#consider these valentine's day gifs

[0kayblue]

Domestic Cravings

Domestic Cravings

Leon comes home early from a mission and stays determined not to wake you by going to his apartment instead of yours. When greeted with a more than pleasant surprise he’s unable to stop himself from asking the big question. 

Main Character Relations: Leon Kennedy x reader (romantic) 

Word Count: 2k (a little over) 

Fluff, fluff, fluff !!! 

A/N: Sometimes I don’t write angst. Sometimes. Anyway, I guess you could consider this a Valentine's Day present. Personally, I hate the holiday, but I do love to treat others. Enjoy! 

Leon sighed, the weight of his most recent mission weighing heavily on his shoulders. All things considered things went smoothly and everything wrapped up into a nice little bow earlier than expected. He was scheduled to be there for the next two days, but he ran into one of those rare circumstances where he made it back early. 

As he looked at the door handle to his front door he seriously debated his most recent plan to retreat to the solitude of his own apartment. This isn’t where he wanted to be. He wanted to experience the warmth of your doorway. He wanted to crawl into your bed and find comfort in your embrace. But it was so late and the sun basically just set and you had to have been asleep. Not to mention he’d probably be throwing a wrench in your plans for the next day and the last thing he wanted was to be seen as a burden. 

So, selflessly Leon opened the front door. The apartment was cold as he disregarded his heavy duffel bag to the side. He shut and locked the door behind him as he kicked off his boots, too tired to be bothered to put them away just then. He ran his hand down his face as he sauntered into the kitchen. Exhaustion felt like an understatement, as his limbs felt heavy as he headed towards the fridge. The bright light caused him to squint as he was greeted to the sight of a fully stocked fridge. He smiled knowing that you had already started taking care of the little things for him. He grabbed the carton of orange juice before shutting the door. 

It really only made things harder as he set the carton on the kitchen island as he grabbed a glass. He had a key and he was always more than welcome, he lived there just as much as he lived here, if not more so. You have been dating for a year and had gotten the big three words out and expressed your love whenever and wherever it came about. Rather it be just an exchange of the sentiment via words or actions, he knew you loved him. He knew that you truly, deeply, genuinely loved him. You saw the good and the bad and still adored him. He couldn’t make any sense of it, but humans are creatures who are always harsher on themselves than on others. 

Your apartment always felt so homey and inviting, granted that could have just been because it was considerably smaller, but he digresses. He spent more time there than he did in the luxury suite that was located on the finer side of town. Big tall windows that allowed natural light in easily, a view of the city that ‘justified’ the rent prices. In all honesty he only chose to live here due to the fact that it was so close to the office. Even though he wondered why he even bothered being close to the office when he woke up in your bed most days anyway. 

Pouring his drink he started to really consider why you still remained in two separate housing units. Truth be told he never asked you to move in. He supposed you could’ve asked, but it wasn’t in your nature. You weren’t one to ask someone to pack up their life and throw everything away to be with you. He would in a heartbeat, there wouldn’t be a second thought about it; but it all goes back to people being harsher on themselves than other people. That and the fact that his work played a big factor in everything that Leon does. He was constantly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Finishing his drink with huge gulps he was unsure if you were even willing to give your place up. It was your first apartment and the rent wasn’t too bad- all things considered- your landlord was tolerable and neighbors were friendly enough. The walls were paper thin and the unit needed a multitude of repairs. Long story short, the place was old, Leon has had a number of things redone there; in fact the first thing he did was replace the locks. He was trying to talk you into a whole security system, but you shut him down. Having to deal with your landlord over the locks was a hassle on its own, you didn’t want to bother trying to reason with him over a high tech military grade security system. 

Your safety and wellbeing was on the top of Leon’s list and he used it in his arguments. But you just rolled your eyes and pointed out that he doesn’t even use his own security system. The thing did nothing but collect dust by the front door. It was your main argument and it stood firm, you told him that once he started using his own you would think about going toe to toe with your landlord over it, but until then his argument was null and void. 

He countered though with the fact that his apartment didn’t hold anything valuable. Sure, it had monetary value out the ass; but anything he had that was worth anything could be perceived as trash to the naked eye. A box full of movie tickets, cards, postcards, and blurry photos was not worth a dime. The memories that the items held were priceless, but they wouldn’t do a thing for anyone else. 

As he went to turn on the sink he noticed the dishwasher light was on, signaling that the dishwasher had finished its job. A crooked little smirk pulled on his face, not only did you go grocery shopping but you took care of the dishes. How lucky could he possibly be? A sense of a domestic life that he craved washing over him. It was time, he wanted you here, or he could stay there, it really didn’t matter. Either place would be home as long you were there. 

Turning off the sink he heard the floor creek. He set the glass in the sink slowly as he reached for Matilda that rested in his waistband. He was careful, he was sure he wasn’t followed, whoever was here had been here. His brain immediately went to you; second guessing having you move in. He moved quickly facing the hall, his arms outstretched and his finger on the trigger, “You’ve got three seconds.” He threatened and as he heard your deep sigh of relief he softened, setting the gun on the counter. You stepped into his line of vision as he flicked on the kitchen light, “(Y/N)?” He called out your name as he watched you shake slightly. The gap between the two of you was closed quickly as he pulled you to his chest with relief.

“You scared the shit out of me.” You said setting the gun you had down on the nearby couch end table. Wrapping your arms around him you scolded him, “You got off early and you didn’t call me?” 

“I scared you? You scared me.” He defended light heartly, “I didn’t want to wake you. It’s nearly three in the morning, baby.” He pulled away from you as he tucked your hair behind your ear. His lips found yours in a gentle kiss that he deepened as you hummed against him. 

“Did a great job at letting me sleep then, dear.” You teased him as you pulled away from him. You brushed his hair out of his eyes, examining the bags and purple hue underneath them.

“How was I supposed to know you were here?” He defended as your thumb ghosted over his cheekbone and you turned bright red. A sense of victory on his face as a wide smile found his features. 

“I just started the dishes and I didn’t want to fight traffic home-…” you peered into an ocean of blue before sighing, “I missed you. I sleep here when I miss you. I sleep here a lot.” You confessed before looking away from him, it was slightly embarrassing for you to admit. You had difficulty expressing that you craved a person. It didn’t make any sense with how open you were about him, but you just chalked it up to your miss independent complex. He just hummed in satisfaction as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. His body relaxed as he kissed your neck with a sense of glee. He went from missing you, to worrying about you, to the joy of knowing that you were within arms reach in a matter of seconds. 

“I missed you more.” He cooed as he kissed your neck, “Glad you’re here.” 

“I love you.” The words fell from your lips so gently and lovingly that his grip on you tightened and you giggled slightly. He made you feel like a teenage girl that was too head over heels for her own good.  “Let’s get you to bed. Shower?” 

“Please.” Your hands found his hands and gently pulled him down the hall and into his room. He noted his side of the bed was the one that you were just resting on; a sense of warmth washing over him. He squeezed your hand gently as you led him into the bathroom. As you let go of him you turned on the shower. He couldn’t help the smile on his face as he looked around and noticed your shampoo and conditioner, toothbrush, lotions, and other toiletries littered in his bathroom. 

You approached him and helped him pull off his shirt, you looked him over. A deep sigh falling from your lips as your heart ached at the sight of bruises and cuts. It hurt to see and you could only imagine the pain he felt. 

“It’s okay, I’m fine. Promise.” 

“This the best they could do to patch you up?”  

“Down, tiger.” He teased as he soaked up your possessive tone.

 You rolled your eyes and turned back to the shower, pulling off your shirt before putting your palm under the running water. You pulled your pajama shorts off and as you turned to face him a sense of nervousness shot up your spine. You usually would tease him about a staring problem, but you were unsure of where his emotions were. Physically he looked exhausted- his movements told you he was exhausted- but mentally you had no idea where he stood. 

Not to mention that you had no clue how he felt about you staying here when he wasn’t here. Sure, he said he was glad you were here, but he never asked you to be here.

“The water is going to get cold if you just keep staring. C’mon.” You nodded to the shower as you undid his pants. His hands found yours, stopping you, as he took care of the rest and disregarded them in the hamper. You tried to place what he was thinking as you climbed into the shower, him not far behind you. 

As the warm water hit his back he let out a sigh of relief. The sound music to your ears as you started messing with his shampoo. You went to work the shampoo in his hair and through half lidded eyes he watched you. A little smile on your face while your tired eyes focused on what you were doing. 

He could get used to this, he was getting used to it. 

He loved you. He loved seeing your things in his space, he loved that you were taking care of him, he loved that you were here. 

You tilted his head gently and started rinsing the shampoo out. A protest never fell from his lips as you scratched his scalp and he moaned softly. You reached for his conditioner and did the same thing, just letting the conditioner sit while scrubbing him down with his signature fresh pine scented shower gel. 

You worshiped him as you bathed him, kissing the cuts and bruises softly as you rinsed him off. He deserved to be taken care of like this and you didn’t mind being the one to do it. It was slightly embarrassing, but he trusted you with his life and you knew his body just as he knew yours. “Relax.” You cooed as you went to get out of the shower, “Stay in here as long as you’d like. I’m going to get you-.” You stopped as he grabbed your wrist and his other hand found your hip. You gave him a concerned look as you scanned his face, you stepped closer to him as he pulled you to his chest. Your fingers tangled themselves into his hair as you tried to soothe him. “Want to talk about it?” 

“No, not really.” He rested his head against your shoulder, “Just want you.” He’s wanted you since he got back, he’s wanted you since he left. You nodded as you held him against you. 

You both stood there until the water started to run cold. It took some convincing but eventually you got him out and in pajamas. You were in bed wearing one of his t-shirts that he practically had to fight you over wearing. Your eyes shut as you listened to his movements in the bathroom, refusing sleep. Waiting for him. 

As Leon turned off the faucet he took a good look in the mirror. A face that had a smile plastered on it as he thought about the woman in his bed. The woman who just doted on him like he was made of glass. The woman who held him so close and made him feel so loved that it all felt worth it. The woman that he wanted to take his last name. 

He left the bathroom and stood in the doorway as the bathroom light illuminated you just enough to where he could watch your chest rise and fall. As your eyes opened he was held captive as you smiled. 

“What?” You asked through a yawn as you pulled the covers up to your shoulders while you stretched. 

“I love you.” He beamed as he turned off the bathroom light and climbed into his side of the bed. Your scent flying off of the fabric of his sheets as the radiant warmth of your presence drew him in. Wrapping his arm around your torso he pulled you to him. 

“I love you more.” Your voice heavy with sleep as you cuddled against his chest. He adored these moments where you didn’t fight with your words and just said what you were feeling. 

He chuckled, “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead as you yawned. “Go to sleep.” He cooed as he rubbed a hand firmly up and down your back. 

“Leon…?” You muttered against his chest. 

“Yes, baby?” 

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want me here while you’re not here. I won’t do it again.” He raised an eyebrow at the apologetic sorrow in your tone. He knew your past, he knew your uncertainty, but he could’ve sworn that he told you he was glad you were here. “I just missed you and if I crossed a line-.” 

“Hey, hey.” He shushed you, “I’m glad you're here, remember? I want you here. Forever and always. Okay?” You nodded and tried not to sniffle. 

“Okay.” You fisted the hem of his shirt as you tried to keep yourself calm against him. He kissed your forehead before petting your hair. Your eyes were shut and your breathing was starting to slow to the pace that it does when you sleep. 

He knew he should wait, but he was too excited. 

“Baby?” He looked down at you as you hummed in response telling him to go ahead with his question. That you were still listening and ready to talk about whatever he needed. His thumb brushed against your cheek as he admired you, “Will you marry me?” 

Your tired eyes opened, “What?” You were in a state of disbelief. 

He asked again, “Marry me?” Silence fell over the room as the cold chill of uncertainty worked its way through his blood stream. What was he thinking? Was he thinking? You didn’t even live with him and you’d been together for only a year. Wasn’t the next step just to ask you to move in? That was the logical question. Was it too late to rephrase the question? Could he save this somehow? 

“Yes.” You answered honestly, “Yes, I’ll marry you.” He let out a deep breath of relief before his lips found yours. His kiss was deep and passionate as he adjusted himself to be level with you. You welcomed him as you melted against him. Exchanging passion and overwhelming love within each kiss. Each parting one leaves a lasting imprint against your souls. 

He regretfully parted from you to get a good look at you. To judge based on what he knew if this was truly something you wanted. Your bright smile causes him to let out a chuckle of relief before leaning his forehead against yours. You laughed alongside him as your hand intertwined with his, “I love you, Mrs. Kennedy.” He said he ran his hand through your hair. It fell so naturally from his lips that you could’ve sworn that it had always been your last name. 

“I haven’t signed any papers yet.” You joked before peppering a couple kisses on his cheek, “Don’t even have a ring yet.” 

He rolled his eyes before his lips captured yours, “It’s in the closet.” He mumbled as he held your face against his. 

“Mhm.” You moaned against his lips, even though you didn’t believe him. He was telling you the truth, hidden in his safe was a little black velvet box that held the engagement ring he picked out six months ago.  

[rediimere]

Aloy/Nil + All Meetings ▶ Horizon Zero Dawn Remastered (2017/2024) / Horizon Forbidden West (2022)

[arachniasbride]

"You know, Maryann, this is the greatest Valentine's Day I've ever had." Cybill & Maryann: best moments | Cybill (S01E06)

[inhumanrobot]

I know you already drew Wxson art butttt.... can I get some more teehee <:]

Please enjoy !

[youredreamingofroo]

♡ Happy Valentine's Day ♡

prev / next Transcript under cut ♡

Cataleya: Don't you want to start with cake? Or champagne first??

Alexander: I want to start with you Cataleya: Ouh....

Cataleya: I have something to show you ;)

Alexander: God I could just devour you. Cataleya: Then devour me.

Flirty +1 Ovulation It's that day of the cycle! Cataleya is ovulating!

[I love you-]

[Even if it's wrong]

Happy Valentine's Day

Alexander: Cataleya? Are you okay in there?

[greeneyezblackheart]

Happy Valentine’s Day to all my gorgeous mutuals.

I love you all and hope you have a wonderful day alone or with the one you call yours. 🖤😍

[irresistiibles]

@mvsicinthedvrk​​ / qingxuan & he xuan

deciding to cultivate again hadn’t been a easy choice for qingxuan. there were many aspects of the idea that made her uncomfortable, guilty, and upset. at the end of the day though, there were things that they undeniably missed, and a wardrobe full of dresses that wouldn’t fit this form that they couldn’t handle getting rid of. qingxuan had eventually told themselves that it was fine, as long as they didn’t ascend, as long as they were just a simple cultivator without enough spiritual energy to get back the little things they lost, that would be enough without winding up back where they didn’t belong. the problem was it had been so long since they actually trained that qingxuan couldn’t figure out where to start. shi wudu had always been more adapt than qingxuan, but considering where things with his brother were at he couldn’t go there for help. in the end the only inkling of an idea they had was their fan, though that was with the other person she had been avoiding. ultimately, it didn’t stop qingxuan, as little rarely did once they decided they wanted something. “he xuan, open the door.” they said, knocking a few times. she would have been more on edge, respectful, if not for the two shots of very cheap liquor qingxuan had gotten her hands on just a little bit earlier. discovering his tolerance as a mortal was not what it was as the wind master was an experience all on its own, and not the smartest to deal with on top of hunting down he xuan, but the added confidence felt like a good idea in the moment, and qingxuan so rarely concerned themself with what was smart. “just- i just want something. it can be fast.” it probably wouldn’t be. there were vague memories of he xuan potentially giving him his fan back before than were confusing and leaving a lot of questions, but qingxuan had told themselves, promised even, that it would be go in, get the fan, get out. no unnecessary conversation that would upset either of them, no matter what little voice was saying that was okay if they could just talk for a little bit, if she could have his company for a minute or two more, and so qingxuan said it would be fast, still telling himself he would stick to the plan.

[deathsweetblossoms]

ME SINGING ON THE NEWLY AWAKENED SPRING LANDS OF RAMIEL BECAUSE THIS THEORY IS EXPERTLY WOVEN AND BEAUTIFULLY CONSTRUCTED

Heart of the Night Court

This meta is a continuation of theories in forbidden secrets, blooming dreams, and bright as the dawn, as it narrows in on Illyria, Ramiel, and their connection to Wyrd. Please avoid if you do not want to read hofas spoilers. 

Facing Ramiel

The northern region of the Night Court is where Ramiel, one of the three sacred sister peaks, is located. It is considered the heart of Illyria and the Night Court. 

Ramiel. The sacred mountain.  The heart of not only Illyria, but the entirety of the Night Court.  None were permitted on its barren, rocky slopes—save for the Illyrians, and only once a year at that. During the Blood Rite.  Cassian soared toward it, unable to resist Ramiel’s ancient summons. Different—the mountain was so different from the barren, terrible presence of the lone peak in the center of Prythian. Ramiel had always felt alive, somehow. Awake and watchful. (acofas) [...] Ramiel rose higher still, a shard of stone piercing the gray sky. Beautiful and lonely. Eternal and ageless. (acofas)

Cassian describes Ramiel as alive, awake, and watchful, and so very beautiful as she rises from the earth. Likewise, Feyre emphasizes that Elain is alive and somehow infinitely more beautiful as she rises from the ground after she is Made in the Cauldron. Her legs are even bare, which remind me of the barren terrain, and her sheer nightgown might even be a hint for thin places, as @offtorivendell observed. Elain’s strength has also always been different than her sisters, just like Ramiel among her sacred sister peaks.   

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water.  And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.  Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare.  The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live– Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again.  Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

As each spring dawns on the world, Ramiel is crowned with three stars, and the Illyrians—who we learned may have been the Asteri’s soldiers and therefore may carry on rituals that would have benefited them—honor bloodshed on her land rather than new life. 

No wonder that first ruler of the Night Court had made this his insignia. Along with the three stars that only appeared for a brief window each year, framing the uppermost peak of Ramiel like a crown. It was during that window when the Rite occurred. Which had come first: the insignia or the Rite, Cassian didn’t know. Had never really cared to find out.  The conifer forests and ravines that dotted the landscape flowing to Ramiel’s foot gleamed under the fresh snow. Empty and clean. No sign of the bloodshed that would occur come the start of spring. (acofas) 

Some even seem to take great pleasure in the killing that is permitted during this rite, and Ramiel, which we know is alive and watching, is forced to witness it every year. Azriel calls it a week of pointless bloodshed, but we know now that is likely untrue. @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell and I believe the Asteri may have created or warped an existing rite to suit their needs. @silverlinedeyes pointed out that this spring rite reminds her of the Great Rite, and that made something click for me: perhaps the Blood Rite is the Night Court's Great Rite. Is the secondlight from slain warriors absorbed by the land? And do those few who reach the stone, which I suspect might be the Maiden in this rite, provide firstlight to the cache hidden in Ramiel’s heart? Is it any wonder the winds around her howl, and her land is often frozen and inhospitable?

The mountain neared, mighty and endless, so wide that he might as well have been a mayfly in the wind. Cassian soared toward Ramiel’s southern face, rising high enough to catch a glimpse of the shining black stone jutting from its top.  Who had put that stone atop the peak, he didn’t know, either. Legend said it had existed before the Night Court formed, before the Illyrians migrated from the Myrmidons, before humans even walked the earth. Even with the fresh snow crusting Ramiel, none had touched the pillar of stone. (acofas)

The shining black stone on Ramiel’s face is able to heal and transport those who touch it. In acosf, it knew where Nesta’s friends were needed most and sent them to the River House. It is also on the southern face of the mountain, which in the northern hemisphere, is the part of the mountain that receives the most sunlight. Cassian tells us that he doesn’t know who put it there, but legend says it was before humans even walked the earth. While it is very likely that the Asteri warped it (into a tool to sustain them, like the gates in Lunathion as @merymoonbeam so cleverly pointed out), I believe it may have also originally been linked to the Cauldron. 

In hofas, we discover that Ramiel used to bear the Cauldron on her land:

“The Cauldron,” Nesta said hours later, pointing to yet another carving on the wall. It indeed showed a giant cauldron, perched atop what seemed to be a barren mountain peak with three stars above it. Azriel halted, angling his head. “That’s Ramiel.” At Bryce’s questioning look, he explained, “A mountain sacred to the Illyrians.”  Bryce nodded to the carving. “What’s the big deal about a cauldron?” [...]  “All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.” (hofas) […] The snows around Ramiel parted, revealing a massive bowl of iron at the foot of the monolith. Even through the vision, its presence leaked into the world, a heavy, ominous thing. “The Cauldron,” Nesta said, dread lacing her voice. […] “The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced…those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage.” (hofas) 

I wonder if long ago, before the Asteri desecrated them, the stone and Cauldron together resembled this depiction of Wyrd: 

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin…they were like tattoos. […] “And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

This depiction is interesting because it mirrors, almost exactly, the figurine Nesta assumes is the Mother in the House of Wind: 

It was a fire. Not her father’s neck. Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.  Another log cracked, and Nesta flinched. But she remained sitting there. Staring at that carved rose. (acosf) 

For some reason, she needed to set Elain’s rose, half-hidden in shadow, next to this depiction of what appears to be Wyrd. In hosab, the Under-King also described Wyrd as a mother to all, which is why I theorized that she is actually a triple goddess: Mother, Cauldron, Fate. They are three parts, or faces, of the same force. The three sacred sister peaks and three blessed Archeron sisters are intentionally linked to her. Perhaps the moon in the female’s hands isn’t just a moon, but a world too. Immediately after this scene, the House of Wind shows Nesta her heart in the lovely darkness of the mountain, which she calls the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. 

Heart racing, Nesta lifted the lantern in one hand and gazed at the darkness, untouched by the light from the library high, high above. The heart of the world, of existence. Of self.  The heart of the House.  “This…” Her fingers tightened on the lantern. “This darkness is your heart.” [...] Let the darkness sweep in. Embraced it. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered into it. “You are my friend, and my home. Thank you for sharing this with me.” (acosf)

Nesta embraces the heart of the House of Wind, which naturally makes me recall the heart of the Prison asking Bryce to open her heart to it…it might sing again. Awaken. There was a beating, vibrant heart locked away, far beneath them. We’re not sure exactly how Avallen might have affected the Prison island, and I suspect there is more to come with that plot thread. While I had always hoped the Valkyries might re-establish themselves as an intercourt army in the Middle, which does not have ties to any court in particular, I can also appreciate the possibility that they might ultimately settle on the Prison island instead. It would be incredible to see Pegasi return and for the Valkyries to learn how to fly on them. 

This plot is related to the core thread driving us forward, and it is something that can occur in a book that is centered on Elain and Azriel. Together, they have the vision and gifts needed to map the secrets of the land, starting with the sacred sister peaks, which I believe will ultimately help them restore Wyrd. This would fit all of the seeds Sarah has planted for the third sister’s arc with Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen. It would also be powerful for a character who has been underestimated and ridiculed for gardening to heal the land and the very source that created it. 

As I said prior to hofas, this exploration will inevitably bring them to the very heart of Ramiel. As a bearer of Wyrd, the source of life, Ramiel may even be the heart of the world, not just the Night Court. Will they discover that she was once very different? Did she change, as her sisters did, when the Asteri burrowed into her heart? Or was it because the Cauldron, Wyrd’s physical form, was warped into a tool of destruction by the Asteri and later removed from her land? Were the Illyrians created to guard the Cauldron since it was the Asteri’s most precious weapon? And is that why, as @cassianfanclub wondered, the Asteri were so desperate to reach the stone at the top, where the Cauldron was once depicted? Enalius may have prevented it from falling into their hands as he defended the Pass, which would’ve been a critical turning point in a rebellion. Unlike the rite they currently use to honor him, Enalius’s defense was in the service of life, which is what made Nesta’s sacrifice so inspiring. Her sacrifice is now depicted in the heart of the Court of Dreams, which is dedicated to building a better world.

Descending into Ramiel

We learn that Ramiel may be hiding secrets from Eris, of all characters: 

Eris shrugged, and Nesta knew Cassian monitored his every breath. “There are three of them, you know. Sister peaks. This one, the mountain called the Prison, and the one the Illyrian brutes call Ramiel. All bald, barren mountains at odds with those around them.” “We don’t know why they exist, but do you not find it strange that two out of the three have underground palaces carved into them?”  […]  Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.” “I thought Amarantha made the court Under the Mountain herself,” Nesta said.  “Oh, she decorated it and made us act like a sorry imitation of your Court of Nightmares, but the tunnels and halls were carved long before. By who, we don’t know.” (acosf)

He tells us that the three sacred peaks are sisters. Sacred is another word for blessed. And two out of three of them have been at least somewhat explored, but the third? Still mysterious. No one was curious enough to see what lied beneath her beautiful face, at her heart. This is such a lovely parallel for the three blessed sisters, and seems like a clear hint for the third one in particular. 

In hofas, we receive confirmation that these secrets might be connected to the Asteri, who are known as Daglan in Prythian lore: 

“They fought the Daglan and won, she went on. Using the Daglan’s own weapons, they destroyed them. Yet my parents did not think to learn the Daglan’s other secrets—they were too weary, too eager to leave the past behind.” (hofas) 

-

Vesperus backed up a half step, hissing at the gleaming weapon. “We hid pockets of our power throughout the lands, in case the vermin should cause … problems. It seems our wisdom did not fail us.” “There are no such places,” Azriel countered coldly. “Are there not?” Vesperus grinned broadly, showing all of her too-white teeth. “Have you looked beneath every sacred mountain? At their very roots? The magic draws all sorts of creatures. I can sense them even now, slithering about, gnawing on the magic. My magic. They’re as much vermin as the rest of you.” (hofas)

Bryce concludes, after Vesperus is able to draw the power from her secret cache below, that there is a firstlight core in the root, or heart, of the mountain. We see what happens in Avallen when the land is forced to contain magic where its ley lines overlap, rather than allowing it to flow as it should: it binds the magic of the land and causes it to wither like a plant with root rot. And that seems to explain why the sacred peaks are so odd: barren yet thrumming with power. 

I have theorized that the caches of power may need to be released leading up to the restoration of Wyrd, and I suspect there may be clues—especially within Ramiel—about how the Asteri warped and bound her to the land. If Elain is as tied to the land as we suspect, this could also strengthen whatever magic she possesses. 

In the cavern illustrations Bryce views in hofas, we see what might lie beneath Ramiel, maybe even the entire Night Court:

Scenes of a blessed land, a thriving civilization. One relief had been so similar to the frieze of the Fae male forging the sword at the Crescent City Ballet that Bryce had nearly gasped. The last carving before the river had been one of transition: a Fae King and Queen seated on thrones, a mountain—different from the one with the palace atop it—behind them with three stars rising above it. A different kingdom, then. Some ancient High Lord and Lady, Nesta had suggested before approaching the river.  She hadn’t commented on the lower half of the carving, which depicted a Helscape beneath their thrones, some kind of underworld. Humanoid figures writhed in pain amid what looked like icicles and snapping, scaly beasts—either past enemies conquered or an indication of what failure to bow to the rulers would bring upon the defiant.  The suffering stretched throughout, lingering even underneath that archipelago and its mountaintop palace. Even here, in paradise, death and evil remained. A common motif in Midgardian art, too, usually with the caption: Et in Avallen ego.  Even in Avallen, there am I. A whispered promise from Death. Another version of memento mori. A reminder that death was always, always waiting. Even in the blessed Fae isle of Avallen. (hofas) 

This might merely be a hint for the Asteri secrets that remain buried in the earth. But I agree with others (including @offtorivendell, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and @silverlinedeyes) who have wondered if this Helscape is in fact a hint that Prythian, and the Night Court in particular, is tied to Hel. We learned that the worlds in the Maasverse are tied together through ley lines, and the veil between worlds is thin where these ley lines overlap—like the lines in a star. 

That may be the true meaning of star symbols throughout the Maasverse, and the one specifically found in the Prison that is connected to the Starborn: as I theorized pre-hosab, it is a compass rose, and it seems to be linked to other places in the grander tapestry of the universe. There is power in the space where the lines meet; these lines represent ley lines. Certain people (Asteri, Starborn, etc.) are able to use that power to travel, communicate, or even light up entire worlds. Depending on how those lines are woven in certain areas, they might even be able to draw you to one place more than another. That may explain why the Prison seems more connected to Midgard. So, could Ramiel be more connected to Hel, and the Middle to…Erilea?

I wonder if Elain, Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen’s exploration in the heart of Ramiel might lead them to Wyrd’s Temple in Hel, except @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, and I think she goes by yet another name there: Chaos. It’s possible they could use black salt or another substance to achieve this, as @offtorivendell and @cassianfanclub have discussed, especially with Elain’s sight. I am personally hoping for a physical trip to Hel and Ramiel might possess a doorway, or rift, as @offtorivendell has theorized. 

The black boat that Aidas led Bryce and Hunt into was a cross between the one that had brought them into Avallen and the ones that carried bodies to the Bone Quarter. But in lieu of a stag’s head, it was a stag’s skull at the prow, greenish flame dancing in its eyes as it sailed through the cave. The eerie green light illuminated black rock carved into pillars and buildings, walkways and temples. Ancient. And empty. Bryce had never seen a place so void of life. So … still. Even the Bone Quarter had a sense of being lived in, albeit by the dead. But here, nothing stirred. […] “It’s like a city of the dead,” Hunt murmured, draping a wing around Bryce. Aidas turned from where he stood at the prow, holding in his hands a long pole that he’d used to guide them. “That’s because it is.” He gestured with a pale hand to the buildings and temples and avenues. “This is where our beloved dead come to rest, with all the comforts of life around them.” […] Before Aidas could answer, the boat approached a small quay leading to what appeared to be a temple. A figure emerged from between the pillars of the temple and descended its front steps. Golden-haired, golden-skinned. […] “The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again.

This sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It sounds an awful lot like other beliefs in the Maasverse:

Bryce asked, because some small part of her had to know after what she’d seen of the Mask, “When you die, where do your souls go?” Did they even believe in the concept of a soul? Maybe she should have led with that.  But Azriel said softly, “They return to the Mother, where they rest in joy within her heart until she finds another purpose for us. Another life or world to live in.” (hofas)

-

“We’ll collect the dead tomorrow,” Manon said, her voice low. “And burn them at moonrise.” As both Crochans and Ironteeth did. A full moon tomorrow—the Mother’s Womb. A good moon to be burned. To be returned to the Three-Faced Goddess, and reborn within that womb. (koa)

Wyrd (Chaos) is the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. And that is where people rest in joy until they are reborn. Could this be where the spirits are migrating on Starfall?

We know the Princes of Hel are intergalactic helpers, so a trip to Hel or an encounter with a Prince (Bryaxis? Thanatos? Even Balthazar, if he isn’t Elain? 😉 still my favorite crack theory) might give us insight into their role in Prythian. It could also involve Azriel’s peculiar magic that makes him, like Ramiel, so different from even his Illyrian brothers. Let's be honest, he’s always had a Prince of Hel vibe—down to his reverence for Wyrd (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Chaos)—that I would love to see come to fruition. 

Beyond Azriel himself, I also think we will learn the origins of the Illyrians in the heart of Ramiel. Were they connected to Hel before the Asteri made them their soldiers, like @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell theorized? Or were they an experiment like the blessed sisters? Did the Asteri put humans (hence the ears) into the Cauldron after it was imbued with their void magic and create beings of night and pain who could combat enemies, including demons? This might be another reason why the three most powerful Illyrians are a match in power for the three blessed sisters. 

Together, they balance opposing forces as @silverlinedeyes previously theorized. They seem to represent the forces of Void and Chaos, and their power can be combined in the space between to achieve impossible feats (eg, physically healing the Cauldron and the rip in the world). All three sisters seem to be chosen bearers, or conduits, for Wyrd (Chaos), so I wouldn’t be surprised if we see another example of this in a different way for Azriel and Elain, and/or a scene where they are all linked magically.  

My lips tugged toward a smile. But Rhys stared at all of us, somehow assembled here in the sun-drenched open grasses without being given the order. Our family—our court. The Court of Dreams.  […] He surveyed them all again—and held out his hand to Cassian. Cassian took it, and held out his other hand for Mor. Then Mor extended her other to Azriel. Azriel to Amren. Amren to Nesta. Nesta to Elain. And Elain to me. Until we were all linked, all bound together. (acowar)

Since Ramiel is connected to Wyrd (Chaos), and there may be a doorway to her temple in Hel, this journey will likely also uncover secrets about her. Will her story come from illustrations in stone, members of Hel, or…my personal favorite, Wyrd herself? I believe that is one of the many reasons she gifted Elain with such powers, including sight: so she could tell her story to someone who could see differently. Someone who could see the creator within the darkness, just as Elain saw the dark cottage as a shelter rather than a prison. This gift may provide them the information they need to uncover the Asteri’s secrets and unravel their magic from the sacred peaks and Wyrd, which could lead them to at least two other places: (1) Midgard, where the Book of Breathings is now kept by Bryce, and (2) Cretea, where the Cauldron is currently hidden. Could Azriel even pay back Bryce for stealing his precious dagger? It would only be fitting. 

Ramiel Springs Eternal 

I was so cold I might never be warm again. Even during winter in the mortal realm, I’d managed to find some kernel of heat, but after nearly emptying my cache of magic that afternoon, even roaring heart fire couldn’t thaw the chill around my bones. Did spring ever come to this blasted place? (acomaf)

Illyria is known for being bitterly cold, to the point where Feyre wonders if spring would ever arrive there. Sarah has consistently described Elain as blooming life amid death and winter, and this imagery starts to become really apparent in Illyria: 

Mor let out a snort that made the Illyrians stiffen. But she shifted, revealing Elain behind her. Elain was just blinking, wide-eyed, at the camp. The army.  Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon…She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. (acowar) 

Compared to Nesta, a newly forged sword, Elain is a blooming flower even in an Illyrian army camp, which is essentially saying she is a bloom of life and color in the middle of winter. This imagery is so fitting because she commits her time to creating and restoring gardens wherever she goes. She brings life and joy and beauty into the world. Even her scent is a promise of spring: 

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf)

We also know she is also capable of hearing sound, specifically hearts, through stone. In their conversation about heartbeats, Lucien even wonders if she is speaking to him: 

She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth. “When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”  Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. (acowar)

Was Elain actually speaking to one of the sister peaks, or even Wyrd, during some of this conversation? Her response to Lucien even seems to echo the song of the land: no one had ever truly looked, not really. No one knew what secrets they carried in their heart. This is such a lonely existence. As Elain and Azriel heal the land, I believe they will also heal their own wounds. Feel seen and heard. Understood. 

Elain was also wearing a blue cloak in the Illyrian camp. Could that be a hint of her future work with others who wear something similar, like the priestesses who worship Wyrd? She answered her sister’s prayer during the war rather than Wyrd and has led her own sister in prayer before. Is she more priestess—more healer—than warrior, and is that the different sort of strength needed to garden on a larger scale? @willowmeres and I were discussing this the other night: perhaps like Gwydion and TT (which I theorized singing to each other across space), Elain’s rose necklace was called to the library when the priestesses were singing about Wyrd. And because like calls to like, the necklace answered and drew Azriel to the library instead of the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Like her sisters before her, Elain might receive help from priestesses as she hones her vision and gifts. I would scream if this turns out to be true because that necklace is pure Chaos (pun definitely intended).

It’s also possible the priestesses could be helpful in unbinding Void from the Book of Breathings, a book of spells. I doubt this will be a simple matter, however. It might rival the unraveling of Erawan, which required massive raw healing magic. Will the Asteri’s void magic manifest on another plane as Elain battles it with raw healing magic, shining bright as the dawn? Could a dawn ritual help ground her during this battle? And will Azriel, the sisters, the brothers, even priestesses with their healing stones, need to create a living chain to defeat Void and fully restore Wyrd (Chaos) in the end? Will we finally get a glimpse of her, unbound? 

Maybe with the help of Azriel and others, Elain will even restore Wyrd—blossoming life—to Ramiel’s sunniest face, the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. And true spring will finally come to her sacred land.

[reidmotif]

For the Love of Lace

Summary: Reader decides she doesn't want to pine for her best friend, Spencer, anymore, but still needs his help deciding what lingerie to wear for her upcoming date.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: breast and nipple play, fingering (r!receiving), lingerie talk, unprotected penetrative sex, no implied breast size, couch sex, best friends to lovers, possessive Spencer

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

Pining for your best friend definitely has its lows. There’s a certain sense of pathetic-ness that comes about when your friend is simply speaking, and your mind is occupied with the yearning to bridge the gap of distance between you two, and kiss them senseless. I think perhaps the biggest low that I’d hit, however, in the two years I’d been pining for Spencer Reid was the sexual frustration that came with being unable to see myself with anyone else. 

I’d never meant for it to play out like this. I thought it was an innocent crush, a byproduct of all the time we’d managed to spend with each other divulging into our personal lives and sharing the ordinary comings of the day together. However, there came a point where I looked at him and could see my future laid out so perfectly with him. A future of love, and laughter, and God, so much sex.  And no matter what I’d tried, the thought was too good to let go. 

It didn’t help that not only was he oblivious, he clearly didn’t return my affections. There were no signs of longing that I could deduce from his actions, and I’d decided to be reasonable about this. His actions were always remnant of a good friend, but a lover? No. There were no longing stares. No stolen brushes of fingers, or hushed whispers. It seemed that anything romantic about our relationship only emanated from my fantasies of what I wish we could be. 

And so here I was, unable to get past the mental block of wanting anyone as much, and it’d resulting in a long, exasperating two-year stint of celibacy. And Jesus, did it show. The tiniest thing Spencer did would set me off in a frenzy, and it left me feeling nearly perverted at a certain point. There’d been a day that he ran his finger down a page, attempting to locate a passage to display to me and all I could think about was how badly I wanted that finger in me. My mouth. Me. Anything. And then I realized I was lusting over my best friend’s hand, and considered the possibility of this being a serious problem on my end. 

My only block to getting laid was my own self.  And I certainly didn’t relish in the debauchery I’d clearly stooped low enough to indulge in, and so it was decided. This Valentine’s Day? I wasn’t going to watch rom-coms and wonder if Spencer and I could ever have a happy ending like them.

 I was going to man up, and go on a date. Easier said than done. 

I’d found the date, that bit was easy enough. Trying to find someone to hook-up with on Valentine’s Day is like trying to find sand on a beach. Plentiful and simple. 

What wasn’t easy? Feeling ready for it. I hadn’t been like that with anyone for nearly two years, and found myself worrying that my sexual skills had deteriorated with lack of practice, even though the thought was rooted in some ridiculous notions about myself. I knew that logically the sex would be fine, and hopefully, exactly what I needed to get over Spencer, but still. I wanted to ensure the best possible experience. 

I found myself going through the motions of date preparation. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. I even bought a fancier perfume to wear the night of. And of course, a trip to procure some new lingerie for the night. 

I’d always been indecisive, and with the choices presented in the shop, I found myself overwhelmed. I’d decided and picked up 3 possible pieces, and instead of determining between them whilst buying, I bought all of them, with the intention that I’d be able to make a choice in the comfort of my own home. 

Except now, it’d been a week, my date was tomorrow, and I still couldn’t figure out what would work for me. All three were equally as appealing, but which one was the best? The question haunted me, and continued to  haunt me as Spencer and I hung out. Despite my date tomorrow, I’d promised to keep up our tradition of binging episodes of Star Trek on Friday night together, except my head was clearly elsewhere, which he quickly noticed. 

Damn profiler best friend. 

“Alright, what’s up with you?” Spencer asks, reaching for the remote and pausing on some random frame of Spock’s face, the show taking less precedence than my lack of attention. 

I sigh apologetically, quirking my mouth to the side. “I’m sorry, Spence.” I say, taking a deep breath. “Just a lot on my mind.” 

Spencer tilts his head, his expression a little more worried. “Something important?” 

I shake my head quickly, not wanting to disclose the reasoning for my distraction tonight. Especially to him, considering my date tonight had the sole purpose of me getting over the man currently sat to my right. 

“No, no.” I say, softly. “Just.. stuff.” I voiced, quickly.

“Stuff?” Spencer inquires. 

“Stuff.” I affirm. 

Now it’s his turn to sigh, making a slight groaning noise whilst he did so. “Come on. I’ve known you for years. I know there’s something on your mind, and it’s clearly distracting you, so.. Please? Tell me?” He asks, giving me those eyes. A look that would make anyone weak in the knees. 

I find myself hesitating, and bite my lip, and in the end, it’s the way he’s looking at me that does me in. I opt to stay vague, but give him a bit more insight into my wandering thoughts. 

“My date tomorrow? I don’t know what to wear.” I say, shrugging. “It’s not very important, but I want to make it work, you know?” I continue. 

“Why don’t you just show me your dress then?” Spencer inquires. “I’m not a fashion expert, but it’s not like I’m unable to have taste.” 

I laugh a little self consciously, shaking my head quickly. “Oh no, no. It’s not a dress. It’s okay, Spencer. I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.” 

“Shoes? C’mon! I’m your best friend. I’d do anything for you.” He protests, coming closer to me now. 

“Not shoes.” I say, still shaking my head. “And no! I mean, seriously. There are some things you can’t do for me, and it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“Jewelry? Hair? Makeup?” He implores continuously. “I’m all ears.” 

I realize there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to let this go, so I blurt out with little thought, “It’s lingerie!” 

He goes a bit quiet in thought, and then raises an eyebrow. “And that poses a problem?” He asks, softly. 

I blink a little. Yes. Of course that’s  a problem. I love you so much that it makes me feel weak, and I can’t be even more vulnerable in front of you. Not like that. 

But instead I shrug, running my hands through my hair. 

“I just.. Wouldn’t that be weird?” I say, hesitantly. 

“Not really.” Spencer replies, nonchalantly. “You’re my best friend. And I want to help you in any way I can. Nakedness doesn’t really bother me, and if it doesn’t bother you, I’d love to help you decide.” 

“Spencer..” I mumbled, still incredibly hesitant. 

“I’m your best friend!” Spencer articulates. “And logically, I can provide you with insight that only another guy could give.” He points out. “In a purely platonic, and logical sense.” 

I had to give him credit for that. It’s true. Spencer did have insight that none of my friends could provide, and I’d always entrusted him in helping me make decisions for myself and my life. And honestly, it was starting to get suspicious with how much I’d been objecting to this. The man had helped me decide bikinis, clubbing dresses- this couldn’t be any more different, could it? 

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” I give him a resigned nod, getting off the couch. “Alright. Wait here.”

He plants himself more firmly on the couch, his eyes trained on where I’d disappeared into my room, rummaging through the shopping bag until I’d found the first lingerie piece. 

It was a simple black lace bra and matching panties. The bottoms were a bit cheekier than a normal pair of underwear, and my legs were on display in full. My hair framed my pushed-up breasts, and I looked at myself in the mirror, slightly self-conscious at the fact that I was about to present myself this way to Spencer. 

How did I get into this mess? 

I slowly twist the doorknob, calling out to him. “Spencer! I’m coming out with the first one.” 

“I’m here.” is his reply, and I know he’s waiting, and so I slowly push open the door and come out in the light, a little more in his view. I give a half-hearted 360 degree turn, and look at him. 

“So?” I ask, my eyes finally meeting his, but the sight I’m met with is a lot different than the one I’m expecting. He’s slightly red in the face, his hands fidgeting in his lap- quite different from the more composed version I’d seen of him. 

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, quickly, feeling even more vulnerable as I stood there, half naked in front of a blushing man. 

“No, no!” He sputters. “I’m sorry. This is normal.” He gulps a bit and gives me a quick once over. “Sorry, I’ll be normal.” He clears his throat again and nods more definitively. “This one is nice. It’s simple.” He replies, as diplomatically as I’ve heard him. “Black works well with your skin and hair, and I feel like it brings out your eyes.” 

I nod, biting my lip. “Anything I could do to make it.. more than nice?” I queried. 

He narrows his eyes in thought.  “It’s already really, really nice, but I feel like stockings, or even a garter would even the attention from your breasts, more to your legs- which already look really nice, by the way.” 

It's my turn to blush and I nod quickly. “Stockings, got it.” I say. I blow out a breath of air. “One down, two to go.” I say, absentmindedly. 

“Better go back and try the other two, then.” Spencer says, with a smile. 

I attempt to return his smile and disappear back into my room, putting on the next piece. It was red, and a bit more showy than my previous piece. It was a criss-cross, cut-out lingerie. Lines of maroon fabric danced around my skin in a way that exposed the curve of my breasts, and connected to a simple, red thong. I walked out quicker than last time, a little less nervous now that the initial nervousness of appearing naked in front of him had faded. 

Despite my nervousness fading, it seemed like his had only increased. I’d only caught a glimpse of it in my hurried departure from my room to his line of sight, but had he.. been adjusting his crotch area?

 No. No. I mean, maybe he was turned on, but that was a completely normal reaction to a half-naked girl in front of a man. To my knowledge, Spencer hadn’t dated anyone in 2 years either, so it was completely possible he also had pent-up desires. This was normal. Spencer Reid did not feel the same way for me, not in the same way as I did for him. 

He quickly looks up and his hands are by his side in record speed. “This one is.. Wow.” He marvels, his eyes boring into my body. “Your breasts. They look great.” 

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me, a part of me secretly delighted that even if this was friendly, Spencer was enamored with my body in the way I’d always wished he would be. 

“Was that too much?” Spencer questions, upon hearing my laugh. “I’m only being honest. Your breasts look nice in this one. My eyes immediately went there with this piece.” 

I smile. “No, no. That’s what I need from you, anyway. That’s what I want my date to do too, anyway.” I say, dismissing his worries. 

“Right. Your date.” He says, curtly. 

I raise an eyebrow at the snippy reply, but don’t think much of it. “So.. the last one then?” 

“Yep. The last one.” 

“Right..” I mumble, going back to my room, slightly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, but ready to get this over with nonetheless. 

The last piece was a lot more revealing, in the sense that my nipples were exposed from the get-go with this one. A lavender slip, with transparent lace covering the breasts, and the silky fabric stopping right below my crotch. It was a bit more daring, but I still enjoyed the way it framed my curves, my hips, and my breasts. I wondered what Spencer would think, and out of modesty, I placed both my hands over my nipples, wanting to show the lingerie without fully exposing myself to him. 

I walk out, and this time, his gaze is intense. More so than I’d ever seen him in our years of friendship. 

“Spence..?” I ask, when he’s silent for a beat too long.

“Turn around.” He says, firmly, and I find myself listening instantly, baring my back to him, and no doubt he’s focusing on the way the fabric wrapped around my ass, leaving me slightly flustered and more on display than I’d ever felt tonight. 

“Spencer? Come on. Say something. Feeling a bit like cattle right now.” I voice, laughing a little nervously.

When I hear his voice again, I nearly jump out of my skin because he’s right behind me, his hands ghosting across my bare shoulders. 

“Don’t go.” He whispers, his hot breath fanning around my neck, sending shivers up my spine. 

I’m too nervous to turn around, so I keep my hands planted firmly on my breasts and murmur out my confusion. 

“What?” 

“Don’t go.” He repeats, more firmly this time, and I can feel his hand moving to grip my hip, orienting me to face him. “Please.” 

“Why not?” I ask, softly, my eyes wide as I try to read his expression. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, and I could feel his hands moving to cup my face, bringing us even closer. 

“I’d be an idiot to have not at least tried.” He whispers. “I’m sorry for doing this now. I’m sorry if this ruins everything. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.” 

I feel my confusion bubbling up, my eyebrows furrowing a little bit. “Why.. what is this? Is this because of the lingerie?” I ask, my lips parting slightly. 

“No. God no.” I can see him emphatically shaking his head at my rumination. “This has been coming for a long time.” He murmurs. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t. I can’t physically stand the thought of someone worshiping you the way I’d like to.” He rasps out, and I feel my heart jump, my breath coming out faster. 

When I’m silent, unable to respond,  his fingers run across my lips. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers. 

I nod, and it’s like he’s been waiting all night, and then some. His grip on my face tightens and he brings me in for a searing, earth-shattering kiss. His lips move over mine desperately, and I feel his grip shifting to bring my hands off my breasts, and to replace them with his own, his hands now pawing and squeezing at the flesh, which draws a soft moan from me. 

He throws his head back at the noise, leaning to kiss my neck. “Fuck yes.” He mumbles, seemingly goaded on by the noises slipping through my lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans out, to no one in particular, just wanting to get the words out there somehow. 

I nod rapidly, and his hands are on my hips again, guiding me to the couch and laying me down. I move easily in his grasp,  a slight gasp escaping me as he climbs on top. His thumb goes to graze my jaw, leaning in for another kiss. It’s less rushed this time, slow and passionate. His tongue darts out to swipe over my bottom lip, and I open my mouth easily for him, reveling in the sweetness of how he tasted. 

He breaks off the kiss and moves down, kissing my breast between the lace. His tongue goes out to wet the fabric, and I’m arching my back at the sensation of the rough lace and the warm wetness now rubbing against the sensitive skin.

“You taste so good.” He mumbles. “God. Why did I wait so long?” 

“No clue.” I whimper out, desperately. “But don’t stop.” 

“I’m not stopping.” He says, gruffly, moving to bunch up the fabric of the slip until it pooled around my waist, exposing my dripping cunt to him. 

“I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you like this.” He whispers, his finger running up and down my wet folds, causing me to moan out needily. 

“Shh, shh, baby.” He murmurs. “You’ll get what you want soon enough.” 

Without warning, he easily slides two fingers inside me, and I can’t help but wonder if he was made for me. Given the way he effortlessly reached that spongy spot so deep inside me, I was compelled to say yes. The action prompted me to release a string of desperate moans and whimpers, increasing in octave with every second he pumped the digits in and out of me. 

“Yeah, you like that?” He mumbles, almost entranced with the way my cunt was sucking him in, tightening around his finger with each second he continued. 

“Yes. Yes, oh God.” I moan out, my eyes squeezing shut. 

“Open your eyes.” he demands, his thumb now darting out to rub harsh, tight circles on my clit. “I want to see your face when you come on my fingers.” 

My eyes snap open, and I can’t help it when I release another moan and feel my orgasm absolutely shred through me. My hips raise in an attempt to move off Spencer’s fingers, but he manages to follow my movement, nursing me through my orgasm, and watching every second of it. 

When it's over, he removes his finger and brings it up to his lips, sensually tasting my release right in front of me, never breaking eye contact- and the sight itself makes me need him all over again. 

I pull him in by the collar of his shirt, and my hands move to remove his buttons, wanting to feel his skin on mine. He laughs a bit and admonishes me, removing my shaky fingers. 

“Let me.” He mumbles, leaning back between my spread legs, and removing the clothing, before moving to his belt. 

I bite my lip as he hovers over me, and kiss him again. I can’t get enough of him. He’s all I wanted for so long, and here he is- mirroring my desire in the way I’d always hoped he would. 

“No man-” He breathes out, in between kisses, “could do this for you.” 

I nod in affirmation, continuing to kiss him. No argument there. 

“No man deserves to.” He adds, possessively, and it’s enough to make me clench around nothing, and I know at that point I’m more desperate for him than I had been the whole night. 

“Spence, please.” I groan out. “Need you.” 

He understands immediately and wastes no time, pulling himself out from his boxers, giving himself a few tugs before pushing inside of me, groaning as he feels my warm, wet walls grasp onto his cock. 

He remains there for a second, allowing me to adjust to his size. When he looks at my face again, and I nod, he starts to move, pulling out until only his tip remains inside of me, before slamming in. My jaw drops in a silent scream, and my hands go to grip his shoulders, and with the confirmation I was enjoying myself, he set on a ruthless pace, snapping his hips over, and over again, until I was reduced to a babbling mess in front of the man. 

He’s all I can feel at this point. His hands on my breasts, my hips, before he eventually rests both hands on either side of me and envelops me in his being. I can smell him, and the familiar scent only serves to tighten the coil in my stomach, reminding me that this was someone I’d loved so deeply for so long. Someone who was interwoven into the fiber of my being, and I know this is all I want, and all I’ll ever want. 

As we both feel our releases coming on at an alarming pace, he leans up to kiss me one more time, moaning against my mouth. I feel myself whimper before I feel my walls contract around his cock, my orgasm causing my back to arch even closer to him. The clamping of my cunt seems to drive him to finish too, and a warmth fills my deepest point as he groans into my ear, pulling out and lying against me. The two of us are panting, sweat sticking to both of our bodies and hair, lost in the post-sex haze and enjoying the proximity. 

He kisses my jaw and I giggle out and give a soft moan. “God.” I whisper. 

“Yeah.” He murmurs against my skin, and I can feel his smile. “Are you canceling your date then?” He says, a slight bit of glee in his voice. 

I giggle a little, finding his delight adorable and endearing. “Yes, Spencer. Obviously.” I murmur. 

“Good.” He whispers, laying his head on my chest. There’s a lull of quiet as my hands stroke through his hair, smoothing it out from our illicit activities just a moment ago. I can hear his grin as he breaks the silence. 

“Guess you could say I liked this piece the best.” 

hiii!! omg. this took a while. yes this is more of a valentines day fic and its a bit late but hey!! got it out in february. this was actually written for @imagining-in-the-margins new beginnings challenge, so go ahead and check that out when you can. i hope you guys like this one. as usual, please reblog, like, comment, and show your support any way you can. thank you for reading, and i hope it was enjoyable <333 ty ty ty!!

[hellfirenacht]

Candygram

Summary: It's Valentine's day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a Candygram.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fluff, sfw

4.8k Words Master List

“Just do it.”  Robin said, following your line of sight to the booth in the corner of the Hawkins cafeteria. It was a simple table with a red cloth thrown over it and a handmade banner that read ‘CANDYGRAMS $1’ and was decorated with tacky hearts. 

Every time you glanced over at the booth, your heart would start pounding and your stomach would twist in knots. You had never considered yourself to be shy before, when you first moved to Hawkins a few years ago, Robin had joked that you didn’t need a welcome wagon because you had thrown yourself into band and had introduced yourself to everyone with ease. 

You had masked your anxiety over being the new kid with an overinflated sense of confidence and it had worked out really well for you until you caught feelings for the freak who sat next to you in remedial science. 

“I think... I would rather chug formaldehyde.” you said slowly, staring so hard at the offensively pink and red booth that Robin was sure it was going to catch flames. 

“Either go up there and buy a candygram or I’m going to do it for you.” Robin said. “If I have to hear you waffle about this for one more day I’m gonna rip my hair out.” 

“But if I send him one, then he might actually acknowledge me and realize I might have something resembling a feeling for him, and that’s just not really cool, you know? Goes against my chill and mysterious personality.” you said, leaning back on your chair with a cocky grin. 

“Last night I saw you and Steve cry over Bambi.” Robin deadpans. 

“Okay, so we were drunk and also shut up.” you snorted, rubbing your face. 

“How are you going to know if there’s anything there if you don’t even take the chance?” Robin scolds. “Come one, I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’m surprised the whole school doesn’t know-”

“Again, cool and mysterious personality.” you tried again. 

“Plus I know he’s just as weird as you.” Robin continued, ignoring you. “I mean, last week I saw him get Jason Carver to back off one of the freshmen by pretending to exercise a demon out of him!”

You stared at Robin for a beat before thunking your head on the lunch table. “I’m going to marry him. Holy shit, he actually tried to expel the demon lurking in Carver?” You were laughing at the thought. 

During your first senior year and his second, Eddie Munson had caught your eye when you had the same lunch period. He was loud and energetic and so fucking weird you couldn’t help but to be drawn to him. Had your parents not forced you to stick with band, you would have considered joining Hellfire. Unfortunately even with this last go-round as a super senior, they still made you stick with it despite your senioritis reaching terminal levels.

You never had a good opportunity to talk to him, and the more time passed the harder it became to justify just randomly approaching him. This semester you finally had your opportunity when you’d been put in the same class and sitting next to each other no less. Still, the most you’d been able to say was “yeah, sure” when he’d asked you for a pencil once. 

Four weeks sitting next to Eddie, and you had barely spoken to him while noticing every little thing about him. He read a lot in class when he could get away with it, and doodled in his notebooks constantly, especially dice and dragons seemed to be the biggest theme. His school notebook wasn’t nearly as filled in as his Hellfire notebook, and he was always fidgeting in class. He also didn’t talk much, and at least once a week he’d end up falling asleep in class with his head in his hand. 

“There’s not gonna be a wedding if you can’t even talk to the guy.” Robin said. “He’s not even scary! Dustin comes in to talk to Steve all the time about Hellfire. He’s just a dork.”

“I know and that’s the problem.” your voice was a strangled laugh mixed with a groan. 

“You showed up the first day of band and introduced yourself to everyone, even if they weren’t in your section. What is the hold up with you talking to Eddie?” Robin pried. 

“Because back then, it didn’t matter.” You looked over at Robin, poking at your mystery meat. “When I first got here it didn’t matter if anyone liked me or not. I was only supposed to be in this school for a few months and then graduate. Then I didn’t. I could handle it if someone didn’t like me. None of you were really supposed to matter to me. No offense.”

Thankfully, Robin didn’t seem offended. “You were just making nice with the inmates until parole.” she joked and you nodded. 

“Yup, and then when I realized that I was going to have to actually have a full other year of school, that meant that I was going to have to care if I was ever gonna graduate.” You continued. “Luckily you saw through all my bullshit bravado and started dragging me to movie nights with you and Steve.” 

“Yeah yeah, we love friendship. So what does any of this have to do with Eddie?” Robin said, not needing you to explain the backstory that she had been present for. 

“It means that with Mr. Munson, I unfortunately, care so fucking much what he thinks of me.” you relented. “He’s the biggest freak in school, and the dorkiest loser, and if I try and talk to him and he’s not interested in talking back I won’t be able to take it. Robin, I will simply lay down and be dead for the rest of my life.”

“That’s not how that works, you can’t be dead for the rest of your life.” She shook her head, her brows furrowed. “Because if you’re dead then... you’re not alive”

“Schrodinger's corpse then. Alive and dead at the same time.” 

“Look, just send him the stupid candygram. The worst he can do is say no.” She stood up from the table and grabbed your hand. “Let’s go.”

And that’s how you ended up at the booth, jotting down Eddie’s name on a piece of paper and shoving a few quarters in the till with Robin looking smug. “I doubt he’s ever gotten one anyway, if anything he should be thrilled that someone wanted to send him one.”

“If this kills me, Steve’s in charge of the music at my funeral.” you sighed. 

---

Candygrams were being handed out and delivered through the week. You weren’t paying attention to what period they were supposed to be handed out, and so when two students in obnoxious heart shirts and fake wings burst into your science class with Eddie right next to you, you were about ready to throw yourself out a window. 

No one was surprised when Janet and Charlie were tossed a few candygrams, but everyone’s head whipped around when the red heart shaped lollipop and card was set on Eddie Munson’s desk. Eddie himself seemed more surprised than anyone. 

He had the lollipop in his mouth before he even opened the note attached and you were seconds away from bolting out the door. With any luck, maybe he didn’t know your name even after weeks of sitting next to each other. 

“Who’s it from, freak?” asked Patrick, the basketball jock who sat a few rows ahead. That earned a few snickers from the class. 

“It’s from your mom.” Eddie said without missing a beat and taking out the lollipop. “Tell her I say thanks.”

More laughter from the class as Patrick stood up as if ready to fight, but the teacher quickly told him to sit down. 

Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. You felt a bit guilty that your candygram had kicked up a fuss, but at least Eddie didn’t out you as the person who sent it to him. In fact he wasn’t looking over at you at all. 

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he flipped the card around, as if looking for something. All that was written was his name and “YOU’RE SWEET!” written in cheesy font and his name scribbled in your handwriting. 

And nothing else. 

You didn’t know if you should laugh or cry at your stupidity. You’d been so jumbled and nervous that you’d forgotten to sign the damn thing. Robin was gonna have a field day with this one. 

Eddie kept fidgeting with the card through the rest of class, twisting it and bending it until it was as crumpled and torn as your heart felt. He shoved it in his pocket and didn’t even glance at you as the bell rang and he stood up and tossed the eaten lollipop stick in the trash. 

It’s not personal. You told yourself. He has no idea who sent it to him.

That’s when you had a horrible idea, so stupid it might actually work. 

---

“Explain how this is going to work again?” Robin asked. “You’re going to keep sending him lollipops this week until he notices you?” 

“Sort of.” you said, buying another candygram. “I’ll just send him a few joke ones as a feeler and if he responds positively I’ll come clean. If not, I keep my dignity. It’s a win-win.”

“Since when do you care about your dignity?” Robin sorted. 

“Since I caught feelings for the least dignified guy in school, I guess.” You knew it was stupid, you knew it was ridiculous, but you already messed up once so you might as well lean into it. You scribbled his name down, this time signing it with a satisfied giggle. “This is so dumb.”

Oh, but it was so worth it. You had bought it before school started, guaranteeing that it’d be delivered the same day, handing over a crisp dollar to Nancy Wheeler who had volunteered for the booth. If Eddie had been surprised the first time, he looked almost shocked now.

Eddie, sorry I forgot to sign the first one! This card said, once again not giving away any sign of who it was actually from. You saw his eye sparkle in amusement as he ate his lollipop, and this time the card was read over a few times before being carefully tucked into his dungeon master notebook. 

By the third day, the novelty of Eddie Munson getting candygrams had worn off with the rest of your class, but Eddie’s grin only grew wider each time. 

“Anything for me, Cupid?” Eddie asked as the student council members walked back in to hand out more lollipops. 

He whooped as another one was dropped on his desk and he snatched up the card quickly and you had to cover your face and bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at his excitement. 

Eddie, sorry I’m so bad at remembering to sign these things! I just get way too excited about sending them out that I lose focus. So anyway this card is actually from-

You had carefully spaced out your writing on the small rectangle of paper so that it left absolutely no room for you to sign your name. Eddie looked downright giddy as he read the note over and over. Seeing him so happy made your stomach burst into butterflies and even if he decided after this he wasn’t interested, this was enough. Knowing that he was smiling because of you was enough. 

Someone said your name and you looked up, surprised to see one of the student council members standing next to you and handing you a candygram. Your eyebrows shot up as you took it with a thanks and opened up the card. 

Who had sent one to you? You’d been so wrapped up in your little scheme you didn’t even consider that someone would try and send you one either. 

A smile tugged at your lips as you saw your name and a small drawing of what looked like an egg in a nest as the sender. Robin, of course. Probably making fun of you for sending candygrams to Eddie without signing either. 

You tucked the candygram in your own notebook safely and dared a glance over at Eddie again. You hadn’t expected for him to be looking back at you, and your heart jumped in your chest. He unwrapped his lollipop and lifted it slightly as if he was trying to toast. You held yours up as well to him, an off sense of camaraderie between two people who had their day temporarily disturbed for commercialized love. 

Thursday came around, Valentine's day proper, but they’d be doing one last day of candygrams on Friday as well. This was a fundraiser after all, and capitalism trumps any semblance of real sincerity. Well, you said that but that wasn’t exactly going to stop you from continuing your little plan. 

Today was the day you were going to pull out the big guns. You handed over a full $5 to have a carnation sent to Eddie, as well as a return to sender card to Robin for being a good friend. 

“Shouldn’t he be the one sending you a flower?” Nancy asked, handing you the card to write on. You wondered how Nancy had time for all of the extracurricular activities she had going on, working with the student council and the school newspaper. 

You just shrugged at the question, not realizing how wide you were smiling or how obviously warm your cheeks were. To anyone with two eyes, you were glowing and to anyone with one eye, you were phosphorescent. 

The disinterest that your classmates had from the last two rounds perked back up with a flower was delivered to Eddie that afternoon. 

“For little old me?” Eddie said, batting his eyelashes at the delivery boy as he took the carnation. You giggled to yourself as he opened the card again. 

Man, I’m bad at this aren’t I? Don’t worry, this time I’m writing very small so I have room to sign this card. Seeing you light up when these get delivered has made my whole week, and totally worth it. Anyway this is from- 

To be fair, you had actually signed your name this time. However this time you had made an attempt to erase it with one of those erasers. The horrible stiff ones that only made big smudges and made the mistake worse and nearly tore through the paper. You had carefully looked at your smudged signature for a long time before deciding it was illegible enough to send. 

Eddie faked a swoon in his seat, nearly toppling over onto the floor. “Come on!” he laughed, pushing himself back upright, smiling with his whole face. He looked over the note again, something clicking in his brain and you quickly looked down at the book you were currently pretending to read. 

“It’s someone in here.” you heard him mutter to himself and your heart started pounding in your chest. You focused on your breathing to try and stop yourself from giggling and giving yourself away. 

“Stop sending yourself stuff, Munson. It’s pathetic.” Patrick called out. 

“If you wanted me to be your Valentine, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask nicely.” Eddie said, but he sounded distracted as his eyes scanned the room for any hint of who this mysterious person is. “And next time, I’m more than happy with just the lollipop, it’s saving me on smokes.”

You didn’t even notice the lollipop on your desk until class had started back up. Unfolding the card you smiled to yourself, seeing that it was from Robin again. This time the egg in the nest had a crack in it and seemed to be hatching. You’d ask her about it later. 

Nothing said during the rest of class even registered with you, every word was in one ear and out the other. This had been a fun week sending Eddie all the lollipops and flowers but tomorrow was the last day to have something sent to him. 

Were you going to sign your name? That’s the million dollar question. You had told Robin that you would if Eddie seemed interested, and he had made it clear he was enjoying the attention. 

But would he still enjoy the attention if he learned it was from you? You two weren’t exactly friends, but not complete strangers either. He didn’t seem to dislike you, after all he’d raised a toast with you with your lollipops the other day. 

Well, if you were gonna put yourself out there, you were gonna do it on your own terms.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Robin said that Friday morning as you dropped a handful of ones on the table for one last hurrah. 

“Nope, I’ve committed.” you said, taking the small stack of cards and getting to work. 

“I’m going to have you committed.” Robin shook her head. “I mean, this is actually insane, you know that right? There’s no reason to go through all this trouble, when you could just talk to him.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, Buckley?” you asked, as you added one letter of your name to each of the cards. “Gotta make him work for it.”

“So you’re gonna give him a Valentine's themed word jumble as your big sign off?” 

“Yup.” you confirmed, adding his name to each of the cards. He’d get them all in one go and then it’s up to him to unscramble your name and figure it out. 

After that... well, the ball is in his court. 

Besides, if he liked the lollipops enough that he’d reach for one instead of a cigarette then that’s good enough. 

“You’re such a weirdo. You deserve each other.” Robin went on. “The Weirdo and the Freak. It’s like Beauty and the Beast except.. Not.”

“Robin, don’t you know three languages?” you snorted finishing up your stack and handing them over to be sent. “You are so much smarter than me, but this is where you lose words?”

“It’s Friday and I haven’t had coffee.” she pointed out. “Oh, thanks for sending me one by the way.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean you sent me one so I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging.” you nudged her playfully. 

“I didn’t send you one.” Robin looked at you, confused. 

“What?” You reached into your backpack and pulled out the notebook where you had placed the card and handed it to her. “But that’s a robin’s egg...?”

“It’s an egg, probably.” Robin agreed. “But I’m broke. I didn’t send any out.” 

You stared at the card with new eyes. If she didn’t send it, then who did?

---

“Holy shit.” Eddie muttered as a bag of lollipops was dumped on his desk with no rhyme or reason, earning a round of laughter and snickers from the class. The teacher had long since given up on trying to keep the class’s attention when the Cupid’s showed up. 

He sorted through the cards, a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the different letters on the cards until he found one that had real words on it. 

Figure it out, Sucker <3 Eddie’s face was a wonderful mixture of amusement, bewilderment, and mild offense. 

One of the Cupid’s handed you another two lollipops as well. One was actually signed by one of your friends in band, and the other had another doodle of an egg. This time the egg was completely hatched and there was some sort of weird bird flying off. 

Not a robin. You decided, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. 

You barely paid attention in class for the rest of the hour, your attention split between the three egg Valentines you received and the man next to you. Eddie had pulled out his Dungeon Master notebook to try and decode your message. You felt flattered that he was using his favored notebook to try and figure out your puzzle. 

Eddie was sucking on one of the lollipops diligently as he scribbled down random letters. Now that you thought about it, you’d never seen him look so studious in class before. You wondered if this is what he looked like when he was working on his campaigns and your brain decided to give you a treat of a daydream where the two of you were sitting around in your room while he explained his campaign and how he’d love to have someone like you join Hellfire-

It was three minutes before the bell, and that meant just a few minutes until your last period and the weekend. With Valentine’s day falling in the middle of the week, most of your friends were going to be off doing things with their partners. Maybe you, Robin, and Steve- no wait, Steve actually got dates. Robin worked on the weekend. 

Maybe Eddie- NOPE. Not going there, you were not about to get your hopes up for this. 

You glanced over at him again, looking at his notebook to see if he was anywhere close to decoding your name. Eddie had the worst handwriting you’d ever seen and so you would be surprised if he could even figure out his own notes. Between unjumbling your letters, he had started doodling in the margins. You assumed that they were D&D monsters from the look of it, since none of them looked like actual animals except for the bats in the corner. 

The only other thing you recognized was a dragon, drawn in a larger scale on the side of the page. It’s wings were expanded and it was flying off, and from this angle it looked like a weird...

It looked like some bird

Some sort of weird bird

Your head snapped back down to the card in front of you. This wasn’t a weird bird. It was a dragon. A dragon hatching from an egg. An egg that hatched a dragon. A dragon that was drawn with the same pose as the one in Eddie’s notebook. Eddie’s notebook had your dragon no wait, your card had his dragon-

Eddie Munson had sent you the cards. 

Eddie had-

“Oh.” You said out loud. You were nearly fighting back hysterical laughter at this, and you pressed your hands against your face, with your shoulder shaking with repressed laughter. 

Why the hell had Eddie sent you those cards? The two of you had barely spoken to each other!

 You did the same damn thing, dipshit. You reminded yourself. In fact you had gone way harder than he had. But what did this MEAN? 

The bell rang and everyone scrambled to get out of the classroom, and before you could say anything, Eddie was off and running out of the classroom at the speed of light. 

What was that about?

Robin was right. If you were ever going to have a chance with him, you were going to suck it up and talk to him, even if it meant possibly embarrassing yourself. Plus, finding out why he sent you three candygrams was currently trumping any fear of rejection. Curiosity killed the cat, but at least he died satisfied. You’re pretty sure how that saying went at least. 

You knew that Eddie had Hellfire today, it was Friday and he and all of his friends had been running around in their club shirts. With a deep breath you...realized you had no idea where the hell they actually met. 

This whole thing could have been planned better, actually. 

You started walking around the school blindly for any sign of the signature baseball tee that they all wore. If you found one of them, they were sure to lead you to Eddie. God, you felt like a stalker. 

There. Long dark curls against a stark white shirt with black sleeves. Your heart leapt in your chest, and you had to make the choice now. 

“E... Eddie! Wait up!” you called out, walking quickly towards him. 

When he turned around to look at you, you felt the air disappear from your lungs. How was it possible for him to be so beautiful and why the fuck did no one in this school seem to notice? 

Eddie pulled the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth, surprised to see you. 

“Hey.” he said. “Uh... you sit next to me in class.” 

He was either playing dumb, or you were about to make an ass of yourself. But, like Robin asked, since when do you care about dignity?

You reached into your bag and pulled out the candygrams that had been sent to you and holding them out. 

To your relief he gave you a bashful smile. “Guess you caught me, huh?” he asked. “You solved my Valentine’s puzzle.” 

“I have a pretty high intelligence when I apply myself.” you said, which only made him grin wide. “But I gotta say, Munson. I’m actually a little disappointed. I mean, sadistic and scary dungeon master of the Hellfire club, and this is the best puzzle you could come up with?”

He crossed his arms and took a step towards you. “Well, I don’t know you as well as I’d like.” he said, and your stomach erupted into butterflies. “Had to start somewhere.” 

“I guess I had to be sneaky and pay attention to you to figure it out. You’re hard not to notice, you know.” you admitted, crossing your arms as well to mimic him. 

“Being The Freak means I fail most stealth checks.” he shrugged. 

“High charisma though.” you threw out there, hoping that line would land and to your delight it did.

“It’s the Munson Magic. I come by it naturally.” Eddie’s smile was so wide it was cheesy but shit, it was working on you. 

“Not great intelligence though.” you smirked at him. 

“Oh? And how do you figure that?” He looked a little offended now, and you saw his shoulder stiffen as if he was waiting for this to suddenly go south. 

“Spell my name, Eddie.” 

You could see the lightbulb go off in his mind and his eyes widened. 

“You- wait, you were the one who kept sending me the cards?” Eddie looked nothing short of bewildered and ecstatic. You had a feeling that if things went well, you wouldn’t have to worry about ever knowing what he was thinking as he wore every emotion on his sleeve. 

“Surprise?” you asked, playing with the strap of your backpack. 

Eddie licked his lips, chasing the last of the flavor of the sucker he’d been eating. He looked at you, as if searching for something, and you cut in before he had the chance to find it. 

“Do you want to hang out sometime?” you asked, a little louder than you meant to. “Like, just us.”

“Do you think you can handle a date with The Freak?” Eddie asked, standing a little straighter. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I promise the worst of them are true.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eddie, I’ve always wanted to join Hellfire.” you smirked. “I’m sure there are worse things for a first date than sacrificing someone to Satan, or summoning demons, or joining a cult.”

“I’m a gentleman, I would never ask a lady to summon demons on the first date. That’s at least a third date activity.” Eddie held his hand to his heart and raised a hand as if making an oath. 

Oh yeah, you were going to marry him. You were already picturing proposing to him and taking him away from this town. 

“Then how about dinner at Benny’s?” you suggested. “Burgers and shakes on me and you can tell me more about Hellfire and dragons and I can give you a spelling lesson.”

Eddie ran his ringed fingers through his hair and you giggled as the rings got snagged and he struggled to untangle them. 

“It’s.. a date then.” he said, but it came out as more of a question, as if he was asking if this was really happening. 

“A date.” You agreed, handing him your number, having come prepared. 

As you began to walk away, he called out after you. 

“Wait! You said you wanted to check out Hellfire, right?” Eddie said and you turned to look at him. “I’m... I’m actually running a one shot tonight. Kind of beginner friendly enough. I don’t often do this in the middle of the semester but one of our usuals dropped out because he had a date so... we have an open seat at the table. If you think you can handle it.”

Your smile widened as you walked over to him. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Eddie offered his arm to you, as if he were a gentleman which you took eagerly. 

“So... how do you actually spell your name?” 

---

Dear Reader, I hope you have the easiest name to spell because that would make this fic at least 3% funnier. Also, I'm proud I got this done before Valentine's day because I never even finished my Halloween or Christmas fic. Be proud of me.

Please reblog if you enjoyed it <3

Tag List: @gagasbee, @ihaventgotaclue-really @tastefullyferal @anonymouskiwi @hellfiredarling

[astrow1zar6]

Venus in the houses Observations 1-7

Venus in the 1st house: I feel like this placement is very lucky & unlucky at the same time. It bestows you with beauty, and financial security and a charming personality but I feel like these people have a hard time appreciating it. They can be very harsh critics on themselves especially when it comes to their looks. These are the girls you always see looking at their reflection thru everything to make sure nothings messed up but in your head you think “this girls perfect how can she be so anxious about her looks”. Looks are very big to them which is why many people consider them superficial. They tend to like to surround themselves with attractive people or people with a lot of clout, they despise ugly. I also notice they can be very envious of others who attract more attention then them they love attractive people but can also be threatened by other attractive people its odd.

Venus in 2nd house: I’ve seen a lot that have amazing artistic ability’s. They usually make the most money when they are being creative or making something beautiful such as ceramics, jewelry, drawings, sculptures ect. They have very charming business personalities when can make them earn a lot faster than most. They tend to have very smooth voices as well. They can convince you to do anything just by using their voice. (Which is why this is considered a sugar baby placement, it’s hard for people to say no to them). This placement is in its home in the 2nd house so these people generally have it pretty easy. They may find love a little later in life tho however when they are financially stable but they are usually patient enough to wait for the right one. On the flip side if afflicted they tend to spend their money as quickly as they got it usually on stupid shit like Grubhub (they are big foodies) or shopping. They can also be very greedy with their money and possessions and become jealous of others who have more money/ are more attractive than themselves. But overall these people give Princess vibes.

Venus in 3rd house: people with this placement remind me of fairies. They are so chatty and fun loving they can make any conversation interesting easily. They have this lightness about them that puts people at ease. In relationships they tend to have partners that are like their best friend ( maybe a little too much like best friends). Sometimes I’ve seen their relationships lack seriousness and depth which can cause their partner to feel like they are just dating a buddy. But on a good note they are usually able to share everything with their partners and their relationships are usually very fun. When afflicted they can be prone to gossiping and being overly chatty which can become obnoxious. They can also be overly flirtatious while single and in a relationship. ESPECIALLY drunk these people will flirt with everyone breathing when they are intoxicated lol.

Venus in 4th house: I’ve noticed try to find partners that give them a feeling of home. I haven’t met a lot of people with this placement but what I’ve noticed in the ones I have met was that they give this big mommy energy. They crave to take care of someone and also for someone to take care of them. However these people can get really clingy and dependent when they are comfortable. It usually takes them a long time however to trust someone enough to be with them. But once they feel safe enough they are extremely loyal. They love the idea of starting a family and long for children. They usually make great mothers. Their mother could’ve been the ultimate caregiver growing up & grew up with many precious family traditions (unless afflicted) the traits of the mother rubbed off a lot on the native. I also notice they tend to look more like their mothers than fathers.

Venus in the 5th house: when I hear this placement I think of Cupid and Valentine’s Day lol no really tho these people love the art of love and seduction. They live for it. These people can get a little too carried away in love however which can cause them to have multiple crushes and talk to multiple people at once. This isn’t considered the most loyal placement (unless something in their chart says other wise). These people have amazing rizz which I’ve stated in other posts but it’s true a lot of people get jealous by how easy it is for them to woo people. I notice they can be love addicts and can’t be without someone to boost their ego. These people can also have very pretty children or they can have a lot of girls. (If one of your parents has this placement your probably blessed in the looks department) people with this placement are usually very physically attractive themselves.

Venus in 6th house: I’ve only met one person with this placement so my description may not be as detailed as the others but I’ve seen it gives a very workaholic vibe to the person. Most of their social interactions and romantic interactions usually happen in the workplace. These people can be extremely timid in social matters however which can make others kinda look over them☹️ they aren’t the most romantic but they are very sensual and the types where if they love you they will spend every day with you. They can also be extremely helpful to their partners (they are big on acts of service) and can usually remain loyal to the same person for a long time. Theirs a certain modesty and naturalness about them that’s very mesmerizing. In the early years they could’ve struggled a lot romantically. Could’ve had a lot of one sided loves. This also can make the native not notice their beauty they could dress down or overly modest because they aren’t comfortable with being seen as “sexy” or “attractive”. This placement is generally a rough spot for Venus to be in but it worked thru it can be fulfilling it just takes a lot of self love training.

Venus in the 7th house: LOVE romantic attention. Even for people they aren’t into like that (similar to Venus in 5th) they get a big ego boost when they find out others have a crush on them. These are the types to believe everyone is in love with them.. and lowkey… they’re right lol. Venus is at home in the 7th house as well so it usually makes them very attractive to the opposite sex naturally. A lot of men really want to commit to these women even if they aren’t seen as conventionally attractive they usually have a “wifey” type of vibe that makes men weak. It’s incredible really how magnetic these people are. They can have good luck in marriage and usually attract very wealthy attractive spouses. If afflicted however they will go through a lot of unstable relationships until they learn how to love themselves properly. This can also cause someone to be very codependent on others. They have a hard time living alone and can act really dysfunctional when they don’t have love in their lives. They need to learn to be more independent and self assured. ( if they have their Venus in Aries or Aquarius they can be more independent).

[icaruseater]

My Much-Older Man

The bitch-ass wife of the alcoholic customer I may or may not have a crush on came in today. I had assumed that the customer, who we’ll call Greg, drank because he had no one to come home to.

This was a few days ago. I was taken aback, first by her existence and then by her expression. Did I treat her any differently from most customers? I thought. No, of course I didn’t… Did I?

I replayed our interaction in my head. Nope. Totally normal. Then I started questioning my own memory. Maybe I put the snarl there. Maybe that’s just her face. Who’s to say. Maybe she just smelled something bad.

Greg constantly reeked of beer. He was a regular. I never thought much of him until he spilled a 6 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon on the ground. He came up to me.

“I’m sorry. I just spilled that thing over there.”

He was drunk. He didn’t slur his words, but he was swaying and stumbling. I was annoyed.

“It’s ok,” I said dismissively while picking up the phone to call the janitor. He was pissed. Greg apologized again, still standing but crouching into himself. The janitor ignored him.

Greg turned back to me. He apologized twice more, and I thought I saw tears brimming in his eyes before he stumbled out of the aisle.

Suddenly, this man who towered over me (I’m 5’8”, he’s probably 6’3”) and smelled like piss was vulnerable, delicate. His eyes were blue, but not the piercing, dagger blue that I was used to seeing. Not the dreamy, ocean eyes blue we hear about in songs either. They were a dull, groggy blue, like they desperately wanted to be gray.

That night, I had a dream about him. I like to walk around the neighborhood when I’m on break. In my dream, he pulled up in his dirty red pickup truck and offered to drive me home. I didn’t bother to correct him as I hopped in. After a little bit of small talk, he confessed that he was ruining his own life, that he hated everyone and everything. When his rant was over, I simply responded “relatable” with a chuckle. He made me get out. He sped off, lost control, and hit a tree.

Or something like that. Dreams are dreams, they're hard to accurately recall. Anyway, the event with the beer and the dream put Greg in my graces and hypothetical prayers.

Maybe the fact that I’ve finally seen his wife for the first time since I started working here (over a year ago) is a good thing. Maybe things are looking up for them. Today is Valentine’s Day. Possibly, hopefully, they're having a good time. And maybe I shouldn’t have called her a bitch-ass, even if she may or may not have snarled at me.

[solxamber]

hello here for the valentine event!!

Jade, Romantic, Suffering by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

first epic song of the event let's gooo

"Jump in the water" || Jade Leech

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Suffering by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 940

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Siren!Jade x Sailor!Reader

You are lost at sea.

The wind has betrayed you, the stars offer no guidance, and the waves push you further from home. It’s been days—weeks?—adrift on endless waters, and all you know is that if you don’t find land soon, the ocean will claim you for itself.

Then, you see them.

Ships. Empty ships.

Abandoned vessels dot the horizon, their sails limp, their decks silent. A graveyard of those who have sailed these waters before you, of those who heard it and did not resist.

Sirens.

You do not hesitate.

With swift, practiced hands, you rip strips of cloth from your shirt and stuff them into your ears. The world dulls instantly. The ocean is quieter, your own heartbeat louder. You grip the wheel and steel yourself as you push forward.

And just as you expected—

He is waiting.

A siren, perched upon jagged rocks, half-shrouded in mist. He is beautiful—unearthly and elegant, with scales that shimmer like pearls. His long, webbed fingers trace idly over the stone as he watches you, his expression calm, patient.

His lips move. You can’t hear him, but you already know the words.

"Come to me."

You shake your head, firm.

The siren tilts his head, undeterred. He speaks again.

You pretend to consider it, then say, “I can’t swim.”

The siren blinks. His lips curl, amused. “I will teach you.”

You shake your head again. “I’m scared of the water.”

His laughter is silent, but you can see it in the way his shoulders shake.

Then, he leans forward, fingers grazing the surface of the waves. “Then I will hold you.”

Your lips twitch, just a little. Persistent. You’ll give him that.

Then, just to see his reaction, you grin and say, “I don’t want my feet wet. Why don’t you come up here instead?”

It’s meant to be a joke. A final attempt to frustrate him, to force him to give up on you.

But to your utter shock—

The siren reaches out to you.

His webbed hand extends, open and waiting, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t.

And yet—

Before you can think, your fingers are wrapping around his, and you’re pulling him aboard.

He lands on the deck, water cascading off his tail, hands braced against the wood. He blinks up at you, utterly unreadable, before slowly shifting, his body morphing—legs, now, instead of a tail, seawater dripping from his skin, but still otherworldly, still not quite human.

You take a step back, breath heavy.

“You’re a siren.” It isn’t a question.

The siren smiles, slow and knowing. “And yet,” he hums, tilting his head, “you still pulled me in.”

You have no answer for that.

Maybe you did fall for his song, after all.

Jade—he says his name is Jade—does not devour you.

In fact, he does something even stranger.

He helps you.

He moves like he’s been aboard a ship before, like he knows the ocean better than any human sailor ever could. He studies the maps, adjusts the sails, tells you which direction to follow.

“Why?” you ask him, cautious.

Jade only smiles, pressing a finger to his lips.

You should be more wary. You should be scared.

But you aren’t.

Not when you catch him watching you, gaze unreadable. Not when he tilts his head, just slightly, as if trying to understand you.

Not when, after long days at sea together, you finally see land on the horizon.

Your homeland.

You exhale, relief flooding through you. “We made it,” you breathe, turning to him. “Jade—”

But when you look at him, he is not celebrating.

He is watching you.

Like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s already preparing to disappear beneath the waves before the ship reaches the shore.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach for him. “Come with me.”

Jade stills.

His lips part, caught off guard, the first time you’ve truly seen him surprised.

Then, slowly—slowly—he leans in.

His breath is cool against your skin, the scent of saltwater clinging to him. His eyes sharp, flicker to your lips, then back to your gaze.

His voice is softer this time, curious.

“…What makes you think I won’t drown you now?”

You meet his gaze, steady and sure. "You won't," you say, voice unwavering.

Jade’s expression flickers—something fragile, something hesitant, something almost human beneath the inhuman beauty of his mismatched eyes. He has spent his life luring sailors into the depths, pulling them under, watching them sink.

But you—you pulled him up instead.

His fingers brush against yours, tentative at first, before they lace together, webbed skin cool against your warmth. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the dampness of his borrowed clothes, the scent of the ocean clinging to him.

Then, finally—finally—he closes the distance.

His lips meet yours, soft and searching, like the tide pulling against the shore. His hand cups the back of your neck, tilting you to him, holding you as if afraid you’ll slip away like seawater through his fingers. But you don’t. You stay, leaning into him, letting yourself fall into the moment.

For the first time in his life, Jade Leech is not the one luring someone in

For the first time, he is the one being caught.

When he pulls away, his lips are curved in something softer than his usual smirk. "Well," he murmurs, tilting his head, "perhaps I will join you on land, just for a little while."

You laugh, tugging him in for another kiss, already knowing—he’s never going to leave.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[ro-is-struggling]

Breakfast In Bed || Clark Kent x Reader

Based on THIS and THIS requests

Summary: Being married to a superhero was bound to have some tough times, you knew that well when you accepted Clark's marriage proposal. However, the last few months were becoming too difficult for you as he was having trouble balancing his daily life and his responsibilities as Superman. Intentional or not, he was neglecting you and you were getting tired of waking up alone every morning. But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Clark surprises you with breakfast in bed and a talk that reminds you why you love him so much.

Warnings: a little angst, but mostly fluff, fem!reader

English is not my first language

Word count: 1800

Notes: I don’t know why but I always have the need to write Clark like the most romantic and adorable man in the world, so enjoy! Consider this as my valentine gift to you

Do you want to get notified when I post? JOIN MY TAG LIST HERE!

You knew your relationship with Clark would be complicated from the moment you learned about his special abilities. You always knew he was far from ordinary, you just thought his greatness had more mundane roots —his kindness, his empathy, the way he cared about everyone and how he always surprised you by remembering even the smallest details, all the normal things that made you fall in love with him. You'd be lying if you said you weren't surprised to learn the truth, but it also explained a lot —the way he sometimes seemed to be able to be on two sides at the same time, his incredible strength and great sense of hearing. It made you worry about the kinds of dangers he faced every day as Superman, but it also made you love him even more. So you decided that you would stay by his side knowing full well that your relationship would be far from normal. 

Through it all, you managed to make things work. Clark was very good at keeping his identity secret to protect you. And you were great at pretending that his long absences didn't bother you, making him feel better when he was late for your anniversary dinner after a year of marriage. To be honest, it wasn't always that terrible. You did have plenty of moments of blissful intimacy, away from the outside world and the dangers it presented. And it was wonderful. You loved spending quality time with your husband, even if it was just sitting in silence working to meet some deadline for work. Just knowing he was there with you was enough to make you feel happy, loved.

The problem you had now was that he was spending less and less time at home. He came home late every night, exhausted after a long day at work —both as Clark at the Daily Planet and as Superman helping people in danger. And in the mornings you were lucky if you got to have breakfast together. He always tried to make time for you, to spend a romantic evening at a nice restaurant or curl up on the couch to watch a movie, but somehow work always got in the way. If it wasn't Perry calling him to cover an urgent story for the paper, it was a person in danger crying out for Superman. 

It was frustrating because you felt you couldn't say no. Clark would always ask your opinion before doing anything, looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes while assuring you that if you said no, he would stay where he was. But how could you say no when a child in danger cried for their hero or a tragic accident required his presence? There was no way your conscience would let you live with that decision.

You knew his work was important. Both inside and outside the newspaper, he helped people. People in vulnerable situations, people in danger, people who needed to be heard. It was truly noble of him and you admired him for his determination to make the world a better place. That was the biggest reason why you didn't say anything, but the truth was that you missed him.

You missed coming home from work and finding him waiting for you, asking you how your day had been the moment you walked through the front door. You missed going to sleep next to him at night after spending hours sharing work stories over dinner. You missed the warmth of his body wrapping around you in the cold mornings and hearing his voice raspy with sleep wishing you good morning when he still had his eyes closed. In the last few weeks you were lucky if he made it to dinner. Going to sleep alone and waking up alone in the mornings had become your routine. And you hated it.

That morning was no exception. When you opened your eyes you found the left side of the bed empty. Your arms clung tighter to Clark's pillow, inhaling his scent to make you feel less lonely. It was supposed to be his day off, but you wouldn't be surprised if Perry had called him last minute or some catastrophe had gotten him out of bed early. You had barely seen him last night. Clark had arrived late when you were already asleep and you only managed to mumble his name in the dark and hug him when he lay down next to you, and now he wasn't next to you when you woke up either. The day had barely begun and you already wanted it to end.

Letting out a long sigh, you decided it would be best to get up and do something to distract your mind. Clark wasn't there and it wasn't going to do your mental health any good to stay in bed crying all morning. So you dragged your feet lazily to the bathroom, going about your morning routine before leaving the room to prepare breakfast.

Only the moment you opened the door you were assaulted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. You frowned in confusion, wondering if perhaps you had mistakenly left the coffee maker running all night. However, when you entered the kitchen you discovered that it was no mistake. Standing in front of the stove was Clark, flipping pancakes and cutting up some fruit while humming to himself. 

You couldn't help but smile as you watched him move. He still had his pajama pants on and his hair was a mess. You took advantage of the fact that his back was turned to you to admire him silently as a warm and fuzzy feeling spread through you. The sadness disappeared from your system as you watched him carefully stack the pancakes, taking his time to decorate them with little pieces of fruit just the way you liked. He looked adorable, bent over the counter as he arranged breakfast on a tray, ready to be taken to bed. You wanted to run over and hug him, but before you could move from the doorway Clark turned, finally sensing your presence.

"What are you doing there? You're supposed to be sleeping." he said and you could swear he sounded disappointed to see you there. "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

You walked into the kitchen. Just a couple of steps and you were in front of him, wrapping your arms around his naked torso and resting your head on his chest as you hugged him. Clark reciprocated right away, planting a kiss on the top of your head as he breathed in the scent of your hair. 

"I'm sorry," you pouted, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. "We can go back to bed if you want."

Clark answered you with a kiss, his lips caressing yours gently. It was a quick kiss, but it still managed to take your breath away. 

"What's the occasion?" You asked as you broke away, stealing a strawberry from the pancakes and popping it into your mouth. It wasn't your anniversary or your birthday and it wasn't Valentine's Day, so you wondered what had prompted Clark to make such a gesture to you. 

"I wanted to apologize... I know I haven't been around much and I know it's not easy for you, even though you are too nice to tell me."

"Clark..." You wanted to intervene, but he silenced you by resting his index finger on your lips.

"I need you to know that you're important to me, more important than anything else." Clark slid his hand up to your cheek, his fingers caressing your skin gently. He gave you a warm smile, losing himself for a moment in the bright light of your eyes. "Do you remember what I told you the day I asked you to marry me? I said with these powers I could see the beauty of the universe, the flowers blooming on the other side of the planet or dying stars exploding in brilliant light thousands of miles away, and yet, the day I meet you I knew I had to be with you because for the first time in my life the only thing in the universe worth looking at was right there in front of me. That is still true. It will always be true, angel."

"Damn it, smallville!" You let out a giggle, feeling the tears building up in your eyes as you remembered that day —one of the happiest days of your life. You hated the way he always knew exactly what to say to make you feel better, it made being mad at him really hard.

Clark smiled at you, his blue eyes shining with love in them as he gently wiped away a tear that had escaped and rolled down your cheek. "You're the most important thing in my life and I'm sorry I haven't been showing it these past months. I promise you I'll be better in the future. I'll try harder to make this work, to make us work."

"I know this is hard for you too, baby." You said, letting your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest. You knew Clark wasn't neglecting you on purpose. You knew it hurt him as much as it hurt you to be away or to miss a date you had been planning for a long time. Balancing his normal life and his superhero life had always been one of his biggest challenges. 

"I know you love me and I know you care about me, you don't have to doubt that. I knew things were going to be difficult sometimes the day I said yes. I understand how important being Superman is to you, it is who you are and I love you for that too. I just... miss you sometimes, but I'm sure we're going to find a way to work this out. We always do."

"I swear if I could love you more I would explode." Clark smiled at you before taking your face in his hands again and pressing his lips together. You couldn't help but smile into the kiss, feeling that familiar warmth fill you inside. It was the comforting warmth of love, of the happiness it gave you to be in Clark's arms after so much loneliness.

That was the Clark you missed so much. The loving husband who wrapped his arms around you and kissed you until his lips were tired. The one who showered you with compliments until you were flustered. The one who didn't hesitate to show you how much he loved you with sweet words or cute details. It had been so long since you had the chance to be alone like that, sharing such an intimate moment, that you almost forgot how good it felt when Clark kissed you or how safe you felt when he put his arms around you. It was a beautiful feeling that you could only describe as the touch of true love. You never wanted to forget it, you were willing to do anything not to lose it.

"I love you too." You murmured against Clark's lips, giving him a quick peck before pulling away from him. "Now, about that breakfast..."

Clark let out a chuckle. "Go back to bed, I'll be there in a second."

[honeyryewhiskey]

it's just a stupid holiday

abt, dean takes his cupid to a valentine's gala, where a rogue angel has been preying on adulterers. you're just excited to be part of the chaos, and dean is trying desperately to keep his focus on the mission and not on his bubbly lovebird wrapped in a little red dress. what could possibly go wrong with this situation?  cw, grumpyxsunshine go on a fake date  ! dean practicing restraint ! and failing bc this stupid cupid is just so sweet ! fluff !  mentions of violence but no gruesome details, mdni, 18+  3.9k words

“i still don’t get why it has to be me doing this crap,” dean groans, shifting uncomfortably in his usual seat behind the impala’s wheel. his fingers drum against it as he scowls out the windshield.

sam, sitting to his right, doesn’t bother looking up from the stack of papers he’s reviewing. “because you’re better at the whole…” he gestures vaguely, searching for the right words, “pretending-to-be-charming-with-women thing.”

dean snorts, tossing his brother a sideways glare. “gee, thanks, sammy. real boost to the ‘ol self-esteem.” he rolls his eyes and adjusts the rearview mirror—only to catch a glimpse of you in the backseat.

that stupid dress. that strappy, red, distracting dress. you’re busy fiddling with the silky hem, completely oblivious to the way it hugs you in all the right places.

dean clears his throat sharply. fidgeting with his suit tie, he forces his eyes back to the road. “hey, cupid,” he growls, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered. “remember, this is a job. we’re not going to this thing to drink champagne and play house. we’re hunting. focus.”

you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of their seat. a playful grin spreads across your lips as you reach out to pinch his cheek. “oh, dean, don’t you worry,” you assure, ignoring his quick swat at your hand. “i’ll be the best hunting partner ever. all business. no play.”

you deepen your voice, mimicking his usual gruff tone. “just like you.”

dean groans louder this time, and sam smirks faintly without looking up.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the plan for tonight? attend some high society valentine’s night gala as dean’s date, while sam kept watch of the perimeter. honestly all you really heard was sam and dean entrusting you to go undercover on a hunt with them—and you smiled so hard your cheeks ached (to which the brothers again started bickering about whether or not including you was a good idea). then they explained the holiday, humans practically worshipping cupids for a day, the excitement thrummed through you so hard you damn near passed out right there in the middle of the war room. 

sam and dean made it sound so straightforward, but as you walked into the venue—your arm looped through a stiff and uncomfortable dean’s—it became glaringly obvious this event would be anything but simple.  

red and pink heart shaped balloons spilled out from the entrance, framing a sleek red carpet scattered with rose petals that guided you into the heart of the party. the ballroom was enormous, yet nearly every inch of the room was drenched in lavish decor—flowers, jewels, endless shades of red and pink. a sizable crowd mingled beneath the dazzling display, their chatter blending harmoniously with the soft, elegant symphony flowing from the orchestra on stage. 

a small gasp left your painted lips as you took everything in, “this is incredible.”

dean, watching you carefully as your eyes darted from one dazzling detail to the next, murmured, “yeah, sure is.” his voice was barely audible in that soft tone. 

you peeled your gaze away from the galore, meeting his with that sugary sweet smile that makes his knees grow weak. “this is really all for cupids and love?” 

his brows cock as he considers your words, trying for once to not immediately destroy the innocence beaming from your eyes with his charmingly pessimistic perspective on, well, everything. “yeah,” he clears his throat, his arm slipped from yours, absentmindedly raising his hand to push the stray hairs that had fallen in your face, he hated when anything—anything at all—hid that view. “all of this exists because of what you lovebirds do to us.” 

you’ve gotten sharper in the weeks you’ve spent with the winchesters. picking up on what they call sarcasm and double meanings isn’t the easiest, but you’ve become so observant of dean you can almost feel it when he says one thing, and inside guards his true emotions. something in the way his face tightens, how deep of a breath he takes to release the stress, you’re not even sure if he’s aware of these tells but you know better than to clue him in on your cheat codes for decoding this ever-complicated man. 

dean sighs, slipping his hands into his dress pants as his eyes scanned the crowd, “alright little angel, let’s—”

you’re about ten feet away before he can finish his sentence, bee-lining to a side table overflowing with chocolate boxes, teddy bears, bouquets, flower-shaped ornaments, and so many little cherubs adorning nearly every item. 

a woman dressed in crisp black and white approached you with a polite smile, balancing a platter of dainty, bite-sized cakes. “please, help yourself to anything you’d like. mr. and mrs. nightingale donated all of these lovely trinkets for our guests.” 

“uh, we’re good on toys, thanks.” a gruff voice booms over your shoulder. dean snakes one arm around your waist as he reaches out with his free hand, swiping two mini cakes off the platter. the woman shot him a withering glare before turning away. 

“here.” he muttered, plopping one of the treats into your open palm, devouring the other in one bite. 

“but, dean,” you whine, dropping the cake onto the table and reaching for a plush brown bear sitting front and center. 

dean’s grip around your waist tightened, pulling you snug against his chest. the sudden shift made you wobble on the cherry-red heels you’d only recently learned to walk in.

“nuh uh.” he hums, low and firm. “business, lovebird. focus.” 

your pouted lips and narrowed eyes meet his steady squint—a silent warning for you to cut it out. 

“fine.” you whimper, giving the bear one last wistful glance before turning reluctantly back to the crowd. “what are we doing again?” 

“trying to figure out who the next victim is, while sam watches for the angel.” leaning down so only you could hear. his breath on your ear sends little sockwaves down your spine, his tone low to avoid drawing attention from the nearby guests. “think your cupid crap can sniff out any cheaters in the crowd?” 

your brows knit as you try to focus your energy on observing with your angel vision. you can’t necessarily see or smell infidelity, but there are glittering strings that exist between connected humans and only a cupid is capable of detecting them. 

slowly, the ballroom came alive before your eyes, dozens of ribbons in gold, red, white, and silver weaving through the spaces between bodies. each color represents a distinct bond woven in fate. but the sheer number of people packed so tightly together made it difficult to pinpoint who belonged to what thread. the tangled web shifted and shimmered, overwhelming your senses as you struggled to unravel it. 

“i can’t smell infidelity,” you state plainly, your tone clipped as you strain to focus on the red strings in particular. a throbbing begins in your head, growing sharper with each passing second. “There’s red, but—”

the throbbing quickly escalates into a pounding ache, forcing you to release the energy of the room. your vision shifts back to that of a mortal’s as your hands instinctively clutch dean’s arm for support.

he reacts instantly, turning you to face him as his strong hands steady your swaying form at the waist. “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low but firm, concern flashing in those jade-green eyes as they search your face for an answer.

“i can’t, dean, i’m not really strong enough to read this many people,” your eyes find the floor, feeling too embarrassed to meet his gaze, “the energy, it just kinda pushes me out.” 

when cas left you with the brothers, he failed to mention that you were a bit of a heaven reject. a cupid with faulty powers—and the whole issue with you not always wanting to follow heavenly orders. cas saw something in you, at least, and you hoped that the winchesters would, too. 

“c’mere.” dean huffs, locking your fingers in his as he guides you down another hall. you step into a smaller room where a few people are scattered about on lavish couches and chairs. standing slightly behind you he places a reassuring hand on the small of your back he leans over your shoulder, “try it in here.”

with a nod you focus again, dean’s thumb rubs against your back soothingly, his other hand tightly wrapped over the top of yours as he watches you with care. again the room is dancing with ribbons, but the power isn’t nearly as overwhelming. “there’s a lot of gold in here.” you speak without looking away from the crowd, a smile finding your lips as you notice the elderly couples bound in glittering gold. 

“what’s that mean?” 

“purity turned everlasting.” you release his hand to face him, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you describe the phenomenon that makes you most excited to be a cupid, “they were fated with white strings, or bonds, to have something sweet between them, a simple fling or a good marriage. but it could have easily turned red and fragile from something like cheating, and it didn’t. these souls will probably find themselves in the same heaven, now, because of their commitment to the bond.”  

dean grins down at you, catching the way your excitement practically vibrates through your body. truthfully, it all sounded like a load of crap to him. but then there’s you—with that unbound energy, one he’s certain no one else—angel or human—could ever replicate. the way your infatuation with love seems so genuine, so pure, it softens parts of him that have been hardened for years, wound tightly in cynicism for the very thing you embody.

before he can stop himself, his mind drifts. he’s already considering leaving sam to handle the case on his own, just for one night, so he can watch you explore this world with that wide-eyed wonder. to see you smile up at him like that a little longer.

and maybe—just maybe—to catch a few more glimpses of you prancing around in that little dress, oblivious to the way it rides up your thighs when you move, or how your bouncing excitement causes… other things to bounce right along with you.

dean clenches his jaw, mentally reprimanding himself as he forces his gaze away from you. focus, winchester. focus.

“so, you’re saying we need to find red bonds or whatever,” he mutters, working to keep his voice steady. “but you can’t see ’em with all those people in there.”

you nod, watching him closely as he weighs his options.

“uh-huh,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess that means we’ll have to chat up some of the drunk old birds with loose lips.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

dean’s plan worked. after about an hour of mingling with the party guests, the two of you find yourselves on the edge of the crowd, watching a middle-aged married couple whom numerous women had whispered about. rumors swirled of the wife and her tennis coach, the husband and his secretary—long trips taken without the other, late nights at the office. all the signs of mutual betrayal.

the exact kind of relationship the rogue angel has been targeting. 

“classic,” dean mutters, eyes narrowing as he observes the couple, now mingling on opposite ends of the room. his stance is tall and stiff, locked in hunter mode.

you tilt your head, less focused on the case and more on the glittering display of treats and trinkets catching your eye a few tables away. a quick glance confirms dean is too busy scowling at the couple to notice you quietly slip off.

the desserts are as extravagant as the rest of the party, each treat adorned with ribbons and delicate designs. A small card catches your attention: cordial cherries. intrigued, you pop one into your mouth. the sugary red juice takes you by surprise, spilling down your chin and all over your fingertips. 

the flavor is sweet against your tongue, the chewy red center tart in contrast. you reach for another, taking it whole, and another for good measure, needing more of that sugary taste. you hadn’t heard dean approach, closing in on you with a confused scowl etched into his brows.

“love,” dean’s gruff voice startles you, his hand suddenly grasping your sticky chin to turn your face towards his, “you’re making a mess.”

embarrassed, you freeze, cheeks flushed as you glance up at him with cherry-stained lips. dean’s eyes darken slightly, flicking down to your mouth as he brushes his thumb along your sticky chin. without a second thought, he sucks the sugary residue off his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours. 

a strange, warm sensation blooms in your chest—and lower—making your eyes widen in surprise. that was a new feeling, and something about dean’s expression told you now probably wasn’t the time to ask him about it. 

dean looks over his shoulder toward the couple again, his expression unreadable. looking back to you, he sighs. “bathroom,” he nods to the corner, “now.” he orders, his voice a little rougher than usual. 

You pout but follow him obediently, weaving through the crowd until you slip into the lavishly decorated restroom. Dean locks the door behind you, the click of the latch oddly loud in the quiet space. In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection—smudged lipstick, syrupy streaks trailing down your chin, and little splotches on the swell of your breasts.

without a word dean is behind you, in the reflection his face is blank, barely hiding his agitation. he spins you to face him, his pupils eating away at the green of his eyes. his hands find your hips and in one motion you’re seated on top of the porcelain space between the sinks. 

“‘m sorry, dean.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in lap, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he grunts a ‘mhm’ in response, making that warmth in your center morph into a ball of anxiety. the feeling you usually get after doing something terribly wrong, and dean gets that familiar scowl and grumpy tone. 

like he is now, except he usually isn’t this quiet. 

he comes back to you with a handful of wet paper towels. his eyes are focused on your lips as he wipes away the lipstick and sticky sugar. 

“stop pouting like that.” he grumbles, folding the paper before dragging it down your chin. his hand stops, eyes flicking between your chest and eyes for a moment before he’s handing the paper over to you, “you can get the rest.” 

as you dab at the mess on your chest, the silence stretches between you, weighted by unspoken thoughts. your mind drifts back to the couple in the ballroom, their entwined red strings sullied by betrayal.

“why do they do that?” you ask softly, breaking the quiet, “that couple, why do they do that to each other?” 

dean shrugs, standing between your legs with his arms crossed. “just what people do, lovebird. it’s not something i can really explain. everyone makes choices for their own reasons, hell, they probably don’t even know why they do that to each other.” 

you nod, mulling over his words. “i wouldn’t make those choices,” you say after a moment. “if I could be human, i wouldn’t waste it. What they have… it’s a gift.”

dean chuckles dryly, “and somehow i believe you, little angel. but being human isn’t all kittens and rainbows, mortality sucks. our emotions suck. and making the right choices, it—it’s hard.” 

“but you get to feel,” you say, your voice softening. “you get to fall in love. those emotions are what make humans so… special. sometimes i wish i could feel that.” you pause, suddenly shy. “maybe that’s why I’m not a very good cupid. i get too distracted by all these questions.”

Dean’s gaze softens, his arms uncrossing, planting his strong hands on either side of you, leaning closer. “You’re not a bad cupid,” he says gruffly, fighting with himself to sound more gentle than usual. “you care, a whole lot. if it were up to me, i’d say that’s not a bad thing.”

before you can respond, the ring of dean’s phone echos in the room, shattering the tension. he pulls away to retrieve it out of his pocket, scowling at the screen. “sam says the angel’s outside. we need to move.”

his hand finds yours, instinctively, tugging you out of the room and through the crowd. dean is locked into hunter mode again, his entire body on high alert as he’s practically dragging you across the ballroom.  

reaching the furthest wall, large windows give view to an expansive flower garden shimmering under the moonlight. a rather beautiful sight, where each bush is perfectly trimmed to line the weaving cobblestone paths. dean pauses at the door, looking back at you with a look that makes you wonder if he’s about to be sick.

before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s dropping your clasped hands, “just—stay in here. keep watch of the people while sam and i handle this.” 

“what?” you begin, flustered. sam and dean had spent days prepping you for whatever might happen. you learned how to actually use your own angel blade, the one you only carried around because it was an order but had never intended on using. dean taught you how to shoot his guns, and despite your distaste for their sharp sounds and harsh rebound—you sucked it up because the boys were trusting you. “no! i’m in this, too, remember? i can help—”

“no.” his voice is stern, his mind already made. he was giving you that look again, that made you feel like a helpless baby. it was comforting when it got him to ease up on you for little mistakes, but right now it was annoying. irritating, because you finally felt like you’d get to prove your worth with this hunt. 

“dean—” you start, but the door swings shut behind him before you can finish. with an exasperated groan, you rush to a near by window, heart pounding as you watch him dart down the shadowed path. 

the moment he’s out of sight, a sick twist of nerves coils in your stomach. seconds stretch into centuries, a burning lump rising in your throat as your imagination runs wild. then, movement catches your eye in the darkness.

dean’s body flies through the air, crashing hard into the ground like a ragdoll. 

your breath stutters. you’ve never witnessed a hunt before—not firsthand—but you’ve seen the aftermath. bruises, cuts, even broken bones you’d healed despite dean’s gruff protests against your divine touch helping him.

he struggles back to his feet, but he’s too slow. the angel—a tall, imposing figure in a crisp suit—stalks towards him with eerie precision, circling like a predator toying with its prey. from your vantage point, the angel’s back is turned to you. that’s all the opening you need.

without thinking, you dart for the door. the cool night air sends goosebumps rippling over your skin, the chill mixing with the nervous heat burning inside you. you catch sam out of the corner of your eye, lying on the ground further up the path and groggily coming back to consciousness as he sits up. 

stopping short, you kick off one of your cherry-red heels, gripping it tightly in your hand. it may not be a bow, but you’re still an archer—and this will have to do. with a flick of your wrist, you send the stiletto flying through the air.

the heel collides sharply with the back of the angel’s head. he stumbles slightly before spinning around, fury etched into his face as his silver blade flashes in the moonlight.

fear floods your system, making your knees weak. you’re not sure if it’s bravery or recklessness keeping you standing as he charges towards you. but your distraction is enough.

dean is on his feet again, blade in hand. with one swift motion, he drives it deep into the angel’s neck. the being’s body flickers with light before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

for a moment, everything is still. to stand frozen, gawking at the scene before you as dean slowly staggers back, panting heavily. when his eyes find yours, they’re sharp with anger. with a huff he’s crossing the grass towards you, that grumpy scowl having taken over his pretty features. 

“dean, i—i’m sorry, but—”

he closes the distance in two long strides, hands cupping either side of your face. the firmness in his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. before you can say anything more, he gently tugs, pressing two rough kisses to your forehead.

you blink up at him, your thoughts a buzzing, tangled mess. 

“save it, lovebird. i know.” he sighs, dropping his hands. his voice is gruff but softer than you expect, his relief shining through the cracks of his frustration. “just never do that again.” 

sam slowly approaches, sporting a fresh bruise on his cheek. his expression wavers between amused and impressed. “nice shot, cupid. i told dean you’d come through.”

“shut it, sammy.” dean snaps back, his scowl deepening as he glances over his shoulder at the angel’s body. “let’s get rid of the angel’s body and get the hell out of here.” 

you bite back a sheepish grin, slipping your remaining shoe off to follow behind the brothers. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

back at the bunker…

you had tried, several times, to get out of the stupid red dress. the thin straps came loose from your shoulders easily enough. but the damn zipper in the back was just out of your reach, no matter how you twisted or stretched, it remained out of grasp. the nice lady at the dress shop who helped you get into the damn thing, wasn’t around to get you out of it. 

with an annoyed huff, you padded barefoot out of your room and down the hall, the hem of the dress swishing faintly with every step. you stopped in front of dean’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking. 

there was a pause, followed by a muffled shuffling sound. the door swung open, dean took up most of the door frame clad in an old band shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from sleep and his expression distinctly unimpressed.

“what?” he grumbles, voice rough and gravelly, clearly annoyed at having been woken up. 

“i need help,” you whine, turning your back to him and gesturing over your shoulder. “i can’t get to the stupid zipper.”

he let out a long-suffering sigh, but his rough finger tips brush against your skin as he grips the top of your dress in one hand and tugged the zipper down with the other. 

you’re not really used to wearing dresses, and you’re too tired to think about how, y’know, gravity works. 

the silky red material drops to the floor, pooling over your feet. “oh.” you mumbled, looking down at the discarded dress. 

“jesus,” dean muttered, his voice strained. when you looked back at him, his eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, lips pressed tightly together as if trying to keep a lid on something. 

a wicked giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. “thanks, dean!” you chirp, abandoning the dress on the floor and darting down the hall in nothing but your pink underwear. 

the sound of his exasperated cursing followed you, echoing against the hall as your laughter trailed behind. 

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

��� MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.