#got me feeling all warm and fuzzy with such kindness gah!

[2aceofspades]

ACEEEEEEEE! AHHHH! Sorry for the shrieks of joy but I just want to bestow my love towards you in the most platonic way possible! I've loved your art on Twitter and just couldn't get enough of it!

And NOW I am being treated even more so with your lovely comics?! Especially of Peepaw?! Ohhhh you are too amazing :D

*chefs kiss*

I love our Peepaw Blue Blorbo and ESPECIALLY with your art style <3

I am loving the Casey & Leo comic and please...keep destroying/healing my soul T W T

Lots of Loves

Rose 🌹

Hi hello! 🙌✨

Ohmigosh ohmigosh you're too sweet aawwweee!!!

I'm so happy you could find me on ye ol' tumblr 🙌🙌 Thank you so so much for reaching out and being so kind and sweet awwee! I really appreciate it 🥹💙✨ Got this lil goon smiling like a goof hehe..

[ghost-proofbaby]

luna. luna. LUNA.

so many thoughts, so little time. all i can think right now is how goddamn PROUD i am of you and how grateful i am that you shared this fic with us all. it was genuinely so comforting, so wonderful, so warm. you have eddie everything and more that he deserved after season 4 and i can’t thank you enough.

spoilers below the cut because… i mean, if you guys haven’t read this??? run, don’t walk RUN, to read it now. PLEASE.

first of all, you sneaky mother fucker. THE BOTCHED PROPOSALS. beginning with the end here because i’m just. GOD. YOU HAD ME FOOLED. it was so perfect so wonderful so fantastic there’s not enough complimenting words to describe how i’m feeling about it. and yet, it was so them. fuck.

and the kitten??? chewbacca??? AAAAAH. was absolutely squealing.

and CHRISTMAS. MY LORD. HER GIVING HIM A KEY TO HER APARTMENT, her telling him she was staying, the found family trope just drilling the most wonderful style of ache into my chest. it made me all warm and fuzzy and crave this kind of holiday. you bet your ass i’ll reread it come christmas time.

but also new years!!! the quiet moment alone, finally saying they love each other outloud!!! my heart became an olympic gymnast from the cuteness overload of it all!!

after all the angst lately, this was a balm to the wound. i’m so happy that they got their happily ever after, and i have no doubt this will be a comfort fic i frequently return to. this is all over the place but this fic and this ending and- gah. it gives my heart the zoomies.

you��ve outdone yourself, my friend. truly. from the bottom of my heart, thank you for this story. 🖤

Begin Again: Chapter 4/4

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(20k words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Note: Tumblr ate my formatting, so AO3 is probably best. 🙃

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; nightmares; suicidal ideation; smut 18+ only.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CH

*

Winter 1988/1989

*

He leaves you alone in the coffee shop.

The smell of the coffee brewing grows sour, your stomach churning with the dread seeping into your veins with every throb of your heart.

Your four walls, your space, now empty without him there to fill it.

You never realized how much sound he’s brought into your life, how much color, how much of his light.

And in a moment, Chance had thrown a shade over it. Squashed it just as it had really started to grow.

Chance’s words roll around in your head.

Chrissy. Fred. Patrick. Jason.

Chrissy. Fred. Patrick. Jason.

Names without faces, people you’ve never met, people you’ll never meet.

Because they’re dead.

All of them.

Gone.

He says it’s Eddie.

It’s not Eddie.

There’s no reality you could ever find yourself in where you believe the lie that Eddie’s done something like this.

Not this man, not the one who consumes fantasy literature like it’s a lifeblood, who talks DnD with his youngest friends animatedly and conjures up new ideas for sprawling campaigns full of high stakes and grandeur, who flips Max upside down in his arms when he greets her until her laughter shakes deep within her bones and a smile lights up her whole face, the man who drinks out of a Garfield mug when he visits his Uncle, who listens to ABBA and Blondie with you and his friends even when he claims to hate it.

Not this man.

Never this man.

But now you need to find Eddie, tell him everything’s okay, that you don’t think he did it.

You know he thinks you do.

Could see it in the way he looked at you, in the way he flinched from your touch.

The title of murderer.

The weight of it.

You can only imagine how crushing that is, how hard it’s been to keep those accusations to himself all this time, to carry it on his back each and every day.

To live near to those who might whisper behind your back, question how you’re free, ponder your innocence.

You decide to close up early, dismissing your customers as nicely as possible, feigning issues with your machines. A patron grumbles that they were working moments ago, but you only offer them free coffees for their next visit and wave as they all bustle down the street.

It’s likely not the most professional thing you’ve done, but it’s necessary, your fingers removing your apron from around your hips before moving to go snatch your keys from behind the counter.

The front door locks with a click behind you, eyes flashing across the parking lot to find Eddie’s van missing. He’s likely skipped work, and you understand why he would, but all it does is curl the guilt further in your gut.

That you hadn’t done more, said more, chased after him—something.

You run upstairs to your apartment, grabbing your things and rummaging about, trying to make it look some semblance of normal before you grab your pocketbook in hand and rush over to your wall phone, dialing one of the first numbers in your phone book.

Max picks up on ring number two.

Your breath shudders out as you ask, “Is Eddie there?”

“He was, but not anymore,” she says honestly. You can hear her shuffle around on the other end, a huff filling the line. “He looked upset. Did something happen?

“He heard Chance and I talking.”

“Okay, and? Chance is a dick, we all know this, so what did he do?”

“He told me about March. Of eighty six.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, quickly adding, “but I don’t believe him.”

You hear her huff once more, followed by the rustle of something in the distance. “Good, because whatever he told you isn’t true. He doesn’t know half of what really happened, and I doubt he ever looked into it. Which, you’d think we would have since the idiot works for the police.”

“So you know where Eddie might be?”

“He’s at Steve’s,” she says simply, like she knows, and of course she does.

He’s her brother. Minus the blood and title, of course, but her brother all the same. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“For what?”

“You’re picking me up,” she states plainly, and you almost laugh.

Almost.

But she sounds serious, and you’ve seen Maxine angry and you don’t want to be in the line of fire on the receiving end if she ever explodes.

“I’m picking you up,” you agree, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Just…I know you’re my boss, but don’t hurt him, okay?”

“Gosh, Max—no. I…I lo—really care about him.”

“So I’ll see you in fifteen?” She says, as if she knows the exact distance between yours and the Munson’s.

And you suppose she does after all this time.

You nod, even though she can’t see you, and say, “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

You’re there in twelve, the roads zooming on by as you turn and weave through the pathways that are almost second nature now. Muscle memory, because of all the time you’ve spent with them. With his family, who has, in a way, sort of become yours as well.

She’s there as she said she would be, sitting on the front step to the little home, hair billowing around her in the wind.

She drops down into your passenger seat without a word. The sound of her buckle sliding into place greets your ears, her dirty shoes kicking out before her, that delicate profile of hers set into a firm look.

“I heard what you said, you know?” She says after some time.

It’s quiet, a little lilting, her lips curling a bit at the edges. You know that look. It’s the same look she’s given Eddie after catching him in a state of disarray after a night spent making out with you like the two of you are teenagers all over again, and not twenty-three year olds with careers and rent to pay.

“What do you mean?” It’s a trap. You know it is, but you’ll give in just this once.

“I heard you start to say you love him,” she teases, tongue sticking out slightly.

It’s the truth.

It’s not a hard thing to do—falling for Eddie Munson, that is.

And still, your heart thunders away at the thought of it. For years you’ve spent trying to never form lasting connections with others. You’re in and out of places quicker than you can, never getting too close, never making those lasting ties.

And now you’ve gone and tied yourself to him, a single strand, an invisible string that tethers you to him.

It’s terrifying, and still there’s this sense of peace that fills your blood. Cool it before it can sizzle and burn.

“You definitely said it,” she says once more, as if you didn’t hear her the first time.

But you did. You said the words and you heard her, but she’s not the first person you want to say them to.

The person who deserves them the most is currently hiding out at Steve Harrington’s home, likely reliving the pain of the events of two years ago, exposed like a nerve by someone who only wants the worst for you.

You suppose you can’t fault Chance, either. You saw the pain in his eyes. The grief over the loss of his friends.

Three.

Three in a lifetime is already too much, but three in one week is a tragedy.

There’s no denying that fact.

‘He doesn’t know half of it…’

Max’s words swirl in your mind. Over and over again on an endless loop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, but there’s a slow smirk sliding across your lips, fingers curling around the steering wheel as you peel out of the Munson’s driveway, heading in the direction of Steve Harrington’s family home.

It’s on the way that Max starts to talk, warning you in a sense, of what you’re about to hear.

“It’s…a lot to take in,” she says, and there’s a seriousness in her tone unfamiliar to you.

She’s usually always meddling with the kids, the rowdier and more hot headed one of the bunch. You’ve seen her interact with her friends, always just as fiery and explosive as her friends. You’ve seen her get angry with Eddie till her face turns red. But there’s always this sense of ease that accompanies it.

A laugh at the end of a snide remark, a smirk, a gentle tilt of the lips.

It’s not present this time, and an uneasiness settles into your blood.

“Just…when they tell you, promise me you’ll keep an open mind. You’re going to hear things that sound impossible, and that’s because honestly even we thought they were, but it’s…the truth. It’s the truth that the media swallowed up, the truth the government hid. But it doesn’t make it not real—it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And it’s crap because the world moved on, and yet we were left to deal with it.”

She means your friends.

You know that.

The fact that this ‘they’ she speaks of telling you this tale is the same group of kids that you’ve grown to know, your friends you’ve flourished with all these months, the man you’re falling in love with.

“Max, I just want to know the truth. So whatever you all say, I’m here to listen. I want to know. It’s important that I know,” you tell her seriously, pulling into the driveway to the sprawling home.

Your head slams against the headrest of your driver’s seat, hands coming up to cup over your eyes. Your breath draws right in your lungs, eyes burning from the prick of tears. A new fear dawns, unwanted and unbidden.

You voice it, a quiet strain of your voice that comes out as a broken sob. A fearful questioning of, “What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he hates me?”

“He couldn’t,” she tells you, voice stern.

“What if he does, though? You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He was there, but he wasn’t. It’s like he went away in his mind and he didn’t want me there.”

She chuckles. “Have you seen the way that idiot looks at you? It’s honestly disgusting. All puppy dog eyes and goo.” You break out into a watery laugh and, satisfied, she continues, “Look—Chance’s friends…well, not Chrissy, but Chance’s friends are assholes. I’m not saying they got what they deserved, because no one deserves to die. But they were terrible to him. He probably saw Chance and saw you and thought he’d turned you against him. Just like they turned the whole town against him in eighty six.”

There are no words that come to mind after what she says. After the truth she reveals. You’re not sure of what it even means, and yet you think of your customers in your early days or the shop opening. The way some, however rarely, would look at him and mutter amongst themselves when he happened to stop by. You remember the woman at the supermarket with her blonde hair and haunting eyes. The depth of her warning as she stood beside you on line at the register, telling you Eddie wasn’t a good man, telling him he should have never come back.

You think of the fact Eddie moved out of his own childhood home to make room for Max. But you also recall how much freer he is when he’s out of town. His smiles come easier, he seems lighter…brighter, without the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

The pieces start to slide into place, a push here, a click there. You think of your puzzle he’d brought you both for your first date, now finished and tucked away. How the image became clearer and clearer with each passing moment.

It’s the same now.

That clarity that takes shape.

The reasons why Eddie’s open in some regards, and keeps others very close to his chest. The evasions he’s had to create in his backstory with you, to protect you from the truth of it all.

To protect you from the danger of it, if what Max claims is true.

“Are you ready?” Max’s voice stirs you from your silent reverie. A quiet beckon. A soft lilt that drags you from your thoughts.

You’re not.

There’s nothing that can ever prepare you for what you are about to hear, and yet you twist the key in the ignition all the same. You tug your keys free and toss them into your pocketbook, opening your car door without another word. Max tips her head over the roof of your vehicle, looking to you for reassurance…or merely to see how you’re doing—you’re not really sure. But you dip your head all the same, shutting the door into place, fingers trailing along metal and window, heart racing in your chest at what you are about to enter into.

The walk to the front door is harrowing. You don’t really know what to expect. Max gives you a warning, sure, but nothing compares to reality. Especially not as you knock on the front door and Robin is there to greet you. She offers a kind smile and a hug, her voice quiet as she mutters she’s happy you’re both there. Max glances over her shoulder as you enter the home, your eyes trailing the insides. You’ve been here multiple times, but it feels different now. There’s a whole world you’re not privy to—a world that Eddie’s been a part of, Max and Robin, Steve and the others. The world that those who warned you of this town only spoke of as if they were conspiracies. The gates of hell, satanic cults, gruesome deaths. The fact there are some truths there weighs heavily on your mind, hands shaking a bit as you enter the kitchen and Steve is there to greet you with a warm hug.

You wonder briefly if Charlotte knows. If she’s privy to the world outside of your own that your friends have dealt with. This unshakeable strength they all seem to hold. But you hug him all the same, heart hammering away against his as your arms come to wrap around his neck, his breath a comforting puff against your ear. He steps back momentarily to look at you, all long dark hair, wrinkles high against his forehead. He’s too young for those, but they linger all the same, written into his features alongside the pain you see so clearly there now. The pain of the unknown swirling in your gut, the unknown that has Max reaching across the space between you to curl her hand in your own, squeezing tight.

You squeeze her hand back and look at both your friends as they stand before you, merely basking in silence, all your minds a swirling mass of chaos. Robin speaks first, voice wobbly, words fast and disconcerting in your ears. “He’s…he’s not doing well, babe. He came here a wreck. He never intended for you to find out this way.”

You know that. You do.

It’s why you’ve always been respectful. It’s why you’ve always been weary of what Eddie wants, why you’ve made it a mission to always have an open heart and open mind toward him. And in a few moments Chance had thrown it all into the wind. Obliterated the safety net you were forging, the space you wanted Eddie to live in—to thrive in.

“Max…she warned you, right?” It’s Steve who asks next. The boy with the loud and boisterous personality, always a little piqued, and yet he’s serious now. Guarded toward his best friend. Your heart swells because Eddie has people like these; people who will defend him tooth and nail, even from you.

Even from the woman who has spent nearly every day with him for the past few months.

And still, you nod all the same, your hand still entwined with Max’s. “Max…she warned me.”

Steve and Robin pass one another a look, and you’re brought into the living room. It’s dark there, the lights dimmer than you remember, your friends settling down in different areas about the room. Steve and Robin to the couch. Max on the floor. There are two seats brought out into the living area, set there like they were expected to be there all along. Separated by a few inches sure, but placed there with intent. You glance down at the one, wondering if it’s meant for you, and catch the stiff nod from Steve as you eye the wood carefully.

You drop down into it and hear the slow slide of a door in the distance, the tall form of Eddie catching your eye.

He’s as beautiful as you saw him last. A picture of black, red and white before your eyes. His eyes dark, his shoulders hard, body lithe and lean. You think of those moments from early this morning, his arms around your waist, chest against your back. Lips at your ear as he whispered what you meant to him, as he kissed you like you were the most precious thing in his life. Unbreakable, like he meant to keep you. Like he meant to hold you safe for the rest of his days. You know he means it now, can see it in the way his eyes flicker as they meet yours, as water clouds those swirling depths of chocolate brown.

There’s love there.

It’s not lost on you as he scans the room and lands on yours, holding for a moment, whispering those unspoken words into the space between you.

Unmistakable and yours alone.

You will the same into your eyes as he settles down beside you, legs spread wide, cup of whatever he’s drinking poised at the ready in his hand.

He says nothing. Remains stoic as Steve and Robin straighten in their seats, cushions of the couch forgotten as their elbows lean onto thighs, ready to regale their tales of this world outside their own.

The part of you that’s grown to love him over these months wishes to reach out to him. You want to stretch your hand into the space between you and curl your fingers within his own. To comfort him in the way you know only you can—body, mind and soul. But he remains in the gap between you, separated by inches that feel like miles. There’s a moment, however brief, when his fingers twitch against his thigh and you wonder if he intends to reach across and touch you.

But he never does.

He never does, and you suppose you cannot be upset with him for that.

He’s hard lines, harsh beauty, and adamant walls.

Impenetrable.

Fierce.

You pray they don’t remain that way—that your months of progress don't reverse in a moment's time.

Steve glances about the room, between his best friend Robin beside him, down to where Max sits staring at Eddie on the floor, Eddie with his grim expression as his eyes meet hers, and then lastly on you when he exhales and says, “What we’re about to tell you, you can’t tell anyone. It stays a secret, it stays within the group.”

“It stays within the party,” Max adds, shifting away from Eddie’s stare enough to look at you. “It’ll mean you’re part of it.”

“One of the family.” Robin laughs weakly, passing you a sympathetic smile. “Part of our dysfunctional family.”

Your eyes shift amongst them with a swallow, and then slide briefly to Eddie’s. There’s…there's something there. A softness, a quiet whisper behind his gaze, but you don’t know what it means. Can’t decipher the meaning behind how he looks at you; you just know it curls deep within the pit of your belly, makes you warm, reminds you it’ll be okay.

Everything will be okay.

“I’ll take it with me to the grave,” you tell Steve.

His hand cards through those long strands of dark hair and he stands up from the couch, walking across the room to tend to the fire churning in the fireplace. Once he’s happy with the flames sparking and dancing within, his hand comes to rest on the ledge, his other hand resting on his hip as he glances down at a dirty spot on the carpet.

“I guess we’ll start from the beginning then…”

And it begins.

*

They start from the beginning. With the missing boy Will. With Will, who you know and works at your shop. Kind, sweet Will with the world on his shoulders and nothing but love inside his heart.

Steve recounts the loss of Barbara Holland, a friend of Nancy’s. You learn about the gate that opened in Hawkins to another world. This Upside Down that sounds as harrowing as it truly is.

You learn early on that El has superpowers. She has psionic capabilities, can lift things with her mind, step into alternate dimensions when she goes away in her mind.

El, with her dark hair and bright soul. That innocence that always seems to burn bright behind her gaze.

El, who you learn has fought monsters bigger than her.

Steve walks you through that first encounter with the Upside Down, the demogorgon he faced, his words careful as he explains the appearance to you. A standing, hulking monster, with endless rows of teeth, intent to bring death to those that encounter it.

You’re told about their next encounters.

Max moves to town with her family. Her crappy step-father, her late step-brother, and her late mother move in and immediately she’s thrown into this world she’s never planned for. Apparently Dustin finds some sort of tadpole creature that eventually grows into a demodog. Another monster like the one Steve explained earlier, but this time there are multiple, and they move in what seem to be packs. You learn about Will’s possession by the Mind Flayer, the loss of their friend Bob, their first experience with the ‘hive mind.’

“It all sort of…works in tandem,” Max clarifies. “All tied to one power source.”

El closes the gate this time, they tell you, and for a while it seems everything is okay again. They start to heal, the kids begin to go back to their normal lives, Steve and Robin start working at the Starcourt Mall.

“That parking lot that’s still empty?” It’s your first question in a while, you’ve simply been taking in everything they have to say, trying to be respectful of their experience.

“Yes,” Robin says, frowning as Max glances down at her shoelaces.

Eddie watches the younger girl like a hawk. His face is tight and drawn as Max says, “My brother didn’t die in a fire.”

It’s July and the kids are on summer break. All is well in Hawkins. They’re having fun, being kids, living for the first time in a long time. And then there’s the issue of Billy. Billy, who has always been rough around the edges. Not a good person at all, from what you’ve been told, but he had been alive and had been well one day, and then the next it was like he was different.

Max recalls him being a lot of blank stares in his room, a lot more standoffish. But there becomes this issue around Hawkins, of people becoming aggressive, something to do with kitchen chemicals? And a girl at the pool Billy worked at had gone missing.

Heather, Max explains.

As this is all going on, Steve and Robin explain their encounters with Russian code and their involvement with a secret organization taking place quite literally inside the belly of the mall.

There’s a Mind Flayer building an army, some gigantic beast of a thing, that towers over the building. The same thing that had put itself inside of Will, the same thing that also puts itself inside of Billy.

Your head spins with it all, from the explanation of how Robin and Steve were tortured for information inside the Russian base, to Max and the other kids fighting this monster inside of their friend Hopper’s home. There’s the battle at the Starcourt Mall, when they’re all later reunited, where Max watched her brother die after laying his life down to protect her and her friends.

It’s overwhelming.

Your chest aches, and you’re grateful when Eddie calls the meeting to a halt, catching the glittery tears on Max’s cheeks that she tries to swipe away when no one is looking.

Eddie slips out of the room with the younger girl in tow. There’s a brief moment he makes eye contact with you, his mouth working slowly like he anticipates saying something before thinking better of it.

It’s been only hours and yet you feel like he’s been gone longer, the sting of the emotional distance between you two burning deep in your chest.

*

“Babe, don’t take it personally, okay?” Robin runs a hand up and down your arm, pouring you a glass of something strong and full of ice.

Your face pinches as you take a sip, throat burning from the harsh bite of whatever she’s put into the concoction. “What is this? Battery acid?”

“Very likely,” Steve muses from the doorway, coming to loop an arm around your shoulders. You lean into his side, seeking out the comfort of a friend in the moment. His fingers curl around your skin, giving you a squeeze. “They went for a walk. Eddie said they’ll be back in five. The next part…it’s Eddie’s bit. It’s what happened back in March and…it’s a lot. He’s never really shared it outside of the group. He wanted to tell you before…you know, before Chance. He told me he wanted to. He was finally ready.”

Your heart clenches at the thought. Here Eddie was, ready to open up to you fully and bare his soul to you, and Chance came along to throw a wrench into the whole thing. Robbed Eddie of the opportunity that was meant for him all along.

“I just…a whole world underneath Hawkins?” Your throat swells around the words, around the reality of what you’ve been told the past few hours.

Before you came here, you heard all these ludicrous rumors about the happenings of the small town you were running to. To know they’re fact, to know they’ve been hidden behind lies and government workings—it’s a crazy reality to swallow. A world where monsters exist and walk the earth, a world where gates to new dimensions exist.

It’s your world now.

“And El—having powers?”

Robin comes forward to join you on your other side, sliding a hand into the center of your back. “I felt the same when I found out.”

You feel the need to sit. To really soak in the words swirling around in your brain like little specks of confetti twirling to the ground. Dozens of strands of thoughts in an endless funnel of wind and disarray. But you lean into the warmth of your friends instead, relishing in their closeness, when the glass door to the outside slides open and Eddie and Max reappear.

She’s a little red in the face. Bitten and kissed by the wind, but the rims around her eyes catch your attention next. The telltale sign she’s been crying, paired with that of her sleeve dragging along the bottom of her nose, bumping her glasses that always sit a little too loosely on her face.

Eddie’s dark eyes scan your face, like he’s shocked you’re still there, and you pass him a weak smile. There’s the barest of twitches in his face, and most would miss it, but he offers you that.

A slight smile.

You’ll take it.

“Are we good to keep going?” Robin asks, glancing about the room.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Eddie says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him speak in hours. It jolts you, drawing a wince out of him.

Robin turns back to you, eying your drink in your hand as the others head back into the living area. “You might want to keep that close.”

She’s not wrong.

Eddie’s fingers toy with the silver of his rings, twirling them round and round low against his knuckles. “So, uh, it’s March…of eighty six and, you know, I’m still the Freak around town. So you can imagine I’m just a tad confused when Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen of Hawkins High, comes to me for a deal.” His eyes flash to yours, a grimace pulling at his mouth. “Used to deal. Don’t anymore, but—I, ah, yeah, sorry sweetheart. But Chrissy is not herself. I didn’t really know her much, but she’s just perpetually happy. I mean, I guess she had to be. Cheerleading captain, about to be valedictorian, friends with everyone. So I meet her in the woods behind the school and she looks scared as shit. Like—maybe I should have paid more attention to it, maybe that was my mistake, but…she asks me for ketamine.”

You train your eyes on Eddie as he speaks. He’s a shadow before you, hollows of his features glowing from the orange hue spilling from the mouth of the fireplace. He’s all long limbs spread out, legs before him, slender and spidery, bent as his back rests against the wooden chair. His hands rest against his thighs, where he continues to twirl the metal around his digits, head bent low and mind seemingly back in the forest that day in eighty six.

“I…brought her back to my trailer that night and I couldn't find the ketamine. So I leave her in the damn living room and when I come back she’s just standing there. Blank face, nothing behind her eyes, just gone. And I’m yelling at her over and over and over again, but whatever this thing is that’s pulling at her just…she never hears me. I wonder if she did, even now. Like if she knew I was trying to save her and—” He pauses as your hand curls around his kneecap, and you worry for a moment he’s going to push you away, to reject this comfort, but his hand slides over your own and squeezes lightly.

He doesn’t let go.

What he explains next has your throat closing around the truth of it. Chance’s words swirl in your ears. The fact Jason Carver, fueled by jealousy over being cuckolded by Eddie Munson, killed his girlfriend. But the reality is that much more horrifying. Because Eddie recounts the moments with ultra clarity, the memory of them burned into his retinas for the rest of his life, of the girl levitating above the ground. The way her body stretched across the ceiling as her bones snapped one by one in her body, before she died right before his eyes.

“We all met…that next day,” Max says with a bitter laugh, gesturing between Eddie and the rest of the group, including herself.

So they were bound by the untimely death of Chrissy, Steve explains, recalling how they all went looking for Eddie with Dustin’s help, because Max had seen flickering lights coming from Eddie’s trailer and disrupting her own, just before he had run.

A sign of the Upside Down. Their first sign that Eddie had been innocent in all of it.

“Held a glass bottle to my throat,” Steve laughs as he explains those tense few moments of their ‘friendship.’

“You kind of deserved it. Jabbed me right in the ribs with that oar,” Eddie says, but there’s a lightness to his tone reserved for his loved ones. “His name was Vecna. This…thing, this person, responsible for cursing Chrissy. And…Fred, Patrick, and Max.”

Your eyes flicker up to Max at Eddie’s admission, blue eyes flashing with your own. “Max.”

“The asshole cursed me,” she says simply. “So what happened to Chrissy, what happened to Fred, we knew was likely coming my way. And it did—but we found a solution.”

“Thank goodness for that Walkman,” Robin exhales. “We found that music could bring people out of Vecna’s…soupy mind trance. Happy memories, favorite moments, your favorite song.”

“The song you could listen to over and over again on repeat…” You mutter the words out, feeling your eyes burn at the memory of Eddie asking you for yours so many weeks ago in your apartment.

“What’s your favorite song? If you had to pick one, what would it be? The one you can play over and over again and never get bored of?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly, the words meant only for you. Your stomach twists painfully. “That one.”

Proof he cared, even then.

It’s a race against a clock.

It’s not long before Eddie’s a suspect in the murders he never committed, and it’s paired with the looming threat over Max’s life. One night in particular, Robin tells you, Jason Carver and his friends find Eddie at the boathouse and come with weapons in hand. You know their intention, from the way Eddie’s breath catches, was never to merely talk about the situation.

Hunt the Freak, he tells you bitterly, recalling those moments out on Lover’s Lake, just before Patrick suffered the same fate as Chrissy.

Two.

Eddie watches two people die that week.

You shudder out a breath as they tell you about the Upside Down. As Steve tugs the neck of his sweater down enough to show you the lines around his throat, and then slips up the side of his sweater enough to show you the scarring on his side that looks like a splash of sun against his skin. It reminds you of the ones that litter Eddie’s arms, the smaller ones on his face and neck, the ridges of his abdomen you barely felt before he pulled away from you.

“We’re, like, the most screwed up blood brothers to exist,” Steve says bitterly, his shirt dropping down into place. “Matching scars and all.”

“Demobats,” Robin explains, shuddering at the end. “Scary little shitheads.”

It paints a picture for you—clearer now than ever before.

Fills the gaps in your understanding over these nine months.

Yet another memory flashing behind your eyes of Eddie in your kitchen. Of wings and claws and the sound of skittering against your window. The choked breath from Eddie’s lungs that suddenly stopped working. The panic attack he suffers in your kitchen.

You think you start to grasp an understanding as they talk about how a plan began to form. They gathered a bunch of weapons with the intention of using Max and Eddie and Dustin to create distractions for Vecna. To give enough time for the others to try and kill him. But even the best laid plans go to hell—and it’s proven correct in both aspects.

Eddie and Max, to make things simpler, both die that night.

Max, with her limbs broken and mangled, blood dripping from her eyes. And Eddie, with his flesh torn into over and over again, countless rows of teeth sinking into skin, taking pieces of him, ripping him into ribbons, robbing him of life.

It chokes you. Chokes Eddie as Steve explains the parts of the story Eddie’s mouth can’t work around. The gaps are still too raw to fill in by himself. You don’t blame him.

You press the heel of your palm into your eyes, feeling Eddie’s fingers tighten around your own, the severity in his gaze making the room come crashing around you.

“Eddie never…he never murdered any of those people,” Max says, but you know that.

You’ve known that.

In the end, Eddie spends a few weeks in the hospital.

Max spends months there.

His name is cleared relatively swiftly. Steve is a bit cagey as to how they manage to get Eddie’s name pulled from any further headlines, but you know it’s because there was nothing to hold together a case against him.

Jason is suddenly the blame for the events that occurred, and laid to rest on that March day.

It’s a lot to process.

The room feels heavy with it, thick in a way that reminds you of honey. Sticky, yet missing all that sweetness.

Steve suggests you all stay for the night. Get some rest. Recount the stories in the morning.

It’s been hours and every inch of your body aches from work and your eyes feel tired, burning with the unshed tears lingering on your lash line.

Steve lets you borrow some of his things, an oversized sweatshirt, some pants you need to roll up multiple times, and leads you and Eddie down the hall of the second story to the home, pausing in front of a bedroom.

“It’s a guest room,” he says, gesturing inside. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Goodnight, you two.”

It’s normal for you to expect mirth or a deeper scheme behind Steve’s eyes. The sense of teasing there that you’ve grown to know and love, and yet standing before that bedroom in the lonely hall has you unsure of where to look, Steve only whistles and shifts awkwardly before leaving you to your solitude. Neither of you speaks for a time, bodies shifting in the darkness, not touching and awkward.

This morning you had been curled as tight as two could be, your spine to his chest, your thighs to his, those strong arms of his wrapped around your waist, his chin over your shoulder, lips to your ear.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he whispered.

Your heart stuttered. Faltered from the weight of what he was saying. Your fingers slid up to curl into his hair, his face leaning into your touch. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before either, Eddie.”

It was the truth then, it’s still the truth now, and yet there’s a chasm that grows wider by the second in that hallway, and for fear of watching it grow anymore, you take the initiative and push past the man to slip inside the guest room.

Neither of you speaks as you move about the room and take in your surroundings. There’s a simple dresser in one corner, a lamp on a stand that sits in another, and there’s only one bed.

One.

It’s a thought that might have thrilled you some other time, and now it only fills you with a maelstrom of emotions. In the past few hours your conversations have been reduced to sparing words, your touches to brushes of fingers. And now there’s a silence that screams between you, those murky depths curling and lapping at your ankles.

You drop your borrowed clothes onto the bed, glancing over your shoulder to where Eddie stands awkwardly in the doorway. The fullness of his form is outlined in golden light emanating from the hall, those dark eyes of his searching.

“You can take the bathroom,” you tell him, “I’ll tell you when I’m done and you can come out.”

He’s seen you in nothing but a pair of jeans before, yet somehow changing around him feels more intimate. Especially with the disquiet between you two. So there’s no protests on his part as he reaches into the side dresser, as if he’s done this before, and snatches a pair of pants and a shirt from within. He opens his mouth to speak and you feel your soul soar for a moment, before he’s snapping it shut again and slipping inside.

When the door clicks shut, you let out a shaky breath and change in silence.

*

Eddie knocks on the bathroom door moments later, your voice beckoning him out when you’re finally and fully dressed again. You’re moving about and folding your original clothes up onto the dresser when he moves to go sit down on the bed and you maneuver around him to get ready for sleep.

He watches you in silence as you wash your face and brush your teeth, wiping down the countertops after, a habit from working at Sunshine Coffee for so long now. You know why you’re really doing it, though. It’s a temporary distraction from the deeper issue at hand: the rift between the two of you.

Sighing, you slip back into the bedroom and walk around to the opposite side of the bed closest to the lamp and slide underneath the covers. Eddie watches, still upright, as you turn onto your side and reach over, asking if you can shut the light.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that’s fine,” he says softly from behind you, and the room drowns in darkness.

You pinch your eyes shut to try and get some rest, chest aching, heart clanging like a damn cymbal, but your mind only spins. You’re certain you’ll find no rest tonight, only the dizzying free fall of your wandering thoughts.

That is, until the bed dips beside you and you feel Eddie pull back the covers, sliding down against the mattress to rest a head on the pillow beside you. You feel his hand accidentally brush your hip and from behind you a following, “Sorry,” that spills through his lips.

You laugh, because it just feels so silly.

You’re not mad at him, but there’s still this disturbance hanging in the air. The worry to push him beyond his boundaries, beyond what he feels comfortable with now after sharing his past with you. If he wants to remain in silence, you want him to remain in silence. You want whatever he wants—whatever he needs at the moment.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, his voice tight.

“Nothing…I just—nothing.”

He doesn’t speak for a bit. Only settles down far enough on the other side of the bed you can feel the heat radiating from him, but not even the ghost of touch from his form.

A beat of silence passes.

And then—

“Sweetheart, I hate this.”

Your head nuzzles further into your pillow, voice a little shaky as you whisper back, “What do you mean?”

“I left earlier because I thought the worst. I thought—I thought you believed him. Wouldn’t be the first time someone was turned against me,” he says a little breathlessly. Jason. Jason did that. And the ramifications of it are still present to this day; you’ve seen it first hand. “That was dumb as shit for me to think. I…I wanted to tell you. I was going to, he just beat me to it first. Should have come from me, should have been sooner, should have—”

“Eddie, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, though.”

“Seriously it’s—”

“I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry,” he says, and you shatter.

Eyes flush against your cheeks, lashes dancing along the topmost points of your cheekbones, you mutter, “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. At all. I need you to understand that.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to me? You’re all the way on the other side of the bed. You won’t even look at me.”

“Because I know how hard tonight was and I didnt want to push you. Eddie, what you told me tonight…it’s important and it’s huge and the fact you’ve trusted me with it means everything to me. But I also want you to take the time you need. Process what you’re feeling and all of that.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Where you’re too nice,” he says. “I just want to hold you.”

“Then hold me, Eddie. You never need permission to hold me,” you whisper back, sighing as his arm comes to loop around your waist and tug you flush against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Your fingers drag slowly around his bare forearm, feeling gooseflesh pimple the surface of his skin. “For what happened. For what Chance did. For eighty six. For all the people who have been unkind to you. I wish they could all see what I see.”

You roll over then, seeking his face in the dark. His eyes are molten honey, soft in a way that has your fingers seeking the warmth of his chest over his tee shirt, feeling the divots and lines of his abdomen against fingertips. He’s lean and lithe and perfectly yours, with a heart that melts yours.

He just never sees it that way. But you suppose that’s what loving someone means. It's choosing them, even when they don’t choose themselves. It’s the good and bad days, not just the ones that are bright shades of orange, pinks and reds behind rose-colored glasses. It’s standing by them no matter the circumstances, supporting them fully. It’s the whole hearted acceptance that resides in your heart for him.

For who he was, who he is now, and who he will be.

“I’m happy you know now,” he says, rubbing a thumb along the bump of your chin affectionately. “I’m tired of being nervous. I’m tired of the constant looking over my shoulder and running. It’s been almost three years.”

“It takes time, Eddie.”

Your fingers reach up to cup the curve of his jaw, dancing along the scarring there. It still kills you to know he’d been broken and on the brink of death in the middle of this other world that resides beneath your own.

That he had been inches from death and still held on, only to find the world outside just as cruel as the one that nearly killed him.

“What you’ve been through—what you’ve all been through,” you start, exhaling as his forehead drops closer to your own, pressing there to linger. “It changes you. There’s no way it couldn’t. And yet you’re all still living, you’re all still loving and showing your past that it can’t rule you. You’re so brave. I don’t think you’re running anymore.”

“I don’t want to,” his fingers slide down along the slope of your face, the line of your throat, skipping along your collarbone. “You’re the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up.”

“You’re the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time.” His hand slides down the slope of your shoulder, along your bicep. “We’re bound to make mistakes. But we get to make them together. It’s a learning process.”

“I’ve never been good at that,” he teases, chuckling lightly.

“It might be a steep learning curve, but I think we’ve got it.”

His fingers trail down your forearm, before tangling in the space between the two of you on the mattress. He lifts your hand and brings the center of your palm to his lips, presses a kiss to the center there, eyes lingering on your face.

“We’re good?” He asks against your skin, his eyes practically molten in the night.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

He sighs in relief, biting softly at the skin at the heel of your palm, earning a laugh from you. You’re about to protest when his face pushes into your collar bone and he practically drapes himself over you, his long limbs tangling with your own.

“What would your friends think knowing you’re basically a koala bear in bed?”

“I’ll deny it,” he mumbles against your skin, the outline of his smile making your stomach tumble.

Your fingers come to curl in the tangle of his dark mass of hair at the back of his head and hold him as close as he can possibly be to your frame. “I’m glad you stopped running, Eddie. I don’t think we’d have met if you didn’t. And I’m really glad we met. Really, really glad.”

His head lifts at your words, those dark eyes of his searching your face in the barely lit room. He brushes the bump of your chin again with his thumb, resting it in the dip below your lip. His eyes flicker southward, and you lean forward a bit, just as he presses his mouth to yours, silencing all other thoughts from your mind.

There’s only this moment, this bedroom sequestered away from the world, these hands holding you, this boy kissing you, whispering how much he cares for you, and your hearts full to the brim because the world lies ahead and it’s yours for the taking.

There is no more running.

*

The next morning dawns bright for a winter day.

The first official day, really.

It’s all pearlescent skies, overcast, pale clouds stretched in what looks like a blanket across it. It looks like it’ll snow, the news forecasting a foot of it just before the holidays.

It’s how you wake up beside Eddie that next morning. His arms slung low about your hips, his breath at your ear, the curtains parted enough to allow you the view of the backyard.

Your fingers dance along the tops of his hands, along the hair along his forearm.

Today feels different somehow.

Your relationship has taken a new turn. A hurdle overcome. Now there’s only a blank canvas—open spaces to fill with new memories.

Eddie also sleeps easily. The few times you’ve slept beside him he’s either not slept at all and waited for the sun to rise and you to head off to work to finally allow himself rest once the night bled into day, or has fallen asleep and woken up in the throes of a nightmare or tossed and turned in his restlessness.

Now his chest rises and falls steadily at your back, his mind quieting enough for him to do so. You shift slowly, gently enough so as to not wake him, onto your side to look up at him. He’s all smooth edges now. The wrinkle between his brows is gone, face unmarked by any thoughts warring in his mind, those pillowy lips of his parted slightly. He looks younger than his twenty three years. Your fingers trail up to touch his cheek, fingertips running along smooth pale skin, earning a sigh from the man.

A hand at your back presses you closer to him, a little ‘oof’ spilling from your lips as your face meets his chest and his head comes to rest at the top of yours.

“What day is it?” He mumbles against your head.

“Saturday. We’re both off.”

“Oh,” he hums thoughtfully. “So we have the day to do nothing.”

“No, we have the day to go shopping. You haven’t gotten any Christmas presents and we have four days until the big day,” you remind him. “We’re spending it at the Wheeler’s, remember?”

You’d anticipated spending the holidays with Eddie at the very least. Your own family was traveling to Florida to seek out warmer weather instead of the bitter cold of Hawkins. Had brushed off your invitation with a simple, “Next time, honey.”

Nancy’s invitation came later. She’d cornered you at a get together over at Steve’s and said she’d really like you to come. That her house was more than large enough and that her parents were looking to have everyone get together. The more the merrier.

You were over the moon about it. Your first real “family” holiday season.

He only groans.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll spend the whole day together wrapping gifts and watching movies.”

“With Max.” He says it like he doesn’t enjoy her company, but you know he doesn’t mean it.

“Yes, with Max. She has shopping to do as well.”

He huffs out a laugh that warms your skin. “We have vastly different ideas of fun.” He pushes back just enough to drop a kiss to your forehead, before shifting up onto his elbows. “We should probably head downstairs soon. I hear them moving around in the kitchen. They’ll be looking for us.” He leans down to press his lips into the curve of your neck, sighing. “Just wanna stay here instead.”

For emphasis, he drops back down and hugs you tight, resting his head against your collar bone.

In the end, you win out, managing to extricate Eddie long enough to dress and ready for the new day. In the kitchen, Steve stands over the stove, working up some breakfast, while Max and Robin sit at the kitchen table, faces impassive as the two of you slip back into the room. When they notice the way his hand brushes your back as he slides a chair out and you move to take a seat, the mild discomfort fizzles and conversation resumes.

“Did you two sleep well last night?” Steve asks, waving his spatula like a sword for emphasis. “It’s almost ten.”

“Like a baby, Harrington.”

You snort at Eddie’s words, thanking Max as she hands you and Eddie steaming cups of coffee just as she knows you like them. You thank her, smiling warmly.

“You two kiss and make up? Because I’m not about to spend the day with you two pouring at each other non stop,” Max asks, nonplussed.

You choke a little on your coffee.

Eddie’s face hardens.

“Red.”

“What?”

She shrugs, biting into a strawberry as Steve starts shoveling breakfast onto everyone’s plates.

Your chest warms.

*

In the end you manage to get all the shopping you need to do finished.

It’s not without its struggles, however.

Max and Eddie separate are two different storms.

Max with her fiery, sometimes explosive energy. Not to mention that deadpan that endears you to her, her open opinions, the brashness in which she lives her life.

And then there’s Eddie. Charismatic and explosive like her, all frenetic energy as he moves in and out of stores, looking for the perfect gifts for those he cares about most.

She urges him to hurry up, he barks back at her to let him think.

It’s a constant back and forth that has you both amused and frightened, because you’re never quite sure if they’re seconds away from fighting in the mall. Onlookers question if the two of them are okay, to which you mutter back “siblings” and they nod in understanding, like they know exactly what that implies.

And later, as the three of you return to his dimly lit apartment, illuminated only by the Christmas tree the two of you lovingly decorated together, you bask in the warmth of their familial bond. The way the two of them curl up together on the couch watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas as you work on putting together something to eat for dinner. Every so often you glance over your shoulder, catching the way Eddie’s arm curls around the younger teen, how she seeks out his warmth.

It dawns on you—the depth of this moment. These two souls are so willingly open to allow you into their lives. Into their hearts. It’s taken time, months really, and the fact they trust you wholeheartedly now is not lost on you. You’ve never had a close family. Always absent, leaving you to your own devices.

You understand Max and Eddie are a family now, bound by unexplainable trauma, and yet they are family all the same. And in a way, though you wouldn’t voice it to them right now, watching them from afar like this…them allowing you into the safety of this moment…it almost feels like family for you, too.

This overwhelming sense of belonging that curls around your insides, makes them warm, brings a wave of tears to your eyes. Eddie catches the glitter on your lashes, untangling himself from Max just as you dip your head into your shoulder, ladle spinning through your freshly made sauce, trying to hide yourself from his sight.

“Hey, hey. Don’t you hide from me,” he urges, tapping at your cheek, earning a watery laugh from you.

“‘M fine,” you mumble, sniffling noisily. The tears recede and lift your gaze to his to prove it to him, but Eddie remains at your side, curling an arm around your hip to drag you close. “Really, I promise.”

He presses his forehead into your cheek. “Let me see that smile.” You snort as his lips smack a kiss there, loud enough to draw Max’s attention.

You hear her scoff, her drawl of distaste, but there’s a smile on her face all the same.

“Just feeling really happy is all,” you reassure him, a smile sliding onto your face.

He slides a hand down your arm and curls his fingers into your own, squeezing your tangled digits. “I know what you mean.”

The three of you eat your chicken parmigiana in comfortable silence, Eddie only groaning every so often in enthusiasm over the fact he’s being fed. You snort, knowing very early on in your friendship that the best way to Eddie Munson’s heart was through his stomach.

Later, it’s Max and you sitting at the kitchen table wrapping gifts as you walk Eddie through baking a tray of cookies. You’ve already successfully wrapped the gifts you all got for Wayne, as well as the smaller gifts for the kids and your friends. Eddie had told you he’s terrible at wrapping gifts, at which you had told him it’s not about the wrapping but the fact love was put into the package. But he reassures you all the same he’ll be better put to use doing something else. So you’d set him up with some baking supplies in his small kitchen, and gathered things for you and Max to get started with.

“Small round circles,” you tell him, watching his fingers hesitantly roll dough within his palms, now bare from their usual rings.

“He’s really got the easier job,” Max grumbles.

She’s been…struggling, to say the least. Every so often she curses under her breath when a tab of tape gets stuck to her fingers instead of the package, or she doesn’t have enough paper to cover a box because she underestimated. You try to assist her as much as she’ll allow, but she reassures you over and over again she’s fine (she’s not) and that she doesn’t need help (she does).

“Why is that, Red?” Eddie asks, the line of flour on his cheek a slash of white against his face.

And there on the table, in a mess of crinkly red paper and endless tabs of tape keeping things positioned in place, lies one of Lucas’ gifts.

She holds it up with an uneasy laugh and Eddie tries to hide his own chuckles into the lip of his coffee cup.

It’s not perfect, no, but this moment is.

*

The Wheeler’s truly go all out for the holidays. Upon entering their home, Eddie’s palm in your own, your eyes are drawn to the endless holiday decorations. Their tree is dressed to the nines, all wide and fluffy branches, glowing lights, endless ornaments that twinkle against green branches.

There are lights twined around all the railways and banisters, illuminating the room in a pale glow. There are centerpieces on all their tables, little candles with tiny wreaths around the bases, the smell of pine filling your nostrils as you take a turn about the place.

Karen Wheeler is there in a flurry, ready to take your jackets. “I hope the drive wasn’t too bad, sweetie,” she says to Eddie, brushing the snow from his shoulders.

It’s been snowing all afternoon. A few inches now blanket the streets of Hawkins, and though it did provide for a harder drive, you find that it only adds to your experience in town with the people you love. A true white holiday season.

Last year you’d been somewhere tropical, in a bathing suit on the beach, sipping a margarita funded by your parents. Now Karen moves about you and helps you slip out of your jacket, coming around front to look at you, a giant smile blooming across her face.

“You’re a doll! Eddie, she’s so beautiful.” She turns to him, then glances your way. “Come on in. Be a dear and help me with the table, would you? Nancy, your friend is here!”

It’s not long before you’re put to work, setting up table placements, smiling and waving every time another arrival comes through the front door.

Dinner is warm and bright. Full of laughter, full of quiet conversation and guests asking to pass the pasta, a roll, the chicken. It’s memories told about the kids through the years, Hopper regaling you with moments that make El flush deep scarlet in embarrassment. It’s Max leaning into Eddie when she grows a little morose, and him curling an arm around her shoulder to whisper against her ear because he knows what she’s feeling. It’s Wayne crying later when Eddie gives him a new mug that says “World’s Best Dad” and Max rushing over to tackle you and Eddie when you give her the tickets to a concert she’d been talking about taking Lucas to.

All around the room people pass around gifts, room full, hearts fuller.

Charlotte and Steve slip away after a while to go kiss beneath the mistletoe, Nancy and Jonathan hold one another close on the couch, Robin and Vickie glance lovingly at one another as Vickie holds a new sweater up to her chest.

The kids thank Karen for their new socks, knitted hats, and warm mittens.

You smile as Eddie slides your new necklace around your neck, a locket with a picture of the two of you on one side, and a picture of him on the other, just so you’ll always have him close.

He kisses you and tells you his thanks over the new cassette tapes and guitar strings you'd gotten him, the new fantasy books he’s been meaning to read, and a couple of things for his new campaigns he’s been dreaming up.

“Hey, Eddie,” you tell him, as people retreat to the dessert table and dining area, leaving the living room mostly unattended.

He brushes your hair back into place and trails his finger over the locket. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

“I have another gift for you—and before you get upset, it’s little. It’s…well, here.” You slide the little pouch into his hand, the drawstrings pulled tight.

Tentative fingers move to open the little bag, dropping the item inside into his open palm. His head tilts to the side, shifting the key with a fingertip. “What’s this?”

“It’s a key. To my apartment. So you always know you’re welcome. And also because…all my life I’ve been running from reality. Bouncing between place to place so I don’t have to really get to know people. Trying to protect my heart because I didn’t want to get hurt. Never really allowing anyone to get all that close. Until I came here…and met you.”

“I’m not understanding.”

You shift closer to him where you sit on the floor, your knee brushing his own as you lift the key and dangle it in the air between you two. “I thought about it. About the shop, about the friends I’ve made here, and how I feel about you and I want to stay. I’m going to stay in Hawkins.”

Home.

You’re finally home.

And the slow smile that starts to spread across Eddie’s lips as he finally understands is all you need to see to know you’ve made the right choice.

His eyes shine with the reflection of Christmas tree lights, and swim with affection for you.

Home.

You’re staying here in Hawkins, staying with him, choosing this.

So if his voice wobbles a little, you say nothing of it, because he’s glowing. “That’s…that’s the best gift you could have given me.”

You curl the key into both your hands and squeeze tight, the imprint of it cool against your skin.

But it’s the easiest decision you’ve made in a long time.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

*

Hawkins feels even more like home the next afternoon.

It comes unexpectedly, as most things do, with the door blowing open from the cold winter air, bringing Eddie along with it. His head is bent down, looking at something within his jacket. You’re worried he’s hurt from the way he’s cradling his side, but what you find instead makes you pause.

Hidden within the side of his jacket is a silvery ball of fur, with a tiny button nose, two dark eyes, and a set of ears that look funny on its small head.

“Eddie, what is that?” You ask, already knowing your answer, but wanting to hear your boyfriend fess up all the same.

He tucks it closer to his side and mutters, “Nothing.” The kitten gives a tiny meow and Eddie melts, his dark eyes growing softer by the moment as one of those ringed fingers comes to rub along the furry head.

You take a step closer, glancing into his jacket to see the little one. It peers out curiously, leaning into Eddie’s side as if it knows that he’s his protector already. “It’s not nothing because it looks like a kitten. A living, breathing kitten.”

Eddie rubs the tiny head again. “That’s because itisakitten.”

“What was that?”

“It is a kitten,” he says simply, pulling the jacket away to hold the baby in front of him.

“Why is there a kitten in my apartment?” You step closer, stroking a finger along one of the too-big ears. The kitten purrs and leans into the touch.

He rubs a thumb along the tiny little spine and says, “Well, you see, I was walking over here from work and I heard this tiny little thing meowing by the dumpster. And I had to pick it up. It was calling my name.”

You pause in your gentle stroking, and the kitten's eyes pop open. “It was saying Eddie?”

He nods, and you move to rub underneath its chin. “Yes, so clearly, you should have heard it.”

“Eddie…” you warn, just as a tiny, sandpaper tongue drags along your fingertip.

You melt a little bit, and Eddie takes note.

“My apartment doesn’t allow pets. But this apartment is yours. Fully and completely yours.”

“Eddie no.” And as much as your mind screams no, the kitten stares at you and your resolve crumbles all the more.

“Look at it. How can you deny this face?” He holds the kitten up beside his face.

And you know he’s talking about denying the kitten, but the look on Eddie’s face is just as hard to say no to. All pouty lips, bit doe eyes, lashes batting at you obnoxiously.

So it really should come as no surprise to you when the two of you spend the next day at the vet with the kitten (a boy, they tell you) and then the pet store after (Eddie tells you he needs toys, though you tell him food is more important) with a very giddy Eddie who spends way more money than he really needs to to spoil his new “son.”

Later that evening, after you’ve all eaten (kitten included) you sit around on the floor as Eddie rolls a ball toward the little one and grins widely as it pats a tiny little paw against the surface until the bell inside jingles.

You’ve been like this for hours, taking turns showing the little one new things, figuring out which toys he likes best, getting him used to the two of you and his new home.

“It is really cute,” you say as it comes to curl up in Eddie’s lap, sound asleep.

“He’s really cute,” Eddie agrees, running a gentle hand along its back.

“What do we name him?”

“He was chewing on my buttons in the car. How about Chewbacca? Get it?”

You laugh, incredulous. “Chewbacca? Eddie, this is our son.”

He snorts at that. But you suppose this is your fur-child now. Both of yours.

“Yes, I understand that, and I happen to think Chewbacca is a wonderful name,” he says plainly, not quite getting the issue here.

“He doesn’t even look like Chewbacca. He’s silver.” You rub at the little head, leaning over to kiss the tiny nose.

“How about Chewy for short? Chewbacca is his full government name, though. Chewbacca Munson.”

“What if I wanted him to have my last name?”

“We can hyphen.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you compromised that quickly.”

He shrugs, leaning over to kiss you on the temple. “It doesn’t slip my mind you’re keeping him here. Thank you for indulging a childhood wish of mine to have a pet.”

You snort, but your grin is megawatt. “You’re lucky I l—like you so much.”

*

Your friends are inside, the sound of music and chatter drifting from the opened patio door. The countdown to the new year is set to start soon, but you’re staring up at the sky, Eddie’s arms low around your waist, his chin against your shoulder as the two of you stargaze. He reminds you of the constellations he’s already shown you, then starts to point out the newer ones you’re not familiar with.

You’ve been like this for a while now. Him holding you close, keeping you warm, your breaths curling in the winter air. There’s a whole party happening just feet away, and yet you’re exactly where you want to be the most.

“They’re going to be looking for us soon,” you whisper, though you find you don’t really care.

A particularly loud laugh echoes from inside, the outline of Steve and Charlotte’s forms illuminated across from you as Robin tells them a story with a wide smile on her pretty features.

She waves and you wave back, returning your eyes to the stars, to the boy who you’d believe hung them if he told you so.

“Hey, sweetheart?” His voice is quiet. Timid.

You turn around in his arms to face him, his lips a little chapped from the cold, that too-big jacket of his becoming your blanket as he cradles you in the circle of his arms.

“Yeah?”

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about. Something kind of serious,” he says, and you feel your lips tug southward. At the furrow of your brows, he shakes his head, cupping the side of your cheek with his hand. “Wait—maybe not the best wording. I, uh, it’s serious in a good way.”

“In a good way…” you repeat slowly, chewing idly at your bottom lip.

Now his brow furrows, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m not…I’m messing this up. Okay, I’m going to just come out and say it…”

“You’re worrying me,” you mutter, a little breathless, hand coming to rest over his hand comfortingly.

“I…”

“Hey lovebirds, wanna stop sucking face? The countdown starts in five minutes!” Steve shouts outside, Charlotte shushing him with a hand on his shoulder. Her giggly apology reaches your ears and the two of you turn to find them staring your way.

“Can we get some privacy?” Eddie calls back, face pinching in his frustration.

“Come on, Stevie. Leave them alone,” Charlotte agrees, tugging at his arm. “We’ll catch up later. Sorry, guys.”

The patio door slides shut once more and you’re left alone with your favorite boy. He huffs out a sigh, sliding his arms back around your form, breathing a cloud between the two of you.

You’re not expecting him to just blurt out his next sentence. Not expecting the words at all, and yet they’re the same words you’ve been holding to yourself for safe keeping, for that perfect moment like this one. The moment where it’s the two of you, overwhelmed in one another, hidden away in a stolen moment captured in time.

Because it’s New Years Eve and Eddie’s just said, “I’m in love with you.”

Because it’s New Year’s Eve and your tears prick, voice a broken sob as you whisper back, “I’m in love with you, too.”

It’s New Year’s Eve and you’re spending it with the person you want to go make countless memories with in the next three hundred and sixty five days. You want all his days, good and bad. To brave the storms should they come, to chase away his nightmares, to rejoice in the happy times. You want to wake to him in the morning and kiss him goodnight before bed. You want to dance in the kitchen as you cook together, to taste his sugar sweet lips on those days you try something new to bake. You want those new adventures, dinners with Wayne and Max, play time with Chewbacca. You want the game nights with your friends, to listen to him play Dungeons and Dragons with the kids, to go on that camping trip Steve, Robin and the others talked about come summer time.

You wanted it all, want it all, with the boy standing before you with all the love in the world behind his eyes.

“I’m in love with you,” you repeat, just as the sound of the countdown spills from inside.

Ten…

He curls a hand around your face once more.

Nine…

You brush at the hair near his shoulders, feeling him warm beneath your skin.

Eight…

He tugs you closer, always closer.

Seven…

You slide your hands into his jacket, hands resting against his back.

Six…

He tells you he’s in love with you once more.

Five…

You press your forehead to his, smiling up at him.

Four…

He glances down at you through those dark lashes.

Three…

You feel his breath dance along your bottom lip.

Two…

You wish him a Happy New Year.

One…

He kisses you as party poppers explode showers of confetti inside. Kisses you as shouts fill your ears. Kisses you until butterflies dance to life in your belly, until fireworks dance behind your eyes, and the rest of the world falls away.

It all dissolves around you, and you’re just standing there in the arms of the man you love.

Nothing else matters.

All that matters is this moment, this boy, this love.

*

It starts, you suppose, in the car ride. The atmosphere has a new heaviness, a thrill that boils in the cabin. Your fingers slide through Eddie’s, toying with the rings resting cool from the winter air against your thigh. You’re not sure what possesses you. Not sure if it’s the happiness from the evening, the weight of his confession, the way your heart feels full to burst—but it has you feeling bolder, has you slowly trailing your fingers along your opposite thigh. A slow path, a gentle up and down, over and over again.

His eyes flash to yours, linger briefly on your exposed flesh, the warmth of your skin. You catch the way his tongue dips to his lip, the pinch of his teeth against skin, before flashing back to the road. You’re almost home, only minutes now, but you’re itching for touch. For his touch in particular, warm against your skin, along the outline of your leg muscle, inside your thigh, at your center where you want him most.

You feel the first little brush of his fingers as they slip free from yours, the tantalizing trail of them, along the thigh nearest to him. A gentle drag of skin against skin, venturing higher every time. His fingertips tease the hem of your ruched satin dress, now bunched near your hip, leaving only inches between where he lingers now and your clothed center. There is a question in his eyes, a pass of chocolate brown eyes in the night as he looks your way, and you dip your head, understanding his meaning.

His fingers start a new exploration, a curious slide along your inner thigh, a gentle sweep that leaves gooseflesh in its wake. It’s unfamiliar to him and you, and yet it elicits a soft sigh from your lips, head falling back against the headrest. Taking this as all the coaxing he needs, he pushes up higher, halting at the edge of your panties. There is a brief moment where he pauses, and you wonder if he’s about to freeze up and end this before you’ve even had a chance to begin the night, but he dissuades those fears when he shifts and presses his middle finger against the spot of slick already forming against the gray material.

He curses, his eyes sliding up to the ceiling in a silent prayer, hand tightening in a white knuckle grip against the steering wheel. “Wanna touch you.”

“Then touch me, Eddie,” you breathe out, shuddering as he pushes the material to the side and slides a finger through your folds, dragging in a curious line.

It's a wonky, unpracticed pattern that he tries once…then twice, and pulls back.

“Show me. Show me what you like.”

It sounds choked.

A little gasp, a soft plea.

Understanding what he means, you reach down to join him, dragging a line down your center, swirling in the pool of slick at your entrance before circling the bead of your clit. His eyes dart from the road to where your finger starts to move in small circles, toes already curling within your heels.

He watches like that for a few moments. Captures the way your chest rises and falls with each sweep of your finger, the heaviness of your breath, the shudder of each pass of air through lungs. And it doesn’t take long before he’s replacing your fingers with his own, following the same path you’d taken. Dragging those thicker digits from your entrance up to your clit, starting the slow slide of his fingers along hot flesh, murmuring, “You look so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

Your answer is a hum, a broken whisper of, “Right there, Eddie. Just like that.”

You’re already close.

You feel the beginnings of your orgasm beckoning, dragged closer by your own ministrations, and swifter now with Eddie’s fuller fingers, your hand coming out to grab at his thigh. You can’t help the whine that spills from you as that heat coils higher in your belly, the rubber band pulling taut, ready to snap as he moves faster under your guidance.

Your fingers dig down where they rest against his flesh. His eyes sweep back over to you, molten and dark in the moonlight, stuttering along where he’s touching you in a way he’s never done so before. He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, mesmerized by the way you look in this moment. It’s terrifying and exciting, eyes shut against the feeling. Flames lick at you as he pulls into the back of your coffee shop and parks the van. You barely register the click of his key pulling from the ignition before his mouth is on yours, face crashing into you from over the center console. You’re immediately moaning into his mouth and driving your hips up further into his hand to seek more friction as the rubber band snaps and sweet release spills into your system.

“Oh shit,” he breathes against your lips, brushing kiss after kiss along your face as your hips fall back against the seat, your eyes heavy as you try to catch your breath, looking up at him with a little laugh. “Was that good? I—”

You silence him with a kiss, whispering, “Inside,” against his skin.

He barely has a moment to lock the door before you’re grasping his hand and rushing him up the stairs, humming as the door locks close behind the two of you and you’re finally and blessedly alone. You both toe off your shoes as you maneuver your way over to the bed, connected at the mouth, hands reaching to grab at clothes, a clash of lips, tongues and teeth.

“Chewy, stay in your room. Your parents are busy!” Eddie scolds, the kitten in question already sound asleep in his little makeshift bed.

You giggle airily as the backs of your thighs hit your mattress, back falling into plush comforters as he crawls over you, walking you backward up the bed until your head rests upon your mountain of pillows.

“Say it again?” He asks, marking a path down your cheek, along your neck, pulling a whimper from you as he sucks a hickey into your collarbone.

“I’m in love with you, Eddie.”

He’s kissing you again, your head swimming with the ecstasy of the moment. It’s slower this time. Not like in the car where it’s a frantic, wild thing. There’s all the time now in the world to taste, tease and explore. His tongue sweeping low against your lip, sliding along yours, licking into your mouth with slow, languid kisses.

He moans into your mouth, a sweet thing you swallow as his body slides closer to yours, the beat of his heart a tattoo against your sternum. A frantic flutter you slide your palm up between the two of you to feel, tethering yourself to this moment—to this man.

His guitar string callused fingers drag a familiar path along your thigh, sliding your dress up higher over your hips, baring you to him once more. His fingers come to slide between your folds, still puffy from your orgasm, making you shudder and mewl against his skin. Hips move upward at the sensation, seeking friction, seeking him.

In your impatience, you fist both sides of your dress in your hands, Eddie’s hands falling away from you long enough to let you sit up and pull the material up and over your body. You feel bared to him, already nearly naked against your mattress because the dress had called for no bra lines, and a forearm moves to drape across your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie coos, cupping the side of your cheek. “You’re so beautiful. There’s no need to hide with me. I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart.”

Your arm drops away and he replaces it with his lips.

This part he knows.

This part he’s practiced on you already.

One hand comes up to knead one breast, while he pastes wet kiss after wet kiss to the other, tongue laving over your flesh, sucking into supple skin until you’re bucking up against his clothed thigh, rubbing your center against the fullness of it—seeking something, anything, to satisfy the need swirling in your gut.

“Come here,” you nearly beg, curling your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, tugging him back upward to your lips. You kiss him soundly, mewling as his thigh shifts and his hips roll forward, the hardness of him rubbing just right against your core, robbing you of all air. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” he chuckles, fingers dancing along your thigh. “Not going anywhere.”

“Want to touch you, Eds. But only if you’re ready.”

He leans back onto his haunches above you, hair a wild mess, chest rising and falling swiftly. He looks beautiful like this, just as he always does, all dark eyes and swirling heat living in them. They’re blown out now in his desire, in a way you’ve not seen him before. Heat flares at the thought it’s meant only for you, reserved only for you at this moment, just as his fingers reach for the hem of his shirt and hesitate.

“I can shut the light,” you whisper, hand coming to smooth up and down his thigh.

You want him to be comfortable. Fully at ease in a moment you know is already nerve wracking for him. It’s his first time with you, but it’s also his first time baring himself fully to another human after what transpired two years ago. His eyes shift to the left, to a faraway spot on the wall, like he’s mulling it over.

You stretch your arm out toward your lamp when a hand curls around your wrist like a bracelet. Eddie’s voice breaks into the silence with a soft, “No, leave it.”

He reaches behind his back and tugs the shirt up and over himself, slipping it off to toss it into the far corner somewhere. He waits. Waits for you to scream and run, to push him away you’re sure, what with the way his mouth settles into a firm line, his hands shaking where they rest at his thighs.

You’re familiar with his scars. At least the ones on his face, his neck, the spattering of them along his arms. The ones that litter his torso break your heart all over again for the boy on the floor of the Upside Down. The boy who had been close to death, and lived to tell the tale. The boy with the biggest heart you’ve ever known.

You lift yourself up to sit, hand coming up to hover over his abdomen, gaze flashing up to his momentarily. “Can I?”

He dips his head once, releasing a shaky exhale as your fingers trail along the first scar along his abdominal muscles, then further up along the two smaller ones to your left.

“Do they hurt?” You feel his stomach jolt as you drift back southward again, the softness of his abdomen dancing beneath your fingertips. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“No, not anymore. Not for a while now,” he manages to get out, watching your fingers where they linger against him, one of his hands sliding along the crown of your head comfortingly.

His left side, just over his heart, is the worst. A ridge of patchwork done by the plastic surgeons at the hospital, all puckered flesh, hills, bumps and divots. The demobats had tried to take him from you, tried to rob you of ever knowing this man, and your eyes water as you curl your palm over his ribcage, catching the soft shudder of his breath as his eyes fall closed.

You love him.

You love him fully and completely. Even in this body he resents, because it houses his soul. And it’s his soul you long for, want to entwine yourself to, want to cherish for as long as he’ll allow you. Even in this body that he rejects because it no longer looks as it used to, because it’s this body that has held you, has loved you, respected you.

It’s him.

You’ve never loved another person like this before, this feeling of fullness that makes your head swim. It drives you to lean forward, brushing a kiss over his heart, feeling him warm beneath your touch. His hand comes up to curl against the back of your head, your head turning so your ear rests over his sternum, arms looping around his back.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, as those ringed fingers curl around your chin and tip your head enough for him to kiss you sweetly.

When you pull away, you hear the first whimper fall from him. A choked garble that threatens to cleave you in two. Tears slide down his cheeks, along the bump of his cheek, salty tracks you brush away with your hands.

“I’m crying during sex and we haven’t even had sex yet,” he says pitifully, sniffling loudly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, thumbing at his scarred cheek. “It’s okay. If you want to stop, we stop. We don’t have to do this now.”

“I want to. I really want to.”

After that it’s a swirl of movement. You slide your underwear down and kick them off as he moves to clamber off the bed, fumbling with his belt buckle and struggling in the process. You jump up to help him, his hands falling to his sides, as you unhook the belt and tug it free from his jeans, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. You toy with the button on his jeans next, earning a sharp hiss from him as the zipper slides down and you accidentally brush him beneath his boxers, heart thudding when you find him hot and hard already. Swallowing, you watch as he wiggles the jeans down his thighs and stands there in nothing more than a pair of boxers, leaning across the space to kiss you once more.

You can feel the way he trembles, nervousness bubbling as he lowers you back against the mattress, elbows on either side of your head so he can cradle you. Your fingers trail along the hem of his boxers, eliciting a sigh from him, before they slip further within and wrap around silky hot flesh. He’s thick, thicker than anyone you’ve been with. You wonder for a moment if he’ll fit as you drag your thumb along his slit, collecting the bead of precum there. The curse he lets out has you slowly moving your palm up and down his length, watching him pinch his bottom lip between his teeth, shuddering above you.

His eyes flash open then, head shaking as he reaches to grip your hand where it rests against the base of him. “Wait, wait, wait. I’m gonna blow if you do that. I’m already scared I’m only going to last ten seconds. That’ll have me tapped out in five, baby.”

You snort as he leans forward to brush a kiss against your breast, your hand falling away from him to curl instead in the comforter beneath you. Emboldened, Eddie reaches down and slides his boxers off, kicking them into one of the various piles strewn about your floor now. He pops out stiff and ready, your eyes barely having time to take in the sight of him before he’s kneeling back down onto the bed, stealing a soft kiss that has you feeling warm like honey, all sticky sweet and languid.

“Do you have a condom? I didn’t think to bring one. I wasn’t…I didn’t know we’d be doing this, not that I’m sad about it. I’m actually really happy and—”

“I’m on the pill,” you explain, and the furrow between his brows softens, head slowly nodding. “But I have some right here.”

You reach over into your bedside table and he reaches over to pull a foil from the box. You watch him open it with shaky hands, chuckling to himself as it almost falls out of the packaging.

You reach out to see if he needs assistance sliding it on, muttering as you watch him roll the condom down himself. “I got them at the store the other day.”

“Oh—well that’s good. Safety first and all of that,” he says, chuckling nervously. You shift a bit beneath him, moving up further, making room for both your bodies, as his hand marks a slow path along your ribcage. “This is where my experience stops.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I’ve got you. Just remember we have nothing but time.”

“Okay,” he says, voice a little wobbly as he lowers himself against you, grabbing himself in hand. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready since we were in the car,” you laugh, making him smile as he slowly drags himself up and down through your slick, bumping your clit in a way that has your eyes clamping shut, voice hitching in a whine. “Eddie.”

He understands your breathy plea, sliding lower until his tip rests at your entrance, full and warm as he presses in slowly. You both shudder out a moan, your fingers coming up to grip his shoulder at the slight burn of the unexpected fullness of him.

He’s babbling your name into your throat, gasping at the feel of you fluttering around him, muttering how much he loves you into your neck. And you’re rolling your hips up further into him, wanting to be full of him, wanting to be as close as you’ve ever been until he’s cursing against your skin and burying himself to the hilt.

“Oh, hell. Okay. I’m inside of you.”

You snort, shoving playfully at his side as you adjust to him. “That’s typically how this works.”

He swallows thickly, hips rocking shallowly against yours. “Can I move?”

“Yeah, hon. Please.”

He starts off uneasily. Moving a little too swiftly against you as his human instinct takes its time to kick in. You grip at his shoulder, trying to steady him, gasping into his neck at the still delicious drag of him along your walls.

“Hey, Eddie,” you whimper, and his eyes pop open to look down at you.

“Oh no. Baby, I’m not hurting you, am I?” He stills inside you, hands coming to rest on either side of your face, those dark eyes round with fear.

“No…no. I just wanted to say go slow,” you whisper, mewling into his mouth as he does exactly that. Pulls back gently and rolls his hips forward in a way that has your eyes rolling back a bit, shuddering out a breath. “Y-yeah. Like that—just like that.”

“Is this good? Want it to be good for you, because—” He groans into your shoulder as your hips rise up from the bed to meet him, hands sliding up and over his back, thigh curling around his hip to keep him closer. “Shit. You feel so good. Like you were…like you were made for me.”

“You are.” You whine as he palms your breast, kissing the corner of your mouth, rocking against you in a way that has you seeing stars. If he kept going, if he kept hitting that spot over and over again—“Doing so good, Eddie. Making me feel so good, so full of you—mmmm—”

But it’s all over soon after your praises fill the room. You clamp your nails down as his shoulder as his hips move more erratically, sweat on his forehead pooling, his teeth pinching at his lip as his eyes slam shut.

“I’m close. I’m so close, I’m sorry baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just let go, I got you.”

His thrusting grows erratic as his chest falls forward and presses you down into the mattress. You feel him give one more final snap of his hips before he comes to a halt, trembling against your form with a curse. He’s gasping as he spasms inside, riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He remains against you like that for a moment, panting heavily against your skin, pasting kiss after kiss into your sternum before he finally pulls out of you with a low whine.

You gasp out a breath and slide a palm over your racing heart, watching him walk over to your bathroom to discard the condom. When he returns, he loops an arm over your waist, fingers wandering against your belly, the curve of your hip, the tops of your thighs.

You shudder out a breath as he grazes your center, asking, “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t…finish, right?”

He leans down to press the softest of kisses to your lips, the answering shake of your head all he needs before he runs a finger along your slit, a gentle drag from your entrance before following the pattern against your sensitive clit you showed him in the car.

“Eddie…” Your heel shifts to press against the mattress, thigh falling open, baring yourself fully to him. “It’s okay. Really.”

“Wanna kiss you there, sweetheart.”

You chuckle heartily at his brazenness as he starts dropping kiss after kiss along your breasts, down the line of your sternum, across your belly where he sucks a little hickey into the skin below your belly button until your chuckling against his smiling mouth, his hand coming up to curl with yours resting by your hip. He gives you a little squeeze and laces your fingers with his as he starts kissing along the tops of your hip bones, the span of skin between them that makes you gasp against your pillow, head rolling back.

He doesn’t stop the slow torture there. You’re not sure where he’s learned this, but you’re silently thanking them with a plea as his lips mark a scorching path along the insides of your thighs, his other hand curling around the meat of your leg to open you further to him, nose tickling your sensitive flesh until you’re shifting your hips against the mattress, earning a nip against the inside of your thigh.

“Eddie, please,” you whimper, breath robbed from your lungs as he finally slides the flat of his tongue from your center up to your clit, drawing a tentative circle there.

“Tell me what to do. What you like. Wanna make it good.”

“To the left. And just like that, keep doing that.”

You’re a shaking mess as his ringed hand leaves yours and joins his tongue, prodding where you want him most, and you practically cry out your “yes” as he slips a finger inside.

“Like that, like that,” you babble, hand dropping down to rest at his full head of curls. When his second finger eases in, you feel your walls clamp down around him, his answering chuckle vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “If you curl your fingers like that—ah, yeah, just like that—”

You break off into a sob as he mimics your ‘come hither’ motion, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue in a way that has your legs shaking on either side of his head, fingers twisting tight into his curls. You’re afraid you’ve hurt him at first, whipping your hand back, but he reaches up and slides it back into place, pressing your open palm against his hair so you can tug as you teeter closer and closer toward the edge.

“I’m so close, Eddie. You’re doing so good,” you pant, white flashing behind your eyes as he crooks those fingers against the part of you that has the flame flickering in your gut burning brighter and brighter, coil growing tighter as his tongue works you, his own sighs after a particularly hard tug of his hair against your center vibrating down to the tips of your toes.

The flames dance higher.

Burn brighter.

Become all consuming as tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

Because it’s Eddie.

Eddie Munson, the man who walked into your coffee shop all those months ago. The man with the quiet soul and loud mind. The man who cracked into a smile at your silly factoids and your ridiculous jokes. The man who had first been your friend and became so much more. Who tended to you when you were sick, helped make your house a home, created a little family with you by adding Chewy into the mix.

The man who became a safe place to land. A shoulder to rest your head. A door to walk into at the end of the day, to seek shelter from a storm with, to love endlessly and be loved in return.

It’s him, and in a way you think it’s always been him.

You snap with a low keen, trembling as your orgasm rushes over you, Eddie’s head peeking up just enough to watch it roll over you as his fingers continue their gentle slide.

You writhe beneath him as pleasure hits a peak and settles back into a low simmer, his head coming up to kiss you on the lips when he finally pulls out and joins you near your pillow. Your hand comes up to rest at the back of his neck, holding him to you, your mouths moving slowly over one another, tongues licking into mouths, neither one of you wanting to part from the other.

You’re not sure how long you lay like that in the circle of his embrace, his arm around your waist, your bare chests pressed to one another, ankles tangled beneath bedsheets. All you know is you hate to see him go as he slips out from the bed once more, sliding on his discarded boxers, into your bathroom. You hear the water run momentarily before shutting off, his frame reappearing with a washcloth in hand.

He helps you clean in silence. His fingers gentle along your still sensitive flesh, punctuating each slide of damp cloth with a kiss against your temple, before tossing it into the heap of clothing strewn about your floor. After that is a slide of hands as he helps you up and off of your bed, slipping his sweater over your head and letting it fall into place at your thighs. Your fingers skirt his side, along his bare chest, as he leads you into your bathroom and the two of you get ready for bed in silence.

He’s just been inside you, wholly and fully, but all you can think of is how these moments are your favorites. The ones only you’re privy to. The way Eddie slides lotion over his scars to maintain the elasticity of his skin, the care he takes in washing his face thanks to Steve’s incessant urging, the snap of his hair tie as he pulls his hair away from his face.

You stand before him as you brush, his larger form swallowing yours, fingers coming to toy with the hairs at the nape of your neck, thumb brushing lightly against skin. And as you spit into the sink and flush water down the drain, he spins you in his arms and presses your backside against the counter, drawing you to your tippy toes as he kisses you soundly, swallowing your sigh of happiness.

“Ready for bed?” You ask, running your hands down his chest, curling along his sides.

And he is. You find as much as the two of you slip back into your blankets, him drawing you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to the slope of your shoulder. You barely have a chance to whisper goodnight before he’s shutting his eyes and slipping off into a deep sleep.

You bury yourself closer to him and follow him into rest.

*

Eddie’s sure he’s dead.

Has to be.

It’s the only explanation for the way he wakes with you resting against his chest, your mouth slightly parted, little sighs filling the air.

He has to be dead, because last night Eddie Munson was Hawkin’s resident twenty-three year old virgin, and now he’s no longer a virgin and in bed with the love of his life.

Only he’s not dead. He feels the throb of his heart in his ribcage, the sound of it rattling in his ears thanks to your otherwise silent apartment.

Last night feels like a wispy dream he made up in his mind. Your hands in his hair, your body closer than ever before to his, the way you gasped and moaned in his ear. The feeling of you wrapped around him, hips rising to meet him, driving him further and further over the edge. He pictures the look on your face in utter bliss, watching you writhe for him, bringing you to that peak and watching it rush over you, leaving you shaking in his arms with him as your anchor.

All his life he’d thought himself unworthy of love. His father hadn’t been around much—always in and out of jail, and when he was around his way of showing love was teaching him how to shotgun a beer and hot wire a car. His mother, god he loved his mother, but when his father fell deeper and deeper into his poor habits, she retreated to other things to fill her heart.

Wayne had been the one to give him a home, to give him shelter, to let him know what a family looked like. A real family, at least. And then there was Max. The rough and tumble girl from across the street, with a personality that matched the fiery hue of her hair. She showed him what it was like to love someone like your own kin. Like blood. To want to cover them, protect them from the world, keep them safe.

And then there was you. The girl who had walked into his life and changed the course of it. For two years he retreated into his shadows. Craved the darkness they provided, the safety of drawing away from others. Hiding, because it seemed easier than facing the world. For a while, he was content with his core group; the same kids who had been with him during the worst week of his life, stood by him when he needed it the most, loved him when he lay broken and battered in the hospital. When the town turned on him, even after he’d been exonerated, they were there to protect his name. To try and fight back the rumors that threatened to swallow him whole. They never saw him as a murderer, never saw him as anything but Eddie Munson, loved him beyond the whispers of those who wanted to see him fall.

Loved him beyond those who wanted to run him out of town, wanted to believe the lie that he had the heart to kill all those kids, wanted to put a blame on the fact half of Hawkins had been ripped apart and sunk into the hell that lingered beneath.

You walked in and changed all of that.

Loved him despite his shadows, coaxed him out of them, wanted to see the parts of him he desired to keep hidden. You called to him, a gentle whisper, those small gestures that slowly broke away at the walls he erected to keep others out. You were patient, a constant beam of light in his world, a gentle smile on the days where he hated himself more than words could ever say.

You loved him in the light.

Loved him proudly in public, despite the way people might have looked onward in stores. Loved him even after knowing what he had gone through in eighty six, loved him despite the scar ravaged body that lingered beneath his clothes.

You’d given him a home to place his heart within. A roof to keep it covered. Your hands are there to cradle it and hold it close. And he trusts you. Whole heartedly trusts you.

Smiles against the crown of your head as he recalls telling you he loved you the night before, the way tears like stars glittered on your lower lashes, the choked hiccup of your breath as you whispered back in a broken voice you loved him, too.

“Are you awake?” You mumble beside him, humming softly as your arms come to stretch above you. He aches at the feel of your chest pressing further into his, cock stirring to life at your hip when you lean over and kiss him soundly. “Oh, good morning to you too.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, feeling his cheeks warm. Only you’re pressing further into him, hips flush against him, making him shudder. “Too early.”

“Is it?” You practically simper the words and his chest tightens further, gasping at the feel of your fingers along his chest, down his abdomen, dancing along the thatch of hair at the base of him before curling your palm around him fully. “We have no plans, it’s just us…”

He reaches down to grab your hand, already missing the heat of you around him, and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Sighing, he leans up onto his elbows and stares down at your face. Beautiful, even freshly washed for bed, you’re so beautiful it stirs an ache deep within his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

You lean up and brush your lips against his. Tentative at first, and then coaxing as you slip your tongue along his, breaking apart long enough to rasp out, “I love you, too.”

Soon it’s a flurry of movement. He slips out of his boxers, kicks them down around his ankles, and moves to shift between your thighs. He remembers you’re on the pill and grabs himself in hand, feeling you beckon him forward with a swivel of your hips as he dips himself to the slick already pooling at your center. This time, as he sheathes himself fully, he languishes in the mutual gasp that fills the spaces between the two of you. Nearly chokes on a sob as he rolls his hips forward and back and feels you shifting to meet him thrust for thrust. You chase your end together, a slow ebb and flow, a quiet that wraps around your hearts save for your mingling breaths and moans.

You mewl into his skin that you love him.

To keep going.

Right there, you gasp out, when he hits that spot that has your eyes rolling back in your skull. Hits it over and over again as you start to shake beneath him, your impending orgasm drawing closer and closer.

It’s not like last night. The nervous, awkward feeling of exploring new lovers for the first time. Today he relishes the feeling of you around him, of rocking his hips into yours, of drawing out your pleasure, watching your face pinch, listening to your sounds. He wants to memorize every one. Every look that passes along your features as he moves against you, pushing your head further and further into your pillow.

With every movement he tries to show you his love. Tries to kiss you in a way that pours every bit of him into you.

He wants you to know that you’re it, this is it, this moment and this girl.

He’s done running.

He’s found home.

He’s found you.

Today feels like making love. Up until this moment he thought it was a cheesy thing people said about sex. But now he knows it’s real, feels the severity of it as he holds you in his arms, safe and sound from the rest of the world.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful you are.”

You only gasp his name in reply. Hands come to slide up along his back as he picks up his pace. Rolls his hips down into yours, hitting that spongy part of you that has your thighs trembling where they curl around his hips.

His forehead drops against yours, your eyes coming up to meet him as he tells you he loves you over and over again, hand curling tight with yours against the pillow beneath your head.

Forever.

For the first time, he wants that.

You shatter around him. Walls clamping down as you practically sob his name.

He’s not long after, moaning low and heavy into your skin, heart pounding in his ears. You whimper and writhe against him, as he slows in you, coming down from his own high.

He flops down onto his back and feels you shift beside him in the bed, coming to rest along his chest, hand trailing along his abdomen.

“Better?” He laughs, curling his arm beneath your head.

“Last night was perfect. Stop that.”

“Yes…yes it was. But this was better, no?”

You level him with a stare and he bursts out into laughter, waking Chewy who scampers over to hop in the bed with the two of you.

Your little family.

“Happy New Year, Eddie,” you whisper, reaching across to lace your fingers with his. “I have a feeling it’ll be a good one.”

“Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

*

Spring, 1991

*

“Baby showers are so weird,” Steve mutters, bringing the lip of his beer bottle to his mouth to take a sip.

The two of them stand near the door leading to the patio, glancing out to where Steve’s wife, Charlotte, sits in a circle of her closest friends who are all ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over the dozens of new little girl outfits she’s received.

Steve continues, “Bunch of girls sitting around opening gifts for someone who isn’t even here yet.”

“Also kind of weird because it’s sort of like a ‘congratulations, your dick works’ celebration.”

“You two are disgusting,” Robin says. “Neanderthals. Babe, you live with this man?”

You’re at Robin’s side, wearing that dress that flutters around your thighs when you walk, looking pretty as ever. You still rob him of his breath even after the past two years.

“That I do,” you laugh, kissing him as you brush by to go grab more desserts from the countertop. “Have fun, boys!”

The two of you slip back out from where you came, Steve waiting until the door slides shut fully when he asks, “So when are you going to ask her? That ring has been burning a hole in your closet for weeks now.”

“Soon…” he says, watching as you walk around with a tray filled with cookies in your arms, passing them out to greedy guests. “I’m just waiting for the perfect moment.”

*

His first attempt has him sweating. Literal sweat dripping from his pores as the two of you sit at that too-ritzy restaurant Steve suggested you try. It’s not his scene, and it’s not yours. You prefer eating indoors, within the comfort of your now shared apartment, with Chewy always nearby to beg for table scraps (you always yell at him not to give him people food, but he’s quick to remind you he’s a growing boy).

This—the candles on the table, the multiple forks and spoons he’s not sure what to do with, the intricately folded napkins. He feels so out of place.

But the plan is as follows for the evening: the music will change to something soft and romantic just as the waiter walks out with your glasses of champagne and dessert. He’s requested a little note to be written in scrawling letters, set to read “will you marry me?” As you’re reading (and hopefully crying) he plans on dropping onto one knee and popping the ring box open.

It’s foolproof, Steve and Robin have reassured him only about fifty times now.

He just knows it needs to be perfect.

You deserve nothing less.

However, nothing ever goes quite as planned. You’re holding his hand, talking about the shop, when a table near you starts to shift. A trio of men start singing, actually singing, to the woman staring up wide-eyed at them, clearly enjoying a moment she’s been dreaming about. She’s a hysterical crying mess, Eddie’s horrified, and you look ready to sink into the ground from second hand embarrassment as one of the men steps forward and asks her to marry him in front of the whole room.

“Shit,” Eddie curses, and you pry your attention away long enough from the now frantically kissing couple to look over to him.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, sweetheart,” he says, glancing up to where the waiter is standing with a tray holding your dessert and glasses.

He’s waiting for him, he realizes, to give the go ahead.

But now his head is spinning, because he’s definitely not singing to you, he’s not prepared any fancy speeches or grand gestures, and definitely won’t be topping that display.

He just wanted to get down on one knee and let the words pour out of him in the moment.

The plan comes to a halt even further when you huff out, “I understand the whole public engagement idea, but I don’t think that’s for me. I feel like…I don’t know, I’d want it to be more intimate. Just you and me. Us.”

It’s like a record scratch in his ears, lungs relieved of all air as he tugs on his collar because he’s choking now too.

Is the room getting hotter?

The waiter glances over and Eddie shakes his head stiffly, reassuring you he’s fine when your hand reaches out to cup his forearm.

“Check,” Eddie mouths to the man when you’re not looking.

So no, it didn't happen that day.

*

The second attempt fares worse than the first. You’re cooking beside him in the kitchen and he’s about to get down on one knee when the phone blares from the far wall.

The two of you stand close to the receiver when the familiar voice of Dustin fills Eddie’s ears, grating and frantic, like he’s recently run a marathon or something.

“Dustin Henderson, resident butthead, what do you want?” Eddie drawls, earning a soft shove from you where you stand beside him.

“Aren’t you twenty-five?”

“Some things never change,” he says, and he can practically hear the kids' eyes rolling in his skull on the other end. “Is someone dying, because I was kind of in the middle of something.”

“That’s disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself,” Dustin groans.

“Not that kind of thing, you perv.”

“Look, I need help not being single and miserable…”

“That doesn’t sound like someone dying.”

“It might be soon if I don’t fix things with Suzie.”

“Okay, so how do you suppose—”

“Not from you! You’re not romantic,” Dustin continues, leaving Eddie a spluttering mess because he was, in fact, about to be romantic. Probably the most romantic he’s ever been in his life. So fuck him, he thinks. “I need your girlfriend.”

It didn't happen that day either.

*

The third attempt has you in the hospital, Eddie nearly wearing a hole into the ground as he asks the doctors a million and one questions. Is she going to be okay? What kind of medicine can she take? How long will she need to be on crutches for? Do they have to amputate? (He knows that one is a little dramatic, and he’s only asking because his brain is practically shaking in his skull, but he has to know).

You were taking a walk through your favorite park, following along a trail you’ve walked many times now, his sights set on the little lake in the middle of it that is viewable from a small bridge that sits beneath a canopy of leaves.

The only different thing about that day was the way you stepped funny and rolled your ankle, falling to the ground clutching at the offended limb with tears in your eyes. He’d been a mess, an absolute mess even though you told him over and over again you were okay, that it’s likely nothing serious, even though you were the one hurt in the first place.

But he drives like a bat out of hell to the hospital, only to sit in a waiting room for hours, before you’re taken for x-rays.

You have a broken ankle, and his heart aches when they cover your limb in a cast.

That afternoon it’s all dinner in bed and cuddling with Chewy and him as he props your foot up on a mountain of pillows, refusing to let you lift a finger for anything.

Not even the remote, he tells you when you grumble that you’re fine.

Definitely not the right time to propose, he decides, and shelves it for another.

*

He finds you a few days later sitting on the floor with your injured ankle resting in front of you and your palm upturned. He catches the sight of the velvet box next, the way your eyes behold the box like you’ve never seen anything like it before in your life.

“Oh no,” he cries out, rushing over to where you sit on the ground. “No, no, no. I had it all planned out. Well not planned out; I’ve had to change the plans a few times now, actually. But I wanted to make it special, take you somewhere or do something we like to do and ask you—”

“Eddie.”

It’s ruined.

The whole thing is ruined. He presses the heel of his palm to his forehead and groans.

“Eddie,” you try again, and he lifts his head to see you turning to look at him.

There are tears in your eyes, but you don’t seem sad. He’s just ruined your proposal and you’re not upset?

“Eddie, ask me now.”

He feels himself stumble a bit. Stutters out, “W-what?”

“Ask me now.”

You swallow thickly, handing him the ring box as he settles down on the ground in front of you. Chewy pokes his head up from the top of the couch, tail swishing at his two humans.

“A few years ago a new girl moved to town. There’s this idiot that works across the street from her shop at the bar, and he’s kind of a dick to her at first. You can laugh, it’s true. But it’s funny because she’s never deterred by it. She starts writing these little facts on his cups, and these corny little jokes that make her laugh and make it really hard for him not to laugh too because she’s just so pretty. They become friends…sort of. You see, he doesn’t really like to let many people in, and here she is with this big personality. Everyone falls in love with her, I mean—how wouldn’t they. Except for him. Or so he thinks.”

You’ve moved closer, your knees against his, one of his hands in your lap, curled in your own.

“He starts helping out with her apartment and realizes the more he hangs out with her, the more he likes her. He starts to feel less like a monster, and more like someone capable of love. She peels back those little layers and is so patient with it, never pushes him, always puts his feelings first. And then, he realizes he’d be a complete dingus to not tell her he likes her. And then the most surprising thing happens.”

You’re laughing through your tears, but laughing all the same and asking, “What is that?”

“They fall in love. Him for the first time ever, and he realizes…he wants that person every day for the rest of his life.”

He pops the box open and watches your hand come up to press against your lips, taking in the single diamond on a slender gold band.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. Every day more than the one that came before it. And I want that, I want this…us, for the rest of my life,” he says thickly, trying to hold back his own tears. “If you say yes, of course.”

“Yes, Eddie, yes,” you whisper, holding out your hand so he can slide it onto your ring finger.

It’s a perfect fit.

Then again, you’ve always been.

*

Eddie Munson marries the girl of his dreams six months later.

It’s a small ceremony, surrounded by your closest friends in the Wheeler’s backyard. You share personal vows with one another, words that encompass the years you’ve known one another, the love you share, the dreams for the future.

He promises to love you for the rest of his life as Steve—newly officiated for this occasion—instructs him to slide your wedding band onto your finger. And you do the same, standing there in a pretty white dress, your own words falling around him and filling his heart as you push the solid gold ring onto his own hand.

You dance under twinkling lights the kids have twined around the trees, hearts full to burst.

Wayne tells him he’s proud to call him son and wishes you well as you part for the night, Max joining soon after to hug the two of you and remind you she’ll be by the apartment often to check up on Chewy (her favorite and only nephew).

You slip into your hotel room in a flurry of kisses, a sea of white tulle around you, your hands in his suit and his working on undoing the line of buttons down your back.

You fall into one another as you always do, his lips against yours, bodies burning, sighs mingling into one as he slides home for the first time with his new wife.

He holds you close, one arm low around your back, the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. Tells you he loves you as the two of you creep closer and closer to mutual bliss.

Later, after you’re both cleaned up and spent, he tucks you close to his chest and hums the song you danced to at your wedding.

He’s happy.

Happier than he’s ever been in his life.

“Fun fact: Becoming your husband made this the best day of my life.”

You press your head further into his chest, finger toying with the new ring on his finger. “Fun fact: Becoming your wife is mine.”

*

Tag List: @clinicallyonline17, @sidthedollface2, @lazywillow6748, @idkidknemore, @blue-eyed-lion , @emma77645 , @bambipowerblueaddition , @aysheashea , @lezzy-bennet @yeehawbitchs

[jinnyu]

Oh I love your blog already!! If its not too much trouble, could I also get Hop x gn/male reader with prompt 73? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 (Im the same anon that requested the Bede ome btw. I loved that sm ty!!! maybe one day ill come off anon but for now you can just call me ���� anon :)))

Used artwork credit here

A/N: Hey!! Im glad you enjoyed the last one! And glad to see you here again, sunflower anon!! Your requests always put me in a whole fluff writing mood, so hopefully, you'll like this one too! Thanks for requesting!

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Zacian gallops your way, returning the ball toy you threw for it to play; it retrieved the toy with full of enthusiasm, eager to play more with you until its hungry and waiting for its meal later. To think that the legendary pokemon who protected Galar would be here, playing fetch with you joyfully as if its a well tamed pet. Oh what are the odds.

You gave the legendary pokemon a pat on its head, not forgetting to gently ruffle its fur too afterwards as you took the ball from its mouth; giving out praises as you do, in which Zacian replied with a cheerful howl— you could never get enough of how adorable Zacian is, even if its capable of banishing The Darkest Day with it's partner, that doesn't reduce the cuteness level it has.

As you were about to throw the ball again, Zamazenta came rushing your way, followed by a laughing Hop who seemed like he was playing tag with the said legendary pokemon.

The sight infront of you surely is contagious, filled with laughter and glee which made you laugh too at it's silliness. Zacian seemed like it's enjoying the camping time with it's partner, and it didn't mind Hop's presence too. All is well. Its rare to have a time where you're able to camp together with your bestie like this, out in the open wild

Being the champion sure has it disadvantages; much less time for your bestfriends, casual talks, and all of that. Most of it are only filled by interviews, interviews, and even more interviews. No one ever said being the champion was easy, and you expected nothing less— no wonder Leon seemed like he's really busy and not able to stay in one place for just a second, not to mention his terrible sense of direction that only makes him lost easily. Its probably caused by a lot of thoughts in his head, therefore mini amnesia.

"Zacian!!"

Hop called out while Zacian was playing with Zamazenta. This made the legendary pokemon look up and tilted it's head a bit in confusion before finally walking to the boy who called it. Apparently Hop has something in mind, and it seems like he's been wanting to try this for awhile now.

"Easy boy"

He tangled his hands in Zacian's heavy fur, acting like he's massaging the pokemon, only to move his hands to Zacian's neck and beginning to scratch it, waiting for a reaction from the said legendary pokemon. Zacian stands tall before him, slowly starting to enjoy Hop's tiny gesture of affection by scratching the area of it's neck. Not long, Zacian lets out another happily satisfied howl, followed by a big grin appearing on your bestfriend's face. It really didn't take much for Hop to be happy, just seeing your pokemon enjoying his effort and affection is enough, it seems.

You then walked to a nearby small rock, sitting down on it as you watched your legendary pokemon have a bonding time with your bestfriend from afar. Its nice to have one day of quality time with with people you held dear to you, and of course, your beloved pokemon.

Zamazenta seems like it was quite lonely though, so you decided to call it to you in order to make it feel not left out. Zamazenta happily obliges and walks to you in a calm pace; you opened your arms, urging for it to hug you or nuzzle onto you as it came close to you, in which, it did nuzzle to your face and booped your cheek as an act of affection and respect for you. Zamazenta realises that you're Hop's bestfriend— someone important to it's trainer, therefore it should show the same respect it has shown for it's trainer, possibly even more.

"Look at youuuu" you cooed as you buried your face in the Shield-like legendary pokemon's mane, it was quite thick and warm, it's fur brings warmth and a sense of protection; somehow the vibes you're getting from Zamazenta is similiar to Hop's vibes. Warm, and you feel safe whenever he's around. I guess the trainer's personality reflects on their pokemon, huh?

Aside from that, you pulled away from the said pokemon, giving it a fuzzy ruffle one last time before letting it rest it's head on your lap, taking a short and quick nap. Oh arceus, Zamazenta is adorable, and the fact that it's resting it's head on your lap right now, it means that you cant move or else you'll wake it up.

You carefully ran your fingers through its fur, combing your way through as you feel it snoring lightly on your lap, indicating that its finally letting it guard down around you and take a rest. Still, you couldn't move at all, you dont want to wake it up, it would be a horrible thing to do if you indeed woke it up— you're not gonna lie though, half asleep Zamazenta probably would be twice adorable, just like your own legendary, Zacian.

Time passes by as you hummed, going through your rotom phone while your other hand kept patting the legendary pokemon's head. The area surrounding you has became quiet too, and it makes you wonder. Where is Hop and Zacian? You didn't hear their joyful interactions anymore.

Ah oh well, if Hop is lost, you have his pokemon with you, you could politely ask it to help you search for it's trainer. You continued scrolling through your phone as you enjoyed the sound of rustling on the grass... or so you thought.

Before you could react, Hop surprised you with a backhug followed a shout-whisper "Gotcha!". His arms wrapped around your torso carefully, noticing that Zamazenta is vast asleep on your lap— though it didn't stop him from his mischievous thoughts of teasing you, like always.

His fingers began trailing up and down on your sides, treading it lightly that made you feel a little bit ticklish, resulting in you trying your hardest not to flinch or make any small movements that could possibly wake the sleeping pokemon.

You held back your laughter as one hand was covered your lips, other hand placed on top of one Hop's hand, gripping it lightly as an act of telling him to stop.

With that, Hop's eyes widened, twinkling with amusement before turning back into a mischievous look, lips curling into his usual happy-go-lucky smile.

"Oh, are you ticklish?"

Oh no. Nope, no way in hell you'd admit that— not that you could anyways, you were in a state where any word that manages to slip out your of lips would be fatal, by fatal i mean that it would make Zamazenta wake up from it's slumber. And you dont want that.

Hop should've known that you're ticklish since you two were toddlers. Maybe he had forgotten it, you're grateful if he did, but this was not the best timing for him to be doing this to you— can he not see his pokemon is sleeping??? What kind of a cruel trainer would do this???

Back to reality, his fingers kept digging on your ticklish spot, which made you curl forward, holding back your laughter and hoping to Arceus that you wont slip.

You could hear hop snickering behind you as he's determined to make you lose your control and laugh freely, and he's gonna give all of it to make that happen, until that is, Zacian ambushed him from the side, making him tumble to the grass below him as your legendary pokemon held him down, in an act of saving you.

Your fingers wiped the tears thats threatening to slide down your cheeks, turning your head to the side only to see your bestfriend being held down by your trustworthy companion. This made your mouth turn into an O-shape as you gave it a thumbs up, thanking it for saving your dear life, and Zamazenta's beauty sleep, of course.

"Gah!! Zacian!!" Hop struggled under Zacian's powerful stare; it looked down on Hop as if it was telling Hop to back off and not bother it's trainer anymore. Hop got it's message clearly and smiled apologetically, followed by a small chuckle before Zacian finally lets him go, still watching him carefully from afar incase you're being tortured by his tickling again.

A huff slipped past your lips as the pokemon on your lap shifts; lifting it's head slowly and looked at you drowsily. "Avenge me later, Zamazenta" you muttered with a chuckle, but Zamazenta seems like it didn't understand what you were saying, nonetheless, probably Zacian will explain it later, in their... legendary ways, and if you're lucky enough, Zamazenta would really avenge you.

You changed your direction to where Hop was. He was dusting off his shirt, fixing his hair until he noticed our gaze on him. "C'mere!!" You stood up carefully as Zamazenta followed your move, you're gonna get back at him right now, just incase Zamazenta doesn't avenge you.

Lucky for you, Hop is also ticklish, so two could play this game.

[redschillzone]

Stressed Out (Hela x Fem!Reader)

(Gif found here!)

Pairing: Hela x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k Words

Warnings: None

Summary: You’re stressed about work but you know who could make it better? Your girlfriend Hela.

A/N: A Hela request for you lovelies. :) Enjoy!

You glanced up as the elevator doors opened with a ding, a small sigh escaping your lips as you began to make your way through the doors and down the hall to your apartment, moving your hands up to rub at your face; Work was an absolute disaster and you were almost positive it would never end but the moment you saw the time you ran to clock out and left without another word. Customers were being stupid with their requests, your co-workers were getting on your nerves and we’re not even going to talk about the workload your manager had given you that day. You honestly just couldn’t wait to get yourself home so you could curl up in your bed and most likely cry the stressful day away. You grabbed your keys from your bag and unlocked your apartment door, going ahead and heading inside before you shut and locked the door behind you, leaning against it before you allowed yourself a moment to rest, your head put back to lean against the door as you allowed your eyes to shut. 

Right now a nice warm bath sounded amazing and you had every intention of ordering take-out, so that was previously what you were going to do. Pushing off the door, you placed your keys and bag on the table beside the door before you made your way over to the couch and grabbed one of the pillows from it. There was one well needed thing that had to be done first before you could even consider doing the others; You buried your face into the pillow and allowed yourself to scream into it, letting out all the frustration from the day out onto the pillow. What you weren’t expecting was to hear a light chuckle. You quickly removed your head from the pillow and looked over at your dining room table and blushed lightly at who sat there; Your loving girlfriend Hela sat there, an amused look on her face. She was wearing her Asgardian wear which meant she must have just arrived a few moments prior to you.

“Oh please, my dove. Don’t let me interrupt whatever.. This is.” She spoke, waving her hand out in front of her as she referred to you and your screaming. You huffed and shook your head, placing the pillow down as you made your way over to her and plopped down in a chair at the table beside her.

“I just.. Work was an absolute mess. My co-workers were being assholes, my manager gave me a load of work that was far too much for one person and let’s not even talk about the customers! I just.. I really need to try and find a new job but this one is so close to home and pays well and just… Gah-” You spoke as you allowed your head to rest on the table, shutting your eyes once more. Hela gave a low hum as she watched you, a small frown on her face as she leaned over to gently run her hand down your back in a soothing matter.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out, my love.. But until then, let’s get you cleaned up and fed, hm?” She questioned to which you gave a small nod, letting out a breath as you got up.

“Do you think you could run a bath for me, my love…? I wanna order some food before I get in.” You asked sheepishly, watching as the goddess chuckled lightly and nodded once more, getting up to gently press a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course. You know my usual for any place you order from.” She told you before she turned and left, heading into your room and into the attached bathroom where she quickly began to work on your bath while you went ahead and ordered the food. You knew the food would take awhile to be made and delivered so that’s why you decided to order it first and as you made your way into your room, your body already began to relax as you smelled the rather fruity smell coming from the bathroom. You knew immediately that Hela had used one of your bath bombs and at this point, you were all for it. You quickly began to undress yourself, shedding off the layers of clothing you had worn to work before laying out your sleep shorts and shirt before grabbing your towel and going into the bathroom. 

Hela shifted her gaze to you as she smirked at your naked form, but tonight she wouldn’t indulge in such things; She wanted to make you feel relaxed, comfortable and that’s exactly what she had intended on doing.

“The water is warm, so I suggest you get in now.” She had told you to which you gave a nod, putting your towel aside before you carefully put one foot into the tub, shivering as the warm water brushed against your skin before you slowly but surely sunk yourself into the water. A low groan had escaped you as your body was engulfed in warmth; You could already feel your muscles beginning to relax, even as had your head lean back against the edge of the tub. Your eyes shut for but a few moments as Hela smiled down at you and leaned over, pressing a small kiss to your forehead.

“Are you comfortable, my dove?” She questioned you as you chuckled and nodded, opening your eyes to look up at her; You saw the love she held for you swirling in her eyes and you couldn’t help the small smile that spread across your face as the tears began to well in your eyes.

“It is.. Thank you so much, Hela..” You spoke, moving your hand out from under the water to hold hers. She gave a smile in return, bringing your hand up to her lips as she pressed a gentle kiss to it. 

“Anything for you, my love… Take as much time as you need. I’ll get everything sorted for when you get out.” She spoke, getting up after kissing your palm, wiping away any tears that ran down your face, and left the bathroom. She went and grabbed her spare clothing from your dresser that she kept for whenever she came to Earth and changed into her PJ set; A black and green set of shorts and a tank top. Giving a small hum she went into the living room to prepare it for your cuddle session that she knew you two would be having as you took care of yourself in the bathroom. It took about maybe twenty minutes before the food arrived and Hela had taken the money from your purse to pay; She even took the time to set it out on the coffee table in the living room.

She still didn’t understand how technology worked on Earth but she managed to somehow get the TV on and put on one of your favorite movies before she began to wait, occasionally adjusting the pillows and blankets she had brought and it wasn’t long before you came into the living room and laughed lightly.

“Shit- Did you really do all this babe?” You questioned as you looked at the food; She had even remembered to grab your favorite drink and the best pillows and blankets in the apartment. She gave you a sly grin as she looked your form over; You were wearing a black t-shirt along with a pair of black shorts and she couldn’t help but wink at you before she held her arms out to you.

“I did. Come, my love. Let’s cuddle and eat while we watch.” She spoke to which you gave a nod and made your way over, moving yourself to sit on her lap before you two began to do just that; You ate away, occasionally sharing each other's food and laughing here and there. You watched the movie together as well, cracking jokes about how cheesy it could be at times before you eventually just began to cuddle Hela as she played with your hair. Your head rested on her chest, listening to her heartbeat as you watched another movie; Your legs were between her own and you just enjoyed your cuddle sessions with Hela, they always made you feel safe and secure. You gave a small hum as you allowed your eyes to shut, keeping your arms wrapped tightly around her midsection as she shifted her gaze to you.

“Comfortable, my love?” She questioned to which you nodded and looked up at her, a smile on your face once more. Hela noticed just how much more comfortable and relaxed you were and she was glad she was able to have that kind of effect on you.

“Good.. Get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake, my love.” She told you, leaning forward to capture your lips in a short, sweet kiss. You gave a hum as you returned it, deciding to keep it slow and passionate before you pulled away, tears welling in your eyes as you opened them to look at her. Hela blinked lightly and moved a hand up to your cheek, a confused and concerned look on her face and before she could even ask what was wrong you had spoken up.

“I.. Fuck, I love you so much Hela.. Thank you for taking care of me.” You admitted, laughing lightly as the tears began to run down your face. Hela couldn’t help but shake her head lightly, a smile on her face as she wiped your tears away.

“My dove.. My shining star.. So long as we are together I will take care of you for as long as you need… Now rest, you’re drained.” She told you, bringing your head to rest it on her chest once more as she covered you both in one of the fuzzy blankets. You gave a small sniffle as you cuddled close to her and as you felt her wrap her arms around you once more, you began to slowly fall asleep listening to her heartbeat.

[ghost-proofbaby]

if i had a penny for every time i said your writing leaves me speechless, i’d be a rich man. i’d be the richest goddamn woman on this planet.

everything about this story just feels like a warm blanket, like a forever sun, like the gentlest of suns and the greenest of grasses. it was such a wonderful journey and god, my love, i’m so glad you let us all join you on it.

r’s entire speech truly hit home in such a… painful way. the always thinking. the incessant guilt. the need to fix things. the craving to just be numb. she gets it. you get it

on a lighter note, this just made me giggle. they’re such children and it made my heart nearly burst at this small moment between them. you got in trouble with mom had me snorting out loud, genuinely.

saying they’re a match made in heaven when you’ve been using the good omens book as a common thread is something so goddamn personal to me. like you know what hell yeah she’s right they are a match made in heaven. they are good. thank god eddie latched onto r. thank god that the grey of good and bad exists, and r can see that no one is solely good or solely evil. that sometimes they just are.

i cannot explain to you the way my stomach dropped at these three lines. part of me saw it coming. part of me still cried like a baby. even when prepared for the inevitable, my god, does it still hurt.

and while the wound is still fresh, you went on to pour the most delicious salt into it. WAH. that fear eddie holds of ending up like his dad just… what his thoughts in that moment must have been. fucking hell. i know what a push like that can do.

and yet he isn’t his father. he didn’t go another round, he proved the exact reason he will never be his father. he still has that good and that kindness in him that a man like that would have never possessed and i just wanted to grab him by the shoulders and scream “you are still good! you are not him! you are still good!”

this part… r’s backstory in general as to why she’s there… made me cry far harder than i should be willing to admit. my heart just shattered repeatedly during this entire scene. survivor’s guilt is such a terrible thing. but realizing that even as that guilt lives inside of you, you still have to move forward… well, is that worse, or is that simply something small and beautiful? who’s to say. not me, still bawling like a fucking baby.

the entire end scene was so warm and fuzzy and wonderful and just GAH everything we could have wanted. but this bit particularly got to me. like i cackled. steve is NEVER beating the mom allegations.

i love this story, i loved this journey, and i love you. this was such a beautifully woven tale and truly embodies the song inspiration so goddamn well. i cried and i laughed and i yearned and i felt called out multiple times. i am so proud of it and so proud of you. thank you for sharing and letting us also live with this reminder — good still exists, the world is grey in the best way, and sometimes, it’s okay to let others in on the healing process, not matter what you may be healing from.

to taking that leap, that jump across the chasm, and the endless summers that wait for us on the other side. 🖤

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ  summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ  tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ  content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ  word count: 12k

ǁ  Part 1 ǁ  Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss…” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more. 

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started. 

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before…?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances  without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake. 

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.” 

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

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thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it &lt;3

[hazbincalifornia]

Shirt

Chapter 17:  The morning after chapter 16′s snuggle-times.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Warnings: Mpreg, mentions of masturbation but nothing descriptive

Ao3 link

The alarm blared some terrible pop-punk abomination with too many synthesizers as Blitzo groaned, fumbling around some fuzzy thing to slam his fist into the clock and feeling more than hearing it crack. Damned cheap plastic. He stretched with a yawn, smacking his lips before realizing that there was a feather stuck to his tongue.

“Gah!” He jolted back upon realizing that Stolas was laying on his bed, eyes open and the edges of his beak curled in a bemused expression.

“Good morning.”

“Nearly gave me a-” Blitzo cleared his throat before taking a deep breath. “Right. Why are you still here?”

“You called me over, remember?” Stolas lazily reached over to the bedside table, plucking up his phone and waving it. “You wanted help sleeping, and I helped. You were snoozing like a baby when I woke up a bit ago, all snuggled against me like a little stuffed toy…”

Blitzo’s tail curled idly around the pillow, lifting it up so he could pick fluff out of the tear in the side. “Right. Well, whatever it was, it worked. I at least stayed asleep until the alarm went off- aaaaaand you’re touching me again.”

Stolas’s hands had found their way to Blitzo’s gut, fingers pressing the fabric down so it contoured more obviously around the baby bump. “It’s just… oh, I’m so excited! It will be wonderful getting to see another child grow up, and seeing you playing with them! You seem fond of treating your hellhound above her station, aren’t you? You’ll do well with a normal child too!”

“‘Uh… huh.” Blitzo said, only half-listening and trying not to drift off again as Stolas massaged his fingers over the sensitive skin. Stolas didn’t seem to notice the pause, and Blitzo’s middle glowed red and warm as he started using magic. “Hey, don’t mutate them in there, I’m counting on them not ripping straight out from under my abs.”

“I’m just checking on them… I can’t tell any specifics, but they seem to be healthy enough, and I think I can sense a long tail. No telling what kind it would be, though, so that doesn’t tell us much considering we both have one, does it?” He gave a little hooty laugh before glancing over at the now-cracked clock. “I must be going, there’s plenty to do- Stella is going on a vacation soon, and we need to have things settled back at the mansion before she does.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Blitzo waved a hand, brushing feathers off his shirt. “Go ahead, do whatever boring rich-boy shit you normally do when you aren’t calling me up.”

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” Stolas said, pecking a kiss on Blitzo’s forehead before he pulled his shirt off.

“Uh, you leaving typically means you’ll be getting less naked, not more,” Blitzo pointed out. Stolas simply hummed as he rummaged around in his duffel bag, extracting a neatly-folded collared shirt that looked far fancier than the one he’d slept over in.

“Those were my casual clothes, silly. I didn’t want to get anything important dirty. Shouldn’t you be getting dressed as well? I assume you have things to do yourself.”

“Of course I do!” Blitzo hurried over to his closet, pulling his own shirt over his head. Stolas whistled as the now-bare muscles flexed, and Blitzo rummaged through his closet. “While you’re here, I need some cash for new clothes. You saw how I ran out of shit the other day, and I can’t work when everything’s suddenly a crop top. I mean, I could rock it if I did some crafting to make them look like that on purpose, but you get my drift.”

“I might have some in here, I wasn’t sure if I would need any on the ride home,” Stolas replied, unzipping one side and pulling out a seed packet and a small book. A second pocket contained a condom and a pair of scissors, but the third had a small wad of cash. “Would this be enough?”

“Probably. I haven’t outgrown all of my pants yet, I mostly need shirts,” Blitzo said as Stolas set the money down on the bedside table after extracting a few bills. “Do you just carry around giant hunks of dough like that?”

“I’ve needed it a few times, and it pays to be prepared.” Stolas shrugged. “Anyway, I must be off. Good luck at work.”

“You too,” Blitzo said, resigning himself to just sitting back behind his desk for the briefing and picking something that matched his skin so it wouldn’t be as obvious. M&M wouldn't make jokes if they knew what was good for them.

By the time he turned around, Stolas had disappeared along with his duffel bag, but he’d left his shirt behind. Maybe he was just used to servants picking up after him, ugh. Well, Blitzo wasn’t going to deal with that right now. It looked soft, though, and he idly rubbed his fingers over the fabric, wishing he had something similar in his size. It felt just as nice as it had last night. Smelled nice too- waitwhatwhywashesmellingit?

The imp only realized he was sniffing the shirt when it was pressed up against his face. He balled it up and chucked it across the room, groaning as he pressed his legs together to hide a rising problem. Fuck. This was a problem for later-Blitzo, he had to be at work in half an hour. He could just jerk off when he got there. The chair was a better angle for it anyway.

The TV was on when Blitzo made his way to the kitchen- some commercial about a new erotica store down the street. Loona was on her phone and halfway through a cup of coffee, and Blitzo glared at her for daring to be able to consume as much caffeine as she wanted before filling a cup with cold water and splashing it directly on his face.

“Have fun?”

“We just fell asleep. He didn’t try any shit, at least,” Blitzo said, grabbing a toaster pastry and popping it into the toaster.

“Huh.” She shrugged, going back to her phone, and Blitzo resisted the urge to grind his thighs together.

It was going to be a very long day.

__________________

“And then, and then Tommy got into a fight with Anna, and I couldn’t let that stand-”

Geez, the bitch never shut up, did she? Blitzo’s fingertips drummed on his desk as he watched the client pace around in circles. Her head looked like a megaphone, and satan, her voice was blaring out like one. The story probably would have been entertaining any other day- it had involved cooking meth and moonshine, a police raid, two trips to the psych ward, and the CPS getting involved- but her voice was a lot more annoying in person than it had been over texts. It had a deep accent, but he couldn’t tell exactly where it was from.

(Plus she’d already been waiting when he arrived, so he hadn’t been able to rub one out, and it was warm as fuck in there because the A/C must have broken again, sweat dripping down his back and making his underwear stick directly to his ass.)

“Anyway, I need you to take out Tommy, Kate, and Elodie Jenkins, and then Alex, Alex Jr, Sloth, and Amy Brigby. Do not kill the kids, but if little Joey in particular gets caught in the crossfire I can’t say I’ll be up crying about it.” She turned and Blitzo jolted back to attention- his elbows had settled on the desk, chin in his hands. “Hey, were you even listening to me?”

“What? Sure, sure, you want us knocking off Tommy and Katie and Ellie and the Alexes and… Sluth? The hell kind of name is that?”

Her hands curled into fists, and she stomped her foot hard enough to rattle the bobbleheads on his desk. “Sloth! It was a nickname- are you gonna take the job or not?”

“We’ll take it, just write them down with descriptions. When there’s multiple targets, especially when they’re close to each other, we want to make sure we don’t take the wrong ones,” Blitzo said, tossing over a notepad and pen. She narrowed her eyes at him before scribbling them down.

“There.”

“Works for me. We’ll get right on it, then.”

She stuck out her hand to shake, and Blitzo rolled his eyes before standing up to lean over the desk. Her eyes darted down and he reached for her, squeezing the fingers hard enough to hear a crack.

“Ow! What the fuck, asshole?”

“I said, we’ll get right on it.”

“Are you- you’re a skinny bitch, what’s with the gut? You an alcoholic or something?”

Blitzo had to resist the urge to see if the button on her neck could actually switch her voice off. “Is that any of your goddamn business?” He shot back.

“It is if it keeps you from carrying out the hit for me!” She snapped her hand away, and Blitzo snarled.

“It won’t. We can still all perform our jobs just fine, and we’ll bring back their heads on a pike if you want, got it?” His lip curled up. “And I’m not fat!”

“No need to be so moody about it. I’ve got the cash, just tell me they’re dead. I wanna sock Sloth a good one when he ends up down here.”

“I’m not moody either.”

“Just do the fucking job and you'll get your money, I didn't think this would be so hard." She rubbed her hand on the way out and gave a growl that doubled over on itself with static-y feedback. When the door clicked shut, Blitzo collapsed back into his chair, scrubbing at his warm cheeks.

He needed a drink, but was going to have to satisfy himself with a leftover doughnut stuffed in his horse-toy drawer. Joy. At least he’d have fifteen minutes to jerk off before his other employees got here- right now, he'd take what he could get as a feather fluttered down from his shirt when he stuffed a hand down his pants.

[sckyie]

𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚜 | 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝟼: 𝚓𝚘𝚢

You weren't able to return back to school just yet. Today though, you wanted to meet up with Oikawa. It was your only chance other than Maiya to remember your friends. You waited patiently at the gate, twiddling your thumbs.

Iwaizumi was clueless of his friend's plot. Usually, after class, Oikawa would meet Iwa in the yard. Instead, he sped past his friend. "Sorry Iwa-chan, I don't want to be late for my date!" He rushed.

"Date, my ass," Iwaizumi grumbled. Behind approached his other friends, including Maiya. "Hey, guys."

"Do you wanna join us to get noodles Iwa?" Makki asked.

"What's the occasion?" He asks.

"Chiba's upset about Y/n, we just want to cheer her up," Mattsun says.

"Sure, Shittykawa has a 'date' according to him," Iwaizumi gestured with his hands. "Let's go."

Oikawa meets you before his friends make it out to the gate. You had pulled out your notebook and scribbled more notes on the pages. He glances over to see you writing the time school ends and what the uniform looks like. "Hey, Y/n-chan!" He greets. You jump slightly and wave at him. "Did you wait long?"

"Kind of?" You check your phone for the time. "I got here an hour ago. Are you ready to go?"

"An hour!? Y/n you're going to get sick, why'd you come so early?" The two of you chatted about the school on your way to your house. You asked about classes, teachers, and how involved you were in class.

Once inside your house, you watch as your parents greet Oikawa by his first name. He makes small talk with them before he follows you into your room. You seat yourself on the bed while Oikawa sits at your desk. He notices the empty spots on your wall where your photos with Iwaizumi were. "So what do you want to know?"

"Tell me who my friends are," You ask. "I know about Chiba but I don't know anyone else."

"Oh well-" Oikawa points out a photo from your second year at Seijoh. "That's me, Iwa-chan, Makki, Mattsun, and Chiba."

"Iwa, he was with you last time right?" You ask. "I have notes with his name on them." Oikawa watched as you got up and pulled notes out from your bedside table.

Oikawa examined his friend's messy writing and an idea popped into his head. "You know, Iwaizumi and you were really close," He says.

"Really? Can you tell me about him?" You tilted your head.

"Definitely," Oikawa smiled. "What do you want to know?"

"Just tell me about any important memories with him,"  You grabbed a pillow as you seated yourself. Hugging the pillow in your front, you patiently waited for Oikawa to think of a memory.

"Oh, I got one! It's about when we all went to the New Year's light festival last year," He smiled.

You drove your dad's van to pick up Iwaizumi and the rest of the group. This was the year Maiya started to like Matsukawa. You hummed the tune to Iwa and your song as you arrived at Oikawa's house. Iwaizumi seats himself in the front as Oikawa happily sat behind you. "Hi babe," Iwa leaned over and kissed your cheek.

"Aww, Iwa-chan where's my kiss?" Oikawa pouted.

"Back off Shittykawa," You growled.

Three stops later, you gathered the group to go to the light festival in Sendai. It was a cold night, thankfully Iwaizumi held you close to keep you warm. He even gave you his jacket to wear over yours when he caught you shivering.

"Here are photos from the festival," Oikawa showed you his phone album. You grabbed the phone to examine the pictures. "This one is you and Iwa-chan."

"Oh my god! Babe, can we take a picture here?" You pointed at the flower arch with pink lights. "Tooru, take our picture."

You dragged Iwaizumi to the arch, smiling with glee. Iwa stood behind you wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You looked up at him and pursed your lips. He leaned down and planted a light kiss on your lips.

"I love you," He whispered pulling away. Instantaneously your cheeks flushed red and you hid your face in your scarf. You turn to face him properly and you cupped his cheeks. "Gah! Your hands are cold, let go, babe!"

"That's the first time you said I love you," You whispered.

"Don't be soft about it when it's true," Iwa blushed. "Hey! Stop taking photos now, Stupidkawa!"

You moved your hands away from his cheeks down to his shoulders. You leaned up and placed your lips on his. "I love you too, Haji," You whispered.

"Hey what happened here?" You showed a photo of Matsun holding Maiya back from Oikawa.

"Get over here you little shit!" Maiya growled.

"Chiba I said I'm sorry! Makki protect me- Y/n why are you taking photos of this!?" Oikawa yelled.

"You ate her food, I'm just taking photos to remind you to never do that," You chuckled. You flipped the camera on Oikawa's phone to take pictures with Iwaizumi. "Baby smile."

"Hey! Stop taking pictures on my phone!" Oikawa goes to grab his phone.

"Oh, I locked your phone. Here," You say. "It seems like Iwaizumi and I were really close. Were we best friends or something?"

"Something like that," Oikawa stated. The rest of the night, Oikawa began to tell you stories of you and your friend group. Unfortunately, none of it recalled any memories within your mind. Though all the stories he told of you and Iwaizumi made you feel something fuzzy inside. The way he spoke greatly of Iwaizumi made you believe that everything was fine between you two.

But it wasn't. Iwaizumi on the other hand had just finished going out with the group. As Makki and Mattsun finished their meal, Maiya excused herself to calm down outside. Ever since your accident, she's tried every day for you to remember your friendship. The thought of being an erased memory shook her and it would cause her to breakdown easily.

Maiya stood outside the restaurant, breathing heavily. Her eyes welled up with tears as the memories of you filled her mind. "Chiba, you okay?" Iwaizumi called out. Maiya refused to look up at him. "Matsukawa was worried but he wanted me to check on you. Is everything alright?"

"We were together that night," She muttered. "She was crying and I didn't stop her from leaving...Y/n was right there, beside me and I- I let her go. I told her to drive safe- I told her everything would've been fine...I-" Hot tears began to stream down her face as she crouched to her knees.

"Chiba, it'll be okay. The good part is Y/n is alive, and according to the doctor amnesia won't be forever," Iwa bent down to comfort her.

"But it might. You don't understand Iwaizumi," Maiya cried. She looked up and grabbed his collar. "You're the one who wanted her out of your life. I didn't ask for this!"

previous | masterlist | next

synopsis: it's always hard to recover from heartbreak, but how can you recover from something you can't even remember?

taglist: @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @d0llpie @elianetsantana @kaashikoi @hi-kenam @officiallykuute @moonlightaangel

a/n: if u cant tell italics are flashbacks

[mexicancat-girl]

must be dreaming

Yet another MarcNath fic for #MLPrideFest2020 and Pride Month.

AO3: Link, 3k words.

Summary: Nathaniel dreams about Marc. He thinks it’s just a fluke. His older sister thinks otherwise.

.

...

“I must be dreaming, or,

We’re onto something…”

- - - - -

Nathaniel felt calm, and listless, totally at peace.

He was lying on his back, soft grass between his fingertips.

Above him stood a tree, branches stretching out wide. The branches were full to bursting with leaves, casting down shade. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, gold and red dancing behind his eyelids whenever they fluttered closed.

The place felt indistinct. Maybe he was lost, deep inside a grand forest. Maybe he was just lying down at a park. He wasn’t sure.

What he was sure was that the green of the tree above him was gorgeous, a vibrant shade that sparkled and danced in the gentle wind and sunlight.

He wasn’t alone, either. His head was in someone’s lap, and they were stroking their fingers through his hair. Soft and soothing and steady.

He felt content, and safe. Loved, even.

He closed his eyes, for a long moment, and then opened them once more. The tree’s leaves were just as green as before. But so were the pair of eyes peering back at him.

Nathaniel knew those eyes, emeralds surrounded by a legion of dark, barren branches. Soft eyes, kind eyes, familiar eyes.

Nathaniel blinked, and then Marc’s face came into focus.

Marc’s face was bent over Nathaniel’s, eyes crinkled, shiny pink lips pulled into a sweet smile. Dark strands of hair framed his face like a messy hallo.

Marc looked like he fit into the scenery perfectly. He was a wood nymph, ethereally beautiful. Nearly intangible to grasp.

Except the fingers were still threading through Nathaniel’s hair, and Marc was above him, and his head was pillowed in a warm lap. All real.

It felt strange, but familiar. He’s never put his head on Marc’s lap—at least, from what he can remember. He’s also never had Marc pet his hair like this. But the motions feel natural.

Nathaniel blinks again, at Marc’s blinding smile, teeth white and gleaming. He feels fuzzy all over. But something in his chest lurches. He thinks its his heart missing a beat.

Marc’s fingers are in his hair. Marc’s smile is sweet on his kissable-pink lips. Marc’s eyes are as green as the tree leaves above them.

“Nathaniel…” Marc breathes out, voice soft. Again, his heart misses a beat once more.

Nathaniel tries to work his jaw, even though he feels lethargic and boneless and completely incapable of moving a muscle.

“Marc?” he mumbles back, just barely above a whisper.

“Nathaniel…” Marc says once more, voice a sweet coo. The sunlight gets brighter behind his head, streaking his dark hair silver.

“Mmm?” Nathaniel asks. “Yeah?”

“Wake up, Nathaniel,” Marc states, but his voice sounds strange. Distant. Lighter and higher.

“Marc…?”

“Wake up.”

The sunlight burns brighter, illuminating all of Marc’s form. He looks angelic. Ethereal.

The fingers stop combing through Nathaniel’s hair, disentangling completely from his locks. He whines, feeling the loss instantly.

“C’mon, Nath. Wake up already,” Marc insists in that suddenly-high voice, as the colors blur. The green of the trees is replaced by bright, white light. Marc’s form becomes fuzzy and indistinct, like looking through fogged glass.

Marc’s eyes are the only part of the boy that left that are in-focus, bright green and dark lashes and so full of love and admiration—

- - - - -

Nathaniel’s breath hitches, and he blinks his eyes awake.

He groans, feeling an assault of light piercing like knives. He fumbles, raising a hand to rub at his eyelids.

“Rise and shine, little lamb,” someone familiar coos. Nathaniel grumbles, blearily blinking his eyes open. The thing he catches sight of first is the wild mass of curly, red hair.

“Yeesh! You were conked out on me for hours there, bud,” his sister laughs as his eyes finally focus. She grins crookedly down at his splayed form. Her grey eyes are warm and crinkled as she gently boops him on the nose.

A surge of disappointment fills him, so overwhelming and sudden, it knocks the breath straight from his lungs.

He shouldn’t be. This is his sister, after all. Jaina was always very willing to let him sleep on her, even petting his hair in a way he really enjoyed. She knew how to get him to go to sleep, and how to be soothing on top of that.

But it wasn’t…

“How long was I ‘sleep?” Nathaniel manages to croak out past the dryness of his throat, as well as the sudden lump of disappointment, bringing up his fist to wipe off the trail of drool down his chin.

“About three hours, give or take,” is Jaina’s matter-of-fact reply.

Nathaniel just about jolts up at that. “Three—three hours?!” he yelps, sitting up and shuffling away so he can stare at his sister in mild horror. “That’s…”

“A long time, little lamb,” she agrees, smiling crookedly, full of fondness. “But you looked like you needed the sleep. I didn’t mind.”

Nathaniel still feels insurmountably guilty, no matter the assurances. He quickly wipes his hands against his jeans, nervous, gripping onto his knees.

“But—But you only visit every other weekend…” he points out, voice terribly small as he hunches into himself. It’s the truth, after all; Jaina was busy with art school. “And I just went and—and wasted that time—”

“It wasn’t a waste,” Jaina cuts in, voice firm—sharp, even. She levels her gaze on him, as solid as steel. “You could nap on me for a hundred hours, and it’d never be a waste, baby brother.”

Nathaniel sighs lengthily, fiddling with his bangs. “Still…I feel bad.”

“Don’t. It’s not like you were in the way,” she shrugs, stretching her arms above her and giving a relieved hum as her vertebrae popped loudly and wetly. Nathaniel can’t fight down wrinkling his nose at the gross noises. “If anything, you helped me focus on studying for my test on Monday.”

All he does in response is give a hum, still unconvinced and guilty.

The guilt quickly drains from him as his sister shoots him a toothy smile. “Besides…Seems like you were havin’ a pretty nice dream, there.”

“W-Was I…?” he asks, feeling a bit nervous for some reason. He flattens his bangs down, and casts his gaze to his lap.

“Mmmmhm. You were smiling up a storm. And mumbling in your sleep.”

Oh no. What the fuck did he say in his sleep…?!

“Oh, nothing much, really,” Jaina states flippantly. Nathaniel nearly chokes on his spit, realizing he’d just said his thoughts aloud. “You were just muttering out…’Marc. Maaaarc’. While smiling like a puppy getting belly rubs.”

Nathaniel squeaks, face burning. “N—Wh—what? No I wasn’t!”

“I mean, that’s what is seemed like,” Jaina drawls out, smile wholly amused, her eyes gleaming impishly. “Didn’t know you and that Marc kid were so…close.”

“I-It’s not like that!” Nathaniel blusters out, flustered, barely even realizing what he was saying.

It’s not like that…? Like what, exactly?

Jaina gives him a long, pointed look. Nathaniel feels the distinct need to melt into a puddle under her knowing gaze. What does she know that he doesn’t…?

Then Jaina laughs, loud and warm, as she reaches out a hand to ruffle his hair. Nathaniel is too off kilter to dodge her assault.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop teasin’ you. You’re just too cute sometimes, y’know? My heart can’t handle it,” she coos, cackling he kicks at her leg in retaliation with his sock-clad feet. “Hey, hey, no need for violence now, baby brother.”

“I’ll show you violence…” he grumbles out, heaving himself to his feet. He peers around himself at the fixtures of Jaina’s old room, oddly half-barren; it was strange, not having her live in the house anymore. “Um…Thanks again, for letting me nap, though.”

“You may thank me now, but I think I’ve just messed with your sleep cycle,” is her sheepish reply. She smiles back at him apologetically. “Try not to go to bed too late, okay?”

“No guarantees, but I’ll try,” Nathaniel warns, because they both know his ADHD kicks his ass when it comes to sleeping properly. He stands awkwardly and watches as his sister gathers her things back in her bookbag. “Um. You heading back…?”

“Yeah, I prob’ly should,” his sister sighs, nearly stumbling as she tries to get up. “Gah! My legs are almost asleep, hold on—”

“Here, I’ve got you.”

Jaina proceeds to use Nathaniel as a crutch, helping her hobble to the nearby desk so she can have a more stable support structure as she shakes out her legs. Considering there’s more than a half-foot of height difference between them, it probably makes an incredibly comical sight.

“That’s what happens when I sit in one place for three hours, I guess,” she says, voice wholly bemused and airy. “Oh well.”

“Sorry again.”

“No need, no need,” she waves him off, hands on her hips as she smiles down at him.

“G’luck with school, then, little lamb,” is his sister’s parting words, before she leaves to go back to her apartment.

- - - - -

“Hey, just what d’you make me for?

I don’t fall in love lawlessly…”

- - - - -

Nathaniel’s mind whirls.

He feels…Strange. Confused. Antsy, even.

Nathaniel sits down at his desk, cracking his sketchbook open to rid his frustrations and strange feelings. It’s always worked before, so it should work now.

All he ends up drawing are trees with dappled sunlight and a pair of familiar, emerald eyes.

He slams his sketchbook closed, spooked and jittery, heart beating staccato in his chest.

What did it all mean…? Why did he dream what he did? Why was it Marc, of all people?

After all, parts of the dream were based on reality. Jaina had been soothing him, combing her fingers through his hair, his head in her lap. So why hadn’t he just dreamt of having a nice picnic or something with his sister…?

Why Marc?

Nathaniel didn’t know. All he knows is that he felt at peace in the dream. Like he was protected.

Like he was loved, even.

But, no. That had to be from Jaina, right? The feeling of love and safety and…

But it felt different than his other dreams. He’s dreamed of his family, before. Half-dreams and half-memories, where he went to the park or aquarium or Disney Paris with them. Dreams of his family having sweet times together were even more common of a theme after his parents divorced more than a year back.

This dream with Marc felt distinctly different. But Nathaniel couldn’t exactly put a finger on it…

Sighing, Nathaniel decides that maybe he should follow Jaina’s advice, and go to sleep at a decent time. Maybe more sleep will fix this.

It could all be just a fluke, after all. Just a hiccup. His brain playing tricks on him.

Nodding to himself with conviction, Nathaniel readies his things for school, and then gets ready for bed.

Just a fluke…

- - - - -

Nathaniel lets out a long sigh.

He’s glad he’s back in the Art Club room. He always feels like he can be himself, here, without judgement. It’s a warm and welcoming place.

He goes to his usual table on autopilot. Passes by Alix’s wall of half-done graffiti and doesn’t spare an extra glance at the mannequins that Marinette likes to use.

No one else is here. It’s quiet.

That’s fine. Nathaniel finds comfort in the quiet.

He stops before he can sit down, looking at the sunlight streaming through the large windows of the room, letting in natural sunlight. The room is bathed in warm gold.

Nathaniel’s now sitting, bag on the table. A voice says quietly on his left side, “Hello.”

He turns his head, smiling automatically at the sight of his friend and partner, the smile wide in his mouth. “Hey.”

Marc looks pretty today.

Granted, Marc always looks pretty. There’s never been a time where he hasn’t.

But there’s something about him right now that’s different. It’s subtle, but there. It’s highlighted by the sun streaming in through the windows, bathing him in golden light.

Marc’s hair looks windswept, but smooth and silky, strands gleaming like a velvety curtain. His cheekbones are highlighted by the natural light perfectly. His eyes look vibrant, as soft as his perfect complexion. A bit of his collarbone is exposed from his colorful t-shirt as he leans forwards, glistening pink lips pulled back into a smile with a hint of white teeth.

“I’ve been looking forwards to club time,” Marc says as if a secret, Nathaniel’s gaze enthralled by the way he ducks his head bashfully and looks up at Nathaniel through his eyelashes. “I have so many ideas to write…”

“Me too,” Nathaniel says, having to force his lips to work. For some reason, he feels speechless in the wake of his unfairly beautiful friend.

Marc smiles sweetly back at him. His lips are kissable pink. The light dances across their glossy, plush surface.

Nathaniel can’t stop looking at them.

“Nathaniel…?” Marc asks slowly. Nathaniel’s enthralled with the way those lips shape into his name, feels his heart stutter at the quiet intimacy of Marc’s voice.

“Your lips. Gloss. Look nice,” he manages to mumble, words so very hard to say.

Nathaniel manages to tear his gaze up to look at his friend’s face. Marc smiles back at him, cheeks flushed and lips a bashful smile. “Th-thank you.”

“Can…Can I try…” he trails off, not knowing how to word his request. Not even knowing what his request is, in the first place.

He just wants. The feeling washes over him, from head to toe. His chest swells, and he feels like he’s going to burst.

Marc’s emerald eyes gleam bright behind his lashes. He nods meekly, face alight, a petal pink hue. He looks cute. Very, very cute.

“I don’t have my lip gloss with me, but…” Marc trails off, voice oddly shaky. Nathaniel’s gaze zeroes in on those plush lips, enticingly pink and shiny.

Nathaniel blinks, eyes falling to half-mast. He feels hazy and content, while also feeling excited and breathless.

Marc starts to lean in. Nathaniel starts to lean in.

Closer and closer. It feels like an eternity.

Marc is haloed by the sun streaming in, eyes blazing bright with affection, his lips getting closer and closer and—

- - - - -

Nathaniel startles awake with a gasp, eyes flying open and fingers gripping knuckle-white on his sheets.

His face feels like it’s on fire. Actually, his entire body feel like it’s on fire.

Nathaniel tries to kick off his covers like a buck wild horse. The sheets cling to his sweat-slick skin, and he pants like he’s been running a marathon.

Nature’s a-knocking, much to his mortification. He very pointedly ignores that (as he’s sure as hell not going to unpack that now) to awkwardly roll over and bury his face into his pillow. He then promptly screams into said pillow, because what the fuck was that?!

What—Who—Why—Whywhywhywhywhy—

It was…It was Marc. Again. But it wasn’t…It was more than just…And then the…the lips? Leaning in? They were. They were gonna—

Fuck.

Fuck!

Nathaniel promptly buries his face into the pillow, again, and lets out another scream. While still ignoring his awkward and inconvenient half-boner that makes itself known.

No. Nononono. Nope.

He’s not going to think about it. He’s not.

He didn’t just dream—again—of his friend. He didn’t dream of—of kissing—

Ugh, he can’t even think about it…! If he does, it’ll make it all the more real!

Stupid stupid stupid. Stupid brain and stupid dreams and. And stupid Marc for being so pretty and having such nice skin and captivating eyes and nice lips—honestly, who gave him the right to be so gorgeous and sweet and funny and talented and—

Oh.

Oh no.

No. Nope. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t.

But his heart was still racing, and his breaths are still ragged, and his chest felt full to bursting with butterflies.

Every time Nathaniel closed his eyes, now, he saw Marc. Marc’s hair and eyes and neck and lips and—

Fuck.

This…This wasn’t just a fluke.

It wasn’t just a dumb dream.

His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him for laughs.

He’s…He likes Marc.

Not just like Marc, either. Nathaniel wanted to bury his head in Marc’s lap, and have Marc play with his hair, and have Marc smile at him like he was the only person around, and have Marc talk to him sweetly and familiarly, and even have Marc kiss him.

Those were all…very specific things, very specific scenarios, and very specific feelings. And none of those could be a—a fluke, or, or his brain just playing tricks on him.

Nathaniel’s had crushes before. His most recent one was on Marinette six months ago.

And even still, he never dreamed of her. Daydreamed, yes. Doodled her in his sketchbook, certainly.

But the farthest he’s ever gotten was thinking of holding her hand, or having her smile at him sweetly, or saving her as a superhero from bad guys.

Nothing ever so…realistic. Domestic. Magical. Sickeningly lovestruck.

Nathaniel didn’t just like Marc, he realized. Like any old crush of his from the past.

Nathaniel loved him.

And that was both elating and absolutely terrifying.

- - - - -

“I must be dreaming, or,

Pinch me to waking,

So undeniably yours,

As long as I’m losing it so completely…”

- - - - -

[ericsonclan]

Breakfast Surprise

Summary: Mitch wakes up early to make some breakfast for Brody.

Word Count: 1385

Read on AO3:

“Shit!” Mitch cursed under his breath, nearly dropping the carton of eggs tucked under his arm as he reached for a jug of milk. The raspberry container clattered to the floor causing Mitch to swear more as he rushed to put down the other ingredients. He knelt down and picked up the raspberries then rushed over to the sink and washed them off. He looked at the container of raspberries, water slipping through and dripping through the small openings around the edges. Giving a shrug, he placed it down on the container. He had gotten it in five seconds, that's what mattered. Taking a deep breath he got out the bowls and pans he needed to make this breakfast. Gently placing down the pans and bowls, Mitch began to crack the eggs for the french toast. His green eyes wandered over to the clock in the kitchen. Brody wouldn’t get up for another half an hour. That should be plenty of time to prepare breakfast. His focus was so completely on making sure he had enough time to cook the different parts of the meal that he had failed to notice the egg had missed the bowl. The yolk dripped down and splattered on his bare feet.

“Gah, fucking fuck!” Mitch whispered and went over to get some paper towels to clean up the mess. He just had to concentrate. Sure he was pretty shit at cooking a lot of things, but he really didn’t wanna mess this up. All he wanted was to surprise his wife with breakfast in bed. It shouldn’t be that hard. With determination burning anew, Mitch cracked open the rest of the eggs he needed in two bowls then poured a bit of milk in one, sprinkling in some sugar and a splash of vanilla before grabbing the container of cinnamon. Mitch shook it, his eyebrows knitting in confusion when nothing came out. He lifted it up to his face and patted it a few more times, causing a small dust of cinnamon to cover his face. Mitch spat and shook his face before shaking some cinnamon into the mix. He left the mixture for a minute and began to turn on the different burners, placing bacon on and some butter in the other pan. A small meow drew his attention when Oreo strutted over the counter, purring loudly as he stuck his head into the french toast mix.

“Oreo, no,” Mitch grabbed the cat and placed him down by his brother who jumped this way and that before whacking Oreo and scampering off. Mitch gave a short laugh then whisked up the french toast mixture. Placing some bread into the mix, he began to cook the first few slices while the bacon sizzled in the other pan. The different smells of breakfast were starting to swirl around, creating a comforting yet tempting smell. Mitch’s smile grew as he worked to make some scrambled eggs. But it proved to be a mistake as he smelled some of the bacon burning.

“Damn it,” Mitch turned down the stove’s lighter then moved to flip over the first few pieces of french toast. Everything soon was back on track as he finished up the bacon then turned his attention back on the scrambled eggs. Folding in some cheese and different veggies, he let the flavors meld and work together. With the bacon done he could finally finish up the french toast. Some got burnt but he just put those aside for himself. He only wanted the best french toast for Brody. Some scampering drew his attention for a second when he saw TNT playing with his catnip toy before Oreo moved forward, wanting a turn. TNT looked at his sibling for a second before kicking his back legs and running away.

“Oreo, just chill with me.” Mitch moved over, taking down a tray and the different dinnerware he needed. He slid his feet across the floor and began to finish up the rest of the dishes. After a few minutes the french toast was stacked haphazardly on a plate, the scrambled eggs still in the pan and the bacon on some paper towels to get off some of the excess oil. Mitch moved back in front of the tray and began the process of laying out the silverware, plate and glass. His eyes stuck on the napkin for a minute: should he try to make it fancy? Nah, knowing how well that had turned out last time he tried he figured it would end up the same way. Placing down a few pieces of french toast, Mitch added some eggs and bacon to the plate before placing a container of syrup and butter on the tray. He slid across the kitchen, stopping himself with the fridge handle and opening it to take out some orange juice to pour. That was the last part.

Mitch crossed his arms and smiled down proudly at his accomplishment when his smile faltered. He was forgetting something… The raspberries. Mitch cracked open the container and tossed a few berries on. With a sigh of relief he moved to dump the charred and messed up remains of breakfast on a plate for himself. His eyes looked back at the clock; he had finished just in time. Mitch’s hands grabbed onto the handles of the tray and he made his way to the bedroom, careful not to spill anything. He paused, however, when he saw his next obstacle. The door was closed. With a grunt he lifted up his leg, his eyes growing large when the orange juice nearly tipped over and ruined his breakfast. Freezing for a second he moved his foot forward and wrapped it around the  doorknob. It took a few attempts but he successfully opened the bedroom door, signalling for Oreo and TNT to come barreling forward to greet Brody. The two cats hopped up on the bed and immediately went over to Brody who had just woken up.

“Morning,” She gave a happy, sleepy smile to her husband who returned the smile in kind.

“Morning, Brodes.” He walked over and got up on the bed. Leaning forward he captured her lips in a soft kiss. The two looked into each other’s eyes for a moment before Mitch continued. “Mmm, morning breath,”

Brody playfully pushed him away then looked over at the tray that was on top of the bed. “What’s that?”

“Thought I’d make you breakfast in bed,” Mitch lifted it up and moved to place it on Brody’s lap that was currently inhabited by two cats. Brody picked up TNT and Oreo to move them away then pushed back a stray strand of hair. Her blue eyes looked at the breakfast in awe.

“This looks amazing, Mitch!” Her praise made a happy smile appear on Mitch’s face.

“It was nothing,” He shrugged it off but paused when he felt Brody’s lips on his cheek.

“I think it's super sweet,” Those words made Mitch’s heart do a little flip inside his chest as he sat cross-legged on the bed. “Where’s your breakfast?”

Those words made the brunette’s eyes widen. “Shit, be right back!” Mitch hopped off the bed and after a few minutes returned with his plate of rather burnt looking food. He sat down, perfectly content as he began to dig in.

“If you want some of my food, that’s fine,” Brody offered but Mitch shook his head.

“No, I’m fine with this. There plenty more french toast if you want any.”

“I think I have plenty here,” Brody smiled down at the breakfast. “French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, orange juice, you really thought of everything.” The auburn smiled up warmly at her husband.

“Yeah, I’m pretty impressed-” Mitch stopped himself when he realized something. “Shit, forgot the coffee!”

“Mitch!” Brody called out, wanting to tell him it was okay, but he was already off, the two cats in tow. Brody let out a soft laugh as she sliced through her french toast. Even if he was a bit forgetful and a dumbass, he really was a sweet guy. Her sweet guy. Brody let that statement wash over her, making her heart feel all warm and fuzzy before she bit down into the french toast, happy to start digging into the breakfast in bed.

[r00en]

Still Good Chapter 4.

Small talk over dinner turned to a heavy topic as the great All Might gets a bit of perspective he's never seen before as he comes to terms with his feelings no matter what they might be. All Might finds out the price normal hero’s pay every day to make the world a brighter place...and he’s not sure he likes it. 

All Might x Reader (OC) 

Warning: Mentions of gore and blood. It only get’s worse from here folks! Oh...did you think this was gonna be a cute rom-com filled with sooches and wuv? NU! I make you WORK for that love! (Edited, added a line or two and fixed a bunch of mistakes that were glaring)

The lull of light dinner conversation mixed with the quiet muttering of the T.V behind them was soothing in a way. There was so few pauses that Toshi could let his mind focus on the topics at hand or things she pointed out on the program over his fluttering heart and twitching nerves. He wasn't so surprised that she was a decent cook. As bland as his food needed to be she picked a rather mild meat rub before cooking his chicken and even finished it off with a few minuets of baking to give it more of a texture over the rubbery feel it had when boiled. He had to admit it was a nice change of pace and tasted great. So much so that Toshi found himself hoping she would make it for him again. Bento boxes every day in a goofy All Might style bento with a little note from her would be the literal definition of heaven. He watched as she happily shoveled some meat in her mouth, catching the happy little hum of enjoyment she let out. A bit childish, not at all proper but Toshi wouldn't change her for the world. Her puffy cheeks filled with food and utterly thrilled expression over something so simple was adding to the atmosphere. Could he ask to stay the night? Make up some kind of excuse like his side hurt or it was too late for the trains. If he pretended to be in pain she might kiss his side again and his guts gave a thrilled twist as the image of her in the kitchen burst through the mental wall he was trying to keep it contained behind. 

"Sore wa hendesu!!"

The loud shout from the TV knocked him out of his day dreaming causing Toshi to fumble with his rice bowl for a second. He was caught by a dumb game show host. Shooting a glare in it's direction for good measure he gave a heavy sigh and started eating the end of his meal. "These shows are so weird, I still can't keep up with them. But the talk shows are nice it helps me get a bit more of a feel for professional conversation." The little nurse was covered up to her shoulders in the kotatsu blanket, looking happy and content as she wanted for him to finish his food. This sort of set up was strange to Toshi. Often when you would invite someone to dinner it was a bit more of a occasion, treating that person like a respected guest with constant conversation and offerings of snacks and drinks. This was so casual and seemed more like something married couples would do every night. Sit around and watch T.V and eat their cheap dinners only mildly chatting. No, this was far better. "Damn it Toshi stop thinking like that! This is a common dinner gathering with a friend! This is surely how they do it in the states. Stop getting your weird hopes up" 

His eye cast down to the end of his rice. He had eaten far more than he expected himself too given how nervous he felt. He hand't felt 'full' in a long time. If that was indeed what he was feeling. Full, happy and relaxed. That was until she stretched and stood up from her spot. Her work skirt getting caught from her odd position and holding just a bit too high up her milky thigh giving him a beautiful look of the creamy skin that was normally hidden from view. Blood dripped from between his teeth and he snapped his head away to sputter something she thankfully ignored this time around. 

"All done? I can start to clean up if you want to finish watching. You can tell me more about that kid you're training yeah? You said he knew about my work back in the states?" 

Toshi gave a sort nod, trying to stack his bowls carefully to make the work easier for her. "Yes, thank you! The food was wonderful! I had no idea you were not only a brilliant nurse and hero but you really can cook too." The flush that painted her cheeks was a wonderful reward for his mild complement and Toshi made it a point to do that more often. Constantly if possible. The way she wiggled on the spot and twisted some hair around her fingers, trying to look anywhere but at him with her flustered expression was quiet possibly the cutest thing he had ever seen! Oh he would do it again for sure. Next chance he got. 

She scuttled off quickly with a muttered thank you followed by a string of excuses and reasons why she was in fact NOT a good cook at all, facts Toshi ignored as he turned the TV down to listen to her as she set about cleaning their dishes. "So this kid, Midoriya was it?" 

"Oh yes right. Young Midoriya shows great promise. That young man is set to do great things..." His voice trailed off as he looked at his own clenched fist. So frail and skinny now it was so important to All Might to train that boy as quickly as possible. His time was limited and he was growing weaker day by day. The thought clawed at the back of his mind and forced a slight twitch in his jaw. Every day was one day less and soon he would have to live like this. A normal, weaker than average citizen who couldn't save people. Couldn't be the symbol he spent his whole life trying to be. Was this really all he had left in the coming days? Once Midoriya was ready and the torch was passed what would he even do with himself? A washed up old has-been hero who could hardly take care of himself. Hell he was here pressing the new nurse just because of a little pain in his side. Was this really what he had become? 

A small plastic object was thrust into his view causing Toshi to perk up and snap his head towards her and what ever she was wiggling in his face. That sweet smile greeting him as it always did, her hair let down now that all the work and dinner was done but she kept on that cute little apron and he felt his heart swell from gloom to joy. Was it her quirk? Could she radiate some type of joy through close contact? How quickly she was able to rip him out of his self loathing and into a peaceful quiet. "You can't have sweets normally right? I picked up these flavors honey sticks just in case." One small stick hung between her lips as she blinked down at him. "Non-processed should be better right?" 

He gave a soft nod and brushed his fingers against her's again as he took her offering. He thought he caught her little tremble at the contact but brushed it off as a chill from the sudden unexpected feeling of his colder boney fingers against her far warmer....far softer ones. She took the time to think about his needs and cater to them so diligently he was starting to feel like some unnecessary burden who selfishly pushed himself into her life, and for what? Just so he could get all warm and fuzzy seeing her smile? He must not have been hiding his own personal disdain well enough as that same soft hand he brushed seconds ago came down sharply on the top of his head. "H-hey! What-" "You keep getting this look on your face. I don't like it so cut it out." She was so blunt. That dead stare she gave telling him this was not up for debate. "A-ah...sorry I didn't notice I was making one. Didn't mean to upset you or-gah HEY!" Another swift chop and now his head was really starting to hurt. 

"A quit with the apologizing alright. We're friends arn't we? If something on your mind you should say it don't sit there and sulk. That's what friends do for each other." The sudden finger thrust in his face had him lean back and staring crossed at her hand. "Besides what good am I as not only your friend but the new up and coming nurse at the great UA high if I can't even mend the spirit and heart of a fellow employee! I'll be an absolute failure! I'll never be able to show my face to grandma again she'll scold me for sure!" Her speech was so dramatic and heartfelt Toshi couldn't stop the slight twitch of his lips that broke quickly out into a smile. Sitting forward he leaned on his elbows and let his head hang. "Cut right to the point don't you kid-" He chose to ignore the delighted look on her face at the return of his nickname but only just. "And you're pretty good at picking up on others emotions, that's a good quality to have in a school nurse. Better yet one at UA. Those kids are the future hero's, they carry a lot of weight on their young shoulders and I bet a lot of them will need all the emotional help they can get as well as physical. I have no doubt you'll be a great asset to the school from this point on." He had meant it to be some kind of compliment. Trying to match her emotional speed in this conversation but the look on her face now told him he fell short. She was scowling? 

After a few seconds of silence between them he moved and rubbed the back of his neck nervously "...I say something wrong? You don't-" "You're trying to deflect the conversation Toshinori...." Shit he was caught. She was far better than he gave her credit for. The sudden feel of her hand wrapped around his resting one caused him to jump and nearly fall back from the table. "Come on. Somethings bothering you. You're normally all kinds of jumpy and odd but ever since the kitchen you've been so quiet." Her eyes looked so worried but a different worried that Toshi was only ever used to seeing on her. Worry that went deeper than his scar and title. Worry for Toshinori Yagi on a personal level he hadn't felt in years. But he couldn't just open up to her like this, burden her with more than necessary or more than he already had. Almost instinctively he turned his hand so he could grip hers. Any other circumstance and his heart would be fighting it's way up his throat but he was being tactful here. A common sense misdirection. "It was something Young Midoriya said today. He knew you from your hero work back in the states. You went by Paladin back then right?" She seemed to relax a bit "He...mentioned the way you used to fight and I just can't get it out of my head. What kind of hero agency sends someone like you out on the front lines to be a punching bag for the rest of the fully capable hero's out there? Let you get hurt in their place....it didn't sit right and ever since Young Midoriya brought it up again it's been eating away at me. Knowing you were hurt so badly so often...." His hand squeezed her's tight, tighter than perhaps he should have given the small wince she gave in response but she didn't pull away. Only returned the pressure and placed her other hand over his. 

"But it's the exact same thing they did to you." Toshi's head snapped up. What could that possibly mean?! He was the worlds greatest hero, no one could touch him in his prime. He wasn't some striking dummy set out on the streets to take hits he was saving people. "That sounds dumb let me explain. Here in Japan the only reason things are the way they are now is because of you. Sure all the other heros take care of minor crimes that pop up from time to time but you are the whole reason this society works the way it does. You take punches every single day in all different sorts of ways to keep people safe and thriving. No one stops to ask if you're okay, no one gives you a break or time off. For the past twenty years you have been the symbol the world needed you to be....but you were just an object of hope to cling to. A punching back for the worlds problems day in and day out but you did it with a smile. You never asked for anything in return and used your powers to help everyone else around you regardless of the sacrifices you had to make to do it." His side twitched slightly, as if affirming her words. "And you wanted to do it. Use that power in any way you could. Even now the only thing your mind is screaming is for you to help me, even if I don't really need saving. You view it as in injustice that you need to right. Our views on it may be different but I wanted to us my power to help people just like you. Every single use of it needed to go to that cause because otherwise what good is it to just let it sit there and do nothing? If I'm not helping someone with my quirk, even if that help is buying time for the right hero to do the job then what point is there to having it at all? Besides the best look on a villains face is the one they get when their punches just don't work! 

Toshi...I need you to understand how normal heros really think. Sometimes I wonder what the world would be like if I was there to take that hit for you....if someone could protect you for once rather than you always having to shelter us. I don't want to only rely on the symbol of peace, I want him to rely on me now! Even if it's just making him food and listening to his problems."

She was so passionate and god damn it was she smart. Ripped that morality right out from under him. He desperately wanted to save someone who didn't need to be saved, from a path they both walked. And she wanted more than anything now to be his hero. Putting herself out there for him here and now made his heart swell. 

Her hands were shaking slightly and he worried more than anything that this wasn't the whole picture but he wasn't going to push her. Not now. "While I might not have your power I needed to do this for the people I cared about. Without me so many others would have gotten hurt and many could have died. I can come back from those hits....they can't. Even if it's minor...even if it's scary how can I call myself a hero if I don't do everything I can to help?" She grinned up at him, that shining in her eyes was so hopeful and bright that he found himself starting slack jawed at her for a moment. "How else can I Go Beyond?!" 

This was the moment in every sappy romance movie he had ever seen where the hero wrapped his arms around the girl and kissed her until she was out of breath. Held her like he would never let go and showered her with love and adoration. But Toshi was stuck to his seat. Only able to hold her hands and smile right back at her. "You keep on surprising me kid. But you know, I'll never stop worrying about you. It's kinda my job. Even if I'm like this I don't really know any other way to be." 

The small laugh that pulled from her warmed his heart but it chilled just as quickly when she let his hands slip from hers to stand. "That's my line you dork. I'm the school nurse after all." As she passed him she let her fingers run over his wild hair and he leaned into the touch like it was second nature and watched her move into the kitchen. Damn it this wasn't good. His heart was thudding so hard he could feel it through his chest. In a few short minuets she had cemented herself as the most kind, beautiful and intelligent woman he had ever met. And cutest, he added as she stumbled out with a few more honey stick and a goofy grin chatting about something else she saw on TV to break the tension and lighten the mood. It was all white noise to him right now. She wasn't his friend. This wasn't a normal relationship with a colleague. This wasn't how he acted with Aizawa, Kayama or Yamada. Hell not even Dave. He couldn't remember a time where he just wanted to be near someone so desperately it hurt. 

Time came at last, and to Toshi dismay, that he had to head home. He wanted her to make a fuss and demand he spend the night, not that his nerves would allow him to do anything but stare awkwardly at the ceiling all night long let alone make any sort of romantic move. No, he would first try and talk to her without having a heart attack. Baby steps. She did whine a bit, rolling back from under the blanket and pouting when he insisted on catching the last train home. It was rather late. "I'll see you at UA tomorrow anyway. We need to go over plans for the entrance exam next week so don't look so down alright?" He wouldn't admit he liked that she looked so bummed out. Made his heart do a little flip that she wanted to spend as much time with him as he did her. That was a good start, knowing she wasn't forcing herself to stand him. 

"Yeah yeah....Grandma reminded me like six times today. I have alarms set I won't oversleep this time." They both chuckled as he slipped his shoes on and stood in the doorway. "H-hey uh...if you wanna get up a bit earlier we can grab some coffee on the way to work..." 

She looked at him with those wide eyes and gave a tilt of her head "Hm? You wanna go to work together?" Toshi stepped back and waved his hands frantically "Y-yeah I mean if you wanted! Only if that's not too weird! I figured you liked coffee given all the mugs you have around the kitchen....it's fine if you want to sleep in I understand don't push yourself." Geez what a stupid idea. This was the second time he asked to see her outside of work and he felt like a total creep. "I would love that." You're nearly fifty years old Toshinori this is unacceptable behavior, you should be ashamed of yourself. Pushing a young girl like this to constantly meet up, someones gonna call the police. "Just text me when you wanna meet up and I'll reset my alarms." Then again it's just coffee....it's not like you asked her out on a date. Was this a date back in the states...not like I dated there either but maybe it is. "Hey Toshi." Way to blow it, first the kitchen now this- a rough jab to his forehead had him fall back against the apartments railing. "You gotta work on your inner turmoil. I would love to get coffee tomorrow morning. Just text me when you want to meet up okay?" He was stuck standing dumbfounded, holding his foehead all slack jawed and flustered. "Y-yeah? Yeah...alright I'll text you." He muttered watching as she grinned behind the closing door until it clicked shut. Yelling out a 'Go home Toshi!' as she sensed he was still standing like an idiot on the balcony. It took him a few more seconds to right himself and step away from her door with one more glance at the apartment that belonged to his crush. He could say that now, be honest with himself, no matter how red in the face it made him as he nearly ran down the steps as if that would distance him from the utter embarrassment. 

As Toshi sat on the nearly empty train he found himself staring down at his phone. He wanted to wait at least a bit to text her not wanting to come off any more desperate than he already felt. While he killed time he tapped in her hero name in the search bar. He was surprises to find more than a fair share of hits everything from interviews to caught footage of fights. With a shaking finger he clicked on the first one listed. 'Paladin vs Iron Fist' at least her name was kinda cleaver. But what ever mild enjoyment he got from her hero name was quickly sucked out of him as he watched his poor little nurse get bashed in by a massive man possibly his own size. Not only that but he had; as his name implied fists of Iron that he had no issue using against the tiny girl.

She was quick on her feet at the very least. Dodging some of his slower telegraphed attacks, and he was sloppy and slow. A small time criminal who was used to just beating his way past opponents it seemed. Clearly not used to them getting back up. She took two heavy hits to the jaw and one uppercut that sent her flying upward leaving her open to a sudden massive barrage of punches to the stomach and chest. The force of it knocked her back into a wall that gave way with the power of it. Even he would be winded after something like that. The camera zoomed in as close as it could from their distance and Toshi was horrified to see the pool of blood slowly spreading from in impact site. Only her twitching legs visible behind and under the rubble. More blood that he was comfortable seeing coming from anyone. No one could get up from that...she must have been a mangled mess of bone. But slowly those feet moved in and some of the broken building was pushed away as she climbed out. Wiping her jaw from the small dribble of blood that still lingered. She was otherwise fine. Scraped up and winded, glowing that faint green of her quirk but otherwise no worse for ware. She was even grinning as she righted herself and gave a little stretch. "Think you can even me out big guy? Never feels right to only have one side punched you know?" As if she suddenly noticed the camera she turned and gave a thumbs up, what an All Might move. "Don't try this at home kids! You might not get up so quick!" The villain was back on her in a second shoving her body back into the rubble with a horrible crack and the sound she made turned his insides in knots. 

So it did hurt....every hit she took hurt as if she were a normal human. Every broken bone, every rip or scrape she could feel it all. And this villain was beating her into the ground with no mercy! His hands were shaking, gripping his phone so tightly he saw the screen suddenly crack and snapped him from the sudden rush of boiling anger that threatened to spill over. His phone still worked just fine he noted as he stared at his grim reflection in it's damaged surface. The hero's had figured out a plan by that point and someone was pulling him off her as he switched his phone off. She did that every single day with a smile on her face. Just like All Might. And people adored her for it if the comments and commentary were anything to go by. The person filming even said they didn't feel worried as long as she was on the scene. That did nothing for that burning hate he felt in the pit of his stomach. His hand clutched over his mouth as he sat in silence for the rest of the ride. 

Never again. No one would ever hurt her again. 

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Siren & The Healer

Natasha Romanoff arc

Prologue: The Unknown

Platonic Natasha x fem!Reader, Loki x fem!Reader

Theme: With cracks between the most powerful superheroes of the earth, Natasha Romanoff does not find rest when she is assigned on a mission to find the missing pieces of a puzzling power that once nearly got into the hands- rather, tentacles- of Hydra. In order to unearth the pieces, she must dig through her own past and make a decision that might decide the fate of the earth in the coming wars.

Series: Will contain violence, death, destruction, softness, fluff, smut, friendship, and whatnot

Chapter warnings: drive safe

A/N: This was written a few years ago with an OC in mind so reader has a name but it is a reader insert.

MASTERLIST in bio, love

The silence of vacuum is unlike any other. There is an absolute absence of any disturbance around you. Purest form of final layers, muted. Here, you can hear no one. Here, no one can hear you. It is that plane of metaphorical peace where one truly zones out every other bit of noise. No sensation disturbs your auditory senses. Nothing grazes your nerve endings. It is plain deadly silence. But the lull of vacuum in space is a phenomenon of its own kind. Everything around you is dark and light all at the same time. Alluring in every sense. Even as you are feeling your final breaths being scooped out of you by an invisible hand, gushing out of your throat to bring all the molecules out of your lungs, you are sure to think at least once that it might actually not be a bad place to die after all.

That was Loki’s thought. The view of his galactic home was the last thing he saw when he had come to and was the last thing he thought he would see as his sluggish healing under the fatal injuries could not keep up with the foreign space around him, eroding his existence cell by cell, chipping away at his skin bit by bit into the void surrounding him, nearly causing him to choke on the grim memories of the last time he was aimlessly floating in space like this, accelerating his breathless state and heart burning in the cold that bitterly surrounded his body.

Today, unlike the day he let the void swallow him wholly to find that peace in death which he could not find in his life or in his family, his tears made a hushed satellite call to no one in particular - a prayer from the God for some sign. He did not even know who he was asking for. There was no one left now. Nothing to go back or look forward to. He didn't know if his brother had made it out alive. The last trace of his supposed family gone for all he knew.

And still, a thought passed him. A thought of his mother’s warm embrace. The one thing he had reminisced time and again in his mind so as not to forget her face after her death. And even as he floated in the infinite abyss, he internally chuckled at himself for living his last moment just like he had lived his first - alone.

So the chaos that was me was born to be undone by chaos, after all, he thought to himself, feeling the final choke of the empty inside his body.

He saw his floating hands turn blue in front of him before the frost gathered. Why was death such a slow and dull process? His red eyes felt the pinch of the frost as they began blurring his vision; the illuminated space around him gradually turning white.

And the monster dies the death that was written for him in the stone he was abandoned upon on the day he was born.

The frost gnawed with a warm glow near his cheek. It would have made him flinch, if he could in that situation, for this was nothing like the cold he was used to. He waited for it to dissipate in his final second and nudge him into eternal sleep if not into a specially made hell.

But it did nothing of that sort. It only glowed further; growing into an uninvited warmth that slowly penetrated his skin before he could fathom the absurdity of unknown energy illuminating him on the inside. The white in front of his eyes started to melt away a little, allowing him to see an obscurity floating beside him. He wanted to speak but the icy dryness inside his throat prevented him from doing so.

Who are you? A confused mellifluous feminine voice ran throughout his nerves, reigniting the functioning sparks that had been dying a few seconds ago, feeling a wave of warmth wash inside him.

He felt it should be him asking that question to this stranger before he felt the same spirit engulfing his hand where the fuzzy figure floated beside him. He felt a surge of chagrin inside him - now that death was leaving him reluctantly - as he realised it was the figure’s hands warming his face and palm. He wanted to take one good look at the face of the one picking him up from the frustrated grip of annihilation, and he nearly caught a glimpse of beady y/e/c eyes staring back at him before a blazing light instantly made them disappear along with the figure that bore them, flooding his vision with a golden white before he felt himself colliding with a solid surface.

“What the hell, Rocket?!” A tired groan left the God as he slid off the glass and into unconsciousness. “You killed a man!”

______

It was one of those midsummer mornings where the ceiling fan was enough to remove the hefty sweat the hot fireball outside had been working on for quite some time but the obnoxious breeze would just twirl its way through the greenery surrounding your house before coming through your door and windows to take away the unnecessary heat.

There was no humdrum outside but you still woke up because something had been tickling your brain for quite a while. A thought was hiding somewhere behind those everyday intricate speculations like one stubborn louse that you know is there but it just wouldn’t come out.

You could see the garden outside and the wall marking the boundary as you walked from your living room towards the door. The house in front seemed to have freshly painted their outer walls- either that or the sun hitting them from behind your home seemed to do the trick. It was barely two steps to the door now when you saw them.

A man in a blue mask- wait, was that a mask or a...helmet- with wings painted on each side of the head wearing matching blue uniform with a star right in the middle of his chest.

Is that a frisbee? Why is he running with such a huge frisbee?

Your mind was still trying to figure out what to make of this when another man came running from the same direction before suddenly coming to a halt to take a stick from his backside and give it a slight jerk to turn it into a bow while his other hand was already placing an arrow over it to shoot whatever it was that you could not see from where you stood. So curiosity took your neck and turned it with the movement of the men dressed funny, running in your street as if they knew what they were doing.

“What are you doing here?”

“Gah!”

The green eyes staring directly at you through the door did not take you by as much surprise as the flaming hair all around that mildly shocked, smouldering face. Giving five seconds to your brain to dilute the shock and you realised those weren’t flames, just this strange, beautiful woman’s hair.

“I live here.” you finally blurted out, watching the woman turned to look at the man with a frisbee aim it at something in the sky which- again- you were not able to get a good look at.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

Opening the door, you stepped on your porch to see what all the ruckus was about in your quaint neighbourhood.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

You were used to people give you the ‘are you kidding me’ face but it felt creepily horrifying coming from this complete stranger.

“You know who I am,” she scoffed in your face before the line between her brows became more prominent, “we’re here for the healer.”

“The healer?” you asked half-heartedly, your attention drawn towards something blowing up in the distance, “who’s that?”

You didn’t hear a response and hence strained your neck to look back at her only to find her standing there looking at you in pure confusion.

“What?”

That was supposed to be a question till you saw the huge yellow monstrous eyes behind her blink and contract before an alien growl broke through the air, waking you up from your nightmare.

[ellsey]

Agents of Shield Rewatch 1x09 Repairs

So this is...not one of my favorite episodes and I got halfway through this then my Chrome crashed spectacularly and anyway let’s just say I have to watch this again and learn to save my text more often. Sigh.

I’m from a small town and this is every convenience store I’ve ever been in

Except add in the checker asking about my mom or uncles because everyone knew them

Also I wish I had a demon who would follow me around throwing things at people who are mean to me

May is so much better at having a relationship on the DL than Ward is

I mean she’s basically better at EVERYTHING

Daisy is already starting as a leader of gifted people. They started the groundwork for who Daisy really is so early. Amazing.

I will not be surprised if this series ends with Daisy as the one in charge.

Phil Coulson can pull out big science words too!

Jemma looks adorable

It’s always kind of bothered me that way Daisy treats May, specifically in this episode. I get that Melinda May is not everyone’s cup of tea, but just because she’s not warm and fuzzy doesn’t mean she’s not good with people. Or that she doesn’t have feelings. You don’t have to be Daisy “I will make you love me” Johnson or Jemma “literal ray of sunshine” Simmons to care about people. Anyway May’s been through a lot and I love her and want the best for her.

Fitzsimmons are such trolls

I SEE YOU DAVIS AND I APPRECIATE YOU

/cry

See? Coulson gets it. Sometimes you need Melinda May to take care of business. 

Gah this poor girl needs some serious therapy

I’m crying at Jemma’s delight in “tricking” Daisy

Don’t touch Fitz’s holograms

“Shield Hogwarts” is the best I want to go there

As pranks go that was pretty tame

But that high-5 is soulmate level

THEY DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO LOOK

Daisy really wants to help, but I agree with Coulson and May.

Hahaha this is so awkward because Daisy doesn’t know about Ward and May

Seriously their prank game is so sorry

Is that...Maveth?

You can tell Fitz is really worried as opposed to annoyed here because he calls for “Jemma.” In the early seasons especially he only calls her that when he’s at his most worried/in love.

This is a very sweet discussion between Daisy and Hannah. They may not share beliefs, but Daisy does a great job of relating to her. She is very good at that.

Jemma is way too interested in an alien planet 

Jemma and Fitz will wish they had a closet to get locked in together later

You know, for privacy

And probably safety too

Those two cannot stay safe

Fitz very sweetly pushed Jemma slightly behind him to try and keep her safe omg

Listening to Coulson tell this story is not nearly as bad as watching it all go down ugh

This scene with the lights flashing and the bad guy slowly sneaking up on May is so well done. Great shot there.

Great teamwork figuring this out

I don’t know if I’m supposed to sympathize with this guy or what, but I totally don’t. Like you wanted her attention? Ask her out. Don’t sabotage equipment and get people killed. This guy is the worst.

I mean Daisy is clearly coming around to May now, but eh she should have been more accepting of May before

Melinda May is the prank queen. Fitzsimmons should learn from her.

Like I said this is not one of my favorite eps. It gets a 5 Meh Pranks out of 10 on the Prank Scale. But it definitely gets an 8/10 on the Effective Lighting Scale.

Anyway I hope we all learned an important lesson here. If you’re interested in someone, just talk to them please. Getting rejected is better than killing people and getting stuck between dimensions. 

Our song for the episode is “I Summon You” by Spoon. 

[blueberryrock]

Hey, sorry I didn't post this yesterday but this kinda has smut at the end so I didn't know if I could actually post it.

But I'll try, so here it is the next chapter. Enjoy!

(I'll but these *** before the smut just in case)

(Blue's POV)

I shift uncomfortably on the freezing cold medical table, the scanner in front of me starts to move. It moves the probe, or as Steven calls it, a thermometer.

I take an unnecessary breath in and shut my eyes, I try not to move as I feel the red light slowly inch down from the top of my head to my chin.

I open my eyes, the bright red light from the scanner inch slowly down my neck, only pausing to scan my gem.

I start shivering as the scanner moves from where my breasts and gem is to the start of my stomach area.

I notice that the scanner had to move back a bit to scan my stomach, and the medical pearl notices it too. The second the red light hits where my belly button is, it starts beeping like crazy.

Steven and Amethyst cover their ears and Yellow frowns.

"What's going on" Steven semi loudly asks.

"Gah, give me a minute" the medical pearl says, she pulls up another green screen. She presses a button and the machine shuts off.

"The scanner found something in your abdomen" the medical pearl starts "but I'd have to grab a camera scanner and some gel, give me a minute" she wheels the scanner out of the room.

I look at Yellow, she looks nervous, her one leg is bouncing and she is drumming her fingers on her other leg.

I look at Garnet, she is talking to Pearl. Well, whispering would be better.

I wrap my covered arms around my belly, I start shivering even harder. Yellow decides to get up and comfort me, she sits on the table to my left and wraps her warm arm around me. I sigh and I put my head on her shoulder.

I practically shove my entire body into hers, trying to soak up as much of her warmth as possible.

"Y-yellow I'm s-s-scared" I say very lowly.

"It's going to be okay, we'll find out what's wrong" Yellow reassures me, I look up to meet her golden eyes, I give her a small smile and she kisses the top of my head.

And for a few seconds everything fades away, it's just me and Yellow. But the doors open and I jolt up, Yellow gets up from her position and takes her seat again.

I let out a quiet groan, the small medical pearl wheels in another scanner.

"What will this one do" Amethyst asks, Pearl answers "it's kind of like an ultrasound, they'll be able to see if anything is inside of her".

I notice the look that Garnet gives Pearl, and I frown a little. I try to keep my balance as the medical Pearl lowers the table so she can reach me. She jumps up onto the table right by my hand.

"Do you remember what to do?" she asks.

"I r-rem-member hav-ving t-t-to take P-pink to get o-one of t-t-these ca-ause she sw-w-wallowed somet-thing" I smile fondly at the memory, it turns out that some tourmalines dared her to swallow a rock, so she did and it got stuck...Yellow got so mad...

"Ok, so first I need you to take you off your veil, then you need to lay on your back" the medical pearl says, she moves back a bit so I don't hit her as I take my veil off. Now I'm completely vulnerable to the cold room.

I start shivering even harder,  I toss my veil to Yellow, once she catches it I start to move to lay down on my back. I try not to accidentally squish the medical pearl in the process.

Once I'm on my back, the pearl beings the scanner and the gel onto the table, she angles the screen part of the scanner so everyone in the room can see it.

"Okay, now you need to remove the part of your dress that is covering your abdomen" the pearl says.

I try to carefully phase away only what she needs and not the entire top. Once it's phased away I get even colder, I accidentally start shaking the table, the everyone gives me a sympathetic look.

I lay my head on the cold hard table, I let out an exhausted sigh as the medical pearl climbs onto my belly. She opens a bottle of gel and pours it onto my skin.

I shiver as she rubs it around a bit before putting the small camera part of the scanner onto me. The screen part turns on and a screen of fuzziness shows.

The medical pearl carefully moves the scanner around my belly for a few minutes until she decides to go lower.

I hold another unneeded breath, as soon as the pearl stops moving down and moves the stick around, the screen changes and everyone gasps.

I weakly lift my head up to see the screen, my eyes go wide, on the screen are three little blobs...

Three little heartbeats...

Three little gemlings....

I lay my head back down and let go of that unneeded breath. I quickly phase the missing part of my dress.

I stare up at the ceiling and thoughts come flooding in. I can hear everyone congratulating me and Yellow, but I don't pay attention. I feel the medical pearl wiping off all the gel and get off of me.

What are we going to do? What am I going to do?

I honestly don't feel anything except being cold, no joy, no pain, nothing. Yellow had walked over to me "Blue are you okay"

I finally blink and I try to sit up "I a-am r-rea-ady to l-leave wh-hen y-you are" I tremble.

"You didn- nevermind" she says

Yellow helps me slide off the table and onto my feet, I didn't notice that Steven was talking to me.

"BLUE" Steven shouts to get my attention.

"Wha- oh I'm s-sorry S-Stev-ven" I shudder, Yellow hands me my warm veil, I quickly and carefully put it on.

"Nah it's okay, I know you're probably tired. I mean after news like that you both have got to be tired." Steven says I nod, "ahhh, I'm so happy and excited for you" Steven jumps in the air then floats back down.

Pearl moves to put her hand on his shoulder "we should let her get some rest, come on let's go" Steven nods. They move to the door, I start to move but the medical pearl stops me.

"I have somethings to mention" the medical pearl says "while pregnant you will need to eat, drink, and sleep constantly"

"But I thought" Yellow gets cut off.

"Well, my dia-blue diamond is having three gemlings, that's a lot of power going into them so she wil-is extremely weak and tired. So she will need to eat and drink constantly, also if like to scan every few weeks to make sure the gemlings are fine" the medical pearl finishes.

I thank her and move to the door, Yellow grunts and moves as well. Steven opens the door for us, we say our goodbyes and Yellow leads me back to my chambers.

I sigh as the warm air hits me, I walk into my room and take my veil off, I walk to my vanity and sit down. I grab one of my many blue hairbrushes and I try humming a song that I learned from Steven.

Yellow walks behind my chair "would you like me to warm up your extraction chambers?" She asks I give her a slow nod, she gives me a small kiss on the check. Yellow walks to the entrance of my extraction chamber and open the big blue boors and walks inside.

I can faintly hear the water turning on, I continue humming the song, soon humming turned into words.

"Oh won't you come with me, where the moon is made of gold" I sing softly "and in the morning sun we'll be sailing free, oh won't you come with me where the ocean meets the sky, and as the clouds roll by, we'll sing the song of the sea" I finish the verse.

Yellow walks over to me "is that a new one?" She places her warm ungloved hands on my cold shoulders.

"Yes, Steven taught me it" I put down my hairbrush and push my chair ack so I can stand up, Yellow helps me walk into my extraction chamber.

"Maybe you can sing it to me" Yellow says, I phase away my dress and underwear and I step into the steaming water.

"Maybe" I sigh as I sit down, I let myself sink lower and lower, till the water hit my chin.

Yellow joins me and sinks into the water, she helps me sit back up. I rest my head on her shoulder, she wraps an arm around me. "I got ordered some food for you and some water, it's nothing much but I want you to get used to eating." She says, she looks down at me and I look up to her.

I give her a small smile "thank you, what did you order?" I ask

"Oh just some fruit, the gardeners figured out how to make huge pieces of fruit and vegetables" Yellow says "so you don't need to worry, this pregnancy will go splendidly"

I frown at the word pregnancy, somehow I forgot all about, I put my hand on my almost non-existent baby bump.

Yellow notices that "something wrong blue?"

"Oh um, no" I half-lie.

"Okay, well just tell me when you are ready to get out or when you're hungry" she says, I nod. I put my hand on her chest eight above her gem.

"I love you" but I'm not sure I want this I wanted to add but I couldn't.

"I love you to" yellow leans in to kiss my lips, I push myself up to meet her halfway.

******

Kissing quickly turns to making out, our tongues fight for dominance and our hands touch each other.

Yellow breaks the kiss and leaves little kisses and nibbles down my jaw to my neck. She sucks where my neck meets my shoulder, she continues lower to the tip of my gem.

Yellow lazily drags her tongue across each and every facet of my gem, I moan in pleasure.

Yellow keeps kissing and licking my gem, she grabs one of my breasts, she rubs and pinches my rock hard nipple. Her other hand travels further in the water and down my leg, Yellow's hand travels between my legs.

I gasp as I feel her hand brush against my clit. She smirks, she decides to start kissing and sucking on my other breast.

I let out a moan as she rubs slow circles around my slit. She teases it by almost putting her fingers in. Her hand goes back to my clit again, stroking faster circles around it. I let out another loud moan.

She stops rubbing my clit, she kisses my gem once more then goes lower and lower. She only stops when a low growl comes from my stomach.

"Looks like someone is hungry" Yellow chuckles. I blush a little.

"That's what that noise meant" I blurt out.

Yellow laughs "ok, let's get you some food."

"Fine, but you're finishing this later" I say as Yellow helps me out of the water.

"As you wish, my diamond"

And there, I tried to write smut, I'm not good at writing it but I'll maybe try to write more. But thanks for reading and see y'all next Saturday bye!

[ghostheadcanons]

Papas + Copia: Saying “I Love You”

@just-here-for-copia​ said:

Okay, I swear I'm not sending a sad ask this time! I know in your HC's about the Papas/Copia wooing their s/o, you had brief mentions of them saying "I love you". Would we be able to get a little bit more in terms of how/ they said "I love you" for the first time?

They say it on their deathbeds to you and you cry really hard. It’s very, very sad.

OKAY, NOT REALLY.

It’s always so wonderful to think of our favorites confessing to us, isn’t it? Especially the grumpy ones....hee....

Let’s get started! 

Papa Nihil:

You had come to see him. 

Papa Nihil always looks forward to your visits (he always enthuses about them to Sister Imperator), so of course he smiles at you when you walk through the doors to his office. “Ah, cara mia! It’s so good to see you. In fact, I believe I have something for--”

“Ah, actually,” you cut him off, walking closer with your hands behind your back. “Before you give me anything, I...I wanted to bring you something!”

He blinks. Normally he has a gift for you every time he sees you. “What’s this?” he murmurs. “You brought me something, cara mia?”

“Close your eyes for me, Papa?” 

He chuckles. “Such a silly thing you are, caramellino...” But he obliges. Something warm and fuzzy is placed in his hands.

“Okay! Open them!” 

Papa Nihil does, and sees the dark red scarf, made from woven yarn. His eyes widen.

“Tada!” You grin. “You’re always giving me presents, so I decided to make you something nice! I remember you complaining about how cold it’s gotten...”

“Cara mia....!” He looks over your fine handiwork. “You...made this, for me?”

“I did!” You lean in slightly, eyes sparkling. “...do you like it?”

“Like it?”

Papa Nihil is known for spoiling his lovers with gifts; he never expects anything in return for them. Yet you had decided--not only to get him a present--but to make him one. You had taken a lot of your personal time to do something nice for him, and you had remembered something he’d said when deciding what to make. 

He was a man who could have anything in the world--foods, jewels, wines...he had enough money to get them with a snap of his fingers. And many gave him these sorts of things as gifts, or offerings to win his favor.

Somehow, this scarf topped them all. 

“I love it.” Now the old man is beaming, slipping on the scarf as neat as you please. “I love it, cara mia.”

Your eyes meet. 

“...I love you,” he whispers. You blink twice, cheeks reddening considerably. 

“P-Papa... I’ve been waiting to hear you say that...”

“Have you? Then let me make it up to you for taking so long.” He pulls your hands into his, and the two of you kiss. 

Papa I: 

Papa I has homemade tea and biscuits ready when you walk into his bedroom. “Ah--there you are, lamb.” 

“I came just as soon as I got your message, Papa.” You nod respectfully. “You wanted to speak to me about something?”

“Indeed I did. Please, sit down. Sit down.” He gestures to the opposite chair, to which you do. He proceeds to pour you a full cup of tea.

“What have you brewed today, Papa?” you prompt him.

“Rose hip and chamomile,” he responds, expression softening. “Your favorite.”

The touched look on your face makes his heart flutter. “....thank you, Papa. Ahem. What did you want to tell me?”

“Ah, yes.” He finishes pouring his own cup of tea before clearing his throat. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something...personal.”

“Yes?” You sip at your cup, eyes never leaving him. He can see you drinking in his words along with his tea. 

“My child, I am not one for mincing words, so I am just going to say it.” Papa I takes a deep breath. “I have feelings for you.”

You choke on the tea, sputtering slightly and making a bit of a mess. Papa passes you a napkin, patting you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“I’m--I’m fine,” you wheeze, coughing a bit. “What...what was that?”

“I have feelings for you,” he repeats. “I have never met someone I have felt so in tune with, spiritually and mentally. And I would be honored if you would join my side in my worship of the Olde One. ...if you do not feel the same way, I completely understand,” he adds, his face falling a bit. “And I won’t bring it up aga-”

You cut him off with a kiss. You’re leaning across the table and pressing your lips against his, gentle and sweet. Papa I is taken aback by you being so forward, but he doesn’t mind one bit.

After all, it’s just one of the many things he loves about you. 

Papa II: 

He is not happy with you. 

“I can’t believe you,” he growls. “Going out in the rain like that, without even a coat? What were you thinking?”

You sniffle in reply from your bed, blowing your nose. “You...you needed the ingredients by the end of the night....full moon....had to hurry..”

“I could have waited another month!” snaps Papa II. “Or sent the ghouls out to get them. Why would you do something so foolish, getting yourself sick like this? You had me w--you had my ghouls worried to death!”

You hadn’t noticed his slip-up. Thank Satan. 

You’re avoiding his eyes like a scolded child. “...you’re...always doing such nice things for me...”

As you sink further into your pillows and blanket, you trail off. Papa II raises an eyebrow, leaning in a bit. “Yes?”

“...wanted...wanted to help you, for once.” Your eyes slide closed. “Wanted to make you smile.”

Your answer knocks him off-guard. “...you what?”

“You’re so handsome when you smile...hee....like a king, all regal and stuff...”

You let out a weak giggle, one that turns into coughing before long. He sighs; you were obviously addled by the fever you’d caught. 

He turns his back on you. “Sleep. I’ll send you up something to eat in a little while.”

“Stay with me?”

Your words are quiet. Weak. Pleading. 

“....you’re lucky I love you, caro.” he murmurs, so quietly it’s almost inaudible.

“Huh....?” You open one eye, staring blearily up at him. “You...you gotta speak up, Papa...can’t hear so great....”

“I said you’re lucky I have the night off.” Turning back to face you, Papa II sits at your bedside. 

And even after you’ve drifted off to sleep, he’s still there with you. 

Papa III:

“Figlio di puttana!”

The youngest Emeritus brother slammed his fist into the dressing room table, knocking off all of the bottles and brushes there. He was furious--Sister Imperator had spent the evening arguing with him, and to make things worse, his brother wasn’t there for him to vent about it. 

And, he was more than a little drunk.

“Papa...?”

He whirls around to face the door. Oh, no--now you were poking your head in, looking Concerned for him. The look makes him even angrier; the last thing he needs right now is anybody’s pity. 

“Go away. Leave me alone!” he snarls. 

You don’t heed him. Instead, you come into the room, closing the door behind you. “Papa, tell me what happened.”

“I said get out!” He attempts to shove you back out the way you came. But his feet get tangled, and he ends up hitting the ground hard. 

“Papa--!” you gasp. 

“Fuck...cazzo...” he mutters. As he stares up at the ceiling, the full reality of his situation dawns on him. His hair is a mess, his makeup is smeared to hell and back, he’s so drunk he can barely remember his name, and one of the people he likes the most has seen him at his lowest. 

He bursts into tears. 

“It’s not enough,” he hiccups. “I’m not enough. Fucking....can’t do anything right....Imperator, that bitch...with her standards...can’t preach right, can’t walk right, can’t talk right...” He jabs a thumb to his chest. “I’m supposed to be Papa. If I can’t be Papa...then who in the hell am I?” He closes his eyes, tears rolling freely. 

“You’re Dante.”

His eyes fly open at the use of his first name. You’re kneeling beside him, your tone and expression kind. “You like cheesy horror movies and playing kazoo. You have a wild and wonderful imagination. And you always have a joke ready if you see your friends sad.”

You smile. “You’re Dante Emeritus, and you’re my closest friend.”

He’s speechless. 

You help sit him up, dabbing away the smeared skull makeup with plenty of kleenax. It’s when you move to help him to his feet that he blurts it out. “I love you.” 

Your face goes a little red. “You’re drunk. Come on--let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I love you. More than anything,” he insists, as you lead him out of the dressing room to get him to the bathroom. 

He will not remember his confession the next morning. But he will remember that you were there for him when he needed someone with him. At some point in the future, he will make a grand, romantic gesture and confess his feelings to you that way. But he won’t quite understand just why you’re smiling so wide the whole time. 

Cardinal Copia:

(Continuing from Copia’s part, here!)

His heart is hammering wildly in his chest. One minute to the arranged meeting time, and then you would finally see the man behind the pen. 

And you would reject him. He’s sure of it

Cardinal Copia is hidden slightly out of sight--you would be able to hear him speak, but not see him. It was his final line of defense. 

Footsteps! That had to be you. He peeks out from his hiding place and immediately recoils. It is you. And you’re looking more beautiful than ever. Had he underdressed? He looks down at his red cossack. Oh, Lucifer, had he overdressed?!

Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “Hello?”

“Gah--!” Copia pulls back even further into his hiding spot. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him, thank Satan, but now you knew for sure he was there. 

“...’Cyrano?’ Is that you?” you prompt his pen-name, leaning in, but he holds up a gloved hand.

“Not any closer,” he chokes out. “Please. I. Give me a minute...” 

You oblige him, waiting patiently for him to catch his breath. 

“I....got your letter,” you say quietly. “With the meeting time. Are you alright?”

“No. I am not alright.” Copia stares up at the ceiling, feeling his heart sink. “Because I am not worthy of your time.”

“If you weren’t worthy, then I would not be here.” You cross your arms. “...will you come out, at least? The entire point of meeting was to finally see one another, face to face.”

He says nothing.

“It’s hardly fair, don’t you think?” you add. “You know everything about who I am, and yet I know next to nothing about you. Please. Show me your face.”

Slowly, ready to bolt at any second, Copia comes into the light. 

Your eyes widen. “....Your Eminence?”

“I really must be going--”

“Wait! Don’t go. Your last letter moved me to tears, Copia. May I call you Copia?”

He blinks, looking over at you. You had not reacted in revulsion...in fact, you were staring at him in awe. “...you may.”

“I never would have imagined that you were so talented,” you say breathlessly, smiling at him. “You’re so good with words, has anyone ever told you that? Sheer poetry.”

You weren’t laughing at him. The Cardinal watches you carefully, not quite able to find the right words. How ironic, for a man who could write such wonderful letters. 

“I saved them all, you know. Every single one.” You’re walking closer. “I like to read them before I go to sleep at night.”

“...do you really?” is all Copia can say. You nod, smiling wider. 

“They make me feel at ease. I...I know this is forward of me...but I can’t keep this hidden any longer. I love you, Cardinal Copia. And I want nothing more than to spend my days with you. Even if you can only confess in your letters, then I will confess here, in conversation.”

It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

You stand there with your arms outstretched. “....will you accept me?”

Copia is hugging you close to him before you can even finish the sentence. 

“I love you, too, topolino.”

[lord-explosion-baku]

Dancing’s Not A Crime (Unless You Do It Without Me) pt. 9

Pairings: Bakugou x fem!reader, Todoroki x fem!reader

You flirt and tease with a certain hotheaded classmate of yours without realizing how far it has escalated and someone gets a little jealous.

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST, fluff

A/n: this is the one where Aizawa is a good dad. Sorry I haven’t updated in awhile. I got stuck in a moody spiral and writing the angst was tough. Some could say I could’ve attempted to write the next chapter before I finally finished this one. But I am not a wise Meeps. Thanks for being patient. I am a ghoul.

Part 8.

You held two dolls in your hand. The one who looked more similar to you was the hero of the story in your head. She was the prettiest, the best at everything, and she was going to fight all your other dolls who thought they could shut her down and steal her light.

You crashed the two dolls together, causing the other doll, the villain of your story, to fly through the air and crash into your closet, the jail where you kept your other villain dolls. You smiled. Another triumphant battle. You wanted to share your new story. “Mater*,” you called. No answer. It didn’t always work. You were just getting used to saying the other words for the names of things you had known already. You tried again. Nothing. You huffed. You crept down the hall towards the kitchen where you heard the clanking of a pan and soft humming. She was cooking.

She wore a long lily white dress that twirled around her feet as she spun around to season the food she had on the island. She looked at you and gave you a sweet smile. “I thought I heard a buzzing in my ear.”

“I made a new story,” you said tugging on the fabric of her dress.

“Did you? Oh, I would love to hear it but I’m prepping for dinner right now. Why don’t you set the table, for me?” You let out a whine. “Do you want me to sing for you, pumpkin?” Your little heart was conflicted. Your mother’s voice was the best voice. Her singing was enchanting. But you didn’t like the feeling you got when she did. You didn’t like not being able to control your actions.

Before you could respond, your mother’s ruby red lips parted and a soft melody followed out. You were compelled to take the plates and silverware into your hands and bring them to your dining room table, though you did it slowly and with a scowl, alerting your mother of your reluctance.

The lock to the front door turned and a tall cloaked man towered in, sighing to himself. White teeth shown through a shadowed face when he saw you. You mother stopped her singing and you ran to her hiding behind her dress before the man came in to the kitchen.

“And here I was thinking you’d never return,” your mother joked before pulling the man into a kiss.

“Death himself couldn’t keep me away from you, my love.” The man laughed into your mother’s hair. He leaned down to you and spoke softly. “How have you been, monkey?”

Your grip on the fabric tightened as you hid your head into your mother’s gown. You heard your mother sigh before singing softly to you and you let go of her dress and bowed your head before the man. “She’s been getting stronger, I almost couldn’t stop myself from going to her when she called me,” said your mother, almost warningly.

“That’s great news!” The man beamed, taking his good off. There he is, you thought as you smiled up at the man you now recognized. He was your friend, your adventure buddy, your father.

“Daddy!” You cried running to him. He swept you off your feet and into his arms.

“There’s my little girl!” He smiled, touching his finger to your nose. “Have you been working on your quirk?”

“Nope!” You laughed at him as he rustled your head. “I’ve been fighting bad guys with my dolls!”

“I’m so proud of my brave little string bean! What do you do with those rotten bad guys?”

You furrowed your brow in a mock angry expression. “I damn them to hell!” You yelled with a fist in the air. You mother sighed, continuing her cooking.

“Monkey, those are some serious words right there. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider them? You have to be careful with that magic mouth of yours.”

“I throw them in jail!” Both of your triumphant fists were thrown in the air and your father took the opportunity to tickle you. You giggled uncontrollably and he put you down back to the floor.

Your mother hummed as she chopped raw vegetables. “You should know,” she began cutting deeply into some carrots, “we have a dog now.”

“A dog...” your father was combing your mother’s long h/c locks. “I don’t remember making that decision as a family.”

“It wasn’t my decision.” As if on cue, a fuzzy little thing shot through your father’s legs and bit into your mother’s dress.

“Oh my god is that-“

“Speckle!” You screamed gleefully at your stuffed animal that was hanging on to your mother with all his might. “Come here!” The dog pranced into your arms and gave your cheek a fluffy kiss.

“He eats gum drops and jelly beans. And he poops out... gum drops and jellybeans. And continues to eat those,” your mother was not amused by the whimsical things she was telling your father.

He crouched down to your level giving your creation a pat on the hand. Speckle returned the affection my nipping your father’s hands. “We’ve made something truly spectacular, haven’t we, Kira?”

~

You shot up in bed, cold and sweaty. You grumbled when you saw the time. 3:18 AM. You feet met the cold of the hardwood floor in your bedroom. How could you go back to sleep after that?

You made your way down the hall towards the kitchen, wanting to fetch a glass of water, but you paused when you saw Aizawa with his hair pulled back, sitting in the couch grading, very awake, grading papers. “Couldn’t sleep?” He asked his eyes never tearing away from the essay he had.

You sat down next to him and hugged a couch pillow to your chest. “I could,” you whispered peering over his shoulder, trying to see the red marks he left on the page.

“I don’t think so,” he pushed another couch pillow into your face. You weren’t allowed to see him be a teacher at home.

You pulled the pillow out of your face. “I had a... dream,” you sighed, bringing a warm hand to your face, “about... them.”

Aizawa put his pen down. Still he didn’t look at you. “Bad or good?”

You still heard the sound of her singing. “Does it matter?” Your voice cracked. You couldn’t help it. Any dream with them in it was a bad one.

“Hey,” he said, placing the graded papers onto the side table. “Hey,” he said again putting a hand on your shaking arms. You shook your head, tears were now streaming from your face.

“It’s like I could smell- I knew they were bad but they still- he still-“ you were blubbering.

Aizawa was now holding you, cradling you as you sobbed into his neck. He pet your hair shushing you.

“He loved me, Aizawa. Why wasn’t that enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Aizawa kissed at your hair. “You are enough. You will always be enough. They were sick, Y/n. You know that. Everyone has their... motives for being who they are bu they were militant in their ways. Nothing could have stopped them. That’s not on you.” He has you hugged tightly to him.

You wiped your tears and snot on him. An occurrence he was used to. You looked up into his kind, sleepy eyes. “What if I end up exactly like them?”

“Then I’ll have to take you in,” he said as a crazy smile spread across his cheeks. You hit him. He chuckled. “you’re not going to be like them if you don’t wish to be like them. Hell, I’m nothing like your grandparents.” You smiled at his mention of ‘grandparents.’ You didn’t often question whether Aizawa was really your family but you were in a fragile state. “And you wouldn’t be enrolled in a hero academy if you didn’t want to be hero.”

That was true. Aizawa made sure that you were sure about wanting to pursue this path. Still you were nervous. “What if I can’t help it? What if I use my quirk, the dark side of it, too much one day and I snap?”

“You have to practice self control. But you can’t keep that part of you under wraps. You have to learn to control it before it controls you. But I’m never going to let anything bad like that happen to you, understand?” You gulped. “Let me bring you a glass of water and- don’t look at those papers.”

“Can I at least check to see if you’re being nice to me?” You called as he shuffled around in the kitchen.

“No.”

You shifted your weight. You figured this was a good a time as ever to let them know about your sorry news.

When he placed a cold glass of ice water in your hand you took a deep breath and told him “I have a date. This Friday. With Bakugou.”

His silence killed you. He pulled out his phone and sent a text. To who? You didn’t know. His sipped his own water. You knew he heard you. He liked to make you sweat when it came to things like this. Finally he asked, “is he coming here?”

Gah. “Well, we’re going to his place,” Aizawa frowned, “but I told him that he needs to pick me up and- ... meet my dad.”

He sipped his water some more. “Good,” he said and scrolled through a shopping website. “And you and Todoroki...?”

Gah! You groaned. “Can we not open this can of worms?”

“That’s fine by me. Mic owes me about a thousand yen.” You groaned again. Leaning over his shoulder you saw that we was shopping for a fly swatter.

~

Part 10

~

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So this is the day that I find out the the number of blogs I’m allowed to tag to one post is 50. So. Tags are closed. I am... devestated. Kinda. Tagging is a lot sometimes.

[taehyungiestummy]

Return to Paradise -- Chapter Eight

Masterlist     Previous    Next

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2945

         “This is the life,” I smile, shoving a few fries into my mouth. “Take-out and watching TV.”

         “It is a good way to end the day,” Nari nods. “After a crazy week, I need a break. Daycare is way harder than people think.”

         “Six days a week most weeks is tough regardless of the job,” Emily rips a chicken finger in half, handing me a half.

         “I have a lot of vacation stored, so if it ever becomes too much, I can take breaks. The kids are lovely, so it helps.”

         “You’ll be such a good mother, Nari,” I sit up and grab my drink off the coffee table.

         “Well, I will have raised you two for two summers after this,” Nari giggles. “I do wonder how taking care of my own kids will be like. It’s not going to happen for many years.”

         “Do you think Jin will be a good father?” Emily nudges me to grab her drink.

         “Jin and Nari would be some of the greatest parents,” I hand Emily her drink, leaning back with mine in hand.

         “Oh, hush now,” Nari shakes her head. A redness on her cheeks. “Seokjin and I aren’t nearly to that stage of our relationship.”

         “Would you tell us if you were?” I shove my piece of chicken into my mouth.

         “You two would be the first to know,” Nari sips her tea. “Don’t even worry about that. Now, how was Skyping your parents?”

         “Tae was so nervous,” I giggle. “He really didn’t want to mess up and not get my parents approval. Gah, he was so cute when he told them how much he loves me. I thought that my heart might explode.”

         “They loved them, right?” Nari asks. “Your parents fully approve of Namjoon and Taehyung?”

         “They do,” Emily and I nod.

         “Yoongi entered near the end, and I think that helped too,” I wiggle into the couch. “He’s my best friend. My other best friend, that is.”

         “Namjoon was very calm during the meeting,” Emily says. “But he told me afterwards he felt just like Taehyung. I thought that was sweet. That he would be that nervous to meet my parents with all that was on the line.”

��        “No need to worry now then, Amber,” Nari smiles. “Your love is not going to be messed with. You just had to let everything play out.”

         “I guess you’re right,” I smile. “Oh, yeah, something else came up when we were talking.”

         “What is that?” Nari tenderly smiles.

         “Well, BTS have a little comeback during July, and, though we haven’t really been asked, they might want to take us along,” I bite my lower lip.

         “Oh, wow,” Nari slowly nods. “I don’t know. That’s some time away from me, and I don’t know where you would be all the time.”

         “We will have Jin talk to you,” Emily says. “He’ll have all the answers, and be able to explain everything.”

         “That will make me feel better,” Nari sighs. “I do understand your wanting to go. Spending time with your boyfriends means a lot, and you aren’t here for that long, and you are gone for a long time.”

         “It does mean a lot,” I place my trash onto the coffee table. “July is still some ways away, so no need to worry yet.”

         “You have a point there,” Nari giggles. “I’ll miss you girls, though.”

         “I’m sure Jin could get you into a show,” Emily leans into me. “You want to see him live, don’t you?”

         “Of course,” Nari stands up out of her recliner. “I already have a few times now, actually. You’ll love watching them.”

         “Ah, so you’ll let us go?” I try my best boxy Taehyung smile.

         “You are cute,” Nari chuckles. “Show Taehyung that smile.

         “I will,” I relax my face. “Needs practice, and it will never look quite like his.”

         “But I am leaning towards letting you go with them. You’ll be able to explore South Korea a bit more, and wherever else they go. Plus, have fun seeing the boys doing their job. You would hate me if I didn’t let you go, as well.”

         “Eh, we wouldn’t hate you,” I smirk.

         “Not forever, that is,” Emily smirks with me.

         “I’ll call Jin soon so we can talk. I will let you know my decision soon, don’t worry,” Nari smiles. “I know what happens when you worry.”

         “Ah, truly, this summer is going so well so far,” I close my eyes. “I am loving my life right now.”

         “Your mental health back up to where it needs to be?” Emily asks.

         “Back up where it should always be,” I happily sigh.

         “I wish that life could always be like this,” Nari says. “You girls deserve this kind of happiness all the time.”

         “Next year,” I pick my phone up off the couch to see texts from all the boys in all kinds of single and group chats. “Geez, those boys are crazy with texting.”

         “Anything interesting?” Emily chuckles, picking up her phone to see what texts she got.

         “Tae loves me, Yoongi sending me possible lyrics to look over, and the young boys are planning some video game day or something. Not everything is translated exactly correctly, but at least I can understand most of it.”

         “I remember last year that you didn’t text them that much, and now it happens all the time,” Nari giggles. “They must miss you the second they can’t see you anymore.”

         “That is probably true,” Emily says. “Though, I think that we miss them just as much when we get back to the apartment.”

         “We’ll see them tomorrow, and they know it,” I roll my eyes. “Not much would keep us away from them. That is for sure.”

********

         “Holy fucking shit,” I groan, curling into a tighter ball on the couch. “Fuck this. Periods suck.”

         “I can’t believe how hard your period hits you,” Emily places a bowl of soup on the coffee table. “Glad my cramps are mild.”

         “Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up,” I take a few deep breaths to overcome the pain of my lower abdomen. “Thanks for making me soup. Chicken noodles should help.”

         “I hope so,” she pats my head, taking a seat in the recliner. “I know that I tease, but I hate seeing you like this.”

         I slowly sit up, careful not to move too quickly in fear of a cramp attack. “Tae is missing out on me looking cute in his t-shirt,” I smile, bringing the bowl of soup up to my lap.

         “You do look adorable,” Emily turns the TV on. “Simple black and white stripes.”

         “I want a sweatshirt of his,” I slowly sip on some soup. “I would be drowning in the fabric as he is just that much bigger than me. His smell is helping me get through this day.”

         “That would be overly cute,” Emily smiles. “I bet Namjoon would share a baseball cap with me, or just buy matching items.”

         “He would, but that’s just his type of personality. He’s very caring, yet wants to keep up the cool dude kind of attitude.”

         “Comes with being an underground rapper for so long. You get a little rough.”

         “I don’t doubt it,” I slurp some noodles. “He has a soft spot for you. I can see it when he looks at you.”

         “I like that I get to see his soft spot the most. Makes me feel special. Taehyung’s cuddly with you, and that is cute.”

         “He’s really touchy, that’s what he is. I’m totally okay with it. He wants the world to know I’m his, or with him, or whatever,” I place the now empty bowl onto the coffee table. The warmth helping keep the cramps at bay. “He’s cute, so I’ll let him be a bit protective.”

         “He gets jealous easy, but that’s because he loves you. Kind of hot, a jealous guy.”

         “I agree. However, he should know that I would never leave him, and I want to be with him for the rest of my life.”

         “He’s just scared because this is his first serious relationship. All past relationships didn’t get as far as they have with you.”

         “I did forget about that. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. We were just waiting to meet each other.”

         “That is a neat thing to think about. Really makes the soulmates thing seem true and all. I mean,” Emily chuckles. “It’s an idea I believe in, but others don’t, so that makes it believable to them.”

         “I understand,” I smile, lying back down on the couch. “Sunday was nice hanging with them at the dorm.”

         “Playing video games for most of the day is pretty sick. I never thought that would be something that we would do with them.”

         “Jungkook and me going out for a run was fun. I have to keep my running body in shade. Running is so nice.”

         “We can do morning runs once you aren’t dying.”

         I laugh, sending a cramp exploding through me. “Shit, that hurt. Ugh, why must my body do this to me?”

         “Sorry, my fault.”

         “I’m fine,” I groan. “Monday, the dance lesson was cool.”

         “Dancing with the other boys was the highlight of that day.”

         “Hoseok was sure he would hurt me since he had to kind of sit on me. No matter what I said, he was still overly careful.”

         “We still almost did the dance perfectly. Helps we’ve watched them do it so many times.”

         “That does help, it seems,” I sigh. “Yesterday was not a good day for me, though. I could feel my body hyping up for this shitty period.”

         “Yeah, I could tell by the look on your face. Yoongi and Taehyung were very concerned for your wellbeing. I think they thought you were going to get sick, and in a way you kind of are.”

         “Ah, Yoongi the rock, caring for me. That’s so cute. He is too sweet for me.”

         “Brother love, that’s what it is. He is like a brother in every way to you.”

         “Writing poems together is fun,” I smile, the cramps subsiding for the time being. “Jimin is just fun to talk about looks with. Both of us need pick-me-ups sometimes.”

         “Jin is that mature adult that can actually help with problems,” Emily chuckles. “He is funny when he wants to be, though. Being the oldest must be tough.”

         “Youngest as well. Jungkook has all eyes on him, so he can’t mess up.”

         “True. Hoseok is just off to the side being so extra.”

         “The weird band of brothers. I wish my body wasn’t trying to kill itself. A day away from them is good time wasted.”

         “We can make it up once we move here.”

         “Still can’t figure out a good way to tell our parents that one.”

         “It will come to us.”

         “Yeah, the day we don’t come home.”

         “They must have a feeling we want to live here. Our loves are over here,” Emily sighs. “Maybe we should read and calm our brains.”

         “I can do that,” I grab my manga, Deadman Wonderland, off the coffee table.

         Emily and I read for many hours, eventually turning on some music as the apartment is overly quiet. I have to get up multiple times to use the restroom and grab the next manga in the series. Only needing Emily to grab a pill for my cramps once. We have already been informed that Nari is going out with Seokjin right after work, so dinner is up to us.

         “Take-out is always nice,” I smile, sitting up on the couch.

         “Any cravings?” Emily asks, picking up her phone.

         Before I can respond, the doorbell rings out.

         “Um, maybe someone already sent us take-out,” I shrug, placing my book on the coffee table. “How crazy would that be?”

         The doorbell rings again, and Emily stands up. “I’ll get it,” she nods before walking off.

         I sit in silence, focusing on my breathing to keep the cramps calm.

         “It was take-out,” Emily’s voice fills my ears moments later.

         “Good, I’m hungry,” I turn around to see Emily, as well as Taehyung and Namjoon with take-out containers.

         “We wanted to come over to make sure you were okay,” Namjoon says.

         “You boys are very sweet,” I tenderly smile, falling into my Korean tongue with better ease. “I am feeling much better.”

         “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day,” Taehyung walks around the couch, sitting next to me. “My jagi was ill and I wasn’t able to take care of her.” He begins opening the take-out containers he has. “One job of a boyfriend is to take care of his girlfriend when she is sick.”

         “Catch a summer bug?” Namjoon takes a seat in front of the recliner that Emily has returned to.

         “No, it’s a little more,” Emily runs a hand through her boyfriend’s hair. “We both know when it will hit, I guess you could say.”

         “Hm, I think I know what she’s dealing with.”

         “I don’t.” Taehyung pouts.

         I lean into Taehyung’s side. “Um, well, you see, it feels like my uterus is trying to kill me.”

         “What? Jagi,” Taehyung feeds me something from the take-out container. “Wait, what is a uterus?”

         Namjoon, Emily, and I burst into laughter.

         “Hey, what’s so funny?” Taehyung shoves some food into his mouth.

         “You can tell him, Amber,” Emily takes the container Namjoon is holding out to her.

         I look up at Taehyung, “Tae, the uterus is part of the female reproductive system.”

         Taehyung looks down at me, “Oh. Why is it hurting you? Should we go to the doctor?”

         “No, no doctor. It happens every month for a few days.”

         “What happens?”

         I groan as a pain shoots through me. “Ah, bad cramps. Part of my period.”

         “Period?”

         “No one has told you about girl’s cycles, Tae?” Namjoon asks.

         “No,” Taehyung adverts his look on me, clearly embarrassed.

         “It’s okay, Taehyung. That’s why I am telling you now.”

         Taehyung reconnects our gaze, “I will listen.”

         “Every month, from around fourteen, sometimes younger, sometimes older, a girl has a thing called a period.” My cheeks are slowly heating up. “During three to five days, her body is getting rid of the egg that didn’t get fertilized. This happens by, um, ah,” I freeze up, embarrassed to inform him what I am going through right now.

         “What happens,” Taehyung feeds me something else in hopes of coaxing the answer out of me.

         “Bleeding,” Emily speaks up. “Girls body’s bleed to expel the egg and stuff.”

         I groan out of pain and embarrassment. “Does that make sense?” I look away.

         “And your body hurts you for this?” Taehyung puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer.

         “Amber gets the worst cramps of any woman I know,” Emily answers.

         “Do you have pain relievers?” Namjoon asks.

         “I do,” I wiggle around to a more comfortable position in Taehyung’s grip. “They help, but I don’t like relying on stuff like that. Plus, after today, it gets a lot better.”

         “What can I do to help?” Taehyung kisses my head. “I want to help you feel better.”

         “Well,” I look up at my boyfriend, the blush fading from my face. “Keep feeding me, and maybe a massage later.”

         “Of course,” Taehyung leans down and gives me a kiss. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

         I giggle, “Yes. It’s comfy and smells like you. Helped me not miss you as much, and I don’t like to wear anything tight when on my period.”

         “Cute,” he grins.

         “So, how long are you guys staying over here?” Emily asks.

         Taehyung leans back, “I don’t know.”

         “Until Seokjin-hyung gets back here after his date with Nari.”

         “Ah, yes. They should be talking about July and all that good stuff,” I smile, accepting food from Taehyung’s fingers.

         “Jin seems like he will be able to convince Nari to let us go,” Emily hands her trash to Namjoon.

         “I hope so,” Taehyung gives me a small squeeze. “I need my jagi.”

         “No reason to worry about it,” Namjoon nods. “Let’s just enjoy our time right now.”

         “I am trying to do that as much as I possibly can,” I grab Taehyung’s free hand, placing it on my stomach. The warmth from his hand like a hot pad for the cramps. “Ah, Taehyungie, I am so glad that you are so warm.”

         “What are you doing?” Taehyung rests his chin on the top of my head.

         “Cramps sometimes aren’t as bad when heat is applied. A heating pad can’t reach me, and the rice thing that Nari had was fine for a while. Your warm hand, though, feels like heaven.”

         “Would it help if it was right on your skin?” Taehyung toys with the bottom of the shirt I have on.

         “I don’t know, Tae, that seems a bit too much,” I squirm.

         “Not at all,” he sneaks his hand under the shirt, resting it on the middle of my stomach. “There. How does that feel?”

         “Good,” I happily sigh, letting my eyes fall close as I settle against Taehyung. “You don’t need to feed me anymore. I wasn’t that hungry to begin with. Not much sounds good right now.”

         “I’ll just keep holding you and stuffing my face.”

         “Once everyone is done eating, how about we watch a drama?” Namjoon speaks up.

         “That sounds great,” Emily says. “As long as Amber doesn’t need me to do anything else for her.”

         “Right now, I feel great,” I goofily smile. “I don’t care what we do, as long as I get to stay just like this for as long as possible.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hope you enjoyed reading! A cute chapter that I loved writing. The gif is a bit of a stretch, but it was cute and I thought “Why not?” Please, I would love to know what you thought! :D