#<- only tagging it because of the piece i colored of bliss

[wacky-wonders]

terrible pics of stuff in my room

[damn-stark]

Chapter 28 Let it be fear

Chapter 28 of Moonlight

A/N- :/

Warning- talks of pregnancy, ANGST, FLUFF, fluff, and more fluff, some violence, talks of blood, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There’s a certain beauty that blesses the Trident today as the chilling blue sky lets the cold sun shine over the thick green wilderness, but what is a rainless horizon compared to him?

There’s a serene silence that accompanies you as you overlook The Keep of House Frey from the top of a nearby hill, and in that silence, you’re captivated by the way the sun captures Cregan, and for a moment, like sunbeams breaking through a storm, there’s a warmth in his stormy eyes that melts away the threat he usually carries, providing a warmth only his grey eyes can offer; which is pretty fascinating considering grey is cold, hard, and dull, but those grey eyes of his have a way of being warm under the sun. They’re also mysterious and beautiful like steel against firelight. It’s your favorite color too, but only because he makes it captivating.

Alas, in all that admiration does he notice you? No, and it’s okay because you find your courage and motivation to keep going in his unawareness.

“The last destination,” you break the silence and as if taking one last breath of him you look away to follow his line of sight to the The Twins sitting below.

“You’ll gain their support just like you have gained all the rest,” he offers as a piece of reassurance, but this time it doesn’t ease your concern.

Cregan notices that the moment you don’t respond and only gets reassurance of that when he looks over at you and sees the storm of stress raging behind your eyes. “You will get their support one way or another,” he presses and gently cups your neck, causing you to quickly look away from the keep to meet his eyes that just reflect you this time.

“I burned Lady Frey and her army of men—”

“After they tried to take Harrenhal by force and captured you in the process,” he cuts you off to remind you of that detail. “They were okay with betraying the Queen to take control of the rubble of a useless castle. What you did was justifiable in a time of war. You did the right thing and if they don’t see it that way then we'll make them. Or you will,” he says with a lighthearted huff and proceeds to offer you an assuring smile as he drags his hand down your side to interlace his fingers with yours.

“You’re right,” you breathe out and find it again, just there in his eyes as your hands are interlinked, the bliss of home. However, as you’re in the depths of your comfort you find it in yourself to ask something that’s been gnawing at you. “And once we fight in this upcoming battle when we win, do you think that will be enough to return home? To my mother?”

Cregan blinks in confusion and you explain why you haven’t returned home or sent her a letter. “When I returned from Harrenhal after leaving my mother for months, she said to never leave her again. She found it in herself to forgive me for betraying her and siding with Aemond, but I left again. I left after she told me not to, so do you think gaining this support, building this reputation, and winning the battle will be enough for her to forgive me again? I let her down so many times I don’t know…if this is enough now.”

Cregan lets out a deep breath and his eyes drift to the side as the sound of incoming footsteps starts to ascend the hill, but he doesn’t pay them any mind, he leans his face forward and offers the best reassurance. “She’s your mother, would you forgive your children if you were in her position?”

You draw in a shaky breath and nod gently. “Of course, they’re my children, but…” you trail off and he fills your silence.

“She will forgive you. I can imagine there might have been tension before. This is all a tense situation, but you’re trying and fighting hard for her, she will recognize that and forgive you if she hasn’t already,” he offers you sweet words, making you nod gently in comprehension with no need to seek for more help. He fills your heart with the assurance you need to move on without hesitation or getting lost in the wilderness that are your thoughts.

So much so that you walk down the hill with your head held high and your mind clear because you know the Frey’s have this need to be resistant. They’re stubborn and proud, so you know that this meeting is not going to be as easy as the others were, there will be resistance and you prepare for that accordingly, making sure to have silver chains over your face that match the armor on your corset.

Never once do you falter in your step or the way you carry an intimidating stare behind those silver chains because you can see them the moment you walk into the great hall; you see them look for a fault in your step, a slight mistake, or an out of line hair to pick on and use against you and the people you’re with, but you don’t give them the satisfaction. With your blazing stare alone you challenge the young and great Lady Sabitha Frey, eldest daughter of Lord Frey, and Lady Frey who you killed at Harrenhal.

“Thank you for allowing us in your home,” Addam is the one who breaks the tension first but can hardly gain any of the audience's attention. Lady Sabitha has her sharp eyes on him, but everyone else…they all have their eyes on you as if wanting to tear you apart, but also keep you at a distance fearing if they got too close they’d burn alive too, which means the message was sent.

“I have heard that a great army has been marching through the Riverlands,” Lady Sabitha speaks at last but she doesn’t offer any greetings, she’s blunt and cold. “I was beginning to wonder if we would be paid a visit or be left out.”

“The Riverlands are grand,” Addam says back. “And our task is significant, it’s taken us time, but we are here at last.”

“It was her!” A voice blurts, bringing a stunned silence and turning all of the attention to you standing at Addam’s side—“She was the killer! She burned Lady Serena and her men! She did it! She’s the Fire Demon!”

You tilt your nose to the air and can’t help but smirk in response, but that only lets Lady Sabitha find a reason to finally display her rage and grief because she doesn't care if she got interrupted and humiliated by some common warrior, she's looking for a single step out of line to be able to drive her focus to you and her rage.

“I know there’s unresolved tension,” Addam tries to diffuse the situation. “But right now is not the time—”

“You find this humorous?” Lady Sabitha cuts Addam off without a care. “Is my mother's death funny to you, Princess?” She throws out as she rises off her seat. “Then again what can I expect from someone who breaks enemy lines whenever she pleases? That treason may be pushed aside, but my mother's death will not go unpunished. Not here in my home and my lands,” she sneers and slowly begins to step forward.

“Punished?” She feign a laugh. “What would be my sentence?” You quip and raise your brows to press her. “I showed Lady Serena that there are consequences to her treason—”

“Treason?!” She spats and opens her mouth to continue, but Ser Cane cuts her off.

“You will not interrupt the princess whilst she’s speaking. This may be your house but she still is the heir and your princess,” he scolds her as he takes a big step forward to be a more menacing presence amongst Cregan also standing at your side.

“Sure,” Lady Sabitha mutters under her breath as she comes to a stop without coming too close to you. “As I was saying,” she continues louder even though it should have been you taking the spotlight, but regardless, you let her share her argument. “My mother committed no treason, Prince Jacaerys promised Harrenhal to us. She was only taking what was hers by right.”

You scoff and flash her an amused smile. “If she wanted to take it by right she should have said so,” you rebuttal. “But no, she did not. She knew I was there and took me captive to try and sell me to my mother or my husband. She was willing to change sides. She took me captive, that is treason,” you spat and take a step forward. “Or what you’re going to argue and say it didn’t go that way? Because it did, ask the man who just barged in.”

The attention turns to the man who had interrupted the meeting and he shrinks within himself but doesn’t dare leave. He averts his gaze and listens to Cregan interject. “Tell us if the Princess is right or if your lady is. Now.”

The man blinks nervously and quietly gives his response. “We had lost so much and the lady was grieving her husband, she wanted to find a point to her loss.”

You don’t respond with anything, you look at Lady Sabitha Frey with a pointed glare as you celebrate within.

However, in your silence, you did expect Lady Sabitha to start forming some kind of apology, but she remains at a standstill with her eyes downcasted.

“Bend the knee,” you sneer with your glare turning cold. “You were wrong, bend the knee and give us fighting men to add to our army so we can fight our war. And since you have heard so much about us I’m sure you know which war. Bend the knee.”

A tension grows tenfold in the great hall as Lady Sabitha remains standing because in doing so she causes her people filling this hall to remain resistant as well.

“Bend the knee to your princess and heir by orders of Queen Rhaenyra,” Ser Cane insists in a booming voice.

Yet without speaking Lady Sabitha looks you up and down with her lips curled in anger and remains defiant, and even then you still wait and wait, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

However, when you don’t hear a word or see her bend the knee you throw your hand back without saying a word. And without the need for instructions as if your minds are connected, Ser Cane pulls Blackfyre out of its sheath, filling the hall with the sharp ringing of metal scraping before the Valyrian steel blade glistens against the rays of the sun as the large sword is handed to you. Once you have it in your grasp you then step forward to be at the center of attention.

“I am your heir,” you say in a voice laced with deadly venom that brings chills to the audience without the need to yell to get your point or voice across. “I am your princess. I am the Blood Dragon, you will bend the knee, pledge fealty to Queen Rhaenyra first of her name, and me, her chosen heir.”

Lady Sabitha glances at your shining sword and then slowly meets your gaze without uttering a single word. She keeps quiet and her glare becomes challenging and conflicted.

“Unless you plan to switch loyalty,” you continue in the same venomous voice still missing volume. “If so, tell me right now by pulling out your sword or choosing your champion.”

Lady Sabitha Frey tilts her head and snaps her gaze to your belly. “And you will fight like that?” She points her eyes to your belly, making you scoff and flash her a smile that’s all too menacing.

“I won’t fight,” you clarify. “I could say I want a champion and all my men would volunteer. Even Lord Stark and Ser Addam would fight for me, but why waste their energy or risk their lives when I have my dragon as champion? Tell me Lady Frey can you, your people, and your castle stand against my dragon?” You finally start to raise your voice. “Or will you turn to ash just like your mother did?”

Gasps bounce around the room and the woman’s jaw clenches as her eyes turn even more fierce.

“Tell me!” You exclaim and then turn on your heels to point the tip of your sword at the audience remaining just as defiant as their Lady. “Tell me if any of you can stand against my dragon!”

As expected, silence, even from the brave lady.

“No?” you continue. “Well, I can. I am the Fire Demon! My flesh is fire made!” Your voice continues to boom out of frustration, and passion as well. “And,” you laugh and slowly lower the volume of your voice but never drop the venom behind it. “It will bring me great pleasure to watch you all burn and scream as your flesh melts off your bones. Just say the word.”

Lady Sabitha Frey looks around at all the frightened looks that the audience all share in her defiance. She looks and looks in hopes for something that can keep her own flame from being blown out, but that defiance once so vividly lit within her people is snuffed out by the great fire you are and she knows she’s lost. When she turns to look at you and meets your glowering glare, you further prove to her that you’re not one to bluff, so what other choice does she have?

Thus without uttering a single word, but with the intention clear in her eyes she drops her challenging glare and drops her head in defeat. The moment you see her head fall, to add more shame to her actions you get close to her and throw your hand out just below her eye line.

Now Lady Sabitha has no need for explanations, she knows what you mean and what you want, so what other choice does she have but to slowly bend down, grab the tip of your fingers, and push her lips forward to press a light feathered peck on your golden Targaryen sigil ring before she at last bends the knee, causing the once defiant audience to follow her suit and bend the knee.

Once you see the top of everyone’s heads you look down at her again between your lashes and shoot her smirk before you turn around dramatically and talk to her over your shoulder. “You will lend us the swords we came for, and in response to your treason, Harrenhal is no longer yours. You will keep your lands, your home, and your lives, I will make sure to let the Queen know of your loyalty and apology as well.” You share with a honey-laced tone that only shames them more. “Oh, and you will prepare your home to host your guests accordingly, I will be staying inside for the night. Pleasure doing business with you, House Frey.”

——

*LATER*

What is it about the day?

There was a sense of peace that filled the day as the sun reigned over the sky. Even after the complicated business with the Frey’s, the serenity stayed, but now even against the fiery sky cast over the land, the dragons are caught in a restless spell as if they were uncomfortable and needed to be somewhere but couldn’t quite find a way to leave. They’re just flying in circles, filling the fierce sky with their almost melancholy song.

Maybe they’re tired of being in the Riverlands? Astraea and Seasmoke do love the sea, you think to yourself as Addam walks in and joins you in the library.

“They’re acting odd don’t you think?” You ask him as you refer to your dragons. “They’ve been circling the sky and crying for a while now.”

Addam approaches you near the window that has the best view of the running river that The Twins stand over, and at the moment notices the way the setting sun in its red and orange reign catches you with its fierce hues, but never once makes you look threatening or as rageful. The red and orange hue makes you appear enchanting and otherworldly; everything a Valyrian princess should be under such a fierce horizon.

“I wish I could know,” he doesn’t offer any kind of solution. “Where’s your Lord Stark?”

You roll your eyes away from the window and glance down at the book you have been reading. “He’s busy answering correspondence from home,” you let Addam know regardless if he’s teasing you. “He is a busy man, you know? He doesn’t just spend time at my side. You just happen to catch him with me when you look for me, that’s all.”

“Okay, okay,” Addam brushes you off lightheartedly and then nudges your knee with his foot. “You changed, you look nice.”

You look at him with a smile. “Thank you,” you redirect before you start to grin with amusement. “Just so you remember I am meant to change about three to four times a day. There’s my morning gown, my lunch and afternoon gown, my dinner gown, and if I go out or have to attend a meeting or court I change for that.”

Addam snickers and hides his grin by looking out the window. “I remember,” he says in response. “It’s ridiculous and a waste if you ask me. I mean why not wear the same thing all day or twice?”

You scrunch your nose. “Twice?” You quip. “I have only worn my favorite and most expensive gowns more than once, and now that we’re out here I have no other option, but why would I wear things repeatedly?”

Addam scoffs and leans forward. “Because why waste your money on something so materialistic?” He retorts with a dry laugh. “And because why not use it more than once?”

You squint at him and shake your head. “Money is not a problem for me,” you explain as if it isn't an obvious fact about you. “I am a Velaryon, our family is the richest there is, why shouldn’t I spend my share? Besides, there’s so many beautiful fabrics and talented designers, I can’t resist it,” you muse. “And all the colors,” you swoon. “The embroidery? The gold, pearl, or silver linings? It’s all so beautiful!”

With nothing left to argue with in his defense, Addam leaves it be with a roll of his eyes, letting you finally find the time to share the news you have been holding in for what feels like months. “Can I tell you something?”

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he retorts and rests his head back against the wooden panel as he locks his eyes on you. “What?”

A giddy smile creeps on your lips as you lean forward and grab his hands before you share. “Cregan and I are betrothed.”

Addam blinks repeatedly and his eyebrows slowly begin to pinch together, but then from one moment to the next, he flashes you a smile and scoffs. “I should have seen that coming. When did he ask?”

“A couple of nights ago,” you share and lean back without being able to let your smile go. “The night we had our campfire.”

Addam hums and slowly passes you a quizzical look. “Has he asked your mother? Or Lord Corlys? That’s who he would need to ask, no? How does that work without your father or Daemon?”

You shoot him a pointed glare. “I am a grown woman already with child. I don’t belong to anyone for him to ask permission. If I was a maiden then yes, he would have to ask for my hand, but I’m a widow. It’s my choice now…However,” you do add and avert your gaze. “Since I’m heir he does need to tell my mother, the Queen, but she won’t protest.”

You turn your gaze back to him and sigh to release your excitement before you clasp your hands and start to nervously fiddle with your rings. “But that’s not the only reason I’m telling you,” you pause and let out another deep breath before you look at him with a softened gaze riddled with a fragile vulnerability that could break at any given second.

“Weddings under the Old Gods are different,” you continue to say a bit quieter now. “They’re done under a heart three and usually a father walks the bride to the groom, but…my father is gone and Jacaerys is gone. I could ask my grandfather, but…I wanted to ask if you could walk me down the aisle when the day comes?” You ask and blink nervously, with each blink filling your eyes with more and more tears whilst Addam’s breath hitches and his own face drops that taunting expression to instead display his disbelief.

“It's okay if you don’t want to,” you quickly assure him in his silence you can’t read. “I can ask Joffrey, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to take that role.” You share your alternative with a happy smile so he doesn’t feel bad.

However, after another second of silence passes he finally draws out a deep breath he had been holding in and nods gently before he voices his answer. “I would be honored to walk you down the aisle.”

You beam and then lean forward to grab his hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” you offer sweetly. “Now Cregan and I want to marry after the war is over so we don’t have that weighing down on us or potentially ruin the day, so there’s still time, but I wanted to ask you now.”

Addam lowers his head to hide his smile whilst he also interjects with a smug comment. “You also need time to have your gown made, don’t you? What will it be made out of?”

You giggle and as you part your lips to rebuttal with something witty a knock raps on the door, pulling your attention away from your conversation.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and slowly pull away from Addam.

The door opens and Cregan walks in. You’re happy to see him, you greet him with a smile, but when he walks further inside with a scroll in his hand you notice the solemn look he carries. And he’s usually serious so his expression shouldn’t really concern you all that much, but there’s something about the solemn look that he carries now that makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Cregan,” you utter his name nervously and don’t move, hoping that if you stay in place whatever he has to say won't reach you.

“My princess,” he greets hesitantly and then greets Addam with a small nod. “Ser.”

You swallow back nervously and press your hands against the cushion to stand up, but he quickly shakes his head and retorts. “Why don’t you stay sitting.”

A shaky breath escapes you and you nod stiffly as you feel the goosebumps travel from the back of your neck down to the perimeters of your skin.

“What’s wrong?” You ask and his grey eyes leave you to drift to the scroll in his hand. You follow his line of gaze but then drift your eyes back to him in hopes that whatever it has to say isn’t as bad as you’re starting to assume.

“A raven just came,” Cregan finally shares and slowly drifts his gaze back to you. “From Kings Landing. It’s for you.”

You were starting to assume it was for you. You could read it off his face.

“I could paraphrase what it says. I think that would be better with the news it contains,” he says and only adds more fuel to the already worrisome fire, but you can’t have him summarize whatever news arrived for you or else you won’t believe it. You need to read every word yourself even though you’ll have a hard time believing it too.

“No, no. I want to read it. Let me read it,” you press him and stretch your hand out to reach for the scroll. However, Cregan hesitates and grabs the scroll with both hands to smooth out the parchment first before he leans forward and hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly and watch how the paper trembles in your hold as you already expect the worst news to be written on the parchment because what else would it be?

Life has been cruel. Why would it be nice now?

You shouldn’t even read it, you should leave the news unread because at least that way you’ll be oblivious to anything…but you also know you won’t rest easy if you don’t know, so after a deep breath you turn the parchment and read what was brought to you.

“To The Princess and Heir of Queen Rhaenyra,

I dislike having to send you this letter, but it has to be written so you may know.

I regret to inform you that as of last night, all the dragons that were kept in the Dragonpit have perished after an angry mob of smallfolk following some fake prophet called The Shepherd, raided the Dragonpit—“

Your breath hitches and you feel as if somebody had punched you in the stomach. The news that the power of your house, and the beautiful creatures that are like your soulmates have all perished at the hands of common folk filled with anger sinks your heart. It leaves you paralyzed in your seat, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“—when the news broke of what was transcending the young Prince Joffrey left the Red Keep against the Queen’s wishes, mounted Syrax, and fell from the saddle whilst in the sky—”

A shaky breath escapes you and a heavy pressure falls on your chest, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“—Syrax perished not much later after getting caught in the mob that killed the other dragons. And it seems that at the news of Dreamfyre’s unfortunate passing, Princess Helaena Targaryen flung herself from a window and fell to her death, enraging the crowds—“

More pressure falls on your chest, your bottom lip trembles and your eyes sting further as the tears building in your eyes pain them. However, you don’t cry. Not yet.

Cregan who was watching you read the letter expects you to weep. He keeps a close eye out, expecting you to fold over in heartache, but you remain poised and collected, almost like the agony is not as hurtful anymore.

“—and making the city fall. Amidst the chaos Queen Rhaenyra took Prince Aegon, Lord Aerion, the Queensguard, trusted knights, and her handmaidens, and escaped the city, leaving Lord Corlys in his imprisonment which he escaped. As to where she is we don’t know, but until your return with Ser Addam, it’s best she remains hiding. That’s why I write to you in hopes you can retaliate at once and take back the city. You are our only hope unless Prince Daeron marches here first.

Maester Orwyle.”

You watch the words on the parchment and go over the news in your head again and again, faster and faster every single time until you can’t process any more news and you’re sitting there baffled and without being able to utter a single word. Time is at a standstill, the once-warm room is freezing and your body is paralyzed.

Cregan and Addam call out your name ever so softly, fearing that you’ll break if they raise their voices, but you stay there stiffly, realizing that you have to mourn yet another beloved brother. You had five, now you’re left with a single one who barely knows your name.

The woman you loved like a sister, the woman you cherished and adored, the woman who was your dearest friend, the woman you grew up with is gone because she couldn’t bear any more grief. Your grandfather escaped a cell you didn’t know he was in. And your mother is on the run with your remaining brother and your son to escape the angry crowds who brought the city down with their rage which you assume is caused by the same things that were upsetting them when you were there; things your mother can’t control.

Everything you once knew is slipping from your grasp. You can see that clearly now—no, you’re admitting that to yourself now. The only thing you have left is a fragment of hope and it’s just your mother, your brother, and Aerion. They’re all you have left. They’re that last fragment of hope. Yet even if you still have them, even if they’re the last flicker of hope you’re holding onto, nothing stops that pressure once weighing your chest down from tearing you down because you still lost all the beautiful and cherished dragons that connected you to Old Valyria. You lost Helaena, your beloved and gentle aunt who was more like the sister you never got to have. And you lost your little brother Joffrey, a boy you held when he was only a few minutes old, a brother who was the reminder of your sweet childhood; the sweet and blissful life you had before you were ripped from your family. He was that last piece of your childhood and now he’s gone, taking that memory with him, and leaving nothing but this new version of you.

And yet you still don’t cry. Even with the two pairs of eyes that feel like a hundred people are waiting for you to break down, you still don’t cry. You do reflect the grief through your eyes, but you don’t weep, you don’t shed even a single tear. You let out a shaky breath and sit up straight with your head hanging low, but you don’t cry. You shake your head gently at the realization of the tragedy, but you don’t cry. You meet Cregan’s worried and pitiful gaze and remain collected. It takes a lot out of you to remain so strong, but you remember all you were taught and lift your head high and keep your chest out with your nose slowly starting to flare.

“Addam,” you break your silence, making the man’s shoulders jump and be even more attentive than he already was.

“I hope you’re ready,” you continue to mutter in a low and almost threatening voice. “We’re moving up our plans. We will attack Tumbleton right away.”

Addam shifts in his seat before he probes. “Why? What’s going on?”

You let out a deep huff and your drooped gaze slowly starts to harden, whilst your heart begins to pound in your chest as your blood starts pumping through your veins frantically.

“I want to catch them by surprise now,” you share in that same almost threatening way. It’s not threatening yet but it’s slowly building up to it. “I don’t want them to see us coming until the sky is falling down upon them so word is not passed to King’s Landing that we’re coming.”

Cregan and Addam share a worried look and you proceed to get up from your seat to look at them both between your lashes.

“We’re going to attack King’s Landing,” you proclaim, and with that threat, you completely abandon every desire to be loved and respected. If they want to fear you, you’ll give them a reason to really fear you. “They’re preaching that we’re a threat, a curse, and a menace,” you scoff and smirk menacingly. “So I will be just that. I will rain fire down upon them so they may see the curse they want me to be”

Neither man try to talk you down from the rage clearly now set upon you, they could try but what good would that do? So they do nothing but accept and welcome your rage.

“Come,” you direct at Cregan as you walk past him. “I’m going to tell the troops to get ready. We leave tonight.”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

The sun is slowly lowering over the horizon, and with each passing second as the sun slowly leaves the sky darker and darker, making you grow more nervous as the fate of this battle is unknown. All that’s known is that only one side will win and depending on who comes out to fight another day, that person will determine the fate of this war and your mother's survival. With all the dragons dead and the others against her, she can only depend on Addam and you. If you lose tonight, she does too. So you can’t lose.

“You know,” Cregan interjects through the solemn silence that was blanketing you both, but in doing so he doesn’t pull your attention to him, you keep your eyes on the painted sky as if today will be the last time you ever see a sunset as beautiful as the one over your head.

“I wish you would wear more than just a chainmail gown,” he finally shares his complaints that have been nagging him since he saw you with the chainmail gown on you. “I would feel a lot better knowing you were heavily protected.”

You scoff and roll your eyes his way. “Do you want me to look like a cannonball with a full set of heavy armor?” You quip with a teasing smile. “Because that’s what I would look like.”

Cregan tries to muster a laugh but with his heavy worry dragging him down he can’t even muster the twitch of a smile. “At least you and the twins would be protected against anything that may come your way.”

You sigh deeply and drag yourself closer to him to grab his cold hands and cling onto them as you try and offer him some reassurance. “My Astraea will protect me from any incoming threat, and this chainmail gown is enough to block any attack. I’ll be fine, besides, I won’t stray too far from my dragon I…intend to keep my promise to Addam and Ser Cane,” you laugh stiffly. “No ground fighting if it’s not completely necessary.”

Cregan watches the way you caress his knuckles with your thumb as he tries not to argue against you, so you proceed to pull one hand away from his grasp and reach over to cup his jaw. “I won’t die tonight. I want to live. I have to live, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

Cregan’s dark eyebrows furrow and his eyes snap to you. “How could you tell me not to worry? About you of all people.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile as your heart is riddled with admiration. “Because my love, there beside all my grief and agony is a dream I want to see through. A dream that involves going back home with you. I thought about it…” you trail off to a whisper and drop the hand you have on his cheek to grab his hand once again.

“My mother has Aegon and Aerion, so hopefully by the time it comes to passing her crown down she’ll be old and wrinkly and the boys will be men, so they will be mature and ready to rule the kingdom she’ll leave behind,” you share words you never thought would come out of your mouth when you were younger, but now…what does Queen even mean without your brothers, Aemond, or anyone you used to know by your side?

It doesn’t mean anything. Not even a fraction of what it once meant to your beating heart and deepest desires. That’s why this new dream is easy to share because you’re certain it’s what you want.

“Because I don’t want any part of it,” you continue and he parts his lips in surprise. “I want to stay in Winterfell with you, with our family that we will have, and the people we will govern together. I don’t want to be Queen anymore, I want to be your princess until our last breath.”

Cregan shakes his head and reaches his hand over to cradle your face. “No, you can’t do that. Being Queen is all you wanted. You can’t just abandon that dream,” he tries to argue against the plans you murmur to him, but there’s nothing to argue about, you slept on it and pondered it long and hard so you’re certain abandoning your title as heir is what you desire the most.

“You’re wrong,” you argue and look at him with a softened gaze as you just admire him. “My dream is you now. You’re everything I want, so please don’t try and convince me any longer because my mind is made. Once this war is over I will take my children and pack all my life to leave with you. That’s why I’ll survive because I want to go home. Is that not nice?” You ask as your face contorts with heartache out of worry that he doesn’t like the sound of your new desires.

However, Cregan’s grip grows firmer against your cheeks and his hardened face twisted by surprise now softens and that smile that was once impossible slowly gets painted on his pale face. “Of course it’s nice. It’s great and I will do everything in my power to give you that beautiful dream, my darling love.”

You huff softly in relief and let him pull you closer to him so he can whisper against your lips.

“But tell me you’re certain. Tell me that your heart is set on this new dream of yours because I don’t want you abandoning something you always wanted out of fear or because of me.”

You grab into his wrists and nod gently. “I’m certain,” you affirm and kiss the heel of his palms. “I want to be wherever you are. I want to be home.”

The corner is his lips tug wider but that smile is quickly hidden as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I will always keep an eye out for you tonight,” he lets you know. “I will have your back from the ground, but if the battle gets too heavy you fly away, okay? Everyone will understand. You leave the fighting to Addam and us, okay? I know you’re angry, but my darling, you need to worry about your children, if not you, then worry about them.”

You swallow back nervously as you wish to protest, but in the state you’re in you really can’t fight like you used to, so you have to agree regardless.

“Okay,” you reassure him and gently stroke his wrist with your thumb before you steal a glance at his lips, and then look up into his grey eyes with a softened look full of awe before you lean in and steal a lingering kiss from his pink lips.

The kiss is not long, but it’s deep and full of passion. It’s full of longing and desire, and it reminds the both of you how much you really missed this form of intimacy. You missed being connected in such a sweet and passionate way that only you and him can ever understand. You missed the taste of each other, and getting lost in the wonders that kissing each other brings to your isolated world where only you and him exist.

However, once again it’s not long. Not as long as he would’ve wanted because you still feel odd kissing someone else after losing Aemond.

“And with this kiss my sweet Lord you have my favor in this upcoming battle,” you murmur against his lips, making him chuckle and then stroke your bottom lip with his thumb before he leans over and presses a peck on your lips.

“Gods I missed kissing you,” he flatters you and makes your face grow hot. “Once we marry I’ll never know that feeling ever again.”

You giggle and reach over to grab his face one more time before you pull away and pull a ring off from your finger; one your father had given you that carries this beautiful called The Gem of The Sea.

“This is my real favor,” you tell him and grab his hand to place the ring on his palm. “I want it back, okay? It’s really expensive and the gem is one of a kind.”

Cregan scoffs but he wraps his hand around the ring before he secures it in his pocket. “I’ll hang it around my chain later.”

You let out a deep breath and nod before you go still as you catch him sliding off a wolf brooch that was hooked to his cloak.

“And this is for you,” he lets you know and leans toward you to clip the brooch onto your fur cloak. “You’ll be a Stark soon, why not wear something that represents your new name?”

“And you?” You interject and offer him a giddy smile. “My betrothed?”

He huffs and drops his head to hide his smile. “Well yes because you’ll be all mine soon enough.” He says confidently as he meets your gaze with a smirk. “That’s why I will live, so you can at last be my wife.”

“I will be,” you whisper and glance at the wolf brooch to mutter, “now this will be like having you right beside me. Thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

“Good,” he says breathlessly before he lets out a deep breath and just takes you in for a lingering minute as the last rays of sun lose its grip on the earth and dance on your face.

He memorizes the color of your eyes, down to every small hue. He takes note of the form of your lips, of the curve of your cheeks, and the shape of your jaw as if he's afraid that if he doesn't take his time to mark every part of you in his memory he will forget the moment you were out of sight. He almost doesn’t want to keep his eyes off you, but once the sun is completely gone and the earth is completely cast in the darkness, you both stand up and walk away from your stolen moment to rejoin your army of men all ready to attack Tumbleton and the army of men occupying it to once and for all put an end to The Green army.

Yet how can you depart toward your dragon without offering them a few words of encouragement first? And once they see your presence upon that hill that overlooks them a wave of chills washes over them. Not because they fear you, but because they are filled with awe and respect at the sight of you in your glimmering black chainmail gown.

“I know,” you address the crowd as they go quiet upon the sight of your presence. “Today's attack came sooner than expected. We have been marching with little rest since we left the twins, but it’s not for nothing. Tonight we attack Tumbleton!” You proclaim and garner some murmurs. “Tonight we put an end to the Hightower army and the turncloaks that sit behind that wall! Us! Not just you, and not just me! All of us! You are the blood to my fire.”

“Yeah!” The men below bellow and throw their fists in the air.

“As you all know I am with child,” you continue. “But that won’t stop me, I will fight with you tonight upon my dragon. I will kill Prince Daeron Targaryen and his dragon tonight and be one step closer to ending the tyranny of his brother and faction!” You exclaim with a growl behind that threat. “Now I won’t lie, some of you won’t see daylight again. Some of you know that too, but your deaths won’t be in vain, you will bleed and die for your families, your homes, your lords! Your pride! And your Queen! Tonight we fight for her! We fight to win! We won’t lose tonight! We will win with fire and blood! Us! WE WILL WIN WITH WHATEVER IT TAKES! WITH FIRE AND BLOOD!”

“BLOOD DRAGON! BLOOD DRAGON!” All the men below implode into a cheer full of vigor, making chills crawl down your own spine as you watch them all pumped with adrenaline and ferocity.

“I’m going to join my squadron now,” Cregan interjects and snaps your attention to him, calming down your racing heart. “Be careful.”

You blink repeatedly before you rush to him to close the gap with an embrace. “Take care, okay? I can’t lose you too.”

Cregan hugs you back and presses a kiss on your head. “You won’t lose me.”

You let out a shaky breath and clutch onto him tighter. “Take care of Ser Cane for me, okay?”

He scoffs but nods to assure you. “I will…I love you.”

You smile softly and turn your head to press one last kiss on his cheek. “I love you too.”

You proceed to pull back and he cups your cheek one more time to linger in each other's presence for another moment before you both part ways, letting him join his men, and letting you join your dragon and Addam and his dragon.

“If things start to get too out of control you fly out there, okay?” Addam interjects the moment he sees you making your way to him. “And don’t be getting off your dragon for anything unless you really have to.”

Even though he’s scolding you, you still can’t help but flash him a giddy smile as he makes you feel such a warm feeling.

“I know, I know,” you roll out and meet him halfway. “You have told me multiple times. I will not involve myself in any heavy fighting, or fight on the ground. I know.”

Addam puts his hand on his hip and sighs. “Yes well, you like to be spontaneous and think about yourself.”

Your smile falls but you don’t get upset because no matter how harsh it is it’s true.

“Don’t think about yourself,” he presses and looks at you with concern. “Your son needs you and your mother needs you. Don’t let your anger consume you.”

You blink repeatedly as his words ache your heart.

“You be careful too,” you whisper to the ground. “I need you. And Alyn needs you.”

He scoffs and as you look up you see him nod softly. You proceed to reach over and grab his arm to gain his unwavering attention. “I love you, Addam. You are someone to me, and I wish we would have met sooner, but I am glad our paths crossed. You…saved me from drowning in my grief. Without you, I would have died in that lake waiting for a dead man to come back to life. I…wouldn’t be here if you weren’t in my life.”

Addam’s eyes fill to the brim with tears but only two single tears break out and roll down his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly and offers you half a smile. “You know all my life I looked up at the world from the surface I was born in, it made me believe you were untouchable gods too high in the sky to care about anyone below you, but…when I too touched the clouds, when I met you…I see now that you are good. You have a good heart. You are a bit mad for liking the things you like, but you are like the sister I never had and I will always be thankful for that. I will always be thankful for you.”

Tears fill your eyes but you refuse to cry. You don't want to cry so you gnaw on your bottom lip and hold it all in.

“I love you too,” he redirects and closes the gap that was left between you to embrace you—“Be careful, okay?”

You nod as you hold onto him and whisper back. “I will. You be careful too.”

“I will,” he assures you before he pulls back and taps your chest with his fist, causing you to mirror his actions right back at him.

“I’ll see you up there,” you interject one more time, making him flash you a smile and offer you a nod before you both pull away from each other and mount your respected dragons.

“<Don’t worry girl,” you talk to Astraea as you click on your restraints—or as many as you can with your swollen belly in the way. “…today we won’t be the day we lose>.”

Astraea turns her head to look at you, making you offer her a gentle smile. “<Our fight won’t be over after this fight but we will be one step closer. You’ve been doing great>.”

Astraea growls and you can’t help but grin wider whilst you wrap your hands around the handles. When Astraea looks back at the dark sky you follow her line of gaze and take one last look at the serene night sky, taking note of the stars, and taking a deep breath of the brisk and clean air before you part your lips and mutter. “<Fly, Astraea.>”

Your she-dragon starts walking down slowly before she quickly picks up her pace, opens her giant purple wings, and then takes flight at the same time as Seasmoke, sending a signal to the army of men below to start running. Not marching, running.

You are so close to Tumbleton that you don’t want to risk being seen by any man. You want to stay under the cover of night and catch them by surprise so you rush, hitting the ground with thousands of claps of thunder as horses sprint through empty fields of grass.

The sky is silent, giving the illusion of a serene night, but looming threats cover the light of the stars and cast large shadows over the earth that fly past at an incredible speed.

A heightened rush of adrenaline connects you all as you get closer and closer to the grand battle, but nothing and you mean absolutely nothing matters but your anger. As if Daeron was solely at fault for all the pain you endured and everything that had happened all you can focus on is him and the rage that makes your blood and your heart thump violently.

You should keep your mind clear, you should fly into this war selflessly, after all, thousands of lives, and the lives of your mother, your son, and your brother depend on you to win this war, but there’s no fight with yourself when you choose to be selfish. You choose the blood-thirsty and raging anger. That’s all you hear. That’s all that fills you. It burns like the blasts of fire that rain down the moment you cross enemy lines and create chaos. And it’s all you see until there’s him; Daeron Targaryen standing in the midst of the army of his men.

His blond-silver hair stands out in between the storm of people all sent into a panic, and the wave of fires that wash over the army.

He stands there with his dark eyes on you and your raging dragon.

He stands there, Daeron Targaryen. He’s all you see and it makes your already heightened anger that more livid.

——

*A FEW YEARS AGO. KING’S LANDING*

The sun is high and beaming down fiercely. The breeze, when it does run, is hot, bringing with it waves of heat that run through your bodies and can’t cool down with any open window or fluttering fan, raising the already high tensions that are forever set between your families.

Yet no matter how high the tensions are, how many whispers are passed, and side glares are shot, none of that affects you, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, or Daeron.

Besides, today on the hottest day of summer is Daeron’s last day in the Red Keep. After today he will leave for Old Town until gods know when to become a ward…

.

.

.

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A/N- For story purposes Daeron was apart of everyone’s childhoods, he won’t be forgotten here!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[lovebugism]

omg omg omg I can’t wait for tcar part 9 🥹 I miss eddie spaghetti and peach so much 🥹🥹🥹

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | sunshine, sometimes

summary: the gang searches for peace of mind at lake lemon. after an enlightening conversation with steve, eddie unknowingly stirs up a storm. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader, mentions of past steve harrington / f!reader

tags: experienced!reader, idiots in love, domestic bliss (road trip edition), newly established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, the gang's all here! TW probable typos, swearing, mentions of b*lly h*rgrove and toxic relationships, kissing, heavy petting, fingering, eddie coming in his pants (vol. 3), smut 18+

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 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You think it’s entirely possible that you made Eddie up in your head.

Sleeping next to you, painted in satin shades of pale pink and milky white, he looks exactly like a dream.

His curls are wild, spread across his face and cotton pillow in a chestnut-colored halo around his head. Soft snores billow from his rosy mouth in heavy, even breaths — a heavenly sound you think could lull you back to sleep all over again. His long lashes flutter against the flushed apple of his cheek, made a gentle strawberry shade from the ardor of his slumber. The soft color splotches the tip of his nose and the plush of his lips.

Eddie’s made of all the prettiest colors you wish you could paint. Maybe then he’d finally see himself the way you do. He possesses an otherworldly kind of beauty — one bordering on religious — something holy people used to sacrifice themselves for.

And here he is. In your bed and on your mouth, like a vivid ruby lipstick stain you’re not rushing to rub out just yet. Or ever, if you had anything to say about it.

“I can feel you staring, weirdo,” Eddie mumbles, slurred and heavy with sleep. The words come out muffled because his face is shoved into the pillow.

You’re not as embarrassed at getting caught as you probably should be. 

You could deny it if you wanted. His eyes are still shut. You’ve got every ounce of plausible deniability to defend yourself with, but for some strange reason, you don’t feel the urge to. He was far too pretty not to be unabashedly examined, like a piece of art you could stare at for ages and find something new in every time.

“Really?” you hum in return, voice as quiet with leftover fatigue as your sleepy smile. “I didn’t know my boyfriend had superpowers.”

The smile that tugs at Eddie’s mouth is absentminded but no less sincere. It’s lopsided and rosy and full of all the love he has for you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of being called your boyfriend. He figures his chest will swell every time he hears the words — as long as they spill from your mouth, anyway.

“You weren’t supposed to know about that,” he teases quietly — eyes still shut, grin still pressed into the pillow.

“I can keep a secret,” you promise in a whisper. Your hand rises from beneath the fluffy comforter to spread across his cheek. Your palm settles warmly at his jaw as your fingers brush a few rogue curls from his forehead. “As long as you give me a kiss for it.”

Eddie’s smile, weighed down by sleep and adoration, only widens at your words. 

His button eyes are swollen as he blinks the haze of sleep from them. It feels a little like his heart has stopped when he’s able to see you clearly. 

It’s like he’s looking down a high-up cliff or staring into the deep abyss of outer space — a warm, empty, and lurching feeling in his chest that only comes from witnessing something so profound.

The profundity in question is you.

It’s your wild hair and puffy cheeks and crooked smile. It’s the way your swollen eyes twinkle with adoration at an ungodly hour of the morning. The way your honey voice seems to match the golden sunrise. You’re an angel in the flesh — a divinely ethereal being wearing his Hellfire tee to sleep in. 

The beauty you are takes him by surprise for all of half a second. It makes him forget how to breathe and makes his brain go all fuzzy. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time every time he looks at you.

“Well, as long as it’ll keep you quiet,” Eddie huffs, feigning annoyance, as he lifts his head off the pillow to settle onto yours. 

His plush lips press against your subtle smile a second later. Your mouths entwine something heavy, like maple syrup or marshmallow fluff — a kiss so full of sleep and distant longing.

But that’s all it is. A kiss. It’s nothing more than an innocuous peck that Eddie stamps upon your mouth. His nose smushes into the side of yours, and he’s gone as quickly as he came. 

Your shut eyes flutter open again. They widen when Eddie ducks down for another sneaking peck. He lingers a few moments longer this time, like he can’t quite get enough of you the same way you can never seem to get enough of him.

Your grin grows. You feel a bit like you’re glittering all over when Eddie settles back onto the mattress. But maybe that’s just the rising sun peeking in flaxen shades from the window — or maybe it’s love sparkling like orange embers in your chest. Maybe it’s both. 

Maybe loving Eddie feels pink and gold like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

It’s just as easy, anyway.

“Ooh,” you singsong with a smile as you prop yourself on your elbow. “Two for one deal, huh?”

The boy shrugs one shoulder. His leadened lids fall over his chocolate syrup eyes when sleep threatens to pull him under again. He shifts against the mattress to get comfortable, though it’s much harder without you pressed against him.

“I gotta secret identity to protect, sweets. Gotta make sure we keep it under wraps and everything, you know?” The tired boy’s mumbles are followed by a hearty yawn that scrunches his sleep-ridden features.

“Well, you can pry this secret from my cold, dead hands,” you lilt quietly, leaning down to sprinkle a featherlight kiss to his flushed cheek. His skin is warm against your mouth, rosy with a good night’s sleep.

“Well, except for Robin,” you whisper shortly thereafter. “I have to tell Robin.”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh.

“And Steve, too. He’ll be mad if I tell Robin and not him.”

“Right,” Eddie scoffs with a tired nod against his pillow.

You can tell he’s trying hard to stay awake for you. He’d done this the night before, too — kept talking to you even though his body was threatening to shut down after a long day of school and road-tripping. You’d called him out on it then, and he confessed that it hurt too much to stop talking to you. He said he’d rather be exhausted than miss you, even for the faintest fraction of a second.

A smile hints at the corners of your lips as you stare down at the boy. You duck down once more to brush a fleeting kiss to the warm apple of his cheek — there and gone again. 

Eddie sighs at the heavenly feeling, then scrunches his features in annoyance when the mattress shifts beneath him.

“Where are you going?” he grouses over the sound of your padding feet and the door creaking open. He’s got one tired eye squinted when he rises to look at you over his shoulder. His untamed curls are as drenched with sleep as the rest of his softly swollen features.

You stand in the doorway and smile back at him. You don’t look nearly as exhausted as he does. That’s only because you spent the better part of the morning ogling at him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

It wouldn’t change anything, anyway.

Slumber looks too good on you. It’s got you glowing like a pink and orange sunrise, grinning like the morning dew has kissed you. It’s a very distinct part of your beauty that took Eddie several days of unabashed staring to understand. You’ve got a far-off kind of quality about you, dreamlike. 

You’re a nymph made of flower petals with unearthly eyes and angelic lips. You’re a swan princess who’s enchanted his imagination. His mind can’t go anywhere without bumping into thoughts of you — like some romantic spell you’ve cast upon him.

Still a bit grumpy with sleep and overcome with yearning, Eddie makes a mental note to add you to a future campaign. What better way to tell someone you love them than by making them your muse, solidifying them in the history of you forever?

“I’m gonna tell everyone that my boyfriend is basically the metalhead equivalent of Clark Kent,” you joke with a crooked smile that flashes your similarly crooked teeth.

The door creaks when it shuts behind you. Eddie’s chest aches with the empty feeling of missing you. The warmth of adoration lingers, however, as though you’d never left at all.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Thankfully, no one had gotten Jason Voorhees-ed while you were sleeping.

You make your rounds about the cabin, peeking into darkened bedrooms and making sure everyone was where you’d left them. You knew Robin hadn’t truly meant her words from the day before, about Ted Bundy or some equivalent creep stalking the woods of Lake Lemon. She’s sincere but in a blatantly irrational sort of way. Sweet but slightly insane. She’s an illogical genius that unintentionally gets in your head.

You’re grateful to find that you hadn’t woken up in the middle of slasher film, however. You’re able to exhale a trembling sigh of relief as you walk into the kitchen.

Steve The Hair Harrington unknowingly keeps you company as you break out the supplies needed to make a couple of teenagers a sufficient breakfast. His soft snores fill the quiet cabin from where he’s sprawled out in the center of the pull-out couch in the living room. He’s twisted in a thin white sheet and gripping a single pillow like his life depends on it.

He used to hold you like that, too. Like you were a buoy in an ocean and the only thing keeping him afloat. He’d cage you in his arms with a grip that only seemed to intensify with his sleep. It felt like being suffocated almost. But in a good way.

The memory is glittering with reminiscence instead of soaking in heartache. 

You don’t miss being with Steve, nor do you miss the person you were when you were with him. You do miss the closeness of him, though — in the simplest, most human way. Also, you just really like taking the piss out of him and all his little idiosyncrasies.

With his sleeping form so near, everything you do feels so much louder in the quiet. The fridge closes too aggressively, the eggs crack too sharply, the cabinets close too harshly. You grimace with every noise you make, checking over your shoulder to make sure Steve hadn’t heard from across the room.

He hadn’t. ‘Cause he tends to sleep like he’s hibernating.

He doesn’t rouse when a humming car crunches against gravel when it pulls into the driveway outside — or when the bowl of pancake batter in your hands clatters to the countertop accordingly.

The milky white concoction sways in the container, splashing in pearly dots onto the gray granite. You’re too distracted to focus on the mess. Your heart starts to race at the appearance of the sudden visitor with the irrational thought that Ted Bundy was strolling up to your doorstep like some kind of offbeat traveling salesman. 

God, you need to stop hanging out with Robin so much. Or watching so many horror movies. Maybe both.

Because it’s only Nancy. 

It’s sweet, beautiful, lithe Nancy Wheeler and her beat-up Station Wagon. 

Her curly hair is cropped at her shoulders, hastily combed through and pinned out of her face with a butterfly clip. Her pretty pink skirt swishes around her knees as she reaches for a leather satchel in the backseat. Her purple and white Emerson College tee is tucked into it, matching the same-colored Converse on her feet.

“Hey,” she greets with a pretty wave and delicate smile when she catches sight of you in the doorway.

“Hi…” you respond, mixed with a breathy sigh of what should be relief. 

Because she isn’t Ted Bundy — or some local Lake Lemon serial killer. She’s far too pretty and far too kind to be either of those. But your heart still thrums something fierce against your ribcage when you look at her. You’re still drenched with ice-cold fear when you know you should be relieved.

But despite your clammy trembling hands, you hold the door open for her.

She winces at the sight of Steve’s sleeping figure on the couch, ocean eyes widening at his freckled back peeking from beneath the thin sheet. Her footsteps become noticeably lighter as you lead her into the kitchen. 

It’s far too big for just the two of you. The open space is filled only with a distant awkwardness and the potent smell of sweet vanilla you’d dropped into the pancake batter.

“Sorry…” Nancy grimaces as she sets her bag on the dining table, as though her company was something she needed to be excused for. Her bushy brows pinch together, and her doe-eyes swim with apology. “I know I was supposed to be here last night…”

You shift your weight on your feet across from her, arms wrapping around yourself for further comfort. She’s just a few feet away from you, but the distance feels cavernous.

“Yeah, is— is everything, you know… okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just— it’s dumb,” Nancy scoffs out a laugh, shrugging off your worry with ease. Her gaze flits to the ceiling. You can see smudged eyeliner around her eyes, like she’s still wearing yesterday’s makeup. “I got carried away with the school paper after school, and I didn’t get home until late, and I… I figured I should just wait until morning to make the drive, you know?

You nod slowly in response — for a couple seconds too long, maybe — as you think of what else to say. “Well, was, uh— was traffic okay, at least?”

“Yeah. It was fine,” she answers and bites back a yawn. “People around here are amazing drivers, you know, so… It was a perfect, anxiety-free three hours.”

Her plush pink lips curl into a smile. 

Yours follow suit, but the breathy laugh that spills from them feels much more forced.

“You’re probably tired, huh?” you wonder, then ramble before she can answer you. “I could get Steve to move upstairs with Robin— or Robin can come down here, and you can take the bed. Unless you wanna share with her, but fair warning, she does kick in her sleep, so…”

A giggle spills from Nancy’s mouth. It’s a soft, bubbly sound that squints the edges of her eyes. Her pointed chin tucks to her chest like she’s trying to hide the gentle grin from you. 

You can’t tell if she finds your babbling amusing or endearing like Eddie does. 

You quickly realize you don’t care — you’re just proud that you’ve made her smile. And, fuck, you can’t even blame Steve for wanting her more than you because look at her. You should hate her, yet you can’t take your eyes off her.

“No, I’m good. We can… deal with all that when everyone wakes up, I guess,” she dismisses with a shake of her head. 

You vaguely catch her eyes darting past you to the tornado of breakfast behind you — a whirlwind of uncooked food, miscellaneous containers, and crumbled napkins. It’s a mess only a gentle, well-meaning child could make. That’s what you feel like most days, anyway, so you guess it kind of fits.

“Do you want help with breakfast?” Nancy wonders when her gaze flits back to you.

You can’t tell if she’s asking to be kind or if she really wants to. You decline either way. “No. You’ve— You’ve been driving all morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a wavering smile.

Her grin is equally sheepish. She falters, a tad bit awkwardly at first, before mumbling something and heading out the back door to explore.

A trembling sigh of relief shakes through your chest when the sliding glass door swishes shut behind her. 

It gets better over time — the preliminary tension that settles like suffocating humidity between the two of you — but it never gets any easier. A forgive but can’t forget sort of rigidity you can’t quite smooth out.

You get only a few more minutes of uninterrupted solitude after Nancy’s gone. The last bit of peace you’re bound to have all day.

A door clicks open and shut again from down the hallway, followed by the subtle scuff of socked feet against carpet. 

Your eyes widen softly when Dustin appears from around the corner, though you figure you really shouldn’t be surprised. Of course he was the kid that woke up before the rest of his friends. You feel a bit like you should fix him a cup of black coffee while he reads the business section of the newspaper. He’s far more mature than you were at fourteen.

“Oh,” you hum quietly, a soft smile twitching at the edges of your lips. “Morning.”

Dustin’s swollen eyes squint at you. His gaze darts around the room, as wild as the chestnut curls on his head. It’s strange not seeing him in his usual Thinking Cap. He looks a little foreign in his baggy blue Scooby Doo pajama pants and baggier yellow Camp Know-Where tee.

“Where’s Eddie?” he wonders aloud when he turns back to you, like he can’t quite fathom seeing one of you without the other somewhere nearby.

Your chest aches. You don’t know why. 

Well, you do, but you figure it shouldn’t hurt as bad as it does. 

Dustin was Eddie’s friend. He had zero obligation to care about you the same way. He didn’t have to like you past his not-so-subtle admiration for your boyfriend, but it still hurts that he doesn’t think you’re as cool.

“Uh… Still sleeping. I think,” you lilt, voice as high and light as the salty breeze slipping past the slightly ajar backdoor.

“Oh. Okay.” Dustin nods and doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t seem as weighed down by the silence as you are. He peeks over his shoulder at Steve’s rousing figure on the couch and then at the pots and pans of food on the counter. His tired blue eyes fill with light when they flit at you again. “Can I help?”

He’s suddenly aglow with a boyish sort of enthusiasm. His bushy brows raise and a smile pulls at his face, and you find it dreadfully hard to tell him no.

“Sure. If you want to, but—” You’re about to prattle on and on about how he shouldn’t feel obligated to. That he’s a kid on vacation and can sleep in if he wants. That he shouldn’t have to worry about helping you if he doesn’t really want to.

But he’s already walking to the sink, flipping on the faucet so he can wash his hands.

Your aching heart swells with warmth.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The rest of your friends wake up one by one.

Mike and El come out shortly after Dustin, the latter already dressed for the day. She’s a ray of sunshine compared to her grumpy boyfriend. His hair is a wild raven halo, and his cheeks are lined with indentions from the sheets. El hangs on his arm in a pair of jean coveralls, sparkling like the cerulean waters outside. 

“Wanna call Hopper?” you ask the blushing girl from where you scramble eggs at the stove.

She nods with her cheek smushed into Mike’s shoulder, eyes wide and sheepish like she’s embarrassed about wanting to talk to her dad. You don’t blame her for it. You tend to call Hopper after most minor inconveniences. 

Dustin mans the kitchen while you help her with the telephone. He’s very meticulous about the cooking, like he’s got flipping pancakes down to a science. He’s too good of a sous-chef for you to get mad at him for stealing from the stack every now and then.

Robin and Max are sitting at the dining table by the time you get back. They’re practically zombies, silent and grumpy, with their freckled features scrunched like they take offense to the early morning.

Lucas is the last of the kids to come out, though a part of you thinks it might’ve been intentional. 

He’s traded his pajamas for day clothes — Hawkins Tigers track pants and a fitted t-shirt. He idles in the kitchen for several long moments with his trembling hands balled into fists. You can tell he wants to sit next to Max. The thought of rejection keeps him from gravitating towards her, though. Instead, he stands at the counter next to Dustin and tries to hide his grieving.

Steve comes second to last — which is strange, because he was the first one there in a sense. The volume in the kitchen grows too loud for him to ignore. When he comes to the begrudging realization that there’s no falling back to sleep, he decides to join the rest of you.

His feet trudge down the hall when he returns from the bathroom. The only remnants of slumber he wears are the sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt he’d thrown on sometime after waking up. His structured features are seemingly too sharp to be weighed down by fatigue.

“Where are those little shits going?” he wonders in the place of any actual greeting. He eyes Mike and El as they depart through the sliding glass door. His bushy brows scrunch in confusion and distant worry — neither of which ever seem to leave him.

“Probably to talk to Nancy—”

“What?” Steve sputters, wide-eyed and gaped mouth. “Nancy’s— Nancy’s here?”

Your brows pinch at his shock. You scrape fluffy yellow eggs from the skillet into a large bowl, fit to feed a sizable family — yours of which has squeezed like sardines into this cabin. “Well… You did invite her, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…” he trails off, features twisted in puzzlement. His anxious hands prop against his sweatpant-clad waist. “When did she get in?”

“This morning—”

His eyes fly open once more. His head whips over his shoulder, like he might see her standing there, then turns back to gape at you again. “And you didn’t wake me up?”

You scoff a faint laugh at him. “Why would I wake you up?”

“‘Cause he’s in love with her,” Dustin answers for him, mouth full of the pancake he grips in his right hand. “Obviously.”

“Shut up,” Steve squints at him with all the annoyance of an older sibling despite having been an only child all his life. His irked features relax when his cinnamon gaze flits to you. “Where is she now?”

“Uh… She went for a walk a while ago,” you answer absentmindedly, as though she hadn’t been on your mind the whole time. “I think she’s sitting out by the beach waiting for everyone to get up now, though.”

You and Steve share similarly narrowed eyes when you look out the kitchen window. The brunette girl sits at the square table outside the cabin. You can only see the profile of her pointed features as she smiles up at her younger brother and his girlfriend — a look so full of annoyance it can only be love.

“Maybe take it down a few notches before you try to talk to her, alright, Stevie?” Robin teases from the dining table.

“Yeah,” Lucas lilts with a slow nod, obviously playful in his dogpiling. He leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, trying hard not to smile too wide. “You look a little crazy right now, man.”

“It’s only ‘cause you little shits drive me crazy,” Steve defends in a monotone.

“Go tell her breakfast is almost done,” you advise with a sincere smile, though your eyes sparkle with mischief. “You can use that as an excuse to talk to her instead of whatever bullshit you were about to make up.”

Steve nods with a flat face. “Thanks, Peach.”

Dustin and Lucas help you transport the containers of food to the rectangle dining table — pancakes, eggs, sausage, and only halfway stale biscuits. Basically whatever leftover groceries you could find in the cupboards and the fridge.

Steve is too busy idling in one place to bother helping. With his eyes trained on the sliding glass door, it’s too apparent that he’s in his own head. He’s trying hard to work up the courage to talk to a girl he’s known for years now. 

As you sit in your seat at the table — beside Robin, across from Max, with a spare chair open for Eddie on your other side — you watch the fidgeting boy from over your shoulder. His pointed features harden slightly with his newfound bravery, his chest puffing with a wavering breath in. You watch him take a firm step towards the door, but he’s stopped in place by three bodies already walking towards it.

Nancy was already on her way back, with Mike and El at her side. Steve had been too late  — too doubtful of himself, too frightened of the pushed-away problems he’d caused. He’s forced to share awkward, trembling smiles with his first love and not a thing more. 

You feel his heartache as if it were your own.

Eddie’s footsteps stomp, stomp, stomp down the spiral staircase when he finally comes down.

Your heart warms at the very sight of him, as though you were looking at the rest of your life in the flesh — wild hair, swollen eyes, wrinkled t-shirt, and all. It’s too early to smile as wide as you do.

“Morning, Eds,” you greet, because everyone’s too busy stuffing their faces or writhing in unrequited love to do it for you.

His lips curl into a soft smile, weighed down by fatigue but rosy with his love for you. The pink expression grows when he sees the full table and the seat you left open for him. “Morning, sweetheart,” he lilts in response.

“How convenient,” Dustin squints from the head of the table, adjacent to Lucas and Eddie’s vacant seat. He’s got scrambled egg clinging to the side of his mouth as he chastises, “You show up right when breakfast is done.”

“Sorry, Dusty Bun,” Eddie apologizes with a teasing inflection that would imply that he’s not actually sorry. His chair scrapes against the kitchen tile when he pulls it out from under the table. “It’s not my fault I have impeccable timing.”

Your eyes dart to the boy standing beside you. They dance across his sleep-ridden features as your lips quirk in a cheeky half-smile. 

You know better than anyone that he’s only ever late to everything. The only time you can count on him being early is if there’s a Hellfire campaign or when he’s coming in his jeans. 

Eddie grows sheepish with the same understanding. His cheeks flush with a poorly hidden smirk as he sits down next to you. “Don’t say anything, Peach,” he mutters quietly to you.

The table, now sufficiently full, seems to thrum with life. Whether they’re picking at their food like Steve and Lucas, or stuffing their faces like Dustin and Robin, you can’t help but smile softly at each of them. 

They feel like family — like you’ve upped and carried your home with you three hours away. You’d forgotten what not being alone felt like before now. Your chest swells with a newfound life you didn’t even know you were missing.

“Uh, did everyone pack a bathing suit?” you wonder aloud with a bright smile on your face, a measly question to fill the silence and the sound of silverware against porcelain plates.

Everyone nods and hums soft “yeah”’s with their mouths full — except for Eddie. 

The boy beside you stills with his fork in front of his mouth. His dark eyes go wide as he looks over at you. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters in the place of an answer. “I was supposed to pack a bathing suit?”

You find his forgetful disposition rather endearing. You can too easily imagine him standing in the middle of his bedroom, mouthing everything you told him to pack while counting them on his fingers. You can see his brows furrowing with a distant pout while he asks himself “what the hell am I forgetting?”

You’re too in love to be annoyed with him — or ill-prepared.

“I packed trunks for you. It’s okay,” you murmur in response, voice as quiet as the smile you look at him with.

Eddie’s chest aches. It’s too warm to be his heart breaking — too fluffy and sticky and sweet. It’s a burning sort of pain that can only be pure, unadulterated love. 

“God, you are the woman of my dreams, baby,” he confesses lowly, mostly to himself.

You only hear the words leave his mouth because he’s leaning in to kiss you. You don’t meet him halfway, but instead grin softly at his efforts, which you know are bound to be interrupted.  

“Hey!” Dustin scolds through the bite of biscuit in his mouth. “No kissing at the table!”

Robin licks syrup from the corner of her mouth, then concurs through her pancakes, “Yeah. You wanna make everybody here puke or what?”

“Or what,” you answer the rhetorical question, meeting her deadpanned expression with a smile. You tilt your head to your shoulder and scrunch your nose. “Preferably, at least.”

“How about everyone just keep their hands to themselves, yeah?” Steve advises in a monotone. His honey eyes flit around the table with a significant focus on you and Eddie and Mike and El. He waves his fork in his hand, still piercing the cooled piece of scrambled egg he hasn’t eaten yet. “How about that?”

“Okay, Hopper,” you scoff to yourself.

El snorts a quiet laugh from across the table, on Max’s other side.

Steve flashes you an annoyed glance from across Robin sitting between the two of you. Despite his monotoned features, his eyes sparkle with an adoration for you he couldn’t conceal if he wanted to.

He tries to, anyway. 

“Bite me,” he grumbles with narrowed eyes.

Eddie huffs dramatically from beside you. The sound gets your attention — makes you turn your head to look at him again — which is all he really wanted to do, anyway.

“Stop flirting!” the boy grumbles, wide-eyed and chewing through his mouthful. “I’m sitting right here!”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie Munson was never supposed to believe in love at first sight. That stuff was for children, chick flicks, and over-played ballads — not metalheads who’ve never been loved before and have had to improvise all their awkward tenderness accordingly.

But then he met you. And he didn’t love you then, but he knew something was different. Off. Metamorphosing, even. 

It was different from love — whatever strange, foreign thing he was feeling way back when. It didn’t hurt nearly as much, and it didn’t feel like every single one of his atoms had been set ablaze. It was softer, warmer, a gentle familiarity in a stranger who just wanted to get high.

You sat down in front of him on that rotted park bench in the middle of the woods, and it felt like he was staring the rest of his life in the face. There was no falling head over heels like all the songs on the radio said there’d be, but rather an “Oh, hi, it’s you. I hope it’s always gonna be you.”

He feels that foreign, fluffy feeling in his chest even now as he stands on the shore in a pair of trunks you bought because you knew he’d forget his. He watches you wade into the cerulean sea with a lily sort of hesitance. You’re so much smaller than the wide-open, but he loves you so much you seem swallow it all whole anyway. 

You’re a pretty little thing in a canary yellow bikini, sunshine incarnate. Your thighs are round and full. The pudge of your stomach is soft and tender. The scarred marks on your back and shoulders are like so many little kisses, each of which he longs to give you in return.

You possess an intimidating sort of beauty, one that Eddie found easier to admire from afar. You were entirely too captivating — warm and gentle like a summer rain dying to be danced in.

“Stop being such a baby!” Robin calls from further in the water. Her sandy-colored hair is a darker shade from the salty sea and pushed back over her forehead and ears. 

Her chapped lips curl into a pink smile as she looks up at you. Not even she could hide her admiration for your fantastical, demoniacal beauty.

“The water’s not even that bad!” the girl continues in half-hearted taunts. “Just run in!”

“It’s cold!” you insist, shivering when a brutal breeze brushes by. You tense and tighten the grip you have on yourself. Your arms are crossed over your chest in a feeble shield that does little to protect you from the water nipping at your ankles.

Robin cackles at your wincing.

Eddie might’ve defended you if he wasn’t so lost in the eternal blue of you, more infinite than the water you stand in or the sky you idle beneath. 

You look so soft in the golden sunlight, so diabolically angelic. Lithe, unholy, yet pure all the same. Built for sin but looking just like Heaven.

Eddie Munson wasn’t supposed to fall in love. He wasn’t even looking for it until it tripped him, ate him up, and spat him out. The universe does whatever the universe wants sometimes, he figures, and if you can’t laugh at their stupid jokes, then that’s on you.

“Holy shit…” Eddie mumbles as the realization pierces him like a dull needle between his ribcage. That searing, subtle feeling of being in love. 

It’s frightening more than it is anything, really — the understanding that you’re diving into something that could ruin you, something you’re going to let ruin you. There’s nothing but a thin line between love and horror.

“Huh?” Steve hums with a cartoonishly scrunched nose and furrow to his brow.

He was the only one close enough to hear him. Everyone else was separate but still near, using every inch of their reserved space. 

Nancy’s reading a book in one of the lounge chairs with El and Max sunbathing on towels close by. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are roughhousing in the water — no doubt irking Steve and his lifeguard-esque spidey senses. Robin, meanwhile, was still coaxing you inside.

Eddie’s head snaps in Steve’s direction. He squints through the wisps of gray smoke rising from the grill. “Huh?” he repeats like the idiot he is.

“You said something.” The brunette boy responds. Not a question, but a statement of fact.

“No, I wasn’t,” Eddie sasses back despite having been caught red-handed. He shrugs and crosses his pale arms over his chest. “I was just… I was just talking to myself.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause that’s not weird or anything.”

Eddie bites back a too-harsh jeer. He watches Steve flip a steaming burger on the tiny grill in front of him with a floundering sort of finesse. He scoffs out a laugh. “Making fun of me isn’t gonna compensate for you having absolutely no idea what you’re doing over there, you know?”

“How hard can it be?” Steve wonders, bouncing his shoulders and gesturing with the spatula in his hand. “They’re burgers. Just flip ‘em before the burn, and they’re golden— well, not golden, but… you get it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at the boy’s blind optimism. Steve’s got all the trappings of a rich kid who never had a fend for yourself night where dinner was just chocolate milk, dry cereal, and pizza rolls. “I thought growing up in the suburbs, you would’ve perfected the art of grilling by now.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly have anyone around that often to teach me, so…”

Steve isn’t exactly playing the woe is me card. He’s just stating a fact that most everyone in Hawkins seems to know by now. It blows the wind out of Eddie’s sails, anyway. 

It’s hard to understand sometimes that Steve’s got his own thing going on — his own secrets with his own trauma he keeps hidden from the rest of the world. Eddie spent his whole life thinking that if he was richer, or if his house was bigger, or if the kids at school liked him more, he might’ve been happier growing up. 

Steve Harrington is living proof that that’s not always true.

Eddie walks a few steps closer to the grill. The smell of smoke and cooked meat pervade him instantaneously. He snatches the spatula from Steve’s hand, who’s too off guard to dodge him. 

His frizzy curls bunch at his shoulders when he tilts his head to the side, flashing the brunette boy a sickly sweet smile. “Let the trailer trash show ya how it’s done, Stevie.”

“First of all, don’t call me that,” he retorts with a flat face, golden biceps crossed tight over the chest of his fitted tee. “And second of all, what the hell do you know about cooking?”

“When you grow up in a trailer park, you know how to make at least two things by the time you’re seven-years-old — pizza rolls in the oven and burgers on the grill.”

Steve’s honey eyes narrow. “I don’t trust you not to poison us, Munson.”

“What? You think I’m gonna poison a bunch of kids and my girlfriend? That’s, like, the lowest of the low,” Eddie defends with bubbly laughter sputtering from his mouth. He flips a smashed burger and lets it sizzle over the low flame before pointing the spatula in Steve’s direction. A mischievous glint sparkles in his eye. “But you, Harrington? You should definitely be worried.”

“…Girlfriend, huh?” 

Eddie, visibly surprised by the lack of a comeback, glances over his shoulder at the boy. His fleetingly puzzled gaze gives way to a teasing pink grin. “Yeah… Jealous?” 

It was a joke, but Steve starts to stutter over himself like he’s guilty of something. “What? No,” he argues between forced laughter. “Why would you— Why would you even say that?”

“‘Cause I actually had the balls to ask out the girl I like, and you’ve been ogling at Nancy for an hour trying to figure out how to talk to her without coming off like a total creep.”

“That’s not… I wasn’t doing that.”

Eddie shrugs. “Okay.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I said okay!”

“Jeez…” Steve concedes with a dramatic huff. “I have no idea what Peach sees in you, ya know?”

“Me neither, honestly,” Eddie confesses with a distant smile, grinning at the grill like he can see you in the wisps of thick smoke. “I always thought it was my strong arms and sparkling personality.” 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about! You can’t be serious about anything!”

“I can be serious about some things.”

“Yeah?” Steve muses with raised brows and a smile that says otherwise. “Like what?”

There’s a million stupid jokes Eddie could make just to piss him off all the more. He swallows them all down in place of something more real. “I don’t know… Peach is pretty cool, I guess… Don’t really wanna fuck that up…”

Steve nods, proud of the answer he wasn’t expecting. “Good. Don’t.”

“And what would you do if I did, tough guy?” Eddie jokes, narrowing his eyes at the boy beside him. “Beat me up?”

He answers without missing a beat. “Yeah.”

“You don’t exactly have the best track record for that. I’m pretty sure you’re on a world-record losing streak, actually.”

“I don’t have to win,” Steve assures with a strange sort of sternness to his words. 

Eddie is visibly shocked by the sudden seriousness, wide-eyed and confused. 

The brunette boy sighs before explaining. “That time I got into that stupid fight with Hargrove, it wasn’t about trying to beat him, you know? I was trying to— I don’t know— I was trying to… keep him from hurting the people I cared about, I guess.”

“Peach?” Eddie presses with furrowed brows.

Steve shoots him a dumbfounded look, confused by the confusion. “She didn’t tell you about that?”

“...No?”

“Then, uh… Never mind.”

Steve closes in on himself all over again — an impenetrable brick wall with abs and a chiseled jawline. Eddie feels so suddenly left out, like there was some secret everyone was in on but him. He abandons the grill entirely. 

“Nope. No way. You have to tell me now.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit, Munson,” Steve scoffs, side-stepping the wild-haired boy and taking his place in front of the grill. The burgers are cooked through now, perfectly seared and smoky. He plates them all like he wasn’t on track to burning them. Eddie lets him do it.

“I swear to god, I will give you food poisoning on purpose, Harrington—”

“It’s not my story to tell, alright?” Steve interjects the half-hearted threat.

“Well, I mean, it sorta is because you were just about to tell it, so…”

The brunette grumbles something under his breath like a rolling storm cloud.

You and Robin watch the encounter from afar, both of you someways from shore. Now submerged to your shoulders in the sapphire water, you’re not nearly as cold as when you first stepped in. It feels as soft as silk now, sparkling around you like diamonds every time you kick your feet to keep yourself afloat.

A smile quirks at your mouth at the sight of the bantering boys — one you used to love and one you think you’ll love forever.

They’re complete and utter opposites of each other. One golden, one pale. One broad, one lean. One with trimmed honey locks that shine golden in the sun, and one with long curls so dark they seem to reject all light entirely. 

They both wear deadpanned looks of utter annoyance on their features, having no idea how close they’re standing to each other.

“The sexual tension is ripe between those two,” you confess to Robin, though it’s mostly for yourself.

“Think they’re gonna kiss?” the brunette girl jokes as she blinks salt water from her eyes.

“I don’t know… They might…” you observe quietly, squinting in the distance in a feeble attempt to read their lips. The conversation seems heated — well, as heated as it gets between two boys who think they’re better off as enemies. 

You long to understand what they’re saying and mourn the fact that you don’t.

“Bet I can get them to kiss by the end of the night, though,” you answer more finally and with a glint to your eye — a result of your looming mischief rather than the glittering sun above you.

“Please, don’t say it…” Robin grimaces.

“Truth or dare,” you singsong with a beaming grin.

The girl makes a pained sound at your words. She bubbles her freckled cheeks and squeezes her eyes shut tight. She ducks herself beneath the water in attempts to hide there, knowing there are some things you just can’t run from.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You hold onto your love for Eddie like so many flowers in your hand. 

It’s a collection of wild things — honeyed daffodils, fluffy white daisies, and pretty pastel forget-me-nots. Their vivid green stems feel like stripes of hardened silk in your palm. 

Maybe you’ll shape them into a crown later, place them on top of your lover’s wild curls the next time you see him. You hope that isn’t too long now.

Max was the one that wanted to go on a hike. Upon the other boys’ insistence of tagging along, she spat like venom in return — “No boys allowed.” And, quite frankly, none of you were in any position to deny Maxine Mayfield of anything.

Robin hadn’t even wanted to go until that moment. She complained she was too tired after a day in the water to spend an evening in the woods. The thought of making fun of Steve seemingly cured her. 

“Yeah,” she lilted with a smile, voice raspy from hours of nonstop laughter. She slid a cap over her drying locks, leaving it backwards and lazy on her head. She bounced her brows and walked backwards behind the group of you. “Go on your own hike, Stevie.”

“We will!” Steve argued in return, like a child not easily left behind.

You can’t be sure of what they’re up to now. Nothing, maybe, or perhaps everything. You just hope Eddie’s missing you as much as you’re missing him — innocently, gently, childishly. 

Maybe he’s seeing your face in the crystalline waves of the sea like you’re seeing his face in the satin petals of the flowers in your hand.

“Having fun?” you ask Max over the subtle crunch, crunch, crunch of grass and leaves and twigs beneath your feet. 

The redhead’s eyes widen at the suddenness of your presence — or rather, how slow she’d been to register it. Noticing her languishing stride, she puts more pep in her step. 

“Tons,” she huffs.

You become a silent observer of Max Mayfield for a moment. You blink at the girl beside you ��  with pretty red plaits down her back and pale shoulders peeking from her tank top — and try to make sense of her. It’s an impossible task.

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” you confess with a quiet laugh.

“I’m not,” she affirms with her own scoffed-out chuckle. She tucks a rouge wisp of amber hair behind her ear and averts her gaze to her beat-up sneakers. “It’s… actually been kinda fun so far.”

With a blooming feeling of relief and slight accomplishment, you nod in response. “Good.”

“I just wish the boys weren’t here, though,” she admits with a distant girlishness, kicking a rock with the tip of her shoe. It clunk, clunk, clunks down the hill. She screws her freckled face. “They’re making it all… weird.”

“Weird how?” you press gently. 

You don’t want to push her so hard she closes up again, but you don’t want to stay so quiet she thinks you don’t care. It’s tricky work, getting close to Max Mayfield — like digging through a brick wall with a plastic spoon.

“Weird as in… I don’t know— they’re making it something it’s not supposed to be, you know? Like, Dustin is cool, but that’s because his girlfriend just dumped him and everything,” the girl rambles with a shrug. She lifts her arm to duck beneath a low-hanging branch, scraping her calloused palm against the wood as she goes. 

You’ll hear a low thud moments later when Robin smacks her forehead against it. She’d been too busy explaining how to tell the difference between poisonous and nonpoisonous mushrooms to Nancy and El — the former only half as enthused as the latter.

“El and Mike are always sneaking off to suck face, and Steve and Eddie keep ogling at you like they’ve never seen a girl before, and Lucas won’t stop asking me if something’s wrong, and—”

“He’s just trying to check up on you,” you interject gently, letting the wound-up girl take a much-needed breath.

“Yeah, well, it’s annoying,” she grumbles like a thundering rain cloud. “I’m trying to forget my problems, not talk about them.”

And, honestly, you think she might be onto something. Teenage girls are basically tiny pessimistic philosophers — your problems don’t exist if you don’t look at them, she tells you in essence. The logic is cynically sound to an unhealthy degree. It’s a poison apple you’ve plucked from the tree and eaten whole once.

“You gotta talk about them eventually, Max,” you tell her. Not because you have, but rather because you haven’t, and you’ve seen where that’s gotten you.

Max stops in her tracks. She turns ninety degrees to glare at you — arms crossed over her chest, bushy brows quirked like the right side of her lips. She looks bitterly amused at your words. 

You cower beneath her icy blue stare. You know you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Oh, yeah? Like you’re talking about them, too?” she sasses with all her practiced teenaged apathy.

You falter. “Yeah, well… Don’t do what I do, alright? Do what I say.”

Max scoffs. It sounds almost like genuine laughter in its curtness, as though it were truly sincere. She shakes her head with a cynical smile. “Face it— we’re both hopeless…”

Her words leave you stunned, as though she’d pierced you with the poison tip of them. There’s an edge to them that cuts you and leaves you bleeding as she walks on without you. The wind brushes your exposed skin, a reminder that the world is still going even though it feels like it’s frozen still. 

Robin and El walk by you a moment later. The former rubs her aching forehead over the brim of the cap on her head. The latter is elbow-deep in a drawstring bag looking for a bandaid to give her. 

Nancy, either poetically or cruelly, is the one who notices the splintered ache you are.

She smiles with her pretty pink lips and blinks at you with her stone-blue eyes. She’s as pretty as she ever was — with her bare, sun-kissed face and oversized cardigan pushed up to her elbows. It’s hard to admonish someone who looks as sweet as she does. 

Her attention alone is enough to heal you, like a dog licking a weeping wound. You hate her as much as you worship her. The loathing feels religious.

“Who are those for?” she questions innocently, motioning to the flowers in the limp hand hanging at your side.

“Oh, uh, they’re— they’re for Eddie,” you sputter in a mumble, suddenly aflame with embarrassment. You turn your red-hot cheeks away from her and look at everything but the girl in front of you. “It’s… It’s stupid…”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s sweet,” she disagrees, grinning so sincerely it scrunches the sloped bridge of her nose.

“I don’t know, I just… I felt a little bad about leaving him behind, so…”

“He did look a little like a sad puppy when we left,” Nancy confesses in a soft giggle.

You roll your eyes despite the lovesick smile on your face. “He always looks like that when he doesn’t get his way.”

“He really likes you. I can tell.”

Your heart lurches at her words. 

“What the hell do you know about him?” is first fleeting thought that scorches your mind. “He isn’t yours. You don’t get to know him.” 

The misplaced anger is raging crimson, vivid enough to taste. Or perhaps that’s just the metallic tang of your blood as you bite your tongue.

Your rage is engraved into your bones at this point. 

It isn’t fair, not to either of you, so you swallow it down.

“You think so?” you wonder instead.

“Oh. Totally,” she scoffs like she’s never been surer of anything in her life. 

Her sneakers scuff against the rough terrain of Lake Lemon as she starts walking again, towards the sound of trickling water. You follow behind her on instinct and watch her angled profile flit to the blue sky above you. Gray clouds start to gather in the distance, concealed by the green of towering trees. 

“The way he looks at you… It’s really sweet.”

“Bet it makes you miss Jonathan, huh?”

“I always miss him,” she answers without missing a beat, though she seems so suddenly forlorn. “Even though I know I’m not really supposed to.”

“What do you mean?” you press with pinched brows.

She tilts her head and looks at you beneath her lashes. “We, um… We broke up, actually.”

“Oh. Shit,” you stutter, surprising even yourself because you hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. It makes you that much more embarrassed at yourself. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t— shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Nancy assures kindly, giggling and bringing you at ease again. She smiles so softly, like she isn’t hurt by it all — by what you’ve said or what she left behind in Jonathan. 

You squint at her with a question on your tongue. How can you seem so happy after having lost a piece of yourself? you want so desperately to ask. How has that not ruined you entirely?

She sighs, still with a reminiscent smile. “I haven’t really… you know, talked about it, so…”

“Are you…” you start, but trail off again. Your head whips from her to the rocky trail you descend down, trying to keep focused without tripping over yourself in front of her. God knows you’ve done that enough for a lifetime. “Are you okay?”

Nancy thinks on your words more than you expected her to. “Uh, yeah. I think so. I mean— I guess that’s what this trip is about, you know? Trying to be okay again.”

You nod in response. You figure that’s why you ultimately asked Max to tag along in the first place, and why her friends had decided to join — those heartbroken and otherwise. 

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Nancy follows quickly with wet eyes and pinched-together brows. She’s waiting for you to condemn her, though you’re not entirely sure why.

“For… what?”

“You know, not telling you I was coming and… everything.” 

You wonder if she truly does mean everything or if it’s just a figure of speech. Nancy has a world of things to say sorry to you for — she knows this, most barbarically so.

“Steve told me it was normally a him, you, and Robin thing. He said you wouldn’t be upset about it or anything, but I feel like… I don’t know… like I’ve intruded or something?”

“No,” you assure almost instantly because you know what non-belonging feels like. You don’t want it to eat away at her like it did you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?” the girl presses with a twinkle in her eye.

“Totally.”

She exhales a sharp chuckle through her nose. It’s almost a sigh of relief — like your words have removed a hulking weight from her bony chest. “I was so scared things were gonna be…”

“Weird?” you finish for her when she trails off.

Her sheepish smile matches your own. She nods. “Yeah.”

“That was forever ago,” you shrug, repeating the words you’ve been telling yourself for ages now. It made everything much easier to stomach. You found it much safer not to feel any of it at all — to keep the hurt from touching you entirely.

Nancy nods. Her words leave her mouth, soft like a song and kissed by sorrow. “I know, but… Things were…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t have to. 

You were there for all of it. Most of the bloodshed was yours in the end.

“Yeah,” you huff so deeply it deflates your tightening chest.

“It was all just bullshit, you know?” Nancy says, shaking her head like she’s detested by the memory. “Steve shouldn’t have done what he did, but… It wasn’t like I was raring to stop him.”

“It wasn’t your job. You didn’t know me— you never had to… defend me or whatever.”

“I know, but… I think maybe I should have.”

The two of you stop in place and share a look of distant longing. Not the kind you often give Eddie — not the kind full of puppy love — but rather one of acute understanding. 

She didn’t know you, and you didn’t know her. You thought it was better off that way. Her presence was so often forced against your will. Like Pavlov’s Dog, you knew she only ever came with your inevitable heartache. Steve drifted to her like she had her own gravitational pull. He only came back to you when she was gone.

Jaded by heartache, you learned to hate her. The wrath ate away at you accordingly. And here she was — all your anger in the flesh — extending an olive branch and trying to make you whole again.

“Whoa…” you hear Robin croon lowly in the distance. 

Your attention leaves the piercing moment and darts over to her. She stands between El and Max in front of a leaning willow. She parts the weeping leaves with the palm of her hand and marvels at something further in the juniper you can’t see. 

You give Nancy a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes — too weighed down by the heavy moment — but it isn’t any less sincere. You walk away from her and towards the three others. It takes her a moment or more to follow you.

Past the swaying willow is a shrouded cove. The clear water is kissed by streams of sunlight poking through the fluttering leaves. It possesses a hearty smell of rain and wet grass, the very breath of spring. 

It’s a corner of the world that feels so pure, so untouched by the rest of the world. You can hear words hidden in the rippling water — “Swim with me,” it calls to you. “Let me cleanse you. Let me save you.” 

“Sweet…” Max hums to herself, apathetic as ever, though utterly unable to tear her eyes from the sight before her.

El nods, similarly mesmerized. “Yeah. Sweet.”

Robin turns to you, smirking all cool in her backwards cap and baggy jeans and thumped forehead. She bounces her brows and beams. “Bet the boys haven’t found anything this cool.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Hey, look!” Dustin shouts to the others, eyes squinted with the intensity of his grin. He holds up a shining red rock, made smooth from the water rolling over his feet. “I’m pretty sure it’s a gemstone! Like, a ruby or something!”

He’s met with several unenthused gazes from the rest of the boys on shore. 

Mike squints at him from where he sits next to Lucas in the sand, both of them equally mopey without their girls to bring them back to life. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s just a rock,” the raven-haired boy monotones.

Dustin’s smile washes away like the ebbing tide at his ankles. He looks back at the weighty thing in his hand and realizes that he doesn’t actually know the difference. “Oh…”

“What do you think the girls are doing right now?” Lucas wonders aloud. He can’t go more than five minutes without bringing them up, which Dustin has bitterly observed a number of times. 

He’s more worried about Max than anything, about her eagerness to get away from the boys — from him. He doesn’t know what he could’ve done so wrong to make her pull away like she has. His chest aches with the uncertainty.

“Talking about us, probably,” Mike answers.

“That’s a little sexist, Mike,” Dustin scolds as he walks back on shore, kicking up white sand behind him as he goes.

“What do you think they’re doing then?”

“Talking about you,” the curly-haired boy retorts with narrowed eyes. “‘Cause you’re a dick.”

Mike squints an eye as he looks up at him, shielding his vision from the white sun. He flips the boy off with a pale, bony finger.

Eddie watches from a distance. He stands beside Steve in front of the bubbling white waves, though it’s not really by choice. He’d much rather be standing next to you. He searches for you in the pearly waves and weeps because nothing compares to the real thing.  

“Well, why don’t we just find out?” he offers with a shrug and a lopsided grin.

“Uh, because they said no boys allowed,” Steve answers like it’s obvious.

Eddie meets the boy’s furrowed brows with jettisoned ones hidden behind curly bangs. “…Okay?”

“And, I don’t know— I kinda don’t wanna get my face ripped off.”

“And what would poor Steve Harrington do without his pretty little face?” the wild-haired boy singsongs in response, face scrunched in feigned sympathy.

Steve squints. “You know what? Please, leave. I encourage it, actually.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his head to his shoulder. He blinks at the boy beside him with glittering chocolate eyes that match the frizzy curls billowing in the breeze. “But then who would I annoy?”

“I don’t know. Your girlfriend, maybe,” Steve responds in a monotone, grunting softly as he bends down to pick up a handful of rocks from shore. He flicks his wrist to skip them across the water. It becomes quickly apparent that he’s never done it before. Each pebble plops hopelessly into the salty sea. “Anyone but me, preferably.”

“But you can’t break up with me, so… that’s an obvious bonus.”

“Jesus Christ…” Steve mumbles within an annoyed exhale. “You are the most insufferable person on the planet, you know that, right?”

“Tell me what happened with Billy, and I’ll leave,” Eddie challenges with narrowed eyes.

It’s too good a proposition not to give any thought to. Steve thinks about it for a beat, then shakes his head and turns away. “Yeah, no,” he concludes, skipping another rock that sinks to the bottom almost immediately.

“Why?”

“’Cause you annoying the shit outta me now is nothing compared to what Peach’ll do if she finds out I told you.”

“And what’s that?”

Steve shrugs. “…Be mad at me?”

Eddie scoffs and crosses his pale arms over his chest. “And that would just be… inconceivable, right?”

“I spent enough time pissing her off.”

“What’d you even do, anyway? Or is that another secret everyone seems to know but me?”

Steve shoots him another bitter side-eye. He tosses out another pebble. It bounces on the water once and then disappears beneath the surface. “I think these are questions for your girlfriend, Munson.”

“No, these are questions for bros, Harrington,” Eddie jokes, shoving the boy on his shoulder. His touch is more aggressive than he realizes and it makes the disgruntled brunette stumble slightly to the side. “Isn’t this the sort of things bros talk about?”

“Oh, my god…” Steve mutters to himself, shaking his head and wondering how he got here. What was supposed to be a trip with you and Robin has turned into him babysitting with Eddie fucking Munson.

“Am I not bro enough for you, Harrington?”

“That word has lost all meaning now—”

“C’mon, just tell me, man,” Eddie pleads with a newfound seriousness. “Every time I almost get something outta her, she just— she clams up, you know? I love her and everything, but fuck— it feels like she only lets me know her so much. It’s agony sometimes, dude.”

Steve doesn’t mean to, but he melts.

Maybe it’s the foreign emotion he’s getting from the local freak, or maybe it’s the confession that’s unknowingly slipped from his lips. 

He sighs. Then shrugs. “It was a long time ago. And I was a douchebag.”

Eddie snorts. “Figures.”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?” Steve bites. 

Eddie curls his lips around his teeth, puts his mouth in a tight line, and stays silent. 

The brunette boy continues. “I liked her and everything, but I also liked Nancy, you know? I really liked Nancy. I mean, Peach was a lotta fun, but Nance— she was the kinda girl you wanted to settle down with.”

Eddie feels his chest tighten, and the confession’s only just started. 

You were fun. The most fun he’s had in his life. He’d kill to settle down with you, to have an entire future of fun. There was never any but with you — I love you, but it’d be a bad look to settle down with the town slut. Eddie wants all of you, the good and what everyone else has collectively decided is “bad.” 

He loves the sound of your laughter as much as he loves the sound of your moans. 

He wants a lifetime full of both.

“—So every time Nancy broke up with me, I’d go back to Peach. And I wouldn’t tell her about… about any of it. You know, that I still wanted to be with Nancy and everything. And that’s… I think that’s the worst part about it. ‘Cause she thought there was a chance we would get together, you know? And I wanted her to think that, ‘cause I wanted her to always be there when I was— when I needed her…”

Steve squints off into the blue — where the darker-colored water meets a lighter-colored sky. The white sun casts harsh shadows on his already chiseled features. His face scrunches into something sharper, whetted edges of held-back emotion.

“A part of me knew the only reason Peach stuck around was because she thought I’d finally come to my senses and ask her out, you know? But I was… so far gone for Nancy back then it’s not even funny,” the boy confesses. He exhales a curt, cynical chuckle from his nose and shakes his head at himself. 

“I knew I was gonna keep chasing after Nance, but I couldn’t let Peach know that because I didn’t wanna be... I don’t know… alone, I guess? I needed someone to go to when my heart got broken., you know? But when I went back to Nancy— over and over and over again— it’s like… where’d Peach go? Who did— Who did she have to turn to, you know?”

Silence rolls in like the whispering breeze. It settles heavy like the gray rain clouds on the horizon.

Steve sighs like a strangling hand has finally let go of his throat. Like he can finally breathe again after saying all that out loud for the first time. Beside Eddie, the boy stands golden, grieving, and utterly changed. Steve towers over his old self in the memories he wishes he could get rid of and mourns the people he can’t un-hurt.

And it fucking sucks. 

What he did to you sucks. The person he used to be sucks. And it sucks that he’s changed too much to hate now. Where is Eddie supposed to put all the anger simmering in his chest and scratching at the back of his throat?

“And, yeah,” Steve suddenly concludes, flicking his wrist to toss another rock out to sea that’ll never see the light of day again. “That went on for a while until she got with Hargrove, which was… a total fucking train wreck.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond, so he just laughs — a short, sharp, and scoffing breath. 

“Wow,” he muses with his brows raised and hidden beneath his bangs. He shakes his head in complete and utter bemusement as he looks over at Steve, eyelids as heavy as the forced smile on his face. “You guys are fucking assholes, you know that?”

Steve exhales sharply from his nose in place of a laugh. He shakes his head in agreement anyway. “Believe it or not— people can change, Munson.”

The wild-haired boy squints. “Really?”

“I did. Peach did,” he answers with a shrug, then averts his gaze entirely to mumble, “You did, too, I guess…”

The half-heartedly grumbled phrase feels almost like a compliment — more so when it’s spilling from the mouth of someone he used to hate but has grown to sort of tolerate on handpicked occasions. 

It’s great beauty, to grow and shift and become the person you were also meant to be. And what praise it is to be seen in your becoming.

From a brief distance, they hear a soft and relieved “Fucking finally,” spill from Dustin’s mouth.

Eddie turns and finds you coming down from the trail. Well, you and the rest of the girls you ditched him for, but all he can really see is you. 

He’d missed you in a way he knows he shouldn’t have. Not just because you were only gone for one measly hour, but because that one measly hour ate away at him as though it were eons. 

He knows he shouldn’t miss you so hard, but sometimes the absence feels strangely fulfilling. It’s a reminder that you’re real and not some dream he made up in his head. A reminder that he’ll meet you again because you’ll always come back to him.

“Have fun?” you ask when he’s close enough to hear you. You’ve got one eye squinted to shield from the sun and also to conceal the beam threatening to take over your features.

“Oh. Tons,” Eddie scoffs in a deadpan. “Didn’t even miss you.”

“No?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Well, I didn’t miss you either,” you confess in a similar lilt and with a similar grin that drips with honeyed adoration. “’S why I spent the whole time picking these flowers for you.”

You shrug and hold out your left hand, where a bushel of tiny flowers rests softly against the edge of your palm. It’s a mixture of vivid colors — of greens, blues, purples, and yellows. They’re wild and beautiful and drenched in sun. A whole lot like the love he has for you.

The dull ache of his broken heart sears with warmth when you put it back together again.

Eddie’s toes dig into the sand as he fills the short distance between you. He curls his fingers around your elbows, takes you in his arms, and feels whole again. With a rosy smile and sparkling chocolate eyes, he groans, “Oh, god, I hate you so much…”

Your cheeks hurt with how large your grin has grown, with how hard you try to hide it. It’s not nearly as painful as the adoration burning wildfires behind your ribcage. “I hate you more, Eddie Spaghetti.”

There’s no need to admit you’re only joking.

The words are so obviously playful. 

And both of you know what they really mean, anyway.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The heavenly cadence of spring rain sings a wild song on the old tin roof.

It began first as a few gentle taps, a sparse sprinkle that tricks your brain into thinking it’s not really there at all. Then the greying clouds gave way to darker, more ponderous ones. The soft drizzle became a roaring rain that fell all together, all at once.

A foggy grey covers the cabin and lulls its inhabitants to sleep. Swim-tired, sunkissed, and energy-spent — you all return to a sweeter sort of peace. The sudden exhaustion feels like rose petals. It’s gentle, pure, and liquid smooth. 

Robin clocks out first, and in record time. She stomps in from outside, terribly sunburnt and complaining relentlessly — before and after a cold shower. She shoves a burger in her face and passes out on the couch soon after.

Steve makes fun of her for it, but he goes right after her. He lays opposite her on the small couch, both of them fighting for room, even in their sleep.

Nancy went a lot more quietly, and only after the millionth time you assured her that she was more than welcome to take the bed. “It’s not like Robin has any plans of sleeping upstairs right now,” you joked, nodding your head over to the brunette girl who had her chin tilted backward and her mouth wide open.

You can’t be entirely sure what the kids are up to now, but they’ve all returned to the bunk room. It’s quiet, but not suspiciously so. You figure they’re all either sleeping or fighting it, so you decide to give them privacy while you sit alone in the kitchen — waiting for Eddie’s shower to end and for Hopper to get off the phone with you.

“Having fun?” the man wonders politely.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum in response, cheek propped lazily against your fist as you lean over the granite countertop. You’re too heavy with fatigue to do anything else. Your legs are sore and your skin is sun-drenched. Slumber all but sings your name like a siren out at sea.

“What about El? She doing okay?”

“Yep.”

“You’re watching her and Mike, right? You’re not letting them go off alone?”

“Yes, Hopper,” you singsong in an impatient-sounding sigh.

The man huffs out a laugh that crackles from the other line. “You sound like you don’t wanna talk to me, teacup.”

“I’m sorry. ‘M just tired. Running after kids all day is exhausting,” you confess in a series of barely intelligible mumbles.

“Exactly. That’s why you wear protection—”

“Hopper!”

“I’m just saying!” Jim defends between a bout of gruff laughter. “I don’t want you  coming back from this trip and having a mini-Munson nine months later, alright? That’s all I’m saying.”

You have a hard time placing his intention — if he’s truly being protective or if he’s just making fun of you. He’s more than aware of Eddie’s secret, after all, so you coming home with a mini-Munson is virtually impossible. But, then again, no-parents-empty-cabin surely has its own lewd history.

You figure it’s a healthy mixture of both, and decide to take the piss out of him, too.

“Oh, trust me, lurch. There’s gonna be a million mini-Munsons when I get back. What do you think I’ve been doing all this time, huh?” you argue with squinted eyes and a sudden fire behind your sunkissed lassitude. “Please ignore the sounds of moaning and squeaking, by the way.”

A beat of utter silence passes. 

The other line is perfectly mute. You can’t even hear his breathing.

“…That’s not funny,” Hopper grouses in a monotone.

“I’m not laughing,” you retort, giggling anyway. You couldn’t hide them if you tried. Fuck, you miss annoying this man in person. 

You collect yourself with a sigh and continue. “Believe it or not, I’m perfectly abstinent, okay? I’m not some kinda fiend that… You know what— I don’t want to talk about this with you, actually.”

Hopper exhales a sigh of relief when you cut yourself off. “Good. I checked out of this conversation about a minute ago.”

“I’m good. El’s good. Everyone’s currently sleeping, so… Thanks for checking in, lurch.”

“Remind me to ask for Harrington next time I call.”

“Will do.”

You hang up the phone with a smile and a plan to trek upstairs and tell Eddie all about it. You’ll sit on the bathroom counter and laugh about it with him while he finishes up his shower. You’ll leave out the million Munsons part, of course, because you don’t want him to think you’re a total weirdo.

Eddie finds you first.

“Mini Munsons, huh?” you hear the boy chuckle behind you.

Your heart lurches against your ribcage at his sudden arrival. You spin around to face him, features wide and gaping as you figure out how to worm your way out of this one. “I was— I was just kidding. Hopper was being annoying, you know? So I was… I was just fucking around with him…”

Eddie meets your wild-eyed shock with a much cooler, pink smile. It’s lopsided and wide and beautiful. Leaning against the wall, he bounces his shoulder and juts out his lip. “Well, I know that’s your favorite pastime, so… I guess I won’t hold it against you.”

You know he’s joking, but you exhale the breath you were holding in relief anyway. “Thank you…”

He walks the short distance to meet you. His bare feet pad against the kitchen tile until he’s close enough to wrap you in his arms. He carries the smell of your body wash with him — a warm, floral, and sweet scent. His hair is damp and pulled back out of his face, dripping onto the neck of his t-shirt.

His palms are wide and lotion-soft as they smooth up your forearms. “Uh… Everyone’s asleep now, I think, so… You wanna go talk?”

He looks at you so sweet, you’re almost certain it’s code for something. Not sex, maybe, but something almost as gratifying. It’s Eddie — he kisses you stupid like he was made to do it. You’re more than happy to make out like teenagers until the rest of the cabin starts to stir again.

“Sure, I do,” you answer with a shrug, trying to keep an air of nonchalance about you even though you’re beaming up at him like schoolgirl — some innocent being that’s never been hurt before.

You let him lead you up the spiral staircase with that same giddy grin. You barely let him shut the door behind you before you’re pushing him against it. 

You hear him gasp quietly when your arms wrap suddenly around his neck. He’s tense when your body presses against his, like hugging a mountain’s edge. It takes him a moment or more to respond when you start kissing the breath from his lungs.

He finally relaxes with a soft exhale that fans against your cupid’s bow. His idling hands settle over your hips, fingers threatening to crawl beneath your cropped shirt when it rises to reveal a sliver of your skin. You’d kill for him to touch you further, but his touch stays perfectly still. You’re just glad he’s holding you at all.

He tastes like nicotine, soda, and summertime — clean, boyish, and nostalgic. Your tongue swipes gently over his plush bottom lip for more. You expect him to open up further for you, to let you explore the mouth you already know like the back of your hand. You’re heartbroken when he pulls away from you entirely, missing him the second he’s gone.

Eddie’s grieving in a similar way. It’s hard for him to part from you when you kiss him like no person on earth has ever been kissed.

He breathes out a soft laugh as he peers down at you. He grins crookedly with his freshly swollen lips. “Not that I’m not enjoying this or anything, sweetheart, but when I said talk, I really did mean talk…”

Your blood runs red-hot. “Oh…” you sigh like an idiot because you can’t think of anything else to say. You feel like a total fool — spent ages denying the slut stereotype just to jump someone’s bones the second you got them alone. Maybe they were right about you.

Eddie sees you second-guessing everything, watches you form a long-winded apology inside your head. He follows up quickly to quell your worry. “No, it’s okay— it’s kinda my bad, actually. I guess I should’ve clarified.”

You muster a trembling smile when you step back from him. You’re cold the second he’s gone. You have to fight back the shiver that crawls up your spine. “Well, you did say talk, so…”

“Yeah, but how often do I say things I actually mean?”

“Sometimes,” you answer sheepishly, gazing at him from beneath your lashes in a sincere response to his half-joke. “I hope…”

I hope you meant it when you said you liked me, is what you’re really trying to say. I hope you meant all the nice things you’ve said about me, ‘cause I don’t think I could handle them never being real.

He seems to hear everything you don’t say. 

His rosy lips tug into a slow smile as he tilts his head to his shoulder. “Well… maybe when it comes to you, sweetheart.”

Your girlish smile returns to you — wide, innocent, unhurt. You like feeling this special. You like Eddie belonging to you in a way he doesn’t to anybody else. It’s a primal sort of possession, a borderline unhealthy one for someone who loves like it’s breathing.

“What did you wanna talk about then?” you wonder, then scrunch your nose with a distant wariness. “It kinda seems serious now.”

“No,” Eddie scoffs, walking away from you and towards the bed. “Not serious.”

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he flops down onto it. You want to scold him for being so rough with an obviously aged thing that doesn’t belong to him. You’re already gravitating towards him with an unrealized smile on your face. 

You sit down beside him, far more gently than he had. You settle on top of the fluffy comforter and curl your legs behind you. Eddie lays on his side, propping his head up with one hand and using the other to trace the faded scars and beauty marks on your thigh. 

His finger trails absentmindedly over your skin in a featherlight touch. Chills erupt over your skin, and he smiles to himself. You’re still learning how to be touched so delicately.

“Spit it out, Eds. The tension’s killing me,” you laugh with words you’ll regret a second later.

“I don’t know… I just— I wanted to ask why you never told me about Steve,” the boy says with a nonchalant shrug, like the words don’t suck all the breath from your lungs. He’s too busy watching his finger dance across your skin to see the shock flood your features. “Like, I knew you guys had— a thing or whatever. But I didn’t know… you know, the rest of it.”

Despite being unable to breathe, you try to muster a laugh. “This sounds like a pretty serious topic, Eds.”

His wide-eyed gaze matches your own. His stare darts upward to meet yours. The chocolate of his irises are full with brooding. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Actually, he spent his entire showering thinking of ways to bring this up that would be the least painful for the both of you. But in true Eddie Munson fashion, he can’t ever say the right thing.

“No! No, it— it doesn’t have to be. I was just… It was just a question, you know?” he sputters hopelessly. He glances away and mumbles to himself, “A really dumb, stupid question…”

Despite the overwhelming urge to find the deepest, darkest hole and hide there, you can’t tear your eyes away from the boy in front of you. You’re not really looking at him, though, much too deep in your own head about the whole thing. 

You can’t stop thinking about what he must’ve heard — how he felt when he heard it. Did he think of you differently? Even for a fraction of a second, was he embarrassed at the very thought of you?

“Are you saying that… Steve told you about… all of it?” you ask slowly, terrified of the answer.

“Uh, yeah…” Eddie hesitates, equally as apprehensive. “Honestly, I think we were going a little insane with the girls around…”

He exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh and flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It ebbs away a moment later.

“Why would he do that?” you wonder with wide, wet eyes. The question is more for yourself than anything. You can’t begin to understand why Steve would’ve opened up about such a thing — to Eddie, of all people. Your Eddie.

“I asked him about Billy—”

“What do you know about Billy?”

“Well, he brought it up, but—”

“So you spent the entire time talking about me?” The laugh that spills from your mouth is bitter, cruel. 

Eddie, who’s never known you to be either, chuckles emotionlessly back. “Well… No. It just— It just came up, I guess.”

You smile despite the emotion swimming in your glassy eyes. It makes the boy cower inside himself, unsure which contrasting reaction to pay the most attention to. “My relationship with Steve and Billy just… came up?”

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal, babe—”

“It’s not a big deal because they weren’t your exes,” you bite like a snarling dog. “If I spent the entire time talking about you, you wouldn’t be too happy about it either, would you?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “I didn’t come up? Not one time?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. The volume of your answer and its blurted sincerity take him by surprise. You wave your hands wildly as you ramble. “I told Nancy that I missed you and that I couldn’t wait to see you and give you a bunch of stupid flowers—”

You motion to the makeshift bouquet sitting on the nightstand. They idle in a clear shot glass Eddie found in one of the cabinets. He couldn’t stand not giving them a home.

“—While you were off with Steve, talking about everyone that’s fucked me over!”

Your rage is as wild as it is brutal. You’re painted red from the slaughter you’ve been forced through. It’s given you claws and teeth accordingly. 

Like a stray dog that bites the gentle hand trying to feed it, you’ve been so obviously mistreated. Eddie knew that before he knew you — ‘cause he’s got eyes, as well as a bleeding heart. Someone didn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved, and now the memory turns you cruel.

“It wasn’t like that, okay?” Eddie presses with an urgency you can feel on his hand curling intently around your calf. His fingers tremble with sincerity. His dark eyes swim with it, too. “I just— I wanted to learn more about you because you never tell me anything!”

“Yes, I do!” you scoff.

“Then why do you never talk about Billy?”

“Why do you care so much about Billy?” you cry with a broad, disbelieving smile. “Why do I need to talk about him? He doesn’t even matter— he doesn’t even exist anymore!”

“Because something obviously happened! And if that thing is bothering you, I wanna be able to make it better!”

“That’s what therapists are for, Eddie. Not boyfriends.”

“Yeah, not any that you ever had,” he scoffs to himself before he can stop it. 

You tense beneath his hand. He deflates with a sigh — squeezing his eyes shut and asking himself how the hell he manages to make the bad shit that much worse. 

“Sorry. I’m— I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t bring any of this up to hurt your feelings, alright? I just wanted to— I don’t know— I just wanted to talk about it, okay? That’s all.”

You can tell he’s being sincere. That he really did just want to talk about it, and that he really is worried about you, and that he really does want to make it all better. He wears it all over his face. His features are soft and blurred and utterly genuine.

You haven’t yet softened your sharp, whetted edges. “You said we didn’t have to. That this trip was supposed to be fun.”

He flinches at the way you spit the words at him. They’re coated in vinegar, venom. It sinks into his skin and maims him accordingly. His bushy brows furrow, the corners of his mouth turn downward, and his eyes go glassy — a sad puppy indeed.

“You’re not having fun?” he wonders in a wounded whisper.

His hurt becomes your own. It only makes your anger tower mountains over you. “Not anymore,” you answer lowly and through a tense jaw.

Eddie’s spent a lifetime screwing things up. He’s spent a lifetime apologizing for them, too. This one aches worse than all the others combined. “I’m sorry…” he mutters quietly.

You’ve never seen him this somber. This sad.

The broken look of your lover’s heartache cracks the hardened porcelain you’re made of. You let out the breath you were holding in a trembling, heavy sigh. “No, don’t— Don’t apologize.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t have brought it up…” he confesses with his gaze cast downward.

You bring a hand to the one idling on your leg. You rest your soft palm over his bony knuckles. Your touch is much warmer than the iceberg you were just minutes ago. 

“It’s okay. You were just curious. I shouldn’t have blown up the way I did,” you concede. The softness he’s more familiar with finally returns to you. The corner of your lip quirks into a wavering half-smile as you joke, “But if you want the entire list of guys that have fucked me over, it’s a really— it’s really fucking long one.”

You laugh quietly at your joke. 

But Eddie knows it’s not really a joke, so he stays unsmiling.

His touch is still soft, though. He takes to rubbing your calf again — a slow and measured up and down — a reminder that he’s still in your corner. “Well, you can tell me about it when you’re ready.”

“What if I’m not?” you wonder, hesitant and testing the waters. “Like… What if I don’t want you to know all that stuff?”

Eddie’s gaze flits away from yours as he ponders the question. He purses his lips to the side and nods to himself, visibly deep in thought. “Then I’m good with not knowing,” he answers after a few, long moments.

“Are you?”

Again, he thinks.

“Not really. No,” he responds, still as honest as he’s always been with you. He grins lopsidedly and bounces his shoulder. “But if it means I get to keep you, then… Yeah.”

You exhale a breathy laugh at his words.

Eddie’s wavering smile breaks out in a sheepish beam at the sight of your more genuine grin. 

“Can I have a kiss?” he whispers to you, as innocent and mousy as a child.

Your hand gives his a reassuring squeeze. “You never have to ask, Eds…” you remind him.

You lean down to press your mouth against his. He tilts his chin to meet you halfway. It’s chaste and lingering — a delicate peck that expresses all the swirling emotions neither of you could name if you tried. 

“There isn’t anything about you that I wouldn’t want to know,” Eddie confesses after he’s pulled away from you. The breath of his words fan across your cheek, he’s still so close to you. His deep galaxy eyes dance between both of yours. “You know that, right?”

A smile tugs slow at your mouth. “Now, I do,” you nod in return, even though you’re not sure if you believe him. 

He only says that because he doesn’t know you — the deep, dark you that you try to keep hidden from yourself and the rest of the world. He’d learn everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve done, and he’d hate you. He wouldn’t be able to look at you the same.

You can’t stand the thought of Eddie looking at you the way the rest of Hawkins does — with eyes squinted and twinkling with an admiral sort of disgust. So you’d rather him not know any of it at all.

Silence dances into the room as effortlessly as a spring breeze. The rain’s offbeat cadence taps hard against the sliding glass door across the room. You have the sudden urge to walk outside and stand it. You think it’d be easier to drown in the warm deluge than in your own thoughts.

Eddie’s rosy mouth turns slightly upward. Yours does, too, in anticipation of what he’s about to tell you.

“Wanna fool around?” he wonders, if only to brighten the heavy grey mood.

The sound of your laughter is sunshine — a metaphor he’s been trying to write for years. “You can’t just say that every time we’re alone, Eds!”

“Why not?” he challenges just to tease you.

“Because you know we can’t,” you answer with a soft sort of sternness about you. Your eyes are firm with sincerity, though they sparkle with mischief.

“We’ve been here almost two days, and I haven’t got one whiff of Jason Voorhees, babe.”

“That’s not what I mean,” you mutter, then whisper more quietly. “There’s people downstairs.”

“Well, you can be quiet…” Eddie lilts, grin lopsided and pink as he rises off the mattress to lean closer to you. His breath fans across your chin, coated with nicotine and something sugary. He tilts his wild head to the side and raises his brows in question. “Can’t you?”

“I’m not sure that you can, Eds.”

“Don’t worry about me,” the boy assures, voice low and suddenly serious.

His warm palm travels up your calf, smoothing over your knee and curling around the side of your thigh. His touch is almost as all-consuming as his stare — deep chocolate brown, as infinite as a galaxy. You fall into them accordingly. You couldn’t deny him if you wanted to.

You try, anyway.

“Eddie…” you start, a warning that trails off when he squeezes the buzzing skin of your outer thigh.

“Lay down,” he urges. It’s too soft to be a genuine command. It gives him ample opportunity to turn it all into a joke on the off chance you reject him completely.

You don’t. You couldn’t.

You find yourself slithering past him and closer to the headboard before you realize you’re doing it. It’s like you’re made of magic, totally under whatever spell he’s unknowingly cast upon you. Your head’s swimming with his sorcery as you lie back on the pillows. 

Eddie follows you, resting his body above yours. It’s a comfortable sort of weight, heavenly even. He props himself up on his forearms so he isn’t crushing you completely, though you wouldn’t complain if he did. 

You want him to ruin you, and then you want to thank him for it.

The untrimmed edges of his curls hang down over his face. They tickle your jaw when he kisses you with the ardency of someone who wants to swallow you whole. His tongue swipes against yours, slow and more aggressive than either of you expect. He sucks on your swelling bottom lip right after.

The gray world around you explodes with a burst of a thousand colors. You can’t see any of them because the inner workings of your mind have been stripped away and replaced totally with Eddie. His nose nudging against yours. The taste of his mouth. The texture of his tongue. The warmth of his breath. His hand traveling down down down your body.

His palm starts at your cheek, cupping sweetly at your jaw so he can open your mouth wider for him. Then his touch trails down to your neck, taking a brief pitstop to feel the rapid thrum of your racing pulse, before falling to your chest.

You think he must be able to feel your pounding heart through your t-shirt when he cups your breast. His thumb swipes over your hardened nipple in time with his tongue diving deep into your mouth. You feel his lips curl into a smile when the combined efforts make you shiver.

His fingers smooth over your ribcage, then your stomach, and then your hips. 

It’s a touch featherlight, yet steady and earnest at the same time. His hand creeps slowly over the thin fabric of your shorts and settles between the warmth radiating between your thighs. He cups you gently through your clothes and kisses the breath from your lungs. It’s like he’s trying to kill you.

You buck your hips slightly upward in a silent plea for more. 

The boy above you has the nerve to pull away from you to ask, “This okay?” 

His hair is mussed from where your fingers had entwined so intensely in his chestnut strands. His lips are rosy and swollen and wild. You get lost looking at him. 

With dazed eyes trained on the pink mouth you so desperately want to kiss again, you nod like an enthusiastic child.

“Can I do more?” Eddie wonders through heavy breaths.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, right before your hips cant against the subtle weight of his palm.

You watch with wide, unblinking eyes as Eddie brings his hand to his mouth. His pink tongue darts out to lick the pads of his middle and forefinger, leaving them glistening as he slithers them into your shorts. 

His efforts to be easy with you are appreciated but virtually unnecessary. You’re as slippery as satin for him, drooling in anticipation for him to make you feel good. 

He slides two fingers into your trembling pussy with little effort. The fatty edge of his palm settles over your swelling clit. Your head tilts back against the pillow while you exhale a pretty moan.

With your eyes fluttered shut, you don’t see the crooked grin tugging slow at Eddie’s mouth. “Shh…” he shushes, only half playful, before engulfing your mouth again and swallowing each of your gentle cries. 

He’s moaning with you, though, at the soft squelch your pussy makes when his fingers sink to the knuckle inside you. You feel the smooth metal of his rings on the outside of your cunt and the inside of your thighs.

And fuck, you’re so pretty for him — always so pretty for him — that it makes him forget about the ache of his stiffening cock. His yearning for you throbs like a heartbeat. He wants so desperately to fuck you, to really fuck you until he’s got you gushing all over his lap. But he figures he can settle for this for now. 

But the way you’re moaning for him just now? It doesn’t really feel like settling.

“You’re so pretty,” he hums lowly, almost to himself. “Have I told you that?”

He has. Plenty of times within the few months he’s been able to do that without it being too weird. It feels like the first time he’s ever said it to you, anyway.

A breathy moan spills lightly from your lips, like a spring breeze coated in sunshine. It’s the total opposite of the storm swirling outside the bedroom. 

Your cunt involuntarily squeezes his fingers at the compliment — walls sticky, hot, and pulsing. You all but melt around the two digits he presses inside you.

He figures you must like the praise, which is great ‘cause praising you is the easiest thing on the planet. 

“You have such a pretty pussy, too,” he confesses in a gritty whisper.

You moan for him again, a muffled cry stuck in your throat.

“Feels so warm around my fingers… And you’re so tight, baby— I don’t know how I’m gonna fit my cock in you—”

His words are as sinful as they are vivid. 

Behind your shut eyes, you can see the vision of him on top of you. You can feel his sweaty body sticking to yours like glue — similar to the honey you leak for him while he fucks you. 

If you try hard enough, you can almost replace his fingers for his cock. You know it’s nowhere near as pleasurable as the real thing, though.

The thought of him fucking you — making love to you — has you whining and writhing beneath him. Your hips jut upward, looking for pleasure and running away from it all at once. His fingers squelch as they push in and in and in. You drool impossibly more for him, drenching his fingers and his rings and the cotton sheets below you.

“You could take it though, right?” the boy above you wonders, swollen lips quirked in a heavy half-smile. “You’d take whatever I give you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

You hardly recognize him now. Not because he’s teasing you — because you’ve gotten more than used to that — but because he’s so damn confident. 

He talks to you with the finesse of a guy who’s done this a thousand times, to a thousand different girls. You’re the first, and you know this, but he’s ruining you like he created you.

You nod with a satin sigh.

The silent admission makes Eddie’s head spin. 

He shouldn’t have you in the first place, the metalhead freak he is, yet he’s got two fingers inside you and your permission to go further. And he wants to — god, he wants to — but he’s scared it’ll drive him crazy. 

Crazier than he already is for you, if that’s possible.

“Get on your side for me, yeah?” he whispers to you, surprising himself with his newfound dominance.

You’re too far gone to do anything but obey him. 

You maneuver onto your side like he asked, feeling like your bones are made of melted honey. Eddie follows you. He keeps his fingers nestled deep inside your thrumming heat as he curls in behind you. 

His stiff, aching cock is hard and heavy against your clothed ass. Despite the layers of clothes separating you, his warmth presses so intently against you. You clench around him at the feeling — tighter when his fingers begin to crook inside you. You tilt your head back and moan, rutting further back against him.

Eddie smushes his nose into your hair and hums a moan in his throat. His heavy exhale fans against the shell of your ear. He keeps working you open with his fingers, a slow and measured rhythm he maintains with the thrusts of his hips.

He’s terribly sensitive, almost embarrassingly so. You drive him too wild for anything else. Even like this, without being inside you and with his clothes still on, he feels like he might explode.

You’re much of the same. The pad of his thumb rubs mercilessly at your swollen clit as his fingers coax you towards a head-spinning orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure crawls up your throat, strikes you like lightning, and swirls in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t run from it if you tried.

It doesn’t stop you from canting your hips back and forth — a feeble attempt to cope with the overwhelming pleasure Eddie gives you with nothing but his hand. With his pale arm caging your side and his lean body behind you, curling and melting with yours, you can only get so far. 

All you can do is take it.

Eddie whimpers delicately in your ear as he humps your ass. He babbles in faint whines — things you don’t think he realizes he’s saying. 

“You’re so hot, baby,” he slurs heavily, swollen mouth tracing the shell of your ear. “So soft, too... Fuck... Keep grinding back on me like that— shit, yeah, just like that. ’S gonna make me come in my fucking pants, baby.”

If you weren’t drowning in the void of your own pleasure, you might’ve asked him to come. No, begged him to. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” you would’ve assured him, only slightly teasing. But you don’t do any of that because his fingers are shoved so far into you that you can feel them in your throat. 

Or maybe that’s just your impending climax choking you. 

You couldn’t form an intelligible sentence if you wanted to, either way. 

Instead, you roll your hips back against his cock and act like he’s fucking you for real. The idea of it alone sends you catapulting into an orgasm. You’re so far gone for him — for the freak of Hawkins — you let him ruin you while you fall for him like the rain pounding at your window. 

Effortlessly, unapologetically, and over and over and over again.

Eddie dampens his boxers in the same way you drench his fingers. His twitching cock drools for you, more and more as he nears his peak. He hasn’t felt anything as gratifying as grinding against you like this. He’s bound to be a fucking goner the second he’s caught inside your snug pussy. 

“Can feel you trembling for me, you know?” he continues to ramble, only half-aware of the sin spilling from his rosy lips. His thumb presses against the fleshy hood of your clit. He’s barely moving it, but the pressure alone has you buzzing.  “You’re gonna cum so hard for me, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over my hand?”

You bite back a cry — quite literally, with your teeth caging your bottom teeth — and lean your head back to bear your throat. You throw a hand back in search of Eddie. Your fingers twist in the mussed curls at the crown of his head.

“Mm, Eddie—” you call in a muffled cry, overwhelmed and half-frightened by how good he’s making you feel. By how hard you’re about to cum for him.

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos sympathetically to you, crooking his fingers in time with his grinds against the plush of your ass. His cock starts to ache all over again, this time with hunger. 

Through a breaking voice, he begs. “Go on and cum for me, yeah? Let me make you feel good, baby. Cum all over my fingers, baby— I need it… I fucking need it. I’m so fucking close—”

You bury your face in the pillow when you cum, crying his name into the cushion for only the two of you to hear. You tense, thighs shaking and toes curling, as you gush around his fingers — like the pouring rain outside. 

You drip mercilessly for him, a slippery mess between your thighs you know you should be ashamed of. You might’ve been, if it were anybody else.

Eddie stills behind you, though his fingers remain relentless. He coaxes you completely through your orgasm just as he’s reaching his own. His moans come out in gasps — choppy, sharp breaths through a swollen mouth. His aching cock spits in the confines of his boxers, several warm loads that cool too quickly. 

He trembles through his high, trying to trek through its entirety but growing so suddenly sensitive. 

You let him work you through yours. His fingers, now wrinkled at the pads, are frozen inside you while his thumb circles softly at your delicate clit. You twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your hand leaves his hair to grab his wrist, a silent plea that you can’t take anything more.

And the two of you just lie there, for several long moments — sticky, blissed-out, and so intently pressed together. You let the heavy moment of your ebbing orgasms linger. You decompose together in the heavy honey of pleasure.

It’s all so messy, but then again, everything seems to be. 

His hair, his fingers, his boxers. 

Your thighs, your bed, your heart. 

Words. Life. Love.

[xxsycamore]

'𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐌 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

↬ ❤  You make Roy's number one dirty fantasy come true.

Roy Mustang x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Fetish; Fetish Clothing; Skirts; Secret Relationship; Sex in a Car; Semi-Public Sex; Teasing; Fondling; Hand & Finger Kink; Vaginal Sex; Creampie; Dom/sub Undertones • wordcount: 2,183 • masterlist

And the rest of the world could disappear and I wouldn't care

'Cause I'm on fire.

(namesake song by Stateless)

a/n: Don't rewatch fma years later if you've become a writer somewhere along the way. You'd have something you want to get out of your system and it will be embarrassing.

"Are you cold, Lieutenant?"

Like a switch that's been flipped, Roy's tone changes once he finds himself alone with you. It was just a second ago when he gave the chauffeur an order, quick and straightforward, putting a start to the two-hour-long ride and shutting the metal cover of the partition that provides privacy to the backseat. Of course, you're accompanying Roy today - it's just you - and having known that in advance, while your Colonel's brilliant mind was at work crafting military plans, yours was coming up with plans of its own. Ones that are quite different in nature.

Your heart rate had quickened the moment you found yourself in the vehicle with Roy. No, even earlier than that. With hot blood pumping through your veins, there's no way you could be cold as per his question. But Roy is oh so perceptive when it comes to you; caring in the way the question rolled off his tongue, colored by his noticeably softer tone.

He's asking you because you're still wearing that long black coat over your uniform today, neatly buttoned all the way up, even if the sun did its best to warm up the earth so that the hours around noon offer weather that is rather pleasant.

And if you said you are cold? What would he do then?

With a well-measured chuckle, you slip into your more casual persona, remembering that you're now behind closed doors, so to say.

"Quite the contrary, I was thinking of taking this off now."

Over the rustling of clothes, your ears pick up on the small humming of part-curiosity part-confusion leaving Roy's mouth. The shared seat is rather cramped in the most perfect way, making your efforts at brushing past Roy's form inconspicuous as you strip off the overcoat. You need his eyes on you for what is about to follow.

You make sure you're half turned to the Colonel as you rise yourself off the seat so you can not only shrug it off your shoulders but also discard it completely to be half-decently folded and soon-to-be-forgotten, at your other side.

"Ah, that's much better—" The words are not yet fully out past your lips before Roy reacts. Your smile widens with mischief as you're granted a few silent seconds which stretch out to a blissful eternity, full of staring freely at Roy's expression. That's the face of a man getting a hard-on, if you know one.

Roy's deep dark eyes are wide with surprise, glued at your lower half, mouth slightly ajar. You're waiting for him to return the gaze. When he finally does, you're witnessing a new shift in his mood.

"What are you wearing, Lieutenant?"

Playing coy, you run a hand across your hip, from knee to the hem of that piece of clothing that seems to have captured Roy's attention so immensely. You swear you can hear the hitching of his breath as you graze the material with the tips of your fingers, barely dragging it higher up your hip than it already is, revealing more of your bare skin underneath.

"Oh, this? I found my old uniform at the bottom of my closet the other day, and… I made some adjustments."

The cheap lie of your casualness is see-through, when Roy can tell the effort behind those modest adjustments. What once was an ordinary part of your blue Amestrian state military uniform has been diligently reshaped into something so wicked and out of place with the attributes it once bore.

At least, that's how most people would see it.

You know that it's clear as day to Roy that you've actually taken care of everything to the tiniest detail; the thin silvery edges along the front pleads and the slit on the left side.

"A miniskirt?" Roy's chuckle is him regaining his composure, and his glove-clad hand palming the ball of your knee is his barely contained interest. It's hard not to part your legs right there and then, almost as if this is the signal you've been waiting for.

"A tiny miniskirt! C'mon Colonel, where is your enthusiasm? This is me showing commitment and loyalty to your high ideals…!"

Playing with fire, you take Roy's hand and guide it upwards to the subject of the conversation. The warmth of your skin is still penetrable as you can feel Roy's burning touch where it comes in contact with it. You egg him on, despite the time and the place, or maybe exactly because of the risk they carry.

"You can treat this as a preview, for the day you finally reach your goal…" You reach out a hand to caress his face, but Roy is quicker, catching it in his grasp.

"Here's my enthusiasm."

With a swift manner, you find yourself manhandled into the position Roy desires, seated on his lap - with your back to him.

Relentlessly, Roy's large palm is laid on the place between your shoulder blades as he pushes, making you bend forward.

You grunt, less out of discomfort than of surprise weaving along with pure desire pooling in your abdomen.

"It's quite short, isn't it? Are you even aware that you're giving me a flash of your underwear right now?"

It's firm and matter-of-factly, Roy's tone, as he sends shivers down your spine, forced to realize you're no longer in control of the speed of events. He could pull out his cock right now and you'd obediently sit back without protest, only able to lament the loss of the rest of the teasing you never got to inflict on your Colonel.

You all but feel his gaze on your ass, the lack of contact killing you as you feel your legs begin to slightly cramp from holding the position. Perhaps your hyper-concentration is what lets you know he is taking off his gloves right now, the faint, familiar sliding sound of the thin material indicating things you can't even wrap your mind around despite being all the same ready for. Luckily Roy doesn't leave you hanging for much longer, even if his next action rips out an embarrassing gasp out of you.

"Ah—"

Sensing his big, strong hands suddenly coming to grasp and grope the globes of your ass through the material of your skirt, or at least the part it does cover a part of, you shamelessly feel desire seeping wetly inside your panties, staining them right where Roy's gaze is bored into. You're all on display for him, and you like it, in combination with the way he squeezes and pulls your asscheeks apart, that's your confirmation. That's exactly what Roy's dirty fantasies were made of, and you're making them all come true right now.

At this point, you should've expected the small slap he gives your ass, but nonetheless you still flinch when Roy leaves a faint imprint of his palm on your cheek.

"Turn around for me."

Without skipping a beat, you shift your position between his long legs, eager to be welcomed in his embrace. Roy lets you straddle him, your legs coming to rest on either side of his, and inevitably your tiny miniskirt rides up even more.

Roy lets out a low humming noise, palming your newly exposed heat through the underwear, and you can tell he felt the wet patch stained with your arousal. He guides you to sit down on him comfortably, but instead of relaxing, you tense up as soon as you feel his raging hard-on tenting his trousers.

You really made him diamonds, a smirk playing on your face with the thought, despite how progressively lightheaded you get. Perhaps there's still room for a witty remark or two before he steals your ability to form coherent words.

"On a second thought… I think I might be rather cold in this skimpy thing…"

You reach out to find his hands, wanting to guide them on your body again, but Roy barely needs the encouragement. With your hands on top of his, he traces the skin of your thighs, exposing you in a lie as he feels how hot your flesh is the more he nears the apex of your thighs.

"Caress me, Roy… set me on fire with your touch…"

The call of his name does things to him you can only vaguely imagine by the way his lower lip slightly twitches. You can tell he's been craving for you to call him by his name in the sea of formality surrounding your daily lives. Right here and right now, he's your Roy; he wants to hear it again and again, and you make use of knowing it well.

"I'll take good care of you, then."

Unzipping his trousers, Roy distracts you with a long-awaited kiss as he makes quick work of his garments, freeing his aching cock. True to his word, his hands continue to roam on you, under the short coat of your uniform, then under your skirt; fingers sticking in the hem of it, toying with it but never taking it off. That's good, that's what you made it for, he needs to enjoy seeing it on you to his fullest.

In contrast to how much he takes his time caressing you, the way he puts your panties to the side is all but cruel and rushed, as if the barrier separating you offends him.

You expect him to shove his cock in you in a heartbeat, but he has other plans. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he maneuvers you up again so your glistening lower lips are only slightly grazing the tip of his cock. So close, yet so far from becoming one with him.

"You're going to pay for doing this when I can't get my fill of you."

Hearing those words, you suck on a breath, eager to know what he means. He gives you the answer without having to ask.

"Nothing to bend you over on. Not enough room to fuck your beautiful thighs."

You mewl as you finally feel his warm hand on your bare heat, wetness pooling on his palm as he rubs your folds in a way that isn't even remotely enough to spark satisfaction.

Maybe he's right, this is cruel of you; the images he paints in your imagination are all too vivid and dreamy when the only thing you can think of is presenting himself to him, enticing him to finally, finally-

Before a loud moan can escape your throat, Roy's hand clasps around your mouth, sealing it shut so no sound can leave. The other he uses to push you down on his cock, piercing you with it on one swift, long thrust.

You pulsate around him, walls tightening and refusing to relax as if afraid he'll deprive you of this pleasure as quickly as he gifted it to you.

Roy doesn't take his hand off just yet, knowing all too well that you have a lot more of those sweet sounds in you that are not suitable for the risky situation you're currently in. Paying attention to the volume of his own voice, he whispers more filth against your nape, bringing forth goosebumps.

"Relax so I can finally fuck you like you wanted to. That's what all of this was for, right? You wanted to be pounded good?"

Feeling Roy beginning to move you up and down on his cock, you can barely think of giving him an answer, but maybe your body does the speaking for you anyway.

"One day I'll seriously have you wear these things around me all the time. Would you mind then, I wonder? Or would you be getting off on the thought of how much you rile me up everytime I catch a glimpse of what's under your skirt?"

Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes with how good it all feels, his dirty promise, or this little taste you're given of how such a scenario would play out, you do your best to follow Roy's movements as you fuck yourself on his cock harder than how he tries to make you.

The fierce look he gives you with those dark, lust-clouded eyes, is already driving you closer and closer to the edge, and you want to drag Roy together with you. In an attempt to seal his lips with yours, Roy shows mercy and removes his hand from your mouth, changing it for his own mouth.

His low grunts are something you'll hear in your head for days, as he erupts in you right as you fall in the abyss of pleasure, meeting him halfway. His scorching hot semen shoots in you in several pumps as you helplessly tremble in Roy's arms, trusting him to catch you when your body goes limp with pleasure.

He calms down from his high gradually, petting your back as you continue to cum around him.

Not pulling out just yet, Roy kisses the last sparks of afterglow from your lips, making sure you both enjoy this moment to the fullest.

At least until the next time you both can indulge in those perverse fantasies again.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[fairyringsandwings]

Drabble gift for @anonymousmink, inspired by her beautiful mermaid AU! I'm sharing the story here too, so I ain't playing favs with the twitter girlies 😂

Tags: mermaid au, a little dark at the end, near drowning, rated T.

Across The Ocean

A storm is coming, Pirate.

Qimir smiles at the sound of her voice. Like a message in a bottle it has been carried to him through ocean currents, winds and tides.

Maybe this time you'll heed caution and stay on land, where you're supposed to be.

Are you worried? Qimir asks.

For you? No. The mess your ship will leave on the seabed? Yes. 

Then put an end to this and let me find you, Osha. 

She gives him no reply, but he can feel her irritation through their connection, how it prickles at her scales. She severs the connection with a huff. 

Where once the world had been silent as they communicated, now Qimir is flooded with sensations. The roar of the wind as it slaps against black sails. The waves, much rougher than before, breaking against the ship and rocking it with increasing wildness. The worried chatter of his crew as they scramble about the deck, securing everything not bolted down. 

Qimir hangs off the edge of the ship, one arm wrapped around the rigging. He opens his eyes, taking note of the ominous clouds darkening the horizon.

Osha had not lied, she never the did when it came to this. It is a salve on his aching soul, for it assures him that despite all her rejections, she does not want him dead. She flees from him, only because she knows that should they meet again - no, when they meet again - his silver tongue will lure her to his side, as surely as her voice had led sailors to their watery doom. 

But not me, Qimir thinks confidently. You could never bring yourself to do that to me, could you, Osha? 

Oh, she had certainly tried.

He remembers the day that he had corned his little mermaid in a lagoon at Olega. How in her desperation to escape she had sung a song so achingly sweet all of Qimir's reason and logic had fled his mind, pulling him into a dream that vanquished all the loneliness, the anger, and the hurt that festered in his heart. It had been utter bliss. A euphoric feeling that consumed him body and mind. 

His feet had moved of their own accord. His actions not his own. He had plunged from his ship, his lungs filling with salty water that burned, burned, burned.

Then it had stopped. Arms had slipped under his and pulled him from the ocean's deathly clutches. He remembers spewing water as he lay on his side on the sandy beach. He remembers coming to his senses, horrified when he realised what had happened... what had almost happened-

But then she was there. 

Osha. His Osha. Her webbed-fingers light on his forehead, pushing aside wet strands of hair. Her beautiful face stricken, guilt forming tears in her eyes. She had laid on the beach with him, her tail painted the color of emeralds and seaweeds, lying half-submerged in the low waters of the tide. Glistening pearls had been draped across her upper body, catching the sunlight. Woven into her long locs were colorful seaflowers, pieces of coral and sea-carved jewels.

In that moment, with water droplets clinging to her skin like diamonds, and the sun gleaming gold around her like a halo, she had been as ethereal as a Sea Goddess. Whether she would be his wreckoning or salvation, he was yet to learn.

"You need to stop chasing me, Pirate. Next time... I won't show mercy," Osha promises. 

"Liar," Qimir whispers, his chest heaving with every painful breath.

Osha shakes her head. Before he can regain his strength, she slips back into the waters, vanishing below the waves.

It has been months, nearly a year since he last saw her in the flesh. And now this storm will ensure he will have to endure another night bereft of her presence. He and his crew will need to make landfall, robbing him of even the simple company of the ocean, the closest thing he has to being with her.

There has been many storms these past few months. He wonders if it is Osha's doing, if she has sought a boon from an auld sea deity to make his quest as difficult as possible. Grimmer still, what if it is the ocean herself, trying to keep them apart? Wanting nothing more than to tear his ship asunder and toss his body into its depth, food for its children of the deep.

That might not be the worse fate, Qimir thinks with dark amusement.

Osha could find his skeleton then, and make a pretty trinket to wear around her neck. At least then they could be together. His bones comforted by the beating of her hearts.

[direwombat]

tagged most recently by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @simplegenius042 to share some wippy stuff (thank youuuuu~ i promise i'll start catching up on tags later this evening i know i am. behind orz) some werewolf au syb waking up from her nap after getting home from the hope county clinic after her incident at st. francis. this is. uh. a little gross, so trigger warning for a human (or. werewolf in human form/human unaware she's a werewolf) consuming raw meat.

It’s her stomach that draws her out of bed before she’s fully awake. The soft haze of sleep still clings to her vision, blurring the harsh edges of reality into gentle shadows and muted colors. Pale light from the waning moon streams in through the windows as she stumbles in a stupor out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She stops in front of the refrigerator. Her fingers curl around the handle, flinging the door open.

She reaches inside not for the pitcher of water nor the bag of shredded cheddar, but rather the pound of ground beef sitting on the top shelf. The plastic wrap gives way as she tears into it. Her fingers dig into the soft, wet meat, curling her index and middle finger to spoon it into her mouth raw. It squishes against her palate and between her teeth, smooth and creamy. The flavor bursts on her tongue, sharp, metallic, but with an underlying sweetness that only seems to stoke her hunger, rather than sate it. 

A low, satisfied moan rumbles deep in her chest. She leans back against the counter and slides down to sit on the cool linoleum floor. Already, her hands are tacky with blood. Her tongue curls around her fingers as she sucks them clean, desperate to savor every last drop. 

It isn’t until she’s shoving her face into the styrofoam tray and licking the cellulose pad in an attempt to suck out more blood that she registers what she’s actually doing. She freezes and the empty tray falls to the ground as she stares aghast at her red-stained hands while her chest heaves with rough, ragged breaths.

and some of the viking au that's been coming together in bits and pieces. here's some syb (a frankish christian living in england and a prisoner of war) having a bad shroom trip because faith gave her a potion (bliss) that made her see visions of her and jacob (pagan, the one holding her hostage) where she is behaving in very. uh. un-christian ways.

[Sybille’s] head throbs and her stomach cramps, her guts threatening to turn her inside out. Tears burn her cheeks as they streak through the dirt and grime, and she stares up at the wicce who forced her to drink that vile potion. “Why do you show me these things?” she sobs. 

Faith dips a rag into a bowl of water and gently dabs the sweat from Sybille’s brow. 

“She shows you nothing,” murmurs the False King, “all she has done is open your mind to the Will of God.” He leans in close, piercing blue eyes staring into her very soul. “Tell me, what do you see?”

taglist (opt in/out)

@josephseedismyfather, @la-grosse-patate, @knakrack (tumblr was only letting me tag your retired oc blog, sorry), @florbelles, @statichvm,

@fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl, @ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa

@cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @trench-rot, @miyabilicious,

@g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies, @josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman

@finding-comfort-in-rain, @voidika, @strangefable, and anyone else wanting to share a wip today!

[beepersteeper]

I Will Always Find You -- Astarion x Tav -- I promise | part 1

Astarion and F!Tav live happily together for the remaining years she has, she refuses to be turned into a vampire because her faith says that her soul isn’t finished with its work yet. Tav dies of old age and leaves Astarion to put together the pieces of his broken heart. AN: Lord of Light lore taken and changed to fit the story's means. Not canonically accurate. TLDR storyline stuff. This is an AU where Astarion ascends but isn't a power-hungry bastard and Tav is able to help him continue healing. Wyll is immortal and the Duke. Karlach in my mind, if given a new engine would be able to live a lot longer than the usual tiefling. Another AN: idk if anyone wants tagged in this WIP but let me know.  

“Let me. Please Tav," Astarion begs from his knees on the marble floor. Holding her hands tightly to his lips "Let me give you the gift of eternity.” he waits holding his breath for her to respond.

"No Star,” she whispers through shallow breaths "I've had enough time. I've lived the best life I could, done some amazing things. When it's my time to start again, I'm ready.”

"I'm not.” He openly weeps into her hands. The vampire Ascendant, the strongest vampire that has ever existed, is moments away from losing the only thing he's ever truly cared about. Moments away from losing her. "I will never be ready.” He urges through his tears.

“You'll find me again. This body has done enough. I need to know what my next role is darling.” She says with a blissful smile. “Just promise you'll find me when I come back.” Nothing is hanging in the air around them besides his weeping. Nothing left unsaid, no final things to add. They have shared everything they possibly could. Writing their own love story that could rival those that are written in fiction. He doesn't have the words he wants to say at his disposal. He wants to convince her to stay with him. So he just asks "How will I know? How do I find you?” He sighs, placing gentle kisses on the fragile skin on the back of her hands. Admitting his defeat.

“I don't know love, but you will, or I will. We will know. Maybe you'll hear my laugh, or I'll see your face in a dream or smell your scent on the wind. However it happens we will know." She sighs “I believe it. We are destined to be together. But I'm just not ready yet.” She smiles tilting her head toward him, white hair that has lost its midnight color over the years falls around her face “Besides you don't want this old crone on your arm for eternity." She laughs

“You are as beautiful as the day I met you Tav” Astarion tuts “Is there anything at all I can do to change your mind?”

"There's not, Star." She shakes her head “I can't explain it but I know there's something more for me to do. Once I have that done I will stay with you until the sun blinks out.”

“I…" he pauses looking into her emerald eyes “I will find you Tav. Every time if that's what it takes."

“I know you will." She sighs closing her eyes for longer than Astarion would like.

“Tav?!" She shouts in a whisper.

“I'm here Star, just so tired." She coughs and squeezes his hand. “Will you kiss me?"

“There's nothing I would like more." He laughs hearing his voice ringing back to their days on the road, all those times she would ask to steal a kiss when others weren’t looking, or when he wasn't ready for any surprise intimacy. He leans down, brushing her hair behind her small rounded ears and gently kissing her lips feeling her warmth transfer to his own. “You are perfect, my love." Cold tears escape his eyes and fall into her hair. “I love you. I will love you forever."

"And I love you more.” She smiles one more time before her grip on his hands goes limp and he hears the breath of her soul leaving her body. 

He runs the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks feeling no resistance at his shaking touch. He screams until his throat is raw. Tears flow freely from his eyes, and he feels his dead heart break into pieces. He holds her for a long time until he feels no more warmth emanating from her form. He made arrangements to bury her next to his headstone, sparing no expense for her, but only having their close friends in attendance, shutting out the entirety of Baldur’s Gate from the ceremony. 

Astarion kneels in the fresh dirt, pressing his hands to the cold stone that bore Tav's full name Tavilline V. Ancunin, and imagery of The Luxon. He traced his nimble fingers over the image, parts of him cursing the Lord of Light, part of himself pouring any faith he could into them because they were the only hope he had to see the other half of his soul again. He accepts condolences from all of his companions from the adventuring days and flies back to his palace. When he arrives he burns into a blind rage. When he comes back too he looks around and sees all of the damage he has wrought. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and torn fabrics surround him as he realizes he is heaving air into his lungs. Tears still streaming down his face and feeling a breeze on his skin through the torn holes in his funeral best. He locks the door of their- his… their bedroom and he lays in the too-large-for-just-him bed. 

Days pass before anyone sees him in person, and he lets the room be cleaned and brought back to its original state. He has sent word for his workers to send for Wyll, Blade of Avernus to take his place in court. Wyll is the first person to see him since the funeral. They sit in silence for hours in Astarion’s office as he is stacking books and files in front of Wyll.

“I need to get away." Astarion states plainly. Refusing to make any kind of contact - physical, visual, emotional. He refuses any kind of attempt to connect.

“I understand." Wyll responds, knowing his friend is unwell. How could he not be?

“I don't know when I'll be back. Anything you need is here. Deeds, gold, keys, notes, and ledgers. Any decisions you make I will trust." He puts his hand firmly on Wyll’s shoulder, allowing himself this touch. An old friend. The only one he trusts right now. "take care of the Gate. But more importantly, please take care of her.” He whimpers, refusing to cry right now. 

"You have my word Astarion. Everything will be in order when you return.” Wyll places his hand over Astarions “Send word when you can. You have people here who care."

“I will." He nods and walks out the heavy doors. He gathers his old daggers her crossbow and his old armor and heads out of the palace. Unsure where he's going but he heads out of the gate.

Years pass, decades pass. He finds himself in adventure. He finds himself in years of vast nothing staring at the sky looking for something to tell him where to go. Eventually, his travels guide him back to Baldur’s gate. He tried to send letters or messages to Wyll monthly just to keep that contact. Baldur's gate continues in his absence, thriving under Wyll’s control. Wyll reassured Astarion that Tav's grave was well-manicured and pristine in his absence.

Astarion, dressed in a dark hooded cloak made his way to the cemetery. Making the walk to his and Tav's plots like something else was controlling his legs. As he approaches their plots he notices a young woman sitting at the base of a nearby tree sketching images of nearby headstones. He sighs and rolls his eyes why someone would willingly hang out in a cemetery is beyond me. He kneels between their headstones sweeping away dust from their names. He feels the tug in his chest returning. Some days the pain is muted, others it feels just as bad as the day he lost her. Today is somewhere in the middle. A dull ache in his chest sits there as his only company. “I'll find you Tav, I swear. I’ve never stopped looking. But I just wish I could have a hint." He sighs tracing her name with his thumb as he would her cheek. 

The darkness is cut through with a lamp accompanied by a stern voice. “Vira! Ta’Vira?! Are you in this bloody cemetery again?" An elderly man lumbers up the stairs as Astarion walks in the opposite direction, still listening, his interest piqued at the conversation. 

“Yes." The woman sighs, pushing her deep black hair behind her ears. “I just can't get this sketch right, so I need to be near the engraving."

“I will never understand your obsession with the first light." The man chortles, helping her to her feet “It's not like the woman buried there will answer any of your questions." 

“I know daddy." She sighs again “but I feel comfortable sitting with her. I can tell she was a peaceful person. I just feel drawn to her.”

“She was one of the heroes that saved our city all those years ago, Vira. She was a pillar of peace. If you feel a connection to her, I suppose there are worse things you could find comfort in. But you need to get to bed to open the shop in the morning.” He ushers her away into a nearby building, a bookstore. 

Astarion listens to their conversation until they are out of earshot. He leans down to Tav's headstone, kissing the smooth stone. “I love you more.” He pats the stone and walks quickly to the palace. He walks past the guards, who regard him with warmth welcoming him home. Ready to ask where Wyll was he heard a familiar voice from down the hall “Had I known you were coming back I would have made myself more presentable" Wyll joked gesturing to his bedtime clothes "Welcome back my friend.” he offered his hand to shake.

Astarion hesitantly accepts the gesture, he’s made a habit of not having physical contact with anyone. This is the first he's felt in decades. "It's just where I was led” he shrugs "It seems you are doing well.” he forces through a smile.

"Everything in the gate has been just fine in your absence, I only hope I was able to hold things to your standards. But enough about business for the night, let's get you something to drink and we can catch up before business.” 

Astarion shrugs and waves away the notion “I'm full. 'm just honestly looking forward to sleeping in a real bed." He pushes his hands into the small of his back to stretch “though I do have a few questions if you'd indulge me.”

Wyll sets himself in a black velvet chair and gestures to a matching one opposite a small table. “You have my undivided attention friend." Astarion asks several questions in rapid succession. Who runs that bookstore by the cemetery? What do you think about the Lord of Light? What has the court said about my absence? Do you think Tav is out there somewhere? “Quite the array of questions." Wyll hums. “Tav certainly believed that she would be. And with faith that strong who's to say she's not." 

Astarion studies Wyll’s face listening for more answers to his questions. “The court murmured for a while about me being in your place but when I threatened to recall you from your sabbatical they quieted quickly.” Wyll chuckled remembering the days he spent threatening to send for Astarion to return. Nobody on the court dared to want that after what he had been through and in the manner he left. 

Astarion nods happily with those answers. “And the bookstore… “ Wyll pauses thinking what store he means "Just an old man and his daughter, recently moved back to the Gate. They have made a bit of a stir in the city for selling any and all religious texts, not everyone is thrilled about Bhaals teachings shelved next to the oak fathers but they seem to be doing well for themselves.” Wyll looks to his vampire friend "an odd interest for your first night home I must say.”

"The daughter I assume, was hanging out by Tav's plot when I visited before coming here. They just caught my interest.” He shakes his head implying that it wasn't anything major.

"She's probably intrigued by the engraving on her marker. It's the only one like it in the whole cemetery.” Wyll offers an explanation. 

"Probably.” Astarion responds but feels himself drifting miles away. "thanks Wyll. Do you think you still have a few days in you before I fully come back?”

"Of course, I'm just happy to have you back.” Wyll nods as Astarion retires to his and Tav's room.

[gali-la]

ooo questions for fanfic writers!! answer however many you'd like! <3

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits? 4. What detail in take everything with you (but leave the sun behind) are you really proud of? 15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written? 21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in Beneath the Skin, Through the Heart, what would it be? 42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

thank you!! ♥

So many juicy questions omg. i have to drop by your inbox too later >:) (once i check to see what's already been asked XD)

Okay!! for #2, oh boy, let's see...

the number one tag is "One Piece Bingo" with thirteen works, but by my decree, that doesn't count. MOVING ON, we've got "smut" with ten works and, yeah, that kind of fits. especially with the demon that was Kid week—hot damn, did i do smut for that. Next up is "Angst" with seven works, then "Established relationship" (6), "Alternate Universe—Modern Setting" (5), and finally, "Nightmares" (5). Honestly, the only one im surprised by there is "modern setting." i didn't think i wrote that many, though the rest of these sure fit imo. i do love my angst and smut XD

#4: What detail in take everything with you (but leave the sun behind) are you really proud of?

That's a tough one i do love this work a lot. hmm. I am gonna say im proud of the prose, though that's more of an overarching thing than a detail. Nonetheless, it's still a lil foray outside of my usual writing style and i enjoyed it <3

Now a detail so i can actually answer this question... im gonna say this bit towards the end:

"Her wings spread of their own accord, allowing her to feel the cold wind through her feathers once more. His first words to her came to mind. Hello, little bird. Would you like me to take you away from here? Yes, she chanted, yes, yes, please, anywhere you want to go."

It's precious to me. I don't know why,, it's got a lil undercurrent of "wow you are so fucked" but also peacefulness and i was jumping out of my skin to write it down <3

#15: What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

Oh my god this is so tough. It's stuck between two right now—one of them I've only written like, half a paragraph for (you know the one) so im gonna say it doesn't count yet.

Winner then has to be then my One Piece Demon Slayer AU. God, I wanna write more of this when i have the time, but right now, there's only one work out there in the realms: Pink is the Prettiest Color (if you check it out heed the tags!!). I just love both OP and KNY so much... and swords are so sexy... ANYWAY i've got like. a whole conspiracy for this au i believe ive cursed you with it in the past. SOMEDAY im gonna write more for it >:)

#21: If you wrote a “missing scene” in Beneath the Skin, Through the Heart, what would it be?

ahhhhhhh what a good question. I'm almost tempted to say "the wedding" but that's such a cliche answer let me think about it.

It's hard because that's one of my favorite works and I feel like it's pretty solid as is. Now, the question is—am i thinking of a scene i would like to have added, or a later addition/standalone that's connected but not required for the story? In the first case, I think a "experimenting with makeup" and such scene would have been cool. It's silly and small (and i have no fuckin clue how makeup works) I think it would have been a cool scene to further explore Rosi's newfound femininity. now, in the latter case, first thought that comes to mind is the honeymoon. skip the wedding, vows, whatnot, and straight to the married bliss. im a sap like that (also, more smut >:) I do love my katacora smut). I'm not sure if I'll ever add more to this, but these are tempting thoughts!!

Last but not least, #42: Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

ABSOLUTELY. I got one that is very nsfw so I will spare you that one—but another of my faves is a pair of comments on Pink is the Prettiest Color (1) (2). They were very sweet and flattering, of course, but I could also feel the love for the works and the love for both of the fandoms!! They melt me <3

Of course, all essay comments also hold a very dear place in my heart. they make me want to cry every time i see them—like, oh my god, someone enjoyed my work that much?? holy cow asdfsjfovhs

Thank you for the questions, my dear dear gen <3 these are so much fun to think about

(dang this post got long. Here's the questions if anyone wants to ask away/reblog for themselves!)

[arabaka]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hayakawa aki x (fem)devil!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! MEAN AKI. light dacryphilia. hair pulling. tail pulling. ROUGH sex. cervix fucking. light belly bulge. choking. m!receiving oral. references to gagging. THIS SHIT IS TOXIC.

WORD COUNT: 3.7K PSD CREDIT !!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!

NOTE: THIS IS PART 2 OF MY AKI x SEX DEVIL PIECE. recommend you read part 1, but also can't blame you if you just wanna get down 'n dirty with this one lol.

TAGGING: @jotar8 (ty for ur patience <;3)

Of all your contracts, Hayakawa Aki has to be your most coveted. You miss him, crave him when he’s not around. 

The memory of the taste of his dick on your lips is so vivid, you can revisit it anytime you like. You can practically smell it, his musk that permeates your nostrils as he runs the tip deep down your throat. Thoughts of Aki infiltrate your brain and trick your senses, allowing you a blissful reprieve from whatever poor schmuck you’ve got writhing underneath you. Not a contract, just a wealthy benefactor you keep under your thumb so Public Safety doesn’t get their grubby little hands on you, the acclaimed SEX DEVIL. The thought of wasting away in an over glorified prison cell is revolting… But you would get to see your treasured Aki more. 

Now the gears in that perverted little brain of yours are turning. You’ve never lingered in the government building for long but they’ve got to have offices in there, right? Maybe Aki has his own, a nameplate on his door signifying professionalism and prestige but you’d be in there, on your knees and sucking him off until all you can taste is his cum, salty and erotic. You could picture it; dressed so poise and clean, Aki with his hands on you– oh how rough he’d be and cursing you under his breath but you’d know it’s because he’s ashamed to be so weak for you. Your pencil skirt wrinkled, pushed up and over your hips, Aki would fuck you over his desk until his papers are all strewn and forgotten because nothing else would matter so long as he’s stretching you to his length and width. 

“Hey,” You breathe wistfully, uncaring that your suitor hasn’t finished, “Can you drive me to Public Safety?” 

On a mission, your strut into the Public Safety offices is laser-focused. Click-clack-click-clack go your heels in hurried succession, each step imbued with filthy determination. Your thighs, hugged tight by your narrow skirt, tend to the budding friction in your panties. Your mouth watering with every rub, you buzz all over with anticipation. Now all you have to do is find him.

An easy feat, a thwip of your tail and you’re pointed in the right direction. You just know these things; it’s part of the connection that forms when you create a contract. Now, devils running free in Public Safety is hardly acceptable. You attract attention anywhere you go and now is no exception but all you have to do is bat your eyes at the nearest agent, wrap your lithe fingers around their forearm and ask, in that alluring, coquettish voice of yours, “Where’s Hayakawa Aki?”

You have time to kill in this office they stuck you in. It’s not Aki’s, doesn’t have a shred of his identity but it has been lived in. You spot a black suit jacket hanging on the leather chair’s back post, its outline highlighted by the flood of sunshine pouring in from the rear. Drawing near, you start to see flecks of some sort of animal fur, probably a cat, littering the sleeves and canvas. You swipe a finger along the cherry oak desk, you come up free of dust but there are coffee stains that litter the surface, but only on the right side. 

Curiosity piqued, you rifle through the drawers. The first is brimming with manila folders, every tab color coded and titled with neat handwriting. You see the names of devils, past and present, no doubt eradicated by the office’s last habitant. Your lips crease to a frown on instinct; you hardly spare a second to mourn, it’s unlike you, but seeing so many names, realizing you could easily be one of them if Public Safety sees fit brews a discomforting feeling in your stomach. Enough of that.

The second drawer proves more interesting. Now there’s some personality. Fake plants in ceramic pots litter the flooring. There’s postcards, some from places you’ve never even heard of but the pictures easily transport you there all the same. Then there’s cards of condolences. You flick through them, reading references to hunters you’ve never even heard of. Probably part of their team. Then you come across a photo frame. Still within its borders rests a picture of a man, most likely in his early 30s. An old age for a devil hunter. He isn’t alone in the photo; accompanying him is his family, a little boy the spitting image of his father in his mother’s arms. 

You recline on the chair with the photo in tow. You don’t recognize any of the faces. You don’t feel too much either. How could you? But you do start to picture Aki. Whoever is in the photo, whoever last occupied this space is dead and gone. You don’t care. But Aki? You care. A little.

And that irks you. In all your time on earth, you’ve stuck to the same creed. Don’t chase but take what’s yours. And what exactly are you doing? You came to the office on a whim and now YOU’RE waiting for a human, a devil hunter. You tell yourself it’s because you had a craving. You’re simply fulfilling a selfish desire. You hate what the silence in the room is doing to you. Making you think too hard about what should be nonissues.

Fortunately, the quietness is ripped right from under you when the door opens. “Excuse me.” He must not be expecting you for him to be so cordial. You toss the frame back in the drawer and lean forward with interest, propping your chin up with hands clasped. You have a smirk as devilish as your nature, keenly watching Aki’s expression and body language cheapen when his eyes land on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The stoic glaze over his pretty blues melts away by flames of indignant annoyance. You’ll extinguish them soon enough. There isn’t much he can do to keep himself from going under, not with your innate ability to charm and seduce. 

“Don’t be so mean.” You say with your bottom lip jutted out in a mocking pout. You won’t take anything he says to heart. You have enough on your hands in that area. “I was bored.”

He’d roll his eyes but he can’t seem to part his gaze from you. It’s already started. A chill crawls up his spine. He wasn’t expecting to see you, not when he still hadn’t called on your power in battle. That was your whole deal, wasn’t it? You’ll lend him your strength, so long as he takes care of you beforehand. If he never summoned you, he’d never have to see you. That’s what he’d rationalized, anyways. You left him feeling far more vulnerable than he would have liked, than a devil even deserved, during your last encounter and as good as it felt, your cunt clenched so tight around his cock he couldn’t imagine pulling out, Aki struggled with the compromise.

“Not my problem.” He tells you, still curt and clearly inconvenienced. But you spot the slight wobble in his knee, the fight in his body to walk away and that’s when you strike.

Rising from your spot, you saunter over to the front of the desk. His chest tightens, dress shirt creasing under his tie, as he watches your full outfit come to view. Your attire says office but your body screams sex. Every inch of you is hugged so perfectly by your getup, it’s downright sinful. You bask in his gaze, taking a seat with your legs dangling off the counter. “You like?” Your nylon covered thighs brush against each other, making for a tempting sight. 

His response is slowed, careful even, “Are you going to leave?” The hook in his voice still indicates frustration but you can see from the way his brows are knitting tight that he’s buckling. His fists ball up; maybe if he hits a pressure point, he can subdue your effects. He’s only kidding himself. He hasn’t forgotten how quickly he fell under your spell the last time. He knows how virulent your succubus scent is.

“Mmm,” You muse aloud, feigning contemplation, “Didn’t you just come back from a mission?” You leave your seat, heels stamping the tiled floor as you work on closing the sizeable distance between the two of you. “You must be frustrated. Don’t you wanna work that off? I can help.”

To be frank, the last job was a bust. What they thought was a lead on a piece of the Gun Devil turned out to be a farce. Not only did they have to clean-up work, they had to expunge the lying fiend associate. So yeah, you’re right on the money when you pinpoint his attitude.

Now you’re standing, body pressed to his while your fingers trickle up his chest. “Oh, what’re you so upset about?” Fingers now admiring the plane of his neck, you murmur, “Are you still hung up on our little arrangement? It’s not like you were conned into anything.” You look at him through narrowed eyes, watching his lips curl. Still not rousing an answer from him, your voice starts to sing, “You humans are such fools. You’ll give up an arm, your golden years, even your first born. But sex is where you draw the line?” 

Your fingers twiddling with his earrings, Aki’s hand comes clasping over your wrist in a grip rivaling that of a constrictor’s. His bite is venomous however, when he snaps, “You ever think with that head of yours?” Your chest stills. You’ve never heard him speak so loud before. 

What’s that look in your eyes, Aki wonders. Could it be… Fear?

No. That would humanize you.

No, the look on your eyes is foul. It’s wicked. It’s aroused.

You’ve caught him off guard again, you can tell by the way his pupils dilate and his lips part for a small gasp. “I guess not.” He grunts. Now just when did he get his hand on your other wrist? He starts edging you backwards, jawline clenched before releasing to say, “You sure do a lot of talking for a devil whose only good for their pussy.”  

“Oh yeah?” Your footsteps stutter at first, but once you acclimate to Aki’s pace you’re set. Your  gaze is aggravating. Aki wants nothing more than to stamp it out. You can tell now that the fire in his eyes is from a different source, that the blood is flowing south entirely now that you’ve irked him. How your little devil heart rattles with lust. 

Your bottom bumps against the desk’s trim. Aki’s hand swipes, balls up your hair so fast and so hard that tears prick your waterline at the sudden force. “Yeah. What makes you think you know shit? You think fucking around makes you an expert on humanity?” You can practically feel the frustration erode as he manhandles you, whipping your hair higher until your heels struggle for support. He watches your nostrils flare, the column of your neck flexing with every strained gulp. The tension in his slacks tightens the longer he stares at your eyes, already glossy with tears.

Your head bobs with a sharp inhale, your legs trembling out of sheer thrill. “You wanna know what I think?” He doesn’t, but he’s quiet long enough for you to answer, a devious lick to your words as you taunt, “I think you’re scared of intimacy. What was it? Your mom? Your dad?”

Aki’s last tether to all rationality breaks.

You didn’t know. How could you have known?

Aki kicks, striking behind your knees, your balance wavering as your legs give out. He shows little regard for how rough he then spins you, forcing you to the desk at record speed. Your chest is crammed against the surface until it hurts, until you’re sore. 

Your tail whips wildly, thrashing from the slit in your skirt until Aki seizes the appendage in an airtight fist. He tugs at first, watching you screech and wriggle in pain until he pins you down with his other hand flat on the slope of your back. “Huh, I wondered if you felt anything with this.” He’s vile, openly taunting you but it’s what you deserve. You really shouldn’t have brought up his parents. 

Your cheeks, squished and hot, might as well be searing circles into the desk. Right next to the coffee stains. 

Your limbs scramble under Aki’s hold, though you freeze, if only for a moment, when Aki jerks your skirt up and over your ass. He digs into your stockings with the ridges of his nails until the fabric runs, then tears over the mound of your pussy. You gasp, but make no mistake; you are rife with lewd adrenaline at this turn of events. Now with access to your panties, he yanks the useless fabric until it slithers down your legs, still encased by your stockings to a degree. You arch your back, sticking your ass out and expect his fingers to plunge right into your heat but you’re asking for a nicety you haven’t earned.

No, because the next thing you hear is a zipper and then his slacks dropping a heap. You feel the contour of his cockhead tickle your entrance, but only for a fleeting second because the next thing you know, Aki’s slammed his entire length into your pussy with no warning, no warm up.

“S-Shiit.” He groans. Loudly. You cough and choke, spit flying as Aki hoists your ass up with calloused hands curling madly into your hips. They find the groove of your bones and latch on, like a lion to its prey. You’ll have friction burns curved into your flesh by the time he’s done with you.

The singular rip in your tights multiplies under Aki’s animalistic grip. Now your whole ass is exposed, the flesh jiggling every time Aki throws his entire weight into his thrusts– which is neverending. The vibrations, they engulf your entire body. Your frame goes thump-thump-thump against the desk and you can’t do anything to stop it. But would you want to?

Your pussy puckers around his girth, slick squelching right out of you everytime Aki gives you an inch of breathing room. Joining the chorus of scandalous sounds is the sharp smacking of his balls, drooped and weighty, and on the apex of their swing, they graze your clit juuustt right. Your moans waver with unconstrained panting, spit dribbling off your bottom lip. That’s the only downside with this position; Aki’s pressing so deep, manically drilling against your cervix, but he can’t even see the pain in your face as he splits you open. He wants to see those tears stream down that smug face of yours. Maybe some other time.

“This is – hmph, hhng – what you wanted, right?” His throat teems with thunderous groans, pummeling into you and bullying your walls until he’s certain you’re bruised on the inside. “Speak up, can’t hear you.” He’s at your ear, teeth threateningly close to snapping. For all the shit you were talking, Aki’s surprised you’re suddenly so pliant. 

Your cheek drags along the desk, smearing your fluids, be it spit or tears, together until you’re wet and messy in the face. Your lips smack together, trying to find words but your brain is overwhelmed each time Aki stuffs himself so far inside you, you swear you can feel him bulging in your stomach. “Y-Yes, A-Aki!” You manage but it’s not enough.

“Hayakawa.” He snarls with a smack to your ass and then another. He doesn’t stop until his surname is the only audible thing coming out your mouth. It’s addicting, the burn that scorches his palms on every impact. The fat of your ass swells, flaring up and quivering under the harshness of Aki’s palm. All the while his cock, twitching and engorged, pierces you mercilessly. He even starts pulling on your tail again, knowing you feel the burn. He wants to hurt you. 

But he also can’t continue fucking you without acknowledging how otherworldly you feel. The blood’s gone to his cock and his head, leaving him with a sense of euphoria that has his thighs tensing every time he pistons in and out of that sloppy and wet pussy of yours. Your walls crown him with a warmth that has his dick twitching against that firm cervix of yours. He can’t stop now that he’s felt you this way.

Your walls bump and grind against the prominent veins snaking up and down his foreskin. The friction they gave you has the color draining from your knuckles as you claw at the desk for some semblance of support. You knew Aki was a monster in bed, learned that the last time, but you had no clue you would wake up this level of beast in him. He’s practically feral.

The next moan from him goes on for a stretch, breaking in between breaths as he rolls your cunt up and over his cock. You aren’t calling the shots here and your pretty little mouth isn’t running a game it can’t handle anymore. “Now, how about you say sorry?” Punctuating his suggestion with a harsh plunge, the red tip of his cock directly on your cervix, he laughs when he sees you squirm. He could get used to this, come to terms with using you as a walking fleshlight if it meant he could unleash pure havoc on your body.

“S-Sorry?” It’s not an attempt at an apology; you’re just not sure you heard him right. The constant, raucous noise of your ass clapping and jiggling against his pelvis as you take him all the way to the base has your eardrums feeling dulled, numb even. Your folds ache and your clit pulsates as Aki ruts into you, rounding out his spine as he lurches forward again. This time he has his fingers wound so taut around the width of your neck, it’s making the room fuzzy and your head dizzy. 

“Not good enough. Try again.” He hisses, his hips never once stopping their abuse on you. You can feel the density of his cock bloat around your walls, a rush of blood no doubt fattening him up. You cry and whine, your stomach distended by his dick. Still not what he wants so he takes to standing upright again, dragging you along with his hand still at your throat, forcing your back to arch until you feel your nerves seething. 

A string of apologies comes out so quick and so fucking weak. Look at you. Getting fucked within an inch of your life, feeling pain and pleasure mix in your folds, skin slimy with your essence and Aki’s precum, and apologizing. “I-I’m sorry, H-Hayakawa! S-Sorry! Sorry!” You yowl until he’s satisfied, but not before he lifts your feet an inch or so off the ground and beats your throbbing pussy with all his anger, all his resentment, all his cock. His hand still on your throat, he squeezes and he makes you see stars– no, the whole fucking universe.

He knows he’s going too far, but by whose standards? His? Yours? You’re a devil; mercy should have never been awarded to you in the first place. You were one that had a foul mouth and an even more rotten tongue, taunting him like that. All you cared for was his cock so how could he be wrong for giving it to you, albeit rough and wild?

When he cums inside you, it comes gushing out. It’s so dense that globs of it come seeping out your pussy, your entrance so swollen you feel the hurt radiate in your bones. It’s a good hurt though, because you’ve cum all over him in splashes that rival his just moments after. 

He lowers you but then he has you on your knees, glowering when he barks another order, 

“Clean me up.” Flicking his wrist, he smacks his cock, drenched in your juices and his load, against your cheek and enjoying the popping sound that comes from your lips as he does.

You blink, lashes absolutely soaked in tears, but do as you’re told. You take his cock to the hilt, cheeks hollowing at the very size of him. The room is quieter, but now flooded with the sounds of you slurping and lapping him up. You swirl your tongue swiftly and deftly as you run your mouth along his cock but you start to gag, not because you can’t take him but because you haven’t had a good gulp of air in so fucking long. He isn’t letting up though, keeping you at the base of his shaft until your nose is scrunched and squished against his pelvis. He looks you dead in your eyes, brows furrowed nice and deep but he’s obviously winded too.

He’s trying to hide it, the rise of his chest with every shallow inhale through his nose. His head feels hazy, clouded with the remnants of lust that still linger in the air. All your doing.

“You gonna behave?” You have never nodded faster. He slides his cock so smoothly out of you, but you’re left to sputter and drool on yourself. “Shit.” He stumbles on his footing, his orgasm clearly still wreaking havoc on his system but you hold your tongue. You still haven’t stopped your lungs from burning, after all.

When Aki is fully dressed and you’re still a mess he’s left on the floor, he speaks, “Don’t pull this shit again. You should know better, exposing a devil hunter’s contracts like that.” You stammer, something akin to an apology but too incoherent to string together. That’s fine. He’ll take it. “You want to fuck so bad? Then you’re gonna be at my beck and call.” 

Oh, he’s cold… But you got what you came for, didn’t you? “O-Okay.” You manage, lips puffy and voice strained.

“Here.” Aki offers a tissue– no, it’s a handkerchief. “Keep it. You’ll need it.” His soul is a little wracked with guilt for the brutality he just unleashed but he’ll sleep just fine at night. “I’m leaving now. Don’t follow me.” He orders you like a dog and like a good bitch, you listen.

And when you’re the only one left in the room, handkerchief wrinkling your hands, you exhale.

Shit. And you still have those fucking feelings of yours.

[lunaevangeline]

Sweet Pea

The first time Akaashi Keiji took you to the florist, he cannot forget your mesmerized smile at a certain flower. The tag in front of it says "Sweet Pea". It is a rather modest flower, crowned by delicacy and beauty. "It's just like her," he thought.

He bought you the flower of your pick, sweet peas with blushing pink petals. The color reminisces him of your cheek shades every time he teases you.

After the flowers wrapped beautifully with the paper wrap, you engulfed the obligingly sweet fragrance. It is a smell between orange blossom and hyacinth, with a hint of rose.

Smiling giddily, you give him a quick peck before saying a thank you. Akaashi blushes from your sudden act. From the proximity, you smelled just like the sweet pea, intoxicatingly and endearingly sweet.

"My sweet pea."

He whispered to your ear before taking your hand again to continue the stroll.

And so, every time the season comes he will buy you a sweet pea bouquet (for almost every occasion).

He brings it to your picnic dates, symbolizing a blissful pleasure he got from spending his time with you, appreciating the nature in between the hectic workdays.

On his birthday, it says thank you, because your existence in his life is an antidote to his pain and anxiety.

He also brings it during your date in a cafe. Because even you are whining about how your dark circles grow from working over sleepless nights, he wanted to say that you're still exceptionally beautiful.

Even when he only visited your apartment, he brings you the bouquet to appreciate your kindness - for every warm meal you cook for him.

And the same tradition goes by. Today he walked through the aisle, on his right hand is your favorite sweet pea flower.

"So it is already the season again", you thought to yourself.

Akaashi wears his best suit, complemented by a blue tie that matches his beautiful blue orbs - the eyes that drowned you for years.

He looks absolutely handsome today. But still, you're also exquisitely beautiful with a simple A-line white dress - everyone's eyes are on you.

"Good luck on your wedding day." He smiled endearingly.

"Thank you, Keiji."

You bring him to your embrace, after receiving his bouquet of sweet pea.

"I appreciate your generosity." You smile at him sincerely.

The two of you are exchanging a meaningful gaze before Akaashi snaps. He offered his hand to the man beside you.

"Congratulation."

The man nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you." He conveys deep gratitude.

Then Akaashi nods at you before turning around and leaving you behind.

Though he was smiling all the time, from years of getting to know him, you know him rightfully. You saw his mournful eyes - his heart shattered into pieces.

But it's all too late now. Maybe, if only he didn't hesitate at that time, he can be the one who walks with you, side by side. Vowing forever in front of God and His congregation.

Author's note: Sweet pea flower has a plethora of meanings including the aforementioned bold texts also for good wishes, friendship, and goodbyes. In France tradition, giving the bride sweet peas is meant to symbolize luck on her wedding day and in her marriage.

masterlist

[waitimcomingtoo]

Cool Kids

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Synopsis: you walk in on some domestic bliss between Peter and your little brother

Masterlist

“Oh, hey.” Peter noticed your brother in the doorway as he sat at your kitchen table. He was still waiting for you to come home, and he assumed he was home alone. Even though he’d been your boyfriend for over a year, he’d never actually seen your brother before.

“You’re Finn right?” Peter continued. “I’m Peter, your sisters, uh, friend. We were gonna study together but she’s running a little late.”

“Yoda.” Finn pointed to the Yoda pin on Peters backpack.

“Yeah.” Peter looked at the pin and nodded. “You like Star Wars?”

“Yes.” Finn nodded.

“I like it too.” Peter smiled. “I wish I had a Yoda of my own. Y/n is kinda like my Yoda though. She makes all my decisions for me, thankfully.”

“Y/n is my sister.” Finn recited. “She is 13 minutes late.”

“Yeah, but that’s okay.” Peter chuckled. “Does she ever watch Star Wars with you?”

“No.” Finn said simply.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Peter leaned on his chair, closer to Finn.

“Yes.” His eyes lit up and he clapped in excitement.

“She doesn’t like it because she’s not as cool as us.” Peter whispered behind his hand.

“Not as cool as us.” He clapped again. “Do you want to see my room? I have lightsabers that make real noises. I have two of them. One is red and one is blue.”

“Uh, of course I want to see your room.” Peter said like it was obvious. Finn turned around and swiftly walked towards his room, and Peter followed.

“You have to wipe your feet three times.” Finn instructed as he wiped his feet three times on the mat in front of his door.

“You got it.” Peter complied as he wiped his feet as well. Peter began to look around and smiled at how similar Finns room looked to his own.

“These are my Legos.” Finn said as he pointed to a shelf lined with Lego sets of all sizes.

“Woah.” Peter gasped as he walked over to the shelf. “You have the Lego Death Star?”

“Yes. It has 3803 pieces and it took me 4 days to make it.” Finn told him.

“You built this all by yourself?” Peter’s eyes widened with impression.

“Yes.” Finn smiled and clapped a few times. “Legos make me happy.”

“They make me happy too.” Peter commented as he gazed at the sets. Finn silently took two lightsabers out of his closet and held them out to Peter.

“Do you want to play lightsabers?” Peter asked him, and he nodded.

“Me too. But only if I can use the red one.” Peter smiled, taking note of all the blue clothes in the closet and assuming his favorite color was blue. Finn clapped again and gave Peter the red lightsaber before jumping into a battle stance. Peter lost track of time as they played with the various toys in Finns room. He was genuinely enjoying himself, and Finn seemed to be as well.

You stepped into Finns room and wiped your feet three times on his mat. When you looked up, you saw Peter swinging Finn around the room while making “pew pew” sounds.

“Hey Y/n.” Peter paused with Finn midair. “We were just…looking for my calculator.”

“Peter is telling a lie.” Finn said simply.

“I can see that.” You chuckled. “I just wanted to let you guys know that the pizza will be here in 20 minutes.”

“Pizza.” Finn clapped as Peter set him down. “The pizza will be here in 20 minutes.”

“Thank you.” Peter stammered, cheeks growing red in embarrassment. You smirked at him before leaving the room and returning to your own.

“I’ll be right back.” Peter said quickly as he rushed to your room.

“Um, hi.” Peter stammered as he leaned against your door. He knew you didn’t like to talk about your brother and he could only assume you were angry with him now.

“Hey.” You said without looking up.

“You’re home?” Peter asked as he sat next to you. “How long have you been here?”

“About an hour.” You shrugged, setting your textbook next to you.

“An hour?” Peter gasped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You looked pretty busy so I’ve just been reviewing by myself.” You fought back a smile as you looked at your boyfriend.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t busy.” Peter said sheepishly.

“Really? You seemed pretty busy playing with my brother.” You shrugged casually.

“I know.” Peter sighed. “I’m sorry if I overstepped a boundary but he asked me-“

“He asked you?” You were taken aback. “My brother asked you to play with him?”

“Yeah.” Peter apologized. “I told him I was there to help you study and he started talking to me about Star Wars and one thing just kinda led to another.”

“He doesn’t let me hug him and he was letting you fly him around the room like an airplane.” You looked at the ceiling as you let out a humorless laugh.

“Actually, I was flying him around the room like the Millennium Falcon.” Peter reluctantly corrected you.

“Peter.” You stood up and rubbed your face.

“I’m sorry.” Peter stood up as well. “He was just so excited to show me his legos and I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

“Peter, I’m not mad.” You told him as you turned around.

“You’re not?”

“No.” You smiled softly. “Not even a little bit.”

“But…” Peter looked confused. “But you never let me meet him before. I thought you didn’t want him to know about me.”

“Peter, my brother has autism.” You told him for the first time. Peter tilted his head in confusion and looked at you skeptically. He was pretty sure that was something you would have told him in the time you’d been dating. 

“What?” He asked softly. 

 “Yeah.” You shrugged. “He’s pretty much non verbal towards everyone but me and my parents. I never let you meet him because he doesn’t like strangers.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked slowly as he put it all together.

“That’s why I let you guys play.” You told him. “He doesn’t have any friends at school since he doesn’t like to talk to anyone. When I came home and saw you guys playing... Peter that was the happiest I have ever seen him. I didn’t want it to stop.’’

“Oh.” Peter said again, with a smile this time. “I had no idea.”

“Because he was so engaged with you.” You gushed with excitement. “I mean, he was talking, letting you touch him, making eye contact. Peter, he rarely looks me in the eyes. Do you know how comfortable he must have been with you to look you in the eyes? And the fact that he asked you to play with him? If he needs something, we usually have to figure it out because he doesn’t like asking for things. I can’t believe this.”

“He’s a really great kid. I could already tell that just from playing with him.” Peter smiled as he tucked your hair behind your ear. You smiled back, but it faded as a sadness settled in your eyes.

“He doesn’t hug you?” Peter asked suddenly as he drew back to something you had said before. You looked down and nodded before frowning at Peter.

“When he was little, we noticed he got really uncomfortable with certain fabrics and textures touching his skin, like the tag on his shirt or rough towels.” You began to explain. “Then it broadened to other forms of contact. He has sensory issues so he doesn’t like it when people touch him. I haven’t hugged him since he was two.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter frowned and kissed your forehead.

“It’s okay.” You sighed as you pulled him into a hug. Peter rubbed your back comfortingly as you squeezed him back.

“The pizza is here.” Finn opened your door suddenly. “The pizza costs $13.67.”

“Thanks Finn.” You smiled at your brother as you wiped a tear off your cheek. “We’ll be right there.”

“You’re crying.” Finn stated. “Are you sad? Crying means sad.”

“No, I’m not sad.” You wiped your face and smiled at him. “I’m okay. See? Happy.”

“Finn, why don’t you come in here.” Peter said suddenly as he opened his arms. You looked at Peter curiously as he scooped up Finn and held him on his hip. Your mouth opened a little in surprise, not used to seeing your brother touching people.

“You know how we said Star Wars were cool?” Peter asked Finn.

“Yes.” Your brother nodded.

“You know what’s even cooler?” Peter looked between you and Finn. “Group hugs.”

Your lips tugged into a smile as you watched your brother hang on to every word Peter said. Finn looked at you without making eye contact and slowly opened his free arm.

“Is the material of my sweater okay?” You asked him carefully.

“It’s okay.” He nodded, and that was all you needed. You stepped into the hug and wrapped your arms around your little brother. A tear slipped down your cheek as you rubbed his back, taking in the scent you hadn’t smelled in years. A small noise emitted from the back of his throat and you pulled away, knowing he was uncomfortable.

“Thanks Finn.” You smiled at him to show him you were happy. “Let’s go get the pizza.”

Finn ran out the the room, leaving you and Peter alone.

“I’m sorry if that was-“

You cut Peter off by pulling him into a kiss to thank him for what he had done. Peter happily kissed you back as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“That was perfect.” You assured him in a whisper. “Thank you.”

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[urluvl]

•Dollies Don’t Die•

•Yandere Kim Seokjin x Female Reader

•Summary? You are the perfect doll… almost too perfect.

•Tw? human body, smell of rotting gross (nothing graphic), delusional Jin

“Doll?” Jin shut the appartement door behind him as he stepped into the entryway, “Im home!” He called out. He always hoped you would coming running into his arms for a loving embrace, but you never came; not even to greet him.

He made his way into the kitchen to see if you were cooking a nice dinner for the two of you, yet you weren’t there. He almost wanted to get angry. Lately you had done nothing for him, he had served you hand and foot. Yet he held in his temper, you clearly just wanted more attention— he had been so busy with work these last few weeks.

Your boyfriend slowly crept up the stairs, he figured you were asleep because you have been so tried since your last punishment. He felt like he had to force your eyes awake; although he couldn’t complain, he had not needed to deal with your consistent nagging. It was bliss

“Doll?” His voice was soft. You still laid in bed. You had done the same thing the day before, and the day before that. He sighed when he saw you hadn’t even touched the breakfast he so kindly made you this morning.

Jin graded the small spoon, your favorite, and scooped up a lump of room temperature oats. He flew the spoon over to your mouth, making the false air plain sound like a parent would to a whiny child. You didn’t open your mouth, your lips only separating when he forced the food past them. Most of it spilled out onto your dull colored chin in rejection.

”Oh sweets!“ He picked up a napkin he had brought you, and he dabbed it gently on your brittle skin. “You made such a mess.” Your expression stayed foggy. He was glad you didn’t reply anymore it made things so much easier; you learned so quickly.

Jin remorsefully left your side to slip off clothes, so he would be ready for bed— it was quite late for you after all. You used to hate sleeping with him, you would fus and kick, but now it was practically all you ever wanted to do.

He slid into bed beside you, making sure you were complete covered by the duvet. With a smile he gave you a small kiss on the forehead. He pulled your cold, stiff body closer to him as he hummed, “My doll, my perfect, little doll.” Jin dosed off as the scent of decaying, rotten flesh drifted though the air.

• • •

Another little piece that i hope you like <3 (this was a bit dark i will admit)

Please tell me ur thoughts bc i quite liked it

~~~

•Tag list? @mwitsmejk

[shoutaaizawas]

↳  keigo takami x fem!reader → ❝nest❞

summary: hawks is acting odd again but you’re having a harder time figuring this one out. it’s not until he takes you out for a date night that it all makes sense. word count: 1.8k+ tags/warnings: fluff, hawks being birdy again a/n: another one in the series of hawks acting like a bird, can be read as a sequel to ‘shiny things’ and ‘preening’ but also by itself

Hawks was at it again. His odd behavior was becoming less concerning at this point. This time you were concerned for a different reason, it didn't seem like it was bird-related this time. Normally Hawks was at work that wasn’t unusual but there had been a few occasions where you tried to get a hold of him and couldn’t so you called someone you thought he’d be with at work only to find out he wasn’t working at all.

It was very rare for Hawks to not be working, if he wasn’t he was usually with you. You tried hard to not jump to conclusions. You had been dating for a while now and it was serious but you still had separate lives. There was nothing wrong with him doing something and not telling you.

Then there were his wings. They were red, well they were always red but now there were even more vibrant if that was possible and they always seemed to be even more puffed up around you. You couldn’t think of a reason for it and it didn't seem related to the previous concern at all.

On top of that he was being clingy, not that you saw that as a bad thing. You cherished any moment you could spend with him and if he wanted to spend it glued to your side even better.

In the past, it felt easier to piece together his odd behavior but this time you were struggling to find an answer.

It was a late afternoon and you were on the couch with your head in Keigo’s lap. You read a book you had been meaning to catch up on when Kegio started to ask you questions.

“What’s your favorite style of houses?” He questioned, his hand brushing along your hair soothingly.

“Hmm?” You questioned looking up from your book. That was odd. “I don’t know. I guess something simple but not too simple that it’s boring. Some character is always nice.”

“Okay.” He said thoughtfully before he started to trace his fingertips along your arm.

That was an odd question but Keigo wasn’t a stranger to odd questions.

“What about things in a house you like?” He said after some time in silence passed.

You looked up again over your book.

“Hmm… Natural light is good. High ceilings. A big bathtub. A nice yard.” You answered.

“Okay.” He said not elaborating.

That seemed to be an isolated event, his odd questions about housing. It was out of nowhere but eventually, you forgot about it.

That was until Keigo texted you to get changed and that he would pick you up by six. It wasn’t unusual for him to surprise you with a night out but as you pulled up to a house you weren’t sure what was going on.

It was beautiful, not too close to any neighbors and nice green landscaping around the house. You walked up the walkway with Keigo, he opened the door without knocking. You gave him an odd look but he didn’t elaborate.

Stepping into the house it was even more beautiful on the inside. It had high ceilings, big windows, and a skylight in a big space that was the living room. The living room was filled with nice furniture that all complemented each other perfectly, it was all just your favorite style and colors too.

Keigo took you by the hand walking you into the back yard. It too was beautiful, a big patio surrounded by tropical greenery was the first thing you saw. Looking out further into the yard there was a pool with stonework surrounding it with a gazebo on the other side.

In that gazebo, there was a table with candles and flowers on it as well as plates. He led you over there, pulling out the chair for you.

“This is lovely, Kei.” You said. “What’s the occasion?”

“Do I have to have an occasion to spoil you?” He teased as he sat down across from you. There was soft music playing in the background to compliment everything, the sound of the small waterfall in the pool was a nice addition.

“I suppose not but this is a bit different.” You said. Dinner at a random beautiful house that felt like it was something out of your Pinterest boards was a weird choice for a date night.

A man walked up to the table nearly scaring you with his presence as he placed down food in front of the two of you. It was your favorite meal. Something was going on but you couldn’t quite figure it out.

You brushed it away, you would find out eventually there was no point in not enjoying what was in front of you. The two of you started eating and talking about your day like normal.

It was nice, the weather was perfect and the atmosphere even more so. After dinner, he stood up.

“Do you want to see the house?” He asked. You still weren’t sure why you were here but you loved a good house tour.

“Yeah.” You said with an excited smile.

Keigo led you back to the house into the large living room. The room beside it was the kitchen. It also had high ceilings and a lot of space. Everything in it looked brand new. The marble countertops were a nice finish to it all.

“This is the kitchen.” He said. “Then there are four bedrooms.”

Keigo led you down an open hallway, every door he passed he would open and show you. The three rooms were empty but had flooring you liked. The last door was to the master bedroom. It was big and had furniture in it, you noted that you loved the style of everything in here as well. There was an amazing master bath, it had a giant tub and all the amenities you could think of that a bathroom could have.

“This is a beautiful house,” You said. “Why are we here?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Here, let me show you the garden.” He said taking you by the hand again, he didn’t answer your question but you went with it figuring he would eventually explain. He pulled you towards the yard again but this time to another part of the yard. The greenery increased and it felt like something out of a movie.

The plants were everywhere but no overgrown that you couldn’t go through. It was stunning. You looked over to Keigo and saw him looking at you with a big smile.

“Do you like it?” He asked looking a bit nervous.

“I love it. All of it’s beautiful.” You said. “I guess I’m just kind of confused.”

Keigo took your hands in his looking at you intensely.

“I love you, more than anything. You know that already.” He said seriously. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you make me complete. You make my life so much better than I ever thought it could be. I love you and I want to see you happy, I want to make you happy more than anything else.”

You watched him carefully as he poured out his heart to you. His words made your stomach flip.

“You put up with me and all the baggage I come with-” He started but you stopped him.

“I don’t put up with it, I gladly bear it just like you do the same for me.” You told him. There was no ‘putting up’ with Keigo. You loved him and you were more than happy to be there for him through it all.

“Sorry,” He said with a small laugh. “You gladly bear my baggage and all the weird things I do. I mean I was giving you the most random things as gifts and you never batted an eye, you just took it and appreciated it because it was from me. You don’t just accept who I am you go out of your way to return my affections the same way I show them. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

It was impossible not to tear up at his words. You squeezed his hands gently not wanting to interrupt him.

“Will you marry me?” He said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ring. It was beautiful, it was rose gold with an opal and so faintly that you almost didn’t see it there were small wings engraved into the band.

“Keigo, yes.” You said. His wings puffed up in excitement as he rushed forward to hug you, the ring still in his hands. He held onto you so tight, his face in your shoulder and his wings wrapped around you.

“Oh, the ring.” He said with a small laugh as he let go. He gently took your hand in his and slid the ring on.

“I love you so much.” You said hugging him again.

The two of you stood there in the garden in bliss, forgetting the world around you for a few moments.

“Wait, so why are we at this house?” You questioned still not fitting that into the night’s events.

“Answer this first, do you like it?” He questioned.

“I love it, it’s like everything I would want in a house.” You said.

“Well, that’s good because it’s yours.” He said. You looked at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“I bought it, for you.” He said as if it made sense. “I mean I want to marry you, we need somewhere to live. Both of our apartments are nice and all but you deserve something far better.”

“You just went and bought a house.” You said.

“Yeah, and I had somethings changed to fit what you like.” He said. “I may have looked on your Pinterest boards.” He said sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

Suddenly, it all clicked once again. His bird tendencies were back at it again. He wanted you to be his ‘mate’ and so he had done what any good bird did, he made you a nest. Although in his own way he bought you a nest and dressed it up in a way he thought you would like. The clinginess, the vibrant plumage from before, it was all a part of making himself appealing as possible to you so you would accept.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected these tendencies when you started dating him but they were so romantic and endearing you could never complain.

“I didn’t decorate everything, I figured you would like to do some of that yourself-”

Keigo was stopped as you wrapped your arms around him and kissed him, hands tangling into his wind-swept blond locks that you loved so much.

“It’s perfect.” You said. “You’re perfect. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

taglist:    @sugarmaplewings-fics @lilkiwisfinest @ewwis-but-more-otaku @kandy1410 @moonlightaangel @winnies-headcannons @bkglovesyou @paintedr0ses1 @toobsessedsstuff @spellboundxizi @ourladyofseijoh  @x0doodlebug0x @katsushimaa @mooncademia @moon-write @todominica @why-so-red @kvichisaki @seijoh

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[generallybarzy]

under twinkling lights.

an: christmas in april? sorry this took so long.. but here’s a little bit of established relationship and soft cute Christmas smut! Its been too long since we had something so sweet and smutty about our fav cute ass couple. It’s all sweet and soft and cute and then it gets filthy... the perfect dynamic, i want what they have. i was only inspired to finish this because of barzys hatty tonight haha, he deserves everything. I didn’t really spell check this yet, just needed to post finally!! Personally, I think its the hottest thing I've ever wrote. Lemme know!!! 💕

tagging: @softboybarzal​ @fallinallincurls​ @matbaerzal​ @npatrickz​ @canadianheaters​ @selenophileangel​ @deleausvp​ @colecaufields​ @hockeyhughes11​ @nazdaddy​ @barzysreputation​ @comphybiscuit​ @aboveaveragehockeyboys​ @ifiwasshawnmendesidslapmyself​ @petey-patty​ @starswin​ @heatherawoowoo​ ​

word count: 6.5k

You never believed you’d find someone to spend your life with. If anyone told you your holidays would one day be spent cuddling up with your boyfriend of almost two years in the apartment that you had just moved into together earlier that month, you would have told them they were wrong. Flat out wrong. Things as beautiful and destined as that only happened in movies, and you certainly weren’t lucky enough to get something like that. But, now, here you were.

And here was Mat.

Even after two years with Mat, there was still nothing better than spending the evening cuddled up with him on the couch. No matter how many fancy, expensive dinner dates he took you on at upscale restaurants in the city or how many helicopter rides you took together out in B.C. when he was showing you his home, or how much you loved hanging out with his friends and his family and his teammates, nothing was better than cuddles at home. As much time you spent together, you still felt as giddy and comfortable and safe and at-peace as that first time with him. Things didn't simmer down, that spark didn't fade away after a bit like you feared they would. But they became more subtle. You no longer had to ask him to come to the couch to cuddle, you no longer worried that maybe he wouldn't want to. It was a habit, at this point, to fall into his arms at the end of the day just the same as he did with you. You were each other’s safe havens, the place you laid your head to rest. You loved each other, and there was no place you’d rather be than together.

You’d spent the evening baking cookies, decorating the new tree, and wrapping his family member's Christmas gifts- a book his mom had been wanting, along with some of the cookies you'd made and various at-home spa items; hockey memorabilia and classic jerseys for his dad; and some new pieces of technology and the latest eye shadow palette that his sister had been wanting, along with some stupid jokes gifts that he wrapped in duct tape like the annoying older brother he was. Now, after the sunset bared its last light over the horizon and through your window, you lay together in bliss, with the tree twinkling its colorful lights across the room as you and Mat snuggled on the couch under a fluffy blanket, and everything felt right. 

"I don't know why we went through all that work to decorate the tree if we're not even spending Christmas here." Mat grumbled playfully, his head on your chest, partially hidden under the blanket. 

"Well," your face glowed in a smile as you remembered the flight out to Vancouver you had in a few days. Spending holidays with his family was always your favorite. Your family wasn’t the best, and it wasn’t too healthy to spend your holidays with them, but you always had Mat and his family. They were so welcoming, so kind, and for as many years now as you’d gone as Mat’s girlfriend, they had accepted you like family. "Because this is our home, Mat. It'd be wrong not to decorate it for the first time." 

"I don't need a tree for this to feel like home." 

“Aww, baby.”

“It’s true.” He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees above you on the couch, bringing his face level with yours. His warm breath hit your lips as he brushed his nose against yours, eyes slipping shut and grinning. “I love you. Always.”

“I love you always too.” 

"I'm so glad you're here. I'm so happy we live together, finally." 

"I'm glad we live together, too." 

Mat snuggled down into your neck, the locks of dark hair that had been growing out lately tickling your face. You reached up to brush them aside and curl your hand around the back of his head, cupping his head against you tenderly . His hair was getting so nice and long, and you knew he’d have to cut it soon, per the team's guidelines, but god, you were gonna cherish it now. 

"I actually have something for you, Maty."

"A Christmas present?" 

"Well, an early Christmas present." You smiled at the excited look on his boyish face as he leaned back, the lights from the tree highlighting the sparkle in his eye. "You can't open it at your parent's house, so we're gonna do it here instead."

"What is it?" 

"Try to figure it out." 

He sat up then, his eyes scanning the room for anything that might seem out of the ordinary, anything that might be hidden. He was looking for his present, and you had to hold back a laugh at the sight. 

"Maty…" 

"No, no, I'll find it."

"Babe…"

"I got this."

"Let me give you a hint, at least." You sat up with him and took his hand in yours and cupped it against your cheek, turning your head to the side to kiss his fingers. He smiled at the touch, melting back into you and tracing his thumb across your skin. 

"Alright, gimme the hint."

You pushed his hand down the smooth skin of your neck, the swell of your breasts, down the curve of your waist, and to the hem of his hoodie that swallowed you up. "It's right in front of you, baby." 

"For real?" The joy in his eyes was the same you saw the first time you told him you were ready to take that step, almost two years ago now. No matter how many times you were together, he was always just as excited.

“You say that as if we’ve never done this before.”

“It always feels like the first time.” 

You glowed and let go of his hand to reach up and cup his face between both of you. His words came so simply and without hesitation that you knew he was sincere. “Aw, Mat…”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re so sweet tonight.”

“Maybe I just really want to lay some love on you.” He hitched his hands under your thighs and tugged you close, lying you back against the couch once again. His hands slid up the soft skin of your tummy and waist, dipping under your shirt momentarily, and causing your breath to hitch in your throat- his hands always managed to do that to you- as you breathed out the words against his lips. 

“Maybe I’m gonna let you.” 

With one last grin, his face dipped down to yours, locking your lips together in a familiar, electric dance. Soft, gentle lips moving against yours had never felt as good as with any other boyfriends as they do with Mat. His touch was intoxicating, made your mind wander and your heart race flushed your skin and shocked you to the core. Ever since the very first time his hand grazed against yours when he reached out to hold it for the first time, to the first time your bodies connected in passion under the covers, it felt the same. Like fire. Even two years later, he drove you insane, and all you wanted, and frequently achieved, was to drive him insane as well. In the best way possible. Mat broke apart from your lips momentarily to slip the hoodie over your head, revealing his gift. “Fuck…”

Right there, in front of his eyes, your breasts were covered only by a lacy crimson fabric, held together behind a pretty red bow. With each heavy breath of anticipation, your chest was heaving softly before his eyes, and he found himself hypnotized by the gentle rise and fall. 

“You like it?"

“Holy shit, you’re hot.” 

“So are you.” 

His eyes were wide, warm, and gentle, looking over you. He dragged his gaze away from your chest even though you could tell how hard it was, and shook his head. “Not as much as you.”

"Mmm", you took the liberty of taking his hands from where they had frozen beside you and placing them, big and warm, over your chest. "Go ahead, baby." 

"No, no, I wanna savor this first."

His mouth dipped down, soft hair tickling your neck as he nibbled at your chest, laying little love bites and kisses along the tender skin. He cupped your boobs and squeezed them around his face, humming in content. You couldn’t help but laugh as he buried his face against you, and you could feel his grin break out against your skin. “Having fun, baby?”

“Oh my god, yes. You’re gorgeous. So soft.” 

“Mmhm.” You sighed into his touch as he kissed his way back up your chest.

“Baby.” He spoke softly to get your attention, and your eyes opened lazily to see him, biting his lip and holding the delicate ribbon between two fingers. “Can I?”

“Please.” He gave a gentle tug, and with one last heave of your chest, the lacy bralette fell open, revealing one of Mat’s favorite parts of your body. 

“Fucking Christ.” 

“Bub, you can’t be swearing like that so close to Christmas.” 

“How do you expect me not to when you’re…. God, just so perfect…” You saw the way his eyes glazed over mid-sentence in the colorful lights of the tree, the way his jaw went slack as you arched your chest up towards him. He reached out, slowly, as if worried you were going to disappear if he moved too quickly, and when the large, rough hands curled around the side of your waist and slid up and down, you felt goosebumps pop up along your skin. 

“Your fingers are cold.”  

“But you love it.” He ran the pad of his thumb over your nipples, watching as they pebbled under his touch in the cold air. “So do I.” 

“Warm me up?”

“Always.”

He dipped his head down, his mouth hot and wet along the peaks and valleys of your chest, down your stomach.

His fingers traveled over the familiar layout of your body, colored in soft golden and red and green in the dancing Christmas lights, tracing each recognizable landmark with specific care- every memorized freckle and birthmark he had kissed since your first night together and every dimple in your skin that he cherished, every spot that had his fingerprints imprinted onto like memory foam after so many nights spent holding you tight with everything in him, as if you'd slip away. As if you'd want to. With each inch his hands followed, he found more, there was always more territory to be marked down, jotted down in his brain for future reference. He was always finding something new. Something more to use against you, to use against you in the best way possible, to push you further and further to that blissful end goal.

He made his way down, down, down, until his breath was hot over your lace-covered core, his hand gripping your hips tightly. Mat smiled as your hands found his hair, curling your fingers through a fistful of the dark locks before releasing and smoothing it back into place again. Mat's favorite thing about going down on you, besides the way it pleasured you, was the way your hands felt on his head, massaging and grabbing and twisting and pulling. It was heaven to him, letting you guide him around like that. 

“Can I take them off?” 

“Hmm.” As much as you wanted him to ravage you right there, with those soft, sultry eyes he was giving you, he was wearing far too many clothes. “You first.” 

Mat didn't say anything else before stripping out of his dark crew neck sweater and jumping up off the couch to kick his gray sweats down. His smile was contagious as your gaze dropped from his face, down his bare chest and the little chain you’d gotten him for your anniversary, down towards the tent in his boxers with a silly, excited grin. He laughed. "Not tired of seeing me yet?" 

"Never."

"You sure you’re not getting bored of my dick yet?"

"No, baby. Definitely not.” You grinned, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him bouncing around your mind. “Why? Are you getting bored of me?"

"No way." Mat leaned down to lace your fingers together and lock lips. "How could I?"

"How could I get tired of you, Maty?"

Mat hummed. He loved this little play, the little banter, the back and forth. He'd loved it since you first started dating, and he always would. He knew you loved him endlessly, but he played along. "I'm just a hockey player."

"No, you're my hockey player. My boyfriend. My pretty, pretty baby."

Mat settled back down between your legs with a warm smile. "Yeah, I am. So can I take these off now?" He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties. "C'mon, I know how much you love my tongue."

Your thighs squeezed around him at the words. “Fuck, please.”

“Anything for my baby.” 

You lifted your hips for him as he tugged the lacy fabric down your thighs with nimble fingers, stopping momentarily after they were off to just look at you. He let out a sigh, his eyes finding yours again with a soft look as you squirmed a bit beneath him- not because you were shy, no, you were long past that point in your relationship, but because you just needed him to do anything to you. Mat had spent the past two years helping you love and appreciate your body, and this, right here in this moment, was the perfect showcase of how much he helped- as he was gazing down at your naked body and the only thing you felt was just the absolute need and desire for his body to move against yours and his warmth to cover you up. No nerves. Only love, and need. 

“Shit, you’re gorgeous.” 

“I know.” 

The lack of hesitation in your reply had Mat bending over you and laughing. “That’s your response?”

“Yeah! I mean, you let me know. You make me feel so confident.”

“Mmhm, good, babygirl.” He scooted back down to lay his head against the soft, naked inside of your thigh gazing up at you through his eyelashes. “I always wanna make you feel good. Physically and mentally.” He turned to lay open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, and any thought of response you may have had dissolved completely as you leaned back and waited for him to do his magic. His hand reached up to cup your heat, just feeling you against his palm for a moment before swiping a long finger through your fold, smiling and raising his eyebrows at you. “Oh? Already so wet for me?” 

“Always, baby. You should know this by now.”

“Yeah?” He dipped his fingers at your opening teasingly and his head dipped down to connect his lips with your clit, kissing it gently and watching you squirm. “Ugh, I could fuck you right now if I was in a rush. But you know the foreplay is my favorite part.”

“I know. And you’re so good.” 

“Good.” 

He went silent then, his tongue wide and wet, licking a long stripe along your slick and gathering the wetness at your clit, giving it soft, kitten licks and wet kisses. He listened intently for every soft sigh that left your lips- music to his ears- and felt every tug on his hair when he flicked his tongue in small circles around that spot like he knew you loved. And the best part was that he knew. You didn’t understand how couples could get tired of each other after years. You didn’t understand how the excitement could flicker away or how they could get tired of each other’s bodies or minds. Never in your relationship with Mat have you felt as excited as now, two years in. The thought that he knew your body inside and out, maybe even better than you did, was just so overwhelming in the best possible way, and the longer you lay there, with Mat’s mouth on you, you couldn’t stop thinking that this is your man.   

Mat was lying flat against the long couch, his face between your thighs and his hands holding your legs open for him. His dark hair was a wild mess, and you could see the gentle movements of his lower back and ass and the back of his thighs illuminated golden in the lights, rolling lazily against the couch cushion- covered by a blanket, of course- to provide any friction for his sadly untouched cock. 

You hadn’t even noticed the noises dripping from your lips until Mat pulled back, and the lack of feeling his mouth against your core had you whining for him.

“Fuck, I’ll never get over you.” 

“Mmmmat.” You hummed his name, dragging out the “M” in the way you knew he loved.  

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please keep touching me.” 

He sat up, between your thighs, knees digging into the couch, and his bare thighs and torso on display for you. You loved him, all of him, and all of his body. His legs, his abdomen, his chest, his arms… all of it was amazing. Perfect to look at and perfect to touch, to grab, to dig your nails into as he railed you. To ground yourself with. “Baby, you know I love eating you out. But I just gotta see you right now. And talk to you.” His big hand slid up the inside of your thigh, and your breath caught in your throat when he started rubbing soft, small circles against your clit. “So this position will have to do, okay? I promise I’ll spend all day before our flight eating your pussy.”

“I’ll remember that.” 

“I hope so. God, this fucking thing. Could eat it for days.” He pushed a single finger inside you, slow and steady, but enough to make you clench around him. His fingers were so much better than yours, just a little longer and a little thicker in a way that had you squirming for more. “So fucking tight and wet. So hot. I’m so lucky to have you.” His free hand left your hip, leaving nothing but cold, empty fingerprints on your skin, and rubbed against the bulge in his dark boxers. You could see how much he was aching, and you were determined to make it better. 

“Mat, c’mere.” 

“I’m knuckles deep in your pussy, babe, how much closer do you want me?” You laughed at him, rolling your hip down against said finger. How he could be so funny and sexy at the same time was beyond you.

“Lie down with me. I wanna touch you.” You held your arms out for him and scooted to the side, and he obliged quickly, lying on his side between you and the back of the couch and hooking your left leg over his right thigh. His hand dipped back down between your thighs, pressing into you before you could even catch your breath, feeling exhilarated at the much more intimate position. “Oh, fuck, Mat.” You reached out to him, willing and eager to reciprocate the feeling. He drew in a sharp breath at the way your hand rubbed over the thick bulge in his boxers, pulling the waistband down just enough to release him from his cotton prison.  

His cock jumped up against his lower belly, stiff and pink and needy for you and only you. Your hand, your mouth, and you could tell by the way Mat’s fingers paused inside you that he was anticipating the moment your fingers wrapped around his length. “Oh, that feels so good. Always does, baby.” And then, as you worked your hand against him, he pumped his long fingers inside you, bringing his other thumb to rub mercilessly at your clit. But still, even with the way he was fucking you on his hand, the most intense part of this moment was the way he held your gaze; the lust, the need, the twinkle of amusement in his hazel eyes at the sheer amazement that he got to do this with you; and the love- the pure, unadulterated love that soaked from his skin to yours, in every touch, in ever moment spent together, every kiss, and every time you laid together, bare and vulnerable, in the heat of passion, under the twinkling lights or in the dark, safe haven of your home to show each other how much you loved each other. His warm eyes glittered in the light, reflecting the gold and green and red lights from the Christmas tree that illuminated the room, and the city lights outside the window of your apartment lit up his body and highlighted every muscle. Your apartment, the one you own together, and the one you knew you were going to make countless memories in. His eyes glittered with love, with the question of “can you believe we still make each other feel so good?” and with the statement “I want to kiss you so bad right now”. Your hand pumped his length, pulling a soft moan from his lips, one that you had used to have to work so hard to hear. “I want to hear you, baby” You had used to say, practically begging him to let himself go as he bit his lip to hold back the moans. It had taken a bit of encouragement, but now he never held back with the sounds that left his pretty mouth. You lay there, vulnerable and exposed to each other, staring into each other’s eyes as with hands between each other's thighs, cheeks pink and hearts full of love as you helped each other climb to that climax. 

You broke eye contact first, laughing breathlessly and feeling your cheeks go hot under his gaze. Despite the lack of shame you felt in front of him, he could still get you so flustered and giggly. 

“What’s so funny, beautiful?” He asked between shaky breaths. 

“You’re so beautiful, Mat. Those moans are so pretty. I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah?” He smiled with another laugh. “I can feel how wet you are. It’s crazy.” He slipped the tip of a third finger into you, your hole aching and pulsing around them already. “Oh, fuck, I love your moans too.” And you could tell he did, as his hips jerked helplessly up into your hand. “Faster, baby.” 

“Only if you kiss me.” 

Without hesitation, he leaned over and his lips locked onto yours, needy and begging but oh, so willing to go slow and passionate. The hand that had been teasing your clit came up to grab at you face, squeezing a tit on the way up, and you reached a free hand out to tangle in his dark hair as you leaned in and continued to jerk him in your hand- up and down, and up and down, twisting around the head just like he liked. “I love you.” He whispered against your lips, breaking apart for only a moment to look down at you one more time in awe. “I love you so fucking much.” 

“I love you, Mat.” 

“Fuck, I love you.” His lips crashed back against yours again, his fingers plunging deeper inside you as he kissed his promise into your lips, the promise that he was there and he’d always be there. He was yours. And you were his. Simply that. The heel of his palm rubbed against your clit as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that wonderful spot and making fireworks twinkle behind your eyes. He groaned into your mouth as your hand curved over the head of his cock, palms getting slick with his pre-cum, and stroked back down to cup his balls gently. He let out a breathy laugh at the tender feeling. 

“Baby, look at me.” You cupped his cheeks between your hands and pulled him back when you began to feel your peak rising. He whined when your hand left his cock, aching and hard, and his fingers halted inside of you, cupping his palm against your heat.

“Oh, baby,” His eyes locked on you, making a show of how they were scanning up and down your body. “I’m looking.”

“I need you inside, right now.”

His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the words. Even after so long, he still couldn’t handle hearing those words. His eyes fluttered shut. “Fuck, say less.” He rolled over you to sit upright on the couch, finally pushing his boxers all the way down his thighs and onto the floor. He gripped his cock in his hands and slid between your thighs, bending down over you to kiss your lips. “How do you want it?”

“Just like this.” Your hands fell to his hips and pulled him close. 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna see your face. Maybe it’s basic, but I love this position.”

“Yeah. It’s simple, but so intimate. I like it too.” He paused and leaned back for a moment, looking down at his sweatpants on the floor for something. “Shit, ugh, I don’t have a condom here, hold on-” 

“No, no, no.” Before Mat could run off to the bedside drawer, you grabbed his hands in yours, pulling him back to you. His eyes went soft and cautious for a few moments. 

“No? Babe, shouldn’t we…” 

“We’ve had conversations about this, right? About doing it without?” Mat nodded, a little smile beginning to pull on his lips. “I’m still on the pill, and I know I remembered to take all of them recently, so we’re still pretty safe, if you want.” 

“Fuck, I want.” He settled back down between your knees. “Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent.” 

“Alright.” Mat chuckled in boyish excitement. He reached a hand down between your bodies to adjust himself, nudging the blunt head of his cock against your clit and rubbing his pre-cum along your slit, lining up with your tight entrance and sending sparks through your body. “God, my God, I can’t wait to come inside you. Feel you around me completely. See my cum on you.” One last time, he bent his body down over yours, his weight warm and heavy, the metal of his chain cool between your chests, and pressed his mouth to yours, breathing in your warmth. One of your hands curled around his waist, slid to the small of his back, just like he always did to you, and the other cupped the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hairs and playing with the chain around his neck and pulling him in closer to your face. He broke away slightly with a sigh against your lips, his forehead bumping against yours and his nose nudging yours in a familiar gesture. He didn’t need to say the words anymore, because his quiet affections were ones that you’ve known for a long time. 

His question was loud and clear, and your answer was just as obvious. 

Mat brought a forearm down next to your head to steady himself, stroking the pad of his thumb against your warm cheek as his hips finally pushed against yours. Hands tightened their grips on each other’s bodies, sliding across hot skin slicked with sweat, and a euphony of moans mingled together in the air at the initial feeling of finally being connected in such a primal way again. His hips were flush against your own, and the weight of his thick cock inside of you was heavy and intoxicating; you could feel his tight abdomen expanding and contracting with every heavy breath and shudder through his body. He let out a long string of moans, his head dipping down to nibble at your throat, and fuck, did you know what he meant. You were connected, everywhere- heart, skin, and mind. “Fuck, oh my God, baby, hot as ever.” 

“Oh, Maty…” 

“I’m gonna give you so much love, beautiful.”

“Please.” 

The first withdrawal of his hips from yours was painstakingly slow, and all you wanted was for him to plunge back in again and again and again. And he intended to do that, in time. Mat loved to take his time, but it didn’t take him long to fulfill his promise, sliding back against you, his cock hard and aching inside your wet cunt. He found a steady, easy pace rolling his hips into yours, each stroke like electricity through your body, long and languid, taking his time to draw your pleasure out, taking the time to feel your body around him. His knee dug into the couch hard, steadying himself and getting more traction so he could pull closer to your body, snapping his hips against yours with slaps that had you both gasping for air. 

“Oh fuck…” 

“Feels so good, Mat.”

“You’re fucking amazing.” He let out another high-pitched whine and arched your leg over his hip. “More?”

“More, faster, please baby.” 

His hips slapped against yours with a groan, his big hands holding behind your knees and opening you wide for him. He leaned back to take a good look at you, at the scene in front of him, trying to take in every image he possibly could. Because these were the best moments. Not only the sex- god, but the sex was good- but just being together, being close, being intimate and so so close, yet only craving to become closer and closer. “God, you’re so hot, babe. So tight, so wet, all for me, right?” When you couldn’t answer, too overwhelmed with the way he was pounding against you, he took it as a sign to keep running his mouth. God, you loved to listen to him talk. “So wet, all for me. Getting all turned on over this big cock inside you, yeah?” You nodded your head enthusiastically, pulling his body closer to yours. He followed without hesitation, down and down until your bodies were glued together and he was just pushing against you, his hips driving yours into the couch cushions. “All fucked up for my cock, are you? Fucking beautiful.” 

“It’s so good, Maty, baby, so big, fills me up so good.”

“I love you. I love you, (Y/N).”

“Oh my God, Maty, I love you.” 

His mouth locked onto yours, sealing your lips together and swallowing your moans down. Dark locks of his hair shielded your face and tickled your cheeks, and as soon as he inched away to take a deep, shaky breath, your eyes opened up. He steadied himself on strong arms, framing your face, his veins prominent, and you curled a small hand as far around his thick bicep as you could, watching in awe as his head jerked back, throwing his long hair off his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on pounding against your dripping cunt. 

Slowly, his body peeled back off of yours, away, away, and he brought himself up to his knees in front of you. You let your eyes roll slip the long length of his torso, decorated with glittering reflections of gold and red and green, shining off the sheen of his sweat, and you looked from his thick neck, covered in your love-bites, down his chest, down the hard muscles of his abdomen and tummy, and down the V of his hips to the small patch of prickles that rubbed against your clit with every thrust. His thighs were spread open with your legs wrapped ever so gently around his hips, and his cock was stilled, aching inside of you. He shifted around on the couch momentarily, readjusting his knees on the cushions. “Ya know, we’d be a lot more comfortable in our bed than out here.” 

“But it’s so pretty out here. All the pretty twinkly lights on you…” 

“On me?” He laughed, “Look at yourself, babe. I’m fucking lucky.” 

His big hands traced down your cheeks, squeezed down your chest, curled down the curve of your waist and hips, before finally wrapping around the backs of your thighs and pulling you closer, hoisting your legs up, up, and over his shoulders and spreading you wide open in front of him. 

“Ooh, Mat…” You giggled a bit as he easily positioned you in the way he wanted, smirking down at you wickedly and rubbing his thumbs up and down the wet slick of your pussy. 

“Gonna make you fuckin’ come, babe, my god… you want that?”

“Yeah, yeah, please, Maty.” 

“Just a little bit longer, ‘kay?” He rolled his hips against yours again, starting up that steady pace again. His hands held your thighs open, lifting your legs up the length of his torso and locking them over his shoulders, and he never failed to make you seem tiny compared to him. You watched, mesmerized, as his abdomen tensed and hardened and spasmed as he tried to keep himself under control. 

“Please.”

“Little… longer.” 

With one more low moan, your boyfriend bent closer to you, his chain dangling in your face tauntingly as he got back to pounding away at you, heavy balls slapping against your ass with every erratic movement, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier and his breaths getting deeper. He was so goddamn close to that edge. He could tell you were getting there, too. You’d been on the edge ever since he started pounding you, but now, you were only a few feather light touches away from falling over that edge. And Mat was ready for it, he could barely hold his own seems together, he could barely think about anything except how rock hard he was and how your tits were bouncing so perfectly in rhythm with his hips, the way your eyes were rolling back and the way his cock felt inside you, fully covered in your slick, both your lower halves sticky messes. He was ready to fall apart completely, and ready to help you reach your own. “You look so fucking good taking my dick like this, babygirl. It’s so big, isn’t it? But you just take it so good, yeah? My good, good girl with her perfect fucking pussy, taking that cock so well.” He reached his fingers down to roll his thumb lazily against your clit, ever so gently, but enough to make you fall apart. Your eyes rolled back as you gasped out for him. 

“Please, M- Maaaat…” 

“Oh, you- you want it, don’t you?” Mat’s words were getting shaky, his sentences choppy. He was so close, so close his mind couldn’t comprehend anything beyond just fucking letting go. “Want your boyfriend’s hot cum filling you up, just flooding that- ugh, that tight little cunt, yeah? My balls emptied inside you? You want that nut so bad, you’re so desperate for it, huh? Tell me, baby. Tell me how you want the love of your life to just… fucking f- flood your pussy.”

“I want it, Mat, I want you to cum, baby.” 

His thrusts became erratic, his hand leaving bruises on your thigh and his thumb absolutely torturing your swollen, sensitive clit. He was getting desperate, too. “Where? Where do you want my big fucking load?”

“Cum inside, fuck, fuck, please, Maty-”

“Ohh, gonna fucking nut inside you, babygirl-”  

“I’m gonna cuuuum, Mat…” 

“Ohhhh, fuuuuuck, oh, oh (Y/N)...!” Mat let out a long, strangled moan, his voice shaking and whiny and breathless in exasperation. His hips stuttered and his thighs trembled beneath him as he nearly collapsed onto you, absolutely flooding your aching, spasming hole with his cum. Your mind went fuzzy and white when you finally felt his stitches come loose, and he finally emptied all of himself- all his hot, gooey warmth- inside of your throbbing cunt. And flood, he did. It felt like the thick ropes of cum were never ending, filling you to the brim, until finally, he was done, his eyes squeezed shut and hair falling into his eyes above you.

Forming sentences would be a miracle at this point, but you reached up to curl a finger around Mat’s chain and yank him down to your face, ushering him to collapse against your body. And he did, eyes glancing open for a moment and lips locking with yours, always thankful to be able to fall onto you after a hard day, after absolutely spending himself. He groaned against your lips and buried his face against your neck, panting against your skin and kissing your neck and breathing in your scent as your hand found it’s rightful place at the back of his neck.  After a few moments of stillness, he reached down lazily and let his cock slip out of you, both of you whining and the loss of contact, and you felt a familiar wetness on your tummy as his cum dribbled down the head of his spent cock to fall on your warm skin. 

You were silent, panting for a few minutes, just letting your heartbeats steady back to normal and your heads to recover from the dizzying orgasms. Then, a breathless chuckle vibrated through Mat’s chest and into you. “Merry fucking Christmas to us, right?” 

“I think that was the hottest thing we’ve ever done, Mat.” Mat hummed in agreement, squeezing you between his arms. “Now you see why we couldn’t do this at your parent’s place?”

“I mean… what’s stopping us?” 

“Mat, I know for a fact you can’t keep quiet enough to fuck in your parent’s house.”

“Says the one who was just screaming my name.”

“As if you weren’t moaning mine just as loud.”

“Hmm.” Mat laughed again at the banter, the playful back and forth, and rolled to the side, his back to the back of the couch, and pulled you against his side. “How do you feel, anyway? About… me coming inside? Still feel good about it? Wasn’t too much?”

“No way. I really… really enjoyed that. Everything about that. A lot.” 

“Mm, that’s good. So did I.” 

“But… I kiiiiiinda feel like we should clean up. It’s starting to feel… sticky, like, everywhere. And not a good sticky.” 

“Yeah, how about we take a bath together? A nice warm bath in the lights of the pretty Christmas lights you love so much? How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like heaven, Mat.”

So Mat scooped you up in his arms, his own legs weak and shaky after an unbelievable orgasm, and he pressed kisses against your cheeks as he carried you through your brand new home, lit in the pretty pinks and gold of the Christmas lights, stopping before the bathroom door only momentarily to ponder on the beginning of the rest of his forever with you. This truly might be the beginning of the best years of his life. The beginning of an even more serious relationship with you. He felt your fingers playing with the chain that still hung around his neck, the one the guys teased him about the charm on the end, but the one he always wore for you, and he glanced down, his eyes warm and contemplative as he searched yours. This. This was eternal love.

“I love you, babe. Always.” His heart felt dipped in syrup when you smiled up at him with that soul melting look. Yep. You’re it for me.

“I love you, bubs. Always.”

[nypmphetsbastard]

They Both Die in the End

Genre: angst...just angst

Pairings: Eren Yeager x reader

Timeline: season 4 Eren

Summary: SPOILER ALERT! They both die in the end.

Warnings: Smut, angst, major character death, emotional, season 4 warnings do not continue if you’re not caught up with the anime.

A/N: this story is also posted on AO3

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If you could go back to it all, would you? Before Marley, before the war, before the titan shifters, before the fall of Shiganshina, before everything — would you go back? Go back to living peacefully inside the walls of Maria watching eh our next door neighbor Eren and his two other friends run around, too nervous to ask yet watching their games of tag together. Go back to the day the youngest Yeager son noticed you from afar and invited you to play with them. Go back to those days. 

Those final days of peace. If you could go back to it all, would you? Before Marley, before the war, before the titan shifters, before the fall of Shiganshina, before everything — would you go back? Go back to living peacefully inside the walls of Maria watching eh our next door neighbor Eren and his two other friends run around, too nervous to ask yet watching their games of tag together. Go back to the day the youngest Yeager son noticed you from afar and invited you to play with them. Go back to those days. 

Those final days of peace. If you could go back to it all, would you? Before Marley, before the war, before the titan shifters, before the fall of Shiganshina, before everything — would you go back? Go back to living peacefully inside the walls of Maria watching eh our next door neighbor Eren and his two other friends run around, too nervous to ask yet watching their games of tag together. Go back to the day the youngest Yeager son noticed you from afar and invited you to play with them. Go back to those days.  Those final days of peace.

Before it all fell.

Maybe. Maybe you would go back. But you couldn't. No matter how much prayed and wish upon a star, it would never come to pass. You were stuck. You were all stuck. But in a moment like this, you didn't mind being stuck here.

Stuck in his arms, under his broad shoulders and wrapped in your own personal layer of protection. His soft eyelashes laid gently along to top of his cheeks, the dark brown locks you loved so dearly had now grown a little past his chin and his once short and skinny frame had grown significantly since he turned 18.

You tenderly tucked his long hair behind his ear, watching as his eyelashes fluttered open at the lightest touch. It was sad, honestly, how light of a sleeper he'd become. Anyone who knew Eren only now would've laughed at a time he was a heavy sleeper, it was sad, how quickly he had to adapt to constant alert. No longer enjoying his moments of peace and quiet.

A brown broke you out of your thoughts as Eren licked his lips and drubbed the tiredness out of his eyes before sighed and looking down at the person in his arms.

Eren couldn't help but remember the words Jean had once said to him when they were just 15. "How you managed to find someone like that, I will never know. But don't screw it up, because you never know if the next time you'll see them will be on the street or in a body bag." He sighed, reaching his hand over to your cheek, gently caressing the skin.

He knew the two of you would never have a moment like this ever again, that his future will always result in complete anarchy and chaos but that wouldn't stop him from basking in the light that was you.

"Good morning." You giggled, this gentle touch sending shivers up your spine.

"Morning." He whispered back. "We have to get up soon. Captain Levi says we have more Marleyan's coming from the port today."

You sighed and pushed your head closer into his chest, "That's boring...and morbid. I just wanna spend time with you." You whined, Eren chuckled sadly.

"I know...but that doesn't mean we can't make it count now." Eren mumbled, leaning into your neck. You hummed and relaxed in his arms as he began to suck the skin on your neck.

"No hickeys. You know what Levi said about them." You breathed out trying to keep your composure, Eren pulled away with a shit eating grin.

"Whoops." you rolled your eyes at him and let your lips meet in a hungry kiss.

Wandering hands roaming each other's bodies wasn't uncommon between you whenever you got the chance, but no matter how much he touched you, you couldn't help but flinch and gasp into his mouth as he cupped your clothed mound.

"Eren," you pause to take a deep breathe as another moan threatens to escape your reddened lips, "I thought you said we had somewhere to be." You joked lightly.

"Fuck that." He cursed, looking up at you with his dark piercing gaze.

'If these are what Eldian devils look like, I wouldn't mind being a sinner' you thought to yourself.

If Eren Yeager was anything, oblivious was not it. He was always attentive with everything he did. But when the lights dimmed and your legs spread for him, Eren Yeager never missed a spot. Twisting and turning, rubbing and spitting, he'd do anything and everything to hear you let out those breathy moans of his name.

Eren Yeager never had such a good ring to it.

It never took a lot of to have you screaming for him. Eren had mapped out every crevice of your body that sent you shivers, every infinity 8 that had your legs shaking since the first night. He always knew what would have you screaming out in blissful pleasure. Whether it be in pain or pleasure.

"Eren, ah," your shaky hands reach for the scarred back of his past. Nails scratching the surface and painting the once pale canvas a burning red color.

The burning of your thighs was nothing compared to the knot in your stomach that he wouldn't let snap. He massaged your thighs as they sat above his shoulders, finally lifting his head to hear your desperate whines to finish. Lips and chin coated in wetness, he grinned and went right back to work. Your mercy pleas finally reached his ears as one of his hand reached up to grab yours, his other stimulating your most sensitive area to get the exact reaction he wanted.

One that left his shirt and his sheets drenched in you. Words didn't seem to form on your tongue yet he understand everything you needed. Planting a light kiss on your clit, he gently and carefully closed your legs, bringing them back down to earth and laying down on your side.

Once your breathing returned back to normal all you could mutter was a simple, "wow." Eren smirked cockily and grabbed your cheeks, pulling you into a much softer yet passionate kiss.

"I know." not even trying to make a smart comment, you closed your eyes, preparing for your high to end and the uncomfortable feeling of stickiness that filled the sheets, your thigh and your boyfriend's face.

"You have a little something there" you pointed out, pointing to your chin.

"Mhm, really? You made a mess too, want me to clean it up?" A yes caught in your throat as you realized what he was planning and clasped your hand onto his wrist.

"Don't. We still have somewhere to be."

That smile. That damned smile that always caused you nothing but trouble. Trouble in more ways than one.

Mikasa and Armin being the first to arrive on time was never a surprise, however coming after Sasha and Connie was borderline suspicious as those two were never on time...to anything. Connie snickered at the sight of you rushing over to the bench with a piece of bread stuck in your mouth as you tried tucking your shirt into your pants.

You sat down between to Mikasa and Jean, trying your best to not sound like you had ran over here in a hurry, which you had. It was in your best interest to just act like you'd been there the whole time, especially with how meticulous Captain Levi was with scheduling and all that. So you struck up a conversation.

"Hey Mikasa, lovely weather we're having." You spoke up, Mikasa looked up from where her eyes were down casted on her lap and gave you a small smile with a hint of confusion.

"Yes, it is lovely...I guess." She mumbled as her voice trailed off.

You leaned on your arms to look next to Mikasa, "Good morning, Armin." You greeted the blonde.

"Oh, good morning. Have you been there this whole time?" Armin questioned, his answer only causing tithe two snickering twins to laugh even harder.

"No Armin, she was out having a much better morning." Connie mocked, sending Sasha into a laughing fest with a whole piece of bread still lodged in her mouth. Armin look confused but shrugged it off and went back to drawing in his sketch book, a stress reliving habit he'd picked up after that day at the sea.

You kicked Connie in the shins and smiled at his hiss of pain and dramatic leg holding, Sasha joining in on your laughs until you kicked her too. She whined and rubbed her shin.

"Hey! I didn't even say anything!" She protested and you laughed at her, not noticing Mikasa's sharp gaze on you.

"Where's Eren?" Mikasa asked

"Commander Hange asked him to stay behind to prep beforehand. Why?"

"So I can ask him to leave your fun in the bedroom, respectfully." She smirked, pointing at the hickey on your neck. Your eyes widened at Mikasa's amused expression and tried to cover the deep red and purple stain with your hand. Jean snickered from next to you, using the magazine he very clearly wasn't using to cover up his puffed cheeks preventing him from laughing.

Everyone's favorite duo however, did not get the memo as they bursted out into a fit of laughter. Their pale cheeks turning bright pink as they leaned on each other for support, nearly throwing the other off the bench. You groaned and dropped your head onto the hardwood table, drowning in embarrassment.

The scouts had always loved to tease you and Eren at any given chance. Connie and Sasha being especially guilty of this, but even Mikasa loved to poke and prod at the two of you, making jokes of her own.

Mikasa has been your best friend since childhood, her love for both you and Eren only doubled in size when the two of you officially got together when you were 15. She was there for you after every failed mission, after every argument, or even when you just needed girl talk. Even if she never seemed the most emotionally capable person, Mikasa Ackerman was never wrong. She's somebody everybody could rely on, whether that he for protection or just as a friend, she was always there.

Always there to buy the constantly hungry Sasha snacks as you and many other scouts arrived to Marley in disguise. While Sasha basked at the taste of new foods, your eyes roamed the crowded city, trying your best not to push anyone. Then, your eyes landed on a familiar head of hair that stood at the edge of the port, looking off into the distance.

"Hey..." you spoke up before gently sliding your hand on his shoulder, a habit you picked up on because of how guarded Eren constantly is. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so." He mumbled, turning his body to face you directly and placing his hands on your shoulders, "Are you?" He questioned

"Mhm. This person dressed up as a clown mistook Captain Levi for a child and I think he actually might've traumatized the man." You joked, laughing at the past occurrence.

Although he didn't laugh, Eren smiled at your happiness, mentally taking a picture of this moment to hold onto later on.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing?" Levi interrogated, snatching the arm of a young boy who stood beside a clueless Sasha. You and Eren made your way through the commotion of people spewing out hateful words at the boy as they tried to figure out a brutal punishment for the child.

Sasha laughed nervously and lied for him, claiming he was just her younger sibling messing around, narrowly avoiding having the child nearly killed for his crime. The boy apologized profusely and thanked them for saving him from impending doom before running off with his younger brother. You smiled softly at the child as he ran off before noticing your boyfriend looking at him with longing and sadness.

"Eren? Hey, what's wrong?" You asked softly, reached over to place your hand on his cheek. He blinked and shook his head.

"Nothing, let's go."

Those next days, that very child had offered you and the scouts a place to rest your heads. Providing you all food, drinks and even alcohol which only ended in disaster and Sasha hunched over a bucket puking her guts out.

In your arms that night laid a tired Eren, his head on your chest listening to your heartbeat and feeling your chest rise up and down, mentally making sure you continued to do that. And as you slept soundly, the sharp burning sensation in his nose became too much to bear, Eren's tears silently fell.

They fell for the memories, or rather the premonition of his future. His cursed future.

They fell for the child he once was. A little boy who wanted nothing more than to prove himself and to his parents that he could go beyond, that he could be free in the world he was born into. A little boy who laughed and loved with his parents, his friends, and the little girl next door who he swore to his mother he'd marry. An innocent little boy.

They fell for his friends. The only people he couldn't live without no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. Not just you, Mikasa and Armin — but Connie, Sasha, Jean, Historia and even Levi and Hange. He lived everyday of his life for the sake of them, for them to live their lives as freely as possible, for them to live the life he would never be able to.

For the days like before as they all worked on building the port. Sweaty, tired and burning arms as they all hauled ass into the half built train tracks and finally got a moment to relax.

"Make a base in Marley and infiltrate it, huh?"

"Hange sure has a plan for everything. I'll be able to show down on some real Marleyan cuisine." Sasha replied, her mind already lost a sea of new foods but you smiled at her enthusiasm

"Yeah? What should I bring? It would stink to get the runs."

"Stomach medicine, toothbrush, a taste of home..." Sasha listed off

"Did you even hear Hange's plan?" Mikasa questioned

"If the world knows that we want peace, maybe something will change." Armin suggested hopefully.

"Armin, you know I love the way you think but...not everyone thinks like you. Even the Marleyans we have here are still hot headed over us just existing in the same space as them, they don't seem like very peaceful people in my opinion." You spoke up, Armin sighed and nodded as a small moment a silence waved over you all.

"If only we had more time. I've got just over five years left. We're gonna have to decide who inherits my Titan soon." Eren brought up, a new point but not one that hadn't crossed all your minds.

"I will" Mikasa attempted to step up

"Not you. We still don't know what the Ackermanns are. And won't it hurt any plans with Hizuru if you become a Titan? No, for so many reasons." Jean dismissed, Mikasa looked down sadly, feeling as though there was nothing she could do to help.

"Then who will?" She snapped, you placed you hand over hers and gave her heartwarming smile before leaning your head on her shoulder in a means to calm her down.

"Me. First of all, I'm way smarter than Eren. Instead of a suicidal maniac, you'll have a gifted leader who shows good judgement in all situations. In other words, me." He concluded in his bashful statements. "I hate getting an Eren hand-me-down but who better than me?"

"Someone that amazing we don't wanna lose in 13 years, moron." Connie cursed, you snickered and nodded.

"He's right, Jean. All those things you just said about yourself are true, which is why we need you one hundred percent human and intact for over 13 years. You're too good of a leader to lose now." you explained, Jean groaned in annoyance.

"You're aiming to be regiment leader. I'll inherit Eren's Titan. It works out good, right?"

"Connie..." Eren faltered, slightly surprised at the high and dangerous position Connie was willing to take.

"That's not good at all. You're an idiot." Sasha replied

"Eh?"

"Don't 'eh' me. We can't leave such an important role up to an idiot."

"Eh?" Connie continued, still shocked.

"Doggone it...I'll inherit it. I've got combat experience...I'm someone you can trust...By process of elimination, it's gotta be me." Sasha divulged, you lifted your head from Mikasa's shoulder and raised your hand.

"Um hello? I'm still here." You said sarcastically,

"I know but Eren's your boyfriend and I find it pretty morbid if you were forced to eat your lover for the sake of humanity so, by default, it has to be me!"

"You guys..." Eren mumbled, going unnoticed as Sasha continued her rambling.

"I dun wanna. I sure dun wanna though." Sasha trembled, the mere thought of everything Titan shifters had to go through repeating in her head on loop.

"Wait, huh? Isn't that weird?" Connie spoke up again

"What?"

"Well you know...you said an idiot's not fit for the role." Sasha raised an eyebrow at him, still confused, "You're more of an idiot than I am, so you're contradicting yourself." As Connie finished his explanation, the two exchanged Huh's and watched each other dramatically.

"Moral of the story, you're both idiots." You stood up from the hard box, "I'll inherit the Titan. Who knows maybe I'll be the first super sexy female attack Titan. Like Annie." You thought out loud

"You think Annie's Titan is hot?" Jean asked incredulously, you put one finger up and shushed him, not wanting to discuss the topic further.

"No. I don't want any of you to inherit it." Eren stated, "And especially not you." He looked at you.

"Oh come on, once you die I'll have nothing to live for. Besides, I don't wanna be old anyway." You shrugged nonchalantly, Eren shook his head.

"No! You guys are more important to me. More than anyone else. So, I want you to have long lives and..." he looked at you again, "when I die...I want you to move on—"

You cut him off with a scoff and grabbed your makeshift seat, dropping it next to his. "No, that's bullshit. I won't accept that." You protested

"So, what? You're just gonna wallow about me the rest of your life without even trying to do anything better?"

"Yes! That's exactly what I'm gonna do." Eren scoffed at your answer and shook his head.

"I'm serious." He snapped

"So am I! I don't wanna start a family some random person I know I'll never love. I don't want a home if it's not with you, Eren." you objected, "So, if worse comes to worst, i'll inherit your Titan." Eren sighed, already knowing he would never change your mind once it was made up.

"Bleh, keep the cute sappy stuff in the bedroom guys." Jean complained, lightening up the mood in the cart as everyone chucked lightly.

"Best get used to it, Kirstein." You swung your arm over Eren's shoulder, "I'm not leaving this Earth without my man." You said proudly, the boy blushing at your words.

My man. That's all he ever wanted to be to you. Yours. For now and forever, he didn't care if he had to trample anyone and everyone in his path, Eren would do anything to keep that title in your heart.

There was a point in time once when he thought of growing a family with you. Even though he felt he wouldn't be the best father in the world, he couldn't help but grasp at any straws that led to a happy ending with you.  Maybe in another life, he always thought to himself.

Another life where you were all free. Where all of you could be real teenagers, go to a normal high school, have normal life and live a full life. Where Ymir, Bertolt, Erwin and everybody else didn't have to die for the sake of everyone else. Where all of you could get a full nights sleep without constantly having to watch your back.

Yeah...another life sounded like bliss.

But another life is not what you had, what you had now was war.

A war none of you were prepared for. None except Eren, who proudly and happily pounded into the face of the war hammer Titan, not leaving any room for full transformations. Even as he became outnumbered with all odds against him, he was granted his final words in which he uttered a simple.

"It's now or never, Mikasa."

Unleashing all scouts in hiding as they rose up, dropping thunder spears into the Marleyan soldiers and aiding Eren in his fight. Bodies and bombs dropped left and right as Mikasa crouched down next to her best friend.

"Eren...Do you have any idea what you've done? You killed civilians, you killed children, too. You've done things that can't be undone." She pleaded with him, trying to see even a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes and yet there was none to be found.

"She's mad at you...you know that?" She tried once more, finally getting a hint of a reaction out of Eren. That reaction lasted only a millisecond and the hurt in his eyes was once again replaced with a look of dullness and lackluster of his usual bright blue ones.

He looked away, "She can be mad all she wants, it makes no difference to me. The fight isn't over." Mikasa gasped at the sight of the war hammer she'd just took down moments before standing right back up on its feet. And a constant pitter patter hit the back of her head at Eren's words.

How quickly he shoved aside your feelings and put his own before it, a rare thing Eren had never done before. But for now, your job in all this was to stay alive.

You assisted in as much combat as possible before making your way back into the airship along with the rest of the remaining scouts. Being the first to arrive on the ship meant biting your nails in anxiety as you waiting for everyone else to reach it. Armin reached down for the boy he once thought to be his best friend, pulling him up into the ship.

Just like the old days, Levi Ackerman had a couple kicks in store for Eren, not hesitating to remind him of how much he changed. Even bringing up his past in the underground and the dirty look Eren had grown into, never expecting to see it on the boy he gave up everything for. As much as it much as it hurt to see Eren being kicked around like a rag doll, you wouldn't get in the middle, especially knowing what he'd just done.

The lives he ended, the irreparable damage he had caused, it all gave Levi more than enough reason to toss him around. You, on the other hand, didn't make an effort to speak to him.

And for Eren, that was okay. If it would change anything, Eren would make you hate him for the rest of your life. If it would change anything, Eren could've saved Sasha. If it could change anything, Eren would restart everything and never invite you to play tag with him. He would steer clear from you at all costs. He would let you marry some townsman, have a couple kids and grow old inside the walls, never to be a witness of all the atrocities outside of them.

If Eren can change anything, he will make sure you stay alive. No matter who or what gets in his way, whether he has to tear down every wall or speak to Ymir Fritz her damn self, Eren Yeager will save you from death.

Eren Yeager will not leave this godforsaken earth without his woman.