, “Stop the dirty talk please!”

“Never!”

He could still hear the rain on the roof and was aware of the sudden silence. There was something awful about being alone right after sex; he listened to the noises Finch made in the kitchen, then in the bathroom, to asses when she would be back. It made him almost feel anxious. “Finch!”

The toilet flushed and an eternity later, the door opened. “Finch? You coming back here or what?” “I’m here.” She got back into the bed, placing some stuff on the nightstand. Eddie held his arms out. “Come here.” “You okay?” He pulled her down to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, relaxing again when her warm weight settled where it belonged. “I’m now.” “Sorry, I didn’t think I was gone long.”

Eddie closed his eyes and waved one hand in the air. “I forgive you…”

He could feel her smile against his neck. “How very gracious of you, oh Edward the Needy.”

“Just… don’t fuckin’ do it again. Ever.” His voice was heavy and hard, tone and words missing the mark of a quippy comeback entirely. Something must have gotten into his eye because a little liquid pressed out the corners when he shut them tight. He felt Finch’s face turn up to him.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to snap out of whatever was suddenly trying to push its way out of him by force. “I don’t know why I said it like that I—“

“Yeah, forget it,” Finch rose up to his eye level, brows drawn together, “we are not doing that again. You’re upset, don’t swallow it down.”

“Suuuch a stupid time to be upset about shit.”

Finch wiped her thumb over his cheek; more tears had escaped him. “You think?”

“You don’t?” he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Do I think it’s a stupid time to be upset about being afraid to lose your girlfriend after a day like this? After fuck like this?”

He swallowed hard. “Terrified.”

“T’s not stupid. The blood must not have fully returned to your brain yet,” she smiled softly, worried eyes observing every twitch of his face. “I’m terrified too, you know?”

Eddie shook his head, “Tell me!”

“What I am scared of?”

“Please?”

“No,” she drew her brows together and shook her head. “But I can tell you what I am daydreaming about when you’re not around.”

“Fuck yeah. Please!” he smiled, sniffling a little.

Finch untangled herself from him and leaned over to the nightstand, turning around with a small bottle of the body oil she used in the evenings. “Get on your back.”

“What? Why?”

“You worked a long day. You’re in pain. Your muscles are twitching whenever you move your legs. Get on your back!”

Eddie pushed the blanket away and did as she told, spreading his legs as she moved in between them, sitting back on her shins. He was excited and overwhelmed and full of admiration as he silently watched a totally ruffled Finch coat her palms with the oil, the familiar and rich smell of bergamot and poppy surrounding him instantly, already calming him down a little.

“Our flat has one room,” she said palms rubbing together and eyes closed as if she was conjuring up an image. “I mean, except the kitchen of course,” she looked at him and smiled, “who wants to sleep in their kitchen, right?”

“Wouldn’t want that, no.” His voice was husky and he sighed when her warm palms gently run up his thighs. “Why one room?”

Her gaze was focused on his right leg where her thumbs rubbed small firm circles along the inside. “Because,” her eyes flicked up, “I like to lie in bed and watch you play the guitar on the couch in the mornings.”

Eddie groaned, his chest expanding with every word that added to the picture she was painting him and the sensation of her hands, slowly releasing the tension from his legs. This was already home.

“To firm?”

He shook his head and smiled. “What makes you think I could just sit there and play when you’re over there in bed?”

“Because you’re a strong-willed ambitioned musician who can come back to bed after he has tried out this new riff or that peculiar melodie. Plus, I have my best ideas in bed and you can  bounce lyrics that don’t feel quite right off of me.”

“Okay, I’m convinced. Go on.”

“Our books are all mixed together, no separate shelves or bullshit like that and— did that hurt or do you hate the idea?”

Eddie had winced as Finch worked her way up the most painful part of his thigh and it did hurt, but in a good way. “Nope, just really sore,” he pressed out through his teeth. “I like the idea, but if you want to sort them by color like you currently do we won’t find shit.”

“You get used to it, I promise.”

He wanted to cover her whole beautiful face with kisses. “That feels really good, babe. Thank you so fucking much.”

“You do the laundry—“

“Of course, I like my clothes the right size,” he chuckled.

“—Exactly my point - and I keep our plants alive.”

“We have plants? I like that.”

“Uh-huh, we need something to set off the dark walls,” she said, coating her palms in oil again to switch to his other leg, “we rescue them from the street or wherever people leave their half-dead failures. You can use your plant magic on the very bad ones.”

“Your desk is by the window?”

“Yes, and you have to put back my pencils after scribbling down spontaneous ideas in a haste or we’re going to get into fights and we only have one room so if you don’t want to sleep in the fucking kitchen—”

Eddie sat up, wrapped his arms around her waist and stopped her with a hungry burning kiss. Her hands came up to his chest, slick with oil as she sighed into his mouth. When he drew back, he pressed his forehead against hers.

“You really imagine stuff like that? You really mean that?”

A nod. “All the damn time. Do you?”

“Uhm,” he breathed deeply, “I— I have. But I tried not to, to make it hurt less when- if… sorry. You’re so sweet n’ I’m—“

“Honest.” There was no hurt in her voice, just a tinge of sadness. “What do you want?”

“That,” he blurted out, drawing back more to look at her. “I mean, shit, Fin. That was… just… I have no idea how.”

“You want to make it work?”

“So much.”

Finch shrugged - casually like when she’d told him that she loved him - as if the next thing she said was just the obvious. “Then we make it work. We figure it out.”

“Okay,” he grinned.

“Okay?”

“Let’s make it work.” Eddie let himself fall back, taking Finch with him, eliciting a little yep from her that made him chuckle. They just lay like that for a while until he felt heavy with nearing sleep.

“Seems like the storm is over,” Finch muttered sleepily against his chest.

“Hmm,” he agreed and kissed her hair. “T’ was a good one.”

#Eddie Munson x ofc #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson smut #somnambulic-thing

[dark-elf-writes]

Chaos theory au

Little cloud still being very much a child and having not yet grown into the teen self-consciousness or adult aloofness

Him demanding that Vincent dance with him in the rain and giggling at how easy it is to balance on his ridiculous footwear

Cloud not being even close to hiding how his face lights up whenever he sees Vincent and all but running to him in excitement every time he goes to hug him (he knows older him wouldn’t do the same but…he wants to and can’t remember being upset when all the kids from below the plate did the same to him when he came to visit and “play warriors” with them. Quite the opposite really.)

Cloud getting really anxious when he forgets little things because what if he forgets everything again? What if he stops being him again?

Cloud paying real close attention to everything around him because 1. What if threat? And 2. Even after realizing he accidentally took on Zack’s identity he still couldn’t remember everything from before. It’s nice to have details again even if part of him knows he was never missing them.

It stuns Vincent in the first few weeks how open Cloud is. (He is still shy of course, still distant from the other children in the village other than Tifa who he watches with eyes both so young and so old, but it is worlds apart from the stiff awkward man he remembers who would freeze at the slightest contact and had to relearn how to high five someone.) what stuns him the most, however, is realizing that he receives the same open affection and adoration that Claudia does.

He knew of course that Cloud cared for him, both Before and now — it was rather obvious when he woke up to the little warrior sobbing his name and begging him to wake up and remember him — but it was something altogether different to realize that that affection was equal to the love and care Cloud had for his mother.

Blindingly bright smiles and little hands clinging to his side and bright childish laughter when he pretended to be asleep on those morning when Cloud’s future habits made him rise far before dawn. All of them aimed at him.

And Claudia who shook her head fondly when the two of them came back drenched and covered in mud after dancing together in a rainstorm and laughed as she wrapped towels around them both. Who calls him Cloud’s uncle, her brother, who shares what little they have (more now that Vincent is here and can hunt for them, can trade monster parts for gil, can use his curse for something good as he cares for his family the two who had welcomed him with open arms.) with him without hesitation, who smiles at him just as open and bright and teases him for being too serious.

Both he and Claudia do however notice the anxiety Cloud carries. Notice how those glowing eyes track their every movement like he is committing each and every one of them to memory. Notice the borderline terror when he forgets even the smallest of details. Both of them try to help in what little ways they can.

#the elf talks #ff7 #chaos theory au

[just-an-enby-lemon]

Fanfic idea:

Camilla has a high school reunion and it's freaking out. Of course Luz, Vee, the kids that aren't just hers but are totaly partialy hers and their parents (who became Camilla's friends as well) all decide to help.

Thing is there is no high school reunion on the Boiling Isles cue to the Hagsquad deciding to create one and invite Camilla so she can pratice. It's completely based on a mix of Luz over enthusiastic movie-based ideas of what a school reunion is and Camilla freaking out anxiety visions of how it will be and not really close to reality. It's also very very chaotic.

---

Lilith: Okay, according to Camila now we choose someone, point out their failures, give them very little time to defend themselfs and later we choose a loser and send them to the ball pit of shame.

Eda: Fun. I'll start: Lili, your best friend is Hooty.

Lilith: That's not a failure! Hootifer is great!

Perry: No offense... but what even is that thing?

Eda: I think is for the best we don't know.

Liith: A FRIEND!

[a small discussion about Hooty later]

Darius: I think deep down we all know that Alador should be the one on the ball pit of shame.

Lilith: Well that's a bit rude.

Raine: I could easilly submit anyone here! *stops* Except Eda, she did a really good job.

Eda: Oh thanks, Rainstorm. I also could insult everyone here except for Raine, they are clearly doing great.

Darius: That's not the point, love birds, I'm sure you two could be really insulting if you wanted. But in the end Alador deserves it more.

Eda: He did marry Odalia.

Alador: Can I take a snack to the ball pit?

Lilith: Uh... I did not ask Camilla for the ball pit rules...

Eda: Ah, who cares? Take your snack.

Lilith: The balls could be hungry! And evil!

Darius: I vote we drop Alador there with the snack and find out. If anything happens we can take him out before the ball pit kills him.

Perry: My son says that humans put their babies into this stuff so it can't be that bad.

Raine: Wait. I'm pentagraming Luz... She said that as long as we don't pee in there is fine.

Alador: Uh... so how long am I supposed to be on this ball pit of shame?

Lilith: According to Camilla until you start loving yourself again.

Alador: Oh. I'll totaly need to pee before that!

Lilith: We can always just let you there until we finish the first ten minutes lunch break were we look at each other akwardly until we find some rebel act that will rekindle our bonds.

#hagsquad #they have no idea what they are doing and it's great #lilith clawthorne #edalyn clawthorne #raine whispers #darius deamonne #perry porter #alador blight #odalia was not invited for obvious reasons #the ball pit of shame was a metaphor #lilith just like me is too autistic for this type of metaphor

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where you say some things you don't mean. And some things you do.

Or the twelfth installment of the SKZ!pack prequel series.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, Skz!pack, Skz!abo, omegaverse, poly!skz, skz x you, skz x reader, pack!prequel, SKZ!pack prequel, prequel series, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, han jisung, hwang hyunjin, lee felix, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, y/n, skz angst, skz fluff

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Title: You Win Some, You Lose Some

“So, I hear (Y/N)’s not talking to you.” Yeosang slides into the seat beside you at the library table, a semi-amused look on his face as he glances across from where you sit to Chanbin on the opposite side.

“I’m not.” You answer immediately, voice sharp, without looking up, scribbling a little more furiously as you write down your notes. 

You bite back the urge to snap at Changbin, ask him why the hell he’s here anyway-at a biology study group of all places-but you already know the answer, because Seungmin is here, so of course he’s here. 

The notion triggers something bitter and hot to begin bubbling in the pit of your stomach, which is stupid. 

You like Seungmin. You like Changbin-might even love him actually-so why does seeing the two of them spend so much time together, joined at the hip, make you want to simultaneously gouge your eyeballs out from irritation and sob forlornly in the shower all at once? 

“She’s just mad because I tried to set her up with my friend in the production department. She’ll get over it.” Changbin offers casually, as if you’re being ridiculous and you’ll realize it soon enough. 

You bite down so hard on your tongue that you taste copper. 

Yeosang glances sidelong at you nervously, and you try your best to force your suddenly sour scent to even out. 

“I’m mad because you’re a terrible person and an even more terrible boyfriend.” You quip back quietly, your voice wavering with barely controlled anger, but you don’t look at him still, gaze laser focused on the page of notes before you, even though the words aren’t even computing in your mind anymore. 

“God, I said I was sorry, okay?” Changbin exclaims, and you see him throw his hands up from the corner of your eye, clearly exasperated. It just makes you angrier. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), is that what you want to hear? For the fifth time?” 

Seungmin is silently watching you now from across the table, you can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t look up, not now, not when your eyes are starting to water and your lip is starting to tremble. 

You won’t give Changbin that satisfaction. 

“No.” You manage to get out, and this time, you raise your gaze to look at him, and he holds it, your eyes flashing with barely concealed fury. You stare him down, and will the tears back from whence they came. “I want you to stop coming home from class smelling like him. I want your hoodies to smell like you again and not like some stupid rainstorm. I want to walk into your dorm and not be reminded every goddamn day of your stupid alpha friend who you so kindly offered me to-like meat on a platter, without even telling me, mind you-just so you could get your rocks off with Seungmin easier!” 

Maybe that makes it all worse, that Changbin had wanted to distract Chan, distract him with you, so that he could spend more time with Seungmin, away from you without you. 

You hadn’t meant to let it all out-not here, not in the library, not in front of everyone-but it was too late now, the air frosty, and so you hold Changbin beneath your gaze, never wavering, as everyone else stares between the two of you apprehensively, as if just waiting for one of you to leap across the table and strangle the other. 

You might do it. 

The tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife, and finally when the silence has dragged on for several moments more, Jisung shifts in his chair, smoothing his hands over his open book, and chuckles awkwardly. 

“C’mon. It can’t be that bad, right? I mean-” He gestures to Changbin. “His smell is kinda overpowering, the smoke should overpower the rain or whatever in another day or two, and it’s not like you can constantly smell it-” 

You whirl on him so fast that his words fall to a stop instantly, lips still slightly parted, eyes going wide. 

“You wouldn’t understand.” You snarl out, and before you can stop yourself, “You’re just a beta.” 

As soon as the words leave your lips, you regret them. 

Everyone at the table has gone completely silent, utterly and impossibly still.

“(Y/N)-” Hyunjin gasps out in shock, his voice airy, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. 

“Fuck.” You say, Jisung still staring at you with impossibly wide eyes, as you trip over your words in an effort to get them out faster. “Jisung, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” 

“No.” 

Your words die in your throat, as Jisung pushes back his chair and slams his textbook shut, no longer looking at you. 

You can see the hurt and betrayal on his open features from across the table. 

“You’ve made yourself loud and clear. I get it.” 

“Jisung-” You stand up now too, reaching out a hand, but he doesn’t even look at you, the scent of clean laundry growing bitter in the air between the two of you as he shrugs his backpack on without even looking in your direction. 

He ignores you completely-ignores your outstretched hand, the desperation in your voice, the wordless apology-and turns on his heel without another word, leaving the library. 

“Fuck.” You repeat, harsher this time, frustrated with yourself, slumping back down into your chair, reaching up to shove a hand through your hair. 

You glance around at the others at your table, silent, accusatory, and swallow hard. 

“I really didn’t mean it like that.” 

Hyunjin sighs, long and hard, and then carefully reaches out a hand, covering yours with his own as he gives you a sympathetic glance. 

“We know. You were upset, and sometimes, when we’re upset, we say things we don’t mean in the moment.” He hesitates, mulling over his words. “But Jisungie looked pretty hurt by what you said-intentioned or not-so you should probably apologize sooner rather than later.” 

You nod, biting your lip. “I know.” 

Changbin lets out a long breath between his teeth, harsh and final, and you try to ignore the way his hand, suddenly on top of Seungmin’s, makes the bitter bile rise up again in the back of your throat. 

You’ll deal with that later. 

“Listen.” When the other alpha speaks, his voice is gruff, harsh, and his tone drags all the repressed tears back to the surface. “You can be as mad at me as you want-I get it-but don’t drag everyone else into it too.” 

You suck in a shaky breath, and Hyunjin’s fingers curl around your own in a silent show of support. 

You feel small, and weak, and utterly unsure of what to do next. 

You stand, not looking at Changbin, keeping your head ducked, and shove your papers into your backpack, hoping no one has noticed the tears now dripping down your cheeks. 

“I have to go find Jisung.” 

*******

Minho throws open the door to Jisung’s apartment before you finish your first knock, and you can’t say you’re surprised. 

Of course he’d already be here. Of course he’d look like he wants to throw you through a wall, murderous rage rolling off of him in waves. 

It’s his mate. 

And you deserve it. All of it. 

You just catch a brief glimpse of Jisung-curled into a ball, eyes red, cheeks swollen-on the couch, before Minho is blocking your view, shouldering the door almost closed, his eyes flashing violently, dark and dangerous. 

“What did you do?” 

You’ve never heard Minho sound so scary before-voice eerily calm, quiet, level-and a shiver runs down your spine, the scent of amber, heightened and so spicy it makes your eyes water, clogging the air. 

“I-” You start to say, and Minho looks like he wants to rip your throat out merely at the sound of your voice in the tense silence. 

“After everything I told you. After everything he’s been through-” Minho takes a menacing step toward you, and you back up on reflex, your back hitting the wall on the opposite side of the hall. 

“I didn’t mean to-” 

“You, of all people, I thought you’d get it. I thought you’d understand.” Minho rips into you without mercy, not even pausing for breath, still taking measured, threatening steps toward you, his eyes flashing with anger. 

The burning, lingering amber filling your throat makes you want to cough. 

“Everyone sang your praises, especially your little boyfriends, especially Jisung-” Minho’s eyes darken, and his lips pull back into a snarl, teeth flashing, sharp canines on display. “-oh, she’s so amazing, so inclusive, doesn’t even see subgender, would never take advantage, even though she’s an alpha-” 

He’s never looked more wolf-like, more like  a predator, than at this moment. And you’re frightened. 

You hold up your hands, palms out, as if that will stop the angry, stalking wolf coming on his warpath right for you, and try again, even though it’s futile. 

“Minho, I swear, I didn’t mean to-” 

“I should’ve never trusted you with him.” Minho growls out, his words like hot, pointed daggers to your heart. “He’s fragile, and I knew a group of bumbling, idiotic assholes like the members of your pack-” He spits out the word, as if it’s bitter, disgusting, on his tongue. “-could never be counted on to protect him. Not from everyone else, and definitely not from themselves.” 

Something angry and white hot stirs in the pit of your stomach at his words, and suddenly you’re straightening, meeting his gaze eye to eye, your own teeth bared. 

“My pack had nothing to do with this. This is on me, and me alone and if you’d just let me apologize-” 

Minho lunges toward you, snapping his teeth inches from your throat, and it takes everything inside of you not to flinch. 

Your wolf growls-a low warning-and immediately focuses in on the other alpha, crouched and ready for a fight. 

“Why would I let you apologize? Why would I ever let you see him ever again after what you did?” 

“Because.” You reply simply, an eerie calm descending over you as you stare him down, teeth nearly at your throat. “Jisung cares about us. And you care about Jisung. And keeping him away from his pack-” Minho’s eyes darken dangerously at the word, but you continue on doggedly. “-is going to be worse for him than anything I might do or say in my apology.” 

“You’re not our pack.” Minho seethes between clenched teeth, but he takes a step back, and his teeth are no longer grazing the skin of your throat. 

You try not to let him hear your sigh of relief. 

“Really?” You arch a brow, and you know you’re poking the bear at this point, but Minho’s words have caused a bitter taste in your mouth, and you’re tired, and you really just want to see Jisung. “Do you want me to break the news to Jisung then?” 

Something dangerous flashes across Minho’s expression at your bold words, and you think he’s going to lunge across the distance between you again, and maybe this time actually crush your windpipe, but a voice from behind the two of you freezes you both in your tracks. 

“Hyung. Don’t.”

Jisung is standing in the cracked doorway, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his dark, wide eyes flicking between you and Minho-back and forth and back again-his cheeks tearstained, skin swollen from crying. 

You immediately feel your heart drop into your shoes. 

“Jisung.” You say, stepping around Minho, who surprisingly, doesn’t make a move to stop you. “I am so sorry-” 

He doesn’t meet your gaze, scuffing his toe along the jam of the door, fingers clenching the blanket tighter around his frame. 

“Let me ask you something.” 

Jisung’s firm tone has you trailing your words, staring at him in silent shock, as he finally raises his head and meets your gaze, lips trembling slightly, but expression strong. 

You resist the urge to take another step toward him and pull him into your arms. 

“Anything.” 

“Did you mean it?” 

“No, god, no.” You stumble over your own words in your haste to get them out, and Jisung finally drops his eyes from your own. 

“Okay good.” 

It doesn’t feel like forgiveness, but it has the finality of it, because Jisung’s shoulders relax slightly as the words leave his lips, and Minho’s gaze, while still boring holes into your back, feels a little less like a ten on the homicide scale and more like an eight point five. 

“I really am sorry.” You manage to get out, and Jisung lifts his head to look at you once more, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips now, rounding out the fullness of his cheeks. 

It’s not enough, but you’ll take it. 

“I know. Thank you for apologizing. Sorry Changbin-hyung dragged you into his shit.” Jisung shoots a sharp glance over your shoulder to Minho now, his brow arching. “And sorry hyung almost ripped your throat out with his teeth. He’s just protective.” 

Minho scoffs, the sound more like a low growl in the back of his throat, and you swallow nervously. 

“It’s okay. I get it. I would do the same thing for you, Sungie.” 

“I’m not apologizing.” Minho huffs out, crossing the hall to once more stand beside Jisung in the open doorway, his dark glare still on you, his hand coming down to rest protectively on the beta’s blanket clad shoulder. 

“Nobody asked you to.” You quip back before you can stop yourself, earning yourself a deeper glower. 

“Good.” Minho snaps in response, because let’s face it, neither of you are very good at apologies. 

Jisung sighs and rolls his eyes, shoving Minho further into the apartment, breaking the tension of your current glaring contest. 

“Put your hackles down, hyung. Everything’s fine. She apologized. We’re good.” 

Minho chuffs another low growl of annoyance in the back of his throat and you roll your eyes in response. 

Jisung sighs again, longer suffering this time, and looks sufficiently put out as he regards the two of you with something akin to blatant exasperation on his features.

 “God. Alphas.” 

******

“Why are you pouting?” Changbin’s exasperated tone can be heard over the sound of the door opening, then clicking shut once again, and your wolf perks its ears at the footfall of his steps coming toward the bed, muted by the thick, old, drab carpet that adorns every dorm. 

You don’t raise your head, instead, burying your face deeper into the soft recesses of your pillow, only proving his point, even as you retort back, voice petulant and muffled, “I’m not pouting.” 

Your bed dips beneath his weight, and you fight the urge to look up at him, the smell of smoke starting to creep into the edges of your nostrils now with his presence. 

“Sure looks like it.” 

You scoff, and resist the impulse to shove him off the narrow twin bed. 

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” 

You know he’s taunting you on purpose, goading you to get you to respond, but you’re nothing if not weak, because even though you’re aware of what he’s doing, you rise to the bait anyway, turning your head slightly to glare at him from the confines of your pillow, glowering up at him through the mess of your hair. 

“Get out of my room.” 

“No.” Changbin replies simply, folding his arms over his chest as he holds your gaze-steady, unbothered. “Not until we talk this out like adults.” 

You groan and bury your face back into the safety of the pillow once more. 

“God, I really hate how mature Seungmin’s made you.” 

You hear him huff a humorless laugh, and then he tugs at the pillow, trying to pull it from your grasp, but you resist. 

He sighs. 

“C’mon, (Y/N). Look at me.” 

“No.” You shake your head, because staring into the dark, warm comfort of the pillow is far better than having to face your boyfriend, and the serious talk that lies ahead. 

“Seriously?” You can hear Changbin rolling his eyes now, and his voice takes on a hint of annoyance. “Is this about Sungie?” 

“No.” You repeat again stubbornly. “I apologized. We’re good.” A beat of silence, and then you mutter out, “Minho still wants to kill me, I’m like ninety nine percent sure, but I’ll win him over eventually with a few well placed americanos.” 

“So it’s still about Chan then.” 

“Oh my god.” You blurt out, irritated now, as you flop over on your back to face him, and he looks caught off guard by the sudden movement, by the annoyed scowl on your face. “You’re so stupid sometimes it’s obnoxious!” 

His jaw drops, and something akin to flustered annoyance colors his features at your blunt words. 

“Okay, rude, now wait just a minute-” 

“No!” You sit up, pointing sternly at him, the tip of your finger brushing his breastbone, your gaze fierce. “Listen, you idiot, this isn’t about Chan, or Christopher, or whatever his stupid producer name is, okay? It’s. Never. Been. About. Him.”

“CB97.” Changbin mutters beneath his breath sullenly, but you bulldoze right over him. 

“It’s not about him.” You repeat heatedly, eyes flashing, and Changbin swallows-Adam's apple bobbing-as the air grows chilly, harsh, with the scent of crisp frost. 

“It’s not.” You insist once more, and your voice drops, somewhere softer, somewhere more hurt rather than angry. “It’s about the fact that you used me as a distraction, so you that could spend time with Seungmin-away from me.” 

Understanding dawns in the dark caramel of Changbin’s eyes now, and his expression grows serious. 

“I-” He seems to consider his words beneath the weight of your stare, and he swallows again, looking apologetic now. “-didn’t consider that you’d take it that way. That wasn’t ever my intention.” 

“I know.” You sigh, feeling the anger bleed away now, the tiredness set in. “But it hurt regardless.” 

“I’m sorry.” Changbin offers flatly, his expression grim, lips pulled into a thin line, and you offer him your hand, palm up, a sort of silent peace offering. 

He takes it, lacing his fingers in your own. 

“I know.” You repeat again, just for good measure, and give him the hint of a smile. “Sorry for calling you stupid.” 

Changbin’s mouth twists into the start of a humorless smirk, and he lets out a self-deprecating sort of chuckle. 

“No. You were right. I deserved that.”

He sighs and squeezes your fingers. 

“Sorry for trying to set you up with Chan-hyung.” Changbin huffs another little laugh at himself, and rolls his eyes. “If we’re being honest, I just think he’s a really cool, nice guy, and I honestly thought the two of you would get along. That’s all.” 

You smirk knowingly. “Seo Changbin. Do you have a crush on him?” 

Changbin goes bright red and stutters over his next words. 

“What? No! That’s stupid-” 

“Okay okay.” You laugh and decide he’s had enough mercilessly teasing to make up for his mistake. “Just wondering.” You arch a brow and decide one more low shot won’t kill him. “He is pretty hot. But CB97? Really?” 

Changbin sulks. “It’s a cool name.” 

You consider him for a moment, and something creeps to the front of your mind. 

“Wait. Wait.” 

Changbin suddenly looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

A wicked grin spreads across your lips as you regard him, fidgeting nervously beneath your suddenly smug gaze. 

“Do you have a producer name?” 

Changbin mutters something under his breath, and you lean toward him, into his space, eyes pinning him down. 

“What was that, baby boy? I didn’t quite hear you.” The tips of his ears are so red now that they look like they would glow in the dark. 

“SpearB.” 

“Oh my god.” 

Changbin glances at you, brow furrowed into a glare, and you reach out to tap beneath his chin with your finger, grinning now. 

“That’s so cute! You and your buddies in the music department have nicknames for each other?” 

You’re cackling now, and Changbin snaps at your finger with his teeth, sharp canines flashing, as you narrowly dodge the annoyed attack. 

“God, that’s so adorably gay!” 

“They’re the pen names we use on our tracks! It’s a requirement if you want to be taken seriously by recording studios, every great music producer and composer has one!” 

“Sure. Okay. Whatever you say, SpearB.” 

“I take back my apology.” “Nuh uh. No take backs. Now. Or ever.” 

Changbin groans and falls back onto your bed, all flushed skin and exasperated annoyance, and you flop down on top of him with a shit eating grin, poking at his red cheeks with persistent fingers. 

“I’m seriously gonna let Minho kill you. I’ll just watch as he chops your body into tiny little pieces in his bathtub and flushes all the evidence down the dorm toilets. And then when the cops ask me if I know anything, I’ll deny everything.” 

“Psh. You think Minho’s gonna dirty his hands like that? No way. He’s too much of a neat freak for something that messy. If anything, he’ll just pay someone to hit me with their car, and watch it all from a nice cozy corner of his favorite coffee shop, iced americano in hand.” 

“Touche.” A brief moment of thoughtful silence, then, “God, he’s scary.” 

You scoff. 

“You’re telling me.” You pause, considering. “But on the same hand, for whatever reason, he’s somehow scary in a way that makes me instantly and immediately want to beg him to fuck me stupid, you know?”

“Completely understandable.” 

You nod, and he offers you his hand, which you shake with an attitude of faux, serious agreement.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” 

*******

“Thanks for meeting me here.” 

Chan slides into the chair across the table from you, and you immediately bury your nose in your coffee as the smell of petrichor invades all your senses. 

Damn him. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to come, but somehow, Changbin convinced me.” 

He looks appropriately apologetic as he unwinds the scarf from around his neck and shrugs off his light jacket, and you almost feel a little bad for the cold tone of your voice, almost. 

“Yeah, we kind of got off on the wrong foot, huh?” He rubs at the back of his neck in a sort of awkward gesture, and your gaze is unwittingly drawn to the forest green nail polish adorning his nails. 

Damn him. 

You huff out a sigh and motion to the half drunk coffee in front of you, then to the empty space before him. 

“Do you want anything?” 

“Ah.” Chan suddenly seems to remember that you’re sitting in a coffee shop, and he shakes his head with the start of a rueful smile. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

You arch a brow and stare him down as you take another long sip of your own americano. 

“What, don’t tell me you’re one of those fanatics who doesn’t believe in coffee or caffeine.” 

Chan laughs, relaxing slightly now, and you bite back the hint of a smile that threatens to curve your own lips. 

“Ah, no, that’s not it.” 

There it is again, the slight drawl of self amusement in his tone, the rubbing of his palm across his neck, beneath the curtain of his curls, the flash of green on his fingers. 

He shrugs, a casual gesture, and offers you a real smile now, dimples flashing. 

“I don’t drink coffee. Nothing against it, I just don’t like it.” 

Funny, I don’t like you, you think sourly, and have to repress the smug smile that threatens at the bitter, fleeting thought. 

“Hmm.” You hum, somewhat patronizing, under your breath in response instead, taking another longer than necessary sip of your own coffee. “How original of you.” 

Chan sighs now, placing his hands palm down on the table, long fingers splayed, and meets your gaze once more. 

“Look. I get the feeling you don’t particularly like me. And I’m sorry if it was anything I did or said that caused that reaction. Consider this my official apology.” 

His words, and the sincerity behind them, catch you off guard, and you stare at him for several long moments, until he’s shifting uncomfortably beneath your blank gaze, clearing his throat. 

“Okay, so I’ll take that as a confirmation-” “Changbin.” You blurt abruptly, interrupting him, and he stares at you like you’ve grown a second head, confusion written clearly across his face now. 

“Changbin-?” He repeats questioningly, as if not sure what you’re getting at.

“Oh. Sorry.” You can’t resist, your voice turning a little biting, as you air quote and say somewhat sarcastically, “‘SpearB’ is what you know him as, right?” 

Chan looks caught off guard for the second time in as many minutes, but now there’s a slight flush dusting the tan skin of his cheeks. 

“He told you about that?” 

You ignore his question, forging forward once more, already on the attack. 

“Changbin. SpearB. My shithead boyfriend. He goes by many names. But everyone can agree he’s an absolute dumbass. And I’m sorry he dragged you into all of this.” 

It feels weird, apologizing to Chan, and by the shocked look of surprise on his face, he feels the same way. 

You take another gulp from your coffee, and try not to meet the gaze of the alpha sitting across from you. 

“Anyway-” You clear your throat, reaching for your backpack and lobbing your now empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can. “If that’s all, I need to get going-” 

Chan stands up when you do, and it catches you off guard enough that you meet his stare head on without thinking. 

The caramel flecks in the depths of his irises has you backpedaling immediately. 

“He didn’t drag me into anything.” 

You stare at him. 

“What?” 

Chan blushes, but goes on doggedly, holding your gaze. 

“He talks about you all the time. You and Hyunjin and-” He considers for a moment, looking like he’s trying to remember and failing, and then keeps going regardless. “-the others-and I asked him to show me pictures one day. Of all of you. Just purely out of curiosity.” 

He rubs at the back of his neck once more, and you see where Changbin picked up the habit. 

The corners of his lips curl up into the start of a self-deprecating, somewhat embarrassed smile, and he huffs out a sort of harsh sounding laugh-exhale through his nose when he looks at you once more. 

“I saw your picture and I just knew I had to meet you.” 

You stare at him, open mouthed, and before you can stop yourself, bark out a shocked sound that middles between a laugh and a snorted scoff. 

“Bullshit.” 

“No really.” Chan grins ruefully now. “It sounds stupid, but it’s true. I asked Changbin to introduce us, but uh-” He heaves a sigh and a shrug. “-seems like I left a bad first impression.” 

You arch a brow. “You think?” 

Chan chuckles. “Sorry.” He holds out a hand, as sort of a peace making gesture, palm outstretched. “Maybe we can try again?” 

You study him for a moment, and then press your palm into his own, lightly, only for the briefest of seconds. 

You force yourself not to look at the green adorning his fingertips as they curl around your own. 

“Maybe.” You offer noncommittally, pulling back from him just as quickly as you’d approached, slinging on your backpack and already heading toward the door. “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s all I’m asking.” Chan calls out after you, and you can hear the grin in his voice, even beneath the strong twang of his stupid accent. 

You wave without looking back. 

“See ya around, CB97.” You bite back a smile as you push open the door of the coffee shop. “And tell your buddy SpearB that he doesn’t have to sleep at the studio anymore.”

************************************************************************

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