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widows-writings · 2 years ago

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Tenebrae in Corde Meo (Darkness in the Heart of My Love)

Oliver Queen x original female character

Chapter 3

Content Warning: This fanfic has themes of past physical, emotional and sexual abuse along with themes the align with the red room in Marvel (human traficing, mind control, memory altering, ect.) There is also canon voilence that align with the show The Arrow (2012)

Summary: “Does that ring a bell?”

Vera blinked at hearing her given name by the Bratva. “No.”

The vigilante took long strides towards her, holding a file. He got close to her, his shadow consuming her. “Really? Because this photo looks a lot like you.” The vigilante growled

-----

It's been two years since Vera moved to Starling City. Two years and everything was going great. She had two jobs that she loved and she was finally starting to settle into her life with her two roommates. She was okay and she was happy for the first time in a long time. When the Vigilante walks her home, she's intrigued by the muystery that surrounded him. A puzzle she wanted to solve. Oliver Queen is introduced not too much later and Vera tumbles head over heels for a man she knew that she shouldn't and couldn't have. Against her better judgement, she develops a relationship with Oliver Queen and a friendship with the Vigilante; two sides of the same coin. Though everything is put on it's head, when a figure from Vera's past comes and threatens everything that she holds close to her heart. A choice has to be made. A choice that would hurt her either way.

words: 5316

Notes: Okay, here is chapter three. This fanfic is going to kill me. I stg

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058903

The garage had been boring. There wasn’t much that happened outside of the talk about what happened between Vera and Dave. There was even minimal talk about the fact that Keith got to work on Oliver Queen’s car. Apparently, Vera leaking the fact that Dave was an abusive piece of shit was more impressive. It had earned her a fair amount of respect in the garage. It was eye opening to find out that the majority of the men that worked there were disgusted by violence against minorities. Not what she was expecting, but she felt somewhat safer there.

When she got home, it was time for a nap until just before her shift at the club. She took a shower and didn’t even bother sleeping in her own bed, figuring the couch was a comfortable enough place. When she got up from her nap, she grabbed her duffle bag and started walking towards the club. She thought about if she was going to see the Vigilante again, and she thought the idea down. There was no way that he was going to visit again. He was more than likely a busy guy that didn’t have time to walk a stripper home. Either way, she wondered what she would tell him if she did see him. Maybe she would tell him about the guy that decided it would be funny to threaten her life. Sadly enough that was the only interesting thing that had happened to her. If anyone were to ask what her plans were outside of work, her answer would be sleep and maybe watching a show that she would eventually fall asleep to.

When she got to the club, she waved at the bouncer that was there and headed up to the dressing room to get ready. Tonight was going to be a fun night. All of Vera’s favorite girls were going to be there, which meant it was going to be filled with laughter. Most of them greeted Vera with a wave or a hug. Tonight she wore a mini bikini that had scattered gems on the pieces of fabric that left little to the imagination. She did light make-up to cover up the tattoo that was on her throat, just under her chin. Her boots went up half-way on her calves and in the front was the design of a skull. Her favorite feature? The eyes lit up. Vera finished her make-up, dressing up as the local goth before taking in a deep breath before leaving the dressing room. She was absorbed into the blinding lights, surrounded by half-naked girls. It would have been disorienting if it hadn’t been what her life was like the last year or so.

The first thing she did was go to the bar to check in and get shot to help calm her nerves. She threw the drink back easier than most and made her way to the DJ, giving him the songs she was hoping to dance to. After the girl who was currently on stage was done, Vera was up next. Did she like everyone staring at her? No. Though, they were looking at what she offered in beauty in movement and it was here she was thankful that nobody could see her scars. Offering a fantasy of an untouched body of life, and that’s what kept people watching her. It’s what made her money as she crawled around on the floor. She kept her eyes closed, preferring to get lost in the music than to look at the men that wanted so much more than to hand her ones. She ended her set by climbing to the top of the pole and dropping herself, her head almost hitting the floor. Her legs opened and she slowly flipped so she was in splits on the stage, grabbing bills from men and stuffing them behind the straps of her bra and thong.

She got up and grabbed what loose bills she could and stuffed them in her bag, not worried about if they were crinkled. She just didn’t want them touching her body anymore. She took a moment where nobody could see her, sitting down, wondering if she should even be here tonight. She needed the money, but she had her nightmare again. The ghost pains hitting when she was least expecting them. Another girl came around the corner to go up on stage and stopped when she noticed that Vera wasn’t looking good. She crouched down, putting her hands on Vera’s knees.

“Are you okay?” The girl asked.

“Yeah, just not a great day.” Vera answered.

“You can go home, there are enough girls here to cover.”

“I’m okay, just needed to take a breather.”

The girl nodded her head and went on stage. Vera gathered herself, blinking her eyes to get rid of the tears that were forming and used her hands to fan her face, letting out slow and deep breaths. She got up and walked over to the bar, ordering another shot. She just threw back the glass when she was approached by someone in a suit. Great, another man to tell her that she was too pretty to be doing this and that she should invest her time into finding a respectable job. She hid her disappointment with a half-lidded look of interest and sensuality as he stood across from her.

“I’m sorry, but I’m hoping I can get a dance for my friend over here?” The guy turned to point at another person sitting at a table. He looked like the guy that had been at the garage yesterday. “He’s been out of town for a while and I would like him to get a warm welcome.”

Vera felt her stomach crawl with anxiety. Normally when it came to situations like this, there was a camera and her face was going to end up on the internet and that was something that she couldn’t deal with. She didn’t want the world knowing that this is what she did, and heaven forbid her other job know what she was doing. The anxiety was making the phantom pains worse. She hid the pain with her seemingly bored look, offering a smile. She wasn’t going to fight, she needed the money. She offered the man a smile, tucking her money bag under her arm.

“Sure, let’s talk about price.” Vera said.

“I’m Tommy by the way.” He stretched out his hand.

Vera took it. “I’m Velvette.”

It wasn’t a real name of course. She wasn’t going to go around announcing who she was to the whole club, especially to someone named Tommy. Sounded like a name for a 12 year old boy, but she wasn’t going to say anything. She was impressed that someone so baby faced was able to get in here, unless he was someone that she needed to know. She had never actually cared to read up on the important people in Starling City. She didn’t even remember half of their names. She fixed her robe and leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice them and get her the dance ticket.

“I’m thinking an hour would be good.” He said, pulling out his wallet.

“An hour runs about 300.” Vera told him, hoping the price would turn him away.

“That’s it? Alright.”

Vera blinked, wondering who the hell this man was that was dropping 300$ on a dance randomly. She wasn’t going to complain, at all. She was okay with men just dropping money on her for various reasons. She had never had someone take a price like that and seem like they wanted to pay more. Was he going to pay for her entire evening with his friend? Maybe so, but that didn’t take away the shock lingering in her brain, threatening to roll off her tongue, but she kept her composure. These were the customers that she kept hearing about but never got. Most of the time she got men who would bite her and put their hands where they weren’t supposed to. She attributed it to her tattoos and size, but it didn’t change the fact that there were nights where she would get home and curl up with Felicity and Volt, not wanting to be alone.

The bartender came over and took Tommy’s card and printed off a slip, handing that to Vera. She went to hand it to the DJ, letting him know she was going to be gone for an hour, maybe longer. When she got back to the bar, Tommy was waiting for her. He held out his arm and led her to the table that his friend was sitting at. When she got there, she could see how red his face was. This scene was still new to him. The loud music wasn’t a bother to him, but it was the environment. The amount of girls and in general the amount of nakedness one would have to be comfortable to be in a place like this. She wasn’t going to ask Tommy where his friend had been, but judging by how awkward he was sitting, he hadn’t been around a lot of people. Her suspicions were confirmed when she got closer. Tommy’s friend was Oliver Queen, the guy who came into the garage yesterday, but her surprise was hidden by the lights covering the subtle changes in her face. She came up behind him, putting both of her hands on his shoulders, whispering in his ear.

“We’re in the room at the end of the hall over there,” She said, pointing.

She backed up, waiting for him to stand and when he did, she realized that she was still half a foot shorter than him in her heels. This was going to be fun. He held himself differently than Tommy, almost like he was ready for something to go wrong at any given moment, and she didn’t blame him. He had a look in his eyes that told her that he was exhausted and that he didn’t want to be here. He just wanted rest. His hair was blonde and messy, just all over the place. He had a goatee as well, which was perfectly sculpted and even though she had no facial hair, she wanted to know how he fucking did it. It was impressive. By any and all means, the angular proportions and height of her now client would be enough to make any of the girls pounce on him, but they didn’t give him a second look. She looked around to find most of them preoccupied with their own regulars.

Vera pressed her lips together, trying to hide how tired she already was. These double shift days were going to be the death of her, but judging by how strong Volt and Felicity were going, Vera was going to be the only one in that apartment, paying for everything. The lovebirds were already in talks of getting a condo after Volt got his masters which was right around the corner. That meant that Vera was going to be left paying for everything by herself, which also more than likely meant that she might have to get a third job. The thought made her rub her eyes tiredly when her client wasn’t looking. When they got to the room, she ushered him in the room and turned on a light to let other people know there were people in there.

When she closed the curtain and went to take off her robe, the guy held out his hand, stopping her. “You don’t need to do that. Tommy just likes to be the life of the party, I didn’t actually want to come.”

“I mean either way, I’m getting paid, so I have no qualms.”

“What normally happens in these rooms?” He asked, sitting on the couch.

“You’ve been to a strip club before…right?” she asked, a smile pulling at her lips.

“I have, but I don’t know if Tommy told you, I’ve been gone for a while.”

“He did mention that.” She sat down on the chair across from the couch and right next to the curtain. “Normally girls get really naked and really close to their customers. See a little titty, see a little ass, feel some soft skin, the usual.”

“Interesting, it’s a little toned down from what I was expecting.”

“Having sex would be prostitution and that shits illegal, but it doesn’t stop a fair number of girls here.” There was a look on his face that told her that was the answer he had been expecting.

“Are you normally back here?”

“Why? Jealous?” She teased before shaking her head. “No, I get most of my money spinning on a pole or crawling on the floor, bruising my legs to all hell. Tonight hasn’t been easy. I rolled my ankle the other night, which makes walking in these lovely 7 inch heels fuckin hell.” She said, showing off her heels like she was in an infomercial.

“I bet,” He gave a soft laugh. “I’m sorry Tommy asked you to do this.”

“I mean, I technically don’t have to do anything. We can just sit in here and talk. It’s a private room, nobody knows.” she said, giving a cheeky wink, crossing her legs leaning forward. Fuck she was tired.

“What did you say your name was?” He asked, making Vera sit up straight again.

“Velvette.” Again, she wasn’t going to go around giving out her real name.

“I’m Oliver.”

“Do you like Olive Garden? Unlimited soup and breadsticks.” She laughed at her own joke, but the laughter died.

“That was a really bad joke.” Oliver muttered.

“It’s why you don’t see me on stage doing stand up. My body looks better than my jokes sound. Though, if I’m being completely honest, I don’t even want to be here tonight. I just wanted to sit at home and watch some new TV show.” She replied. “Plus, I would like you to know my dad jokes are out of this world. I could have asked if you like Olives or if your favorite movie when you were a kid was Oliver and Company. I didn’t, I asked if you liked the poor person’s rich restaurant.”

“Well, you’ve got about 50 minutes of getting to do nothing.” Oliver said, leaning back into his seat, hands behind his head.

“Well someone is going to dance, and it’s not going to be me. At least not for now. I get to take off my shoes and stretch my legs.” Vera said, stretching her arms and legs like a cat.

“Me?” Oliver pointed at himself, raising an eyebrow. “Do you ask all of your guys to dance for you?”

“Only the really hot ones.” She said, folding her hands in her lap, throwing her legs over the arm of the chair.

“Oh, I’m hot?”

“He asks if he’s hot.” Vera said, laughing. “To the stripper he’s letting do nothing for an hour.”

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “Meh, Tommy’s paying however much for this hour, might as well put it to good use.”

He got up from the couch, motioning for Vera to take his seat, keeping his jacket unbuttoned as he started busting out the most 70s moves she’s ever seen, and that’s saying a lot. She smiled as he put on a face and a show for at least a little while before laying down on the couch on her stomach, her chin resting in her hands. Her feet were kicked up, ankles crossed, looking like a girl on the phone talking to her best friend about her crush. Oliver finished dancing, a smile plastered on his face, seeming proud of what he accomplished. Vera let out a small chuckle before getting up herself, leaving her shoes by the couch. She stood in front of him, dancing like Freddie Mercury along with some of what some might consider some 80s goth club dance moves.

This went on for the entire hour, the two would find themselves trying to out dance the other. Though, it was almost clear that Vera was winning. She had more experience with dancing even outside of a strip club. Though Oliver proved a worthy contender. When the hour was up, Oliver reached for his wallet, pulling out some of the spare cash he had in there. Judging by what Vea could see, it was enough to pay for more than half of her rent. She tried to hide her surprise as she waited for him to be like any other client and stuff the bills in her g-strong or bra straps. He didn’t try and put it anywhere, he just handed it to her, making him one of the nicest clients she’s ever had. She smiled, putting on the facade for the club that she had dropped while in the VIP room, and tucked the cash into her bra cup before grabbing her boots and putting them on. She looked up through her lashes to watch him leave, trying to hide a smile.

After getting on her boots, Vera sat on the couch, taking out the cash to see how much he tipped her. She figured that it was going to be a couple hundred because that’s at least how much she saw, but she pulled out something more along the lines of at least a grand worth of bills. In one night, her entire rent was paid for. She only needed to do one more stage set and then she was set to go home. She wasn’t going to stick around if she didn’t need to. When she left, she tucked the money into her money bag, and headed back out to the main area. She noticed that Oliver was still here and she felt an odd sense of relief. She was happy that he hadn’t left yet. She knew that it was impractical to want him to stick around, outside of that hour that they spent together, he had no obligations to her. Though the relief she had didn’t last long. She was found by another guy that was far too wasted to know which way was up and which was down.

“You wanna join me at my table?” He asked, his words slurring.

“You betcha-” She said, no enthusiasm in her voice, not that he would notice.

He put his hand on the small of her back, and she wanted nothing more than to recoil from his touch and the horrendous stench of alcohol that was wafting from his clothing. She offered a smile and sat down at the table, putting her bag on her lap to try and stop him from trying anything. It didn’t work.. She felt his hand on her thigh, which wasn’t allowed, which meant talking to the bar when she went to get drinks. His hand crept up her thigh and she wanted nothing more than to break his hand, but she didn't. She clenched her jaw and leaned forward trying to seem interested in what he was talking about. When there was a break in the conversation, she offered to get them drinks.

She walked up to the bar and ordered a shot of vodka for herself, but asked them to get Dig to remove the guy. He broke the one rule of the club. No touching. She also let the bar know she was going to be leaving early. She waited until the guy was gone before disappearing to the dressing room to decompress. It wasn’t uncommon that she had to deal with people like this. Men were handsy, there was a reason that she told Oliver he was a breath of fresh air. It’s because he was. He wasn’t a dick, he wasn’t trying to get anything out of her. He didn’t even want to be here. She leaned her head back, letting out a slow steady sigh, taking off her shoes and placing them in her duffle bag. She then got changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, washing off the make-up on her neck that hid her tattoo.

She ran her fingers over the lines that were permanently etched into her skin, her fingertips feeling the small bumps. She could feel her heartbeat, which was slowing down. She put on her hoodie and threw the bag over her shoulder, shoving her hands in her pockets. As she left, she dropped cash for the house and the DJ. When she got outside, she took in a deep breath of the somewhat fresh air that didn’t stink of nicotine smoke, vomit or alcohol. She didn’t even notice that the man that had been removed earlier was waiting outside.

“You got me kicked out.” He said, pointing at her.

“Yeah, well, you’re not allowed to touch the merchandise.” She told him, pulling out her cigarettes, putting one between her lips.

“I paid to be in there, I’m allowed to do what I want.”

“You paid to get in and look, not touch. Now if you get any closer, you’ll be going home crying that you got the shit kicked out of you by a girl.”

“What could you do to me? You’re the size of a fucking pebble bitch.”

She took a drag of her nicotine stick, blowing the smoke in his face. “You don’t want to know what I will do to you.” She said.

He went to grab the collar of her sweatshirt, and without moving, losing her cigarette or really putting in any effort, she was able to twist his arm behind his back, putting him on his knees. She twisted his arm until she heard him whimpering, which made her smile. She took a drag without even moving the cigarette from her lips, the smoke pouring out of her nostrils, leaning down close to his face.

“You try and fucking touch me again, you won’t be going home with a broken arm.” She growled before letting him go, throwing him onto the cement.

She left the parking lot of the club, not even waiting for Dig. He was still working so that meant walking home alone again. Part of her wished the vigilante would be there to walk with her, but at the same time, that man soured her mood for the evening, so even then she wouldn’t be in the mood to crack jokes and have fun like the last time she walked with him. This time she also remembered to bring an umbrella, which came into use about two blocks from the club when it started pouring. She groaned, her shoulders slumping.

Today just wasn’t her day. The parts for her car didn’t come in and the night at the club started off good, but it ended with a doozy. She took the cigarette from her lips and tossed it onto the ground, stomping on it to put it out. She ran her hand over her mouth, taking in a shaky breath and letting it out slowly. She needed a way out, she needed something that wasn’t this, that wasn’t being felt up by men that were too drunk to hear the word no. Vera could feel tears in her eyes and she took in another breath, closing her eyes. Calm, that’s what she needed to be. Vera wiped the tears that had started to fall down her cheeks and continued walking towards her apartment, keeping her head down. She heard thunder rumbling and saw lightning flash in the distance. She jumped ever so slightly at the bright flashing.

“Scared of lightning?” She heard a voice ask.

“Not really, just in a bit of a jumpy mood.” She replied, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to hide the fact that she was crying.

“Well, would you like some company?”

“Are you my personal bodyguard now?” She asked, offering a weak smile in the vigilante’s direction.

“No, you’re just good company. It gets lonely walking these dark streets.”

Vera nodded her head in response and held her umbrella with something of a death grip, her knuckles turning white. The vigilante offered his arm again, which she took and the two continued walking down the sidewalk. She wanted to ask how his day went, but she figured that it wasn’t going to be all that interesting since there was only one night in between the last time they spoke and interacted. Though compared to their first night together, she didn’t have much to say. She didn’t want to burden him with the fact that she had some guy try and feel her up and then try and beat her ass for getting him kicked out of the club. She also didn’t want to burden him with anything else that is happening in her life. The vigilante had bigger things to worry about, but she wanted to sit down and talk to someone, someone that she didn’t have to look at, someone she didn’t have to worry about how they were going to respond. She craved the animosity that was offered by talking to the vigilante. What would she say to him though? What would she talk about?

Dave was the first thing that came to mind. Dave was a misogynistic asshole, one she frequently put in place. She didn’t take any of his shit and when she found out that he was beating and cheating on the woman that he was dating, Vera wasn’t going to just stand by and do nothing. If there was one thing in the world that Vera hated, it was men that thought that they could take what they wanted and treat people how they wanted with no consequences. She became friends with the girl and Vera told her what Dave was like and his past. She didn’t want to be that person, that woman that broke up a relationship, but being the bad guy was preferred over any other scenario that played out in Vera’s head. She didn’t want to hear about how Dave had taken what he shouldn’t have and that he was just being an all around massive dick. Vera didn’t want to see anyone hurt the way that she had been. The sayings were right. The people who have been hurt like that take the pain, the suffering and they hold it close so nobody has to feel pain like that ever again.

Vera cleared her throat, readjusting how she was holding the umbrella. The vigilante noticed her awkward-like energy and paused their walking. He pulled the two of them off to the side, being as gentle as possible. It still amazed her how gentle he was when she knew that what he considered a past time was beating up people. She didn’t understand why he was being so nice to her, she worked in a strip club, she destroyed a relationship. She wasn’t a good person. She had so much blood on her hands that it was past her shoulders to her neck. She could swim in the blood that she had shed in this world. If he knew anything about her, he wouldn’t be nice to her and there was a part of her that wanted to tell him her history, to ruin him being nice to her. At the same time, she didn’t want to give up the one person outside of her house that treated her like a human.

“What’s going on? You aren’t being the woman I met a couple of nights ago.” The vigilante said, breaking her thoughts.

“I guess I’m just tired. Got a lot on my plate.” She gestured to the rain.” It doesn’t help that this is the weather. Automatically makes me tired.”

She turned back to look at the Vigilante who was standing in front of her, looming over her. She would have a few inches if she was wearing her heels, but she wasn’t so there was over a foot of a height difference between the two of them. He had stopped and turned in front of a light post that gave him a holy, gritty blacklight. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much of an advantage when it came to seeing his face. He was good at keeping it hidden, which he needed to be. Otherwise he was going to be out of a job. Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned down, getting closer to her. She could feel his breath on her cheek. It was warm. This was also the first time she saw his eyes. They were bright blue, a blue she was going to get lost in if she didn’t break eye contact soon.

“Did something happen to you?” He asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“What do you mean?” She asked, trying to not sound nervous.

He raised a gloved hand to touch the scar that was on the side of her face. She didn’t even know how he noticed it, most people didn’t. “Who did this to you?” He asked.

“This? It’s old, I got it a while ago. My brother threw a baseball through a window, the glass hit me, nothing crazy.” She lied.

The vigilante nodded his head slowly, taking a step back from her. “Good.” He looked her over to see if there was any more damage done. “You’d tell me if something did happen, right?”

“What,” She laughed. “Are you like my guardian angel now?”

“Works better than a bodyguard in my opinion.”

She let out a small laugh. “Then yes, I would tell you.”

The vigilante nodded his head so slightly she didn’t even notice it. He reached out his arm for her to take again and without any more hitches, he got her back to her apartment. Again she stood under the awning, keys in her hand. The vigilante was only a couple steps under her, which evened out their height difference. She tilted her head to the side, trying to read him, her eyes narrow. She didn’t understand, she couldn’t read him. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was meant to be that she couldn’t read him. She just thought it was impressive. She could read everyone.

“You want to come in, get something to drink?” She asked.

“Sure…” He muttered, avoiding looking at her.

She turned to unlock the door to the apartment, and when she turned around to open the door for him, he was gone. Great, the one guy that she invited to her apartment was gone. Poof. Maybe she was falling in love with a ghost. That would be her luck. She tucked her keys into her pocket and took the elevator up to her complex. She waved to Felicity and Volt, who were awake and having desert, confused as to why she was home so early. They didn’t ask any questions. Vera went into her room and threw her bag on the floor and sat down in the chair next to her window, watching the rain outside.

Vera pulled her knees close to her chest, resting her chin on them. She heard a knock on her door followed by it opening slowly. Felicity walked in and set a bowl of ice cream on her desk and knelt on the floor. Vera tried to keep a straight face, but the only thoughts going through her head was how she deserved what came for her at the club. That she deserved whatever that man had in store for her. She didn’t deserve the two people in this apartment that treated her like she was a good person, she didn’t even deserve the vigilante walking her home. She didn’t deserve the kindness that she could feel in Felicity’s touch, but that didn’t stop her from crying. From breaking down and telling her best friend about what happened with Felicity knowing it wasn’t the first time that it happened.

Taglist: @murphysketchs @nightmarefoodauthor @edgeyrogues

#the arrow #green arrow #oliver queen x original character #oliver queen #fanfiiction #dc fanfic

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l0vem41l · 1 year ago

Text

songs and other drabbles...

part two: kyle "gaz" garrick

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, very possibly ooc (my first time writing for cod), civilian reader, pet name (baby) used like... once?? gaz the typa guy to use "babe" and "baby" i dont make the rules. dk whether this is fluff or angst but oh boy is it sumn!!!! 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. kyle "gaz" garrick

author's note: the entire first draft deleted itself and i nearly chose to do the same. SLASH JAY!!!! errmmmm (*´ｰ｀)ゞ anyways!!!! i love gaz so so much. this Specific lyric bro. itz so him. i've had this in my brain for too long. I STG I WAS COOKING W/ THE OG ONE BUT I DELETD THAT DRAFT AND NOW IT'S MID o(≧口≦)o !!!!! apologies. many. trust i'll come up w/ sumn better when i am not succumbing to whatever ailment has me rn,,,, <//3 im sick

[ simulation swarm - big thief ]

"i wanna drop my arms and take your arms / and walk you to the shore"

↳ gaz had woken up about half an hour ago. unlike usual, however, he was making absolutely no effort to get up from the bed and start the day early.

"just a few minutes” is what you claimed it would be when you asked him to stay in bed a for a while. it was also completely bullshit. you both knew that much. it had been much longer than “just a few minutes” since then– yet, there were no protests from him, holding you tight as if he never intended on letting go.

even if kyle had wanted to get up (and like hell he would), he figured it was almost impossible to say no to you. after coming back from a particularly long deployment which had left you with minimal contact to him, he figured the least he could do was indulge you in your simple requests now that he was back. staying in bed where it was warm and comfortable was easy enough anyways.

you were practically laying on top of him, your head tucked into the crook of his neck, one of his arms around your waist, holding you close against him. his free hand had found its way to the small of your back, as he idly traced shapes against the fabric of your shirt–

his shirt, actually. you had taken a liking to stealing his clothing and kyle's closet began slowly merging with your own ever since. at this point, it was hard to tell who’s clothes were who’s. not like he minded.

"kyle?” you mumbled sleepily, lips moving against his skin as you speak. his heart fluttered at your voice.

“yes?”

a beat of silence.

“nothing.” you shifted your position, moving to rest your head against his shoulder, cheek pressed against it as you look up at him. “it’s stupid, really but– i missed you more than i thought i would... guess i was worried about you."

his eyes met yours, gazing down at you sweetly. he paused to think for a moment, giving you a wistful smile before pressing a little kiss to your forehead. he thinks a moment before replying.

"i missed you too, baby. so much." though his voice is adoring and gentle as ever, a soft sorrow which your tired mind can't quite discern resided in the words.

kyle had always accepted danger which his job entailed, even used to the physically and mentally demanding aspects. but ever since you arrived his life, he found himself absolutely despising the anxiety that his job caused you when he was away. you both had to come to terms with the fact that this was just the way things would be for the both of you. he hated that. he hated knowing you would be forced to reconcile with the fact there might be a day where he doesn't come back to you.

deep in his heart, he knew that if you were more selfish– if you would just ask him to quit his job to live a quiet life with you– his answer wouldn't be no.

he'd never verbalize it, but he was almost certain he'd drop it all if you asked him to. sometimes he secretly wished that you would. but you never did. you remained understanding, taking all the anxiety you felt when he was away if it meant that you could still be with him. how could he ever repay something like that?

this was the ache and blessing which he carried the minute you insisted on loving him.

he didn't dare tell you this now. the moment would've certainly be ruined if he had. besides, he figured you had been laden with enough– and he didn't want to spoil this perfect morning. instead, he took the opportunity to pepper as many kisses on your face he can before you eventually laugh and gently push him away.

and that smile of yours, brighter than the morning sun– it just reminded him that he really would do anything for you.

▸ KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK

– reblogs always appreciated!

#cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick headcanons #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz call of duty #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #gaz headcanons #gaz x reader #gaz garrick

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flowersintheimpala69 · 5 months ago

Text

Unfortunately, i don't rlly read smut fics for the sake of smut (like i usually do it for an added angst element) so these may not be as pwp as you wanted. these recs may be boring and unfulfilling but i still wanted to offer up my meager scraps!! hope these recs don't all suck<3

summary:

Dean bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before continuing. Sam was open with him, so now it’s his turn. “Besides, I like taking care of you. Wish you’d let me do it more often, if I’m being honest.”

He walks over to where Sam is sitting on the bed, still gripping the little stuffed animal tightly. Dean reaches over and smoothes down the front of Sam’s hair gently. For a minute, he worries if he’s gone too far, said too much.

this fic is literally my all-time fav. i reread it every week. there's a (smut-less) part one that you technically can skip over but it's also rlly good ngl. anyways! this one does sort of have a plot-filled beginning but i swear to god the smut is so good. ageplay but in a way I've never really seen represented and i ate it up. emotional overtones so they're not just fucking nasty so if u want just a pwp probs skip this but i stg this fic is so so good.

summary:

Sam never should have questioned Dean's masculinity, but how was he to know it would end with him in a pair of panties?

yea. this is the good stuff. panty kink sam is as good as crack in my book. basically sam loses a wager to dean and has to wear panties and he likes it a little too much. a smidge of size kink.

summary:

Turns out the only thing more uncomfortable than sitting through class with a half-woody and a pair of panties wedged up your ass is doing it while your panties are soaking wet from your brother's mouth.

(Sam is 14).

another panty wearing sam what can i say I'm a simple woman. i enjoy reading abt that large-ass man with little lacy cotton stretched over his huge cock. anyways. weecest fuck nasty. it's riveting.

summary:

“You get to have this, Dean.” The brush of Sam’s mouth against his own is the sweetest ache. Lips catch and drag and Sam whispers into his mouth, “You get to have this. If you want this, I’m giving it to you. Let me give this to you.” Dean wants to say yes. He wants to say please and I love you and thank you. For the trust, the devotion, the care. It’s not something that has ever needed to be verbalised but god, in this moment Dean wants nothing more than to tell this boy just how much he loves him. “Yeah. Yeah, Sam — I want this.” The words taste like the sweetest freedom and a thousand more years of damnation but Sam’s tongue soothes the burn of them. Long fingers cradle the back of his head tenderly, so tenderly, like he’s something precious to be taken care of, and Dean’s chest feels fit to bursting with how much he loves this kid.

this is my fav daddy kink samdean + praise kink, the smut itself is amazing but the emotional build up is also very very well written just very yummy yummy

summary: A study on normality or lackthereof in the relationship between Sam and Dean Winchester.

wasn't sure if i should put this one here cuz it's def fucked up and def smutty but idk if it's in the way you meant? it's def really really good and one of the best explorations of weecest I've ever read but also really heavy. tw for like rlly rlly underage and child on child sexual abuse. sorry if this is out of left field!

thats all i rlly got sorry!! i should honestly read and bookmark more nasty pwp, yk, expand my horizons. anyways hope at least one of these piques ur interest!

in the mood for some fucked up, smutty samdean. any recs out there?

#i hope these dont all suck!!#fanfic recs

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funkzpiel · 5 years ago

Note

Geralt wonders why he can never get rid of Jaskier. One night Jaskier is drunk and telling Geralt stories of his childhood. How his mother was once saved from a monster before he was born. The man took no coin in thanks, only claimed the Law of Surprise. His father died in the attack, and later his mother discovered that she was pregnant with Jaskier. His mother never saw the man again. Jaskier chuckles to himself, not noticing how Geralt has suddenly gone silent and wide-eyed.

I changed the background of the ‘how’ a bit, but I hope you still enjoy it.

Together

“There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you are meant to be.”- John Lennon

Jaskier, by the definition of his very personality, was Geralt’s polar opposite; and yet, for a man so utterly unlike the witcher, the bard had an uncanny ability with comfort. That was how Geralt found himself sitting at a bar with company rather than alone. It had been a few months since ‘fate’ had begun to reappear into his life – little tendrils of coincidences and off-hand remarks from various people and events that were constantly reminding him that the clock was ticking. His child surprise was coming for him.

With every warning and every sign of the inevitable, Geralt felt his jaw clench tighter and tighter until a dull pain had rooted into his temples, constant and burning. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone felt the need to tell him what to do; to just give in. Fate was, after-all, unavoidable - or so they insist on telling him. But “fate” was a ruse made by weak-willed men who wanted to hide their deeds behind excuses like ‘inevitable’ and such, and Geralt wanted nothing to do with it. There was no such thing as fate, he was definitely not about to take in a child-ward any time soon, and that was all there was to it.

“You’re grinding again,” Jaskier said easily, slipping back into his spot across the table from Geralt as he slid another full pint toward the man. He gestured at his own jaw with a twirl of a finger and elaborated, “Your teeth,” when Geralt didn’t immediately stop – as if he had merely misunderstood.

Geralt pursed his lips with a grunt, took the flagon, and imbibed a hearty sip. He wiped the froth from his lip with the back of his hand and continued looking sour. They had just finished a contract – Jaskier being Jaskier all the while – with a sorceress who had, at the end, tried to ‘pay him’ by becoming ‘possessed by Fate’ with a capital ‘F’. Reminding him of his duty to his child, of course, how the fuck did everyone know about that. As if this girl, this princess, were his daughter. Geralt felt his jaw tighten again.

He blamed Jaskier. There was no doubt in his mind that the man had created some pub shanty about his child-surprise without him knowing about it and even he had the good sense not to sing it around Geralt.

Jaskier whistled. He was a bit noodlely at the moment. Knowing Geralt as well as he did, it was Jaskier who had insisted they take a load off and wind down at the tavern to celebrate a job well done, a heavier purse, and the fact that they were very much the masters of their own fates, thank you. It was the last bit in particular that got Geralt’s interest; not that he had ever been a man opposed to a good drink. Jaskier had merely made the point that ‘to drink would be to spit in “fate’s” face, after all – and it brings us no nearer your child surprise, right?’ and it was a done deal.

So they drank. They drank, and Jaskier had done his damnedest to keep up with Geralt out of what the witcher could only assume was some spirit of camaraderie. The idiot. So the bard was rather noodlely and loose. There had been a distinct moment when he had first stood to refresh their cups that Geralt had been certain the bard would collapse. But despite the tilt to his gait, Jaskier had managed – and was, in fact, still remarkably cognizant for a man Geralt had no plan of letting walk again for at least an hour or so.

Geralt himself had the beginning of a pleasant buzz beginning to burn throughout his body, numbing his ire toward fate and destiny and village folk who were constantly trying to rip him out of his money for doing jobs no sane man would do. Perhaps Jaskier had been right. He did need a night to drink, to spit in destiny’s face, and be neither father-to-be or witcher, but merely a man in a bar drinking with a friend.

He forced himself to loosen his jaw and Jaskier stopped his babbling from across the table with cheer and said, “That’a’boy, Geralt!”

They played Gwent; a game that Jaskier’s fingers struggled to keep up with but his mind, surprisingly, had no trouble with at all. Allowing Geralt to put his own mind into a pleasant round of distractions as he kept Jaskier’s frontline from utterly devastating his own with all manner of range and weather cards. When the time came, it was Geralt who refreshed their cups next (and had a private word with the bar keep to perhaps water Jaskier’s down just a little).

The evening went on like that – pleasant and mundane and mild – until suddenly it was anything but. Because Jaskier, the fucking bard that he was, just had to make things personal. And in Geralt’s experience, nothing good ever came from getting personal.

“Honestly, Geralt, I’m on your side with all this fate rubbish,” Jaskier finally said, evidently confident enough in the good turn of mood in the witcher to further discuss the topic. As though the matter were a wet sheet to be aired, dried, folded and finally dealt with. Geralt felt a twitch run through his jaw but the booze by and far helped stop him from setting his teeth to grinding again. He kept his gaze on his cards, hoping his focused expression might spare him from the conversation at hand as he slowly laid down his move and rumbled, “Funny. You seem too romantic to be on my side.”

Jaskier chuckled, hands fumbling clumsily through his own cards as he smiled and said, “Fair! Very fair. By all counts a master musician and storyteller like myself should be utterly enamored by fate—”

“—I don’t know if a man who wrote that ‘fishmonger’ nonsense can be considered a ‘master musician’,” Geralt hedged, hoping to distract the bard with his little jab, but Jaskier just merrily continued as though he hadn’t said a word - far too used to the witcher’s barbs to let it stop his rhythym. Damn.

“—but I’ve first-hand experience to tell me otherwise. Fate may be a romantic and beautiful storytelling device, no doubt, but every writer knows all too keenly that fantasies are just fantasies at the end of the day. After all, we wrote’em.”

Jaskier had a merry little blush about him; it peeked out from under his messy collar and kissed the tips of his ears, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Geralt chalked it up to what he referred lazily to as ‘bard magic’ that the man managed to look attractive whilst drunk instead of like a slobbering fool – like most humans. It wouldn’t be the first time Geralt wondered if there were something more to the bard than meets the eye.

Jaskier’s fingers still fumbled like a drunken fool as he played his cards though, so Geralt shook it from his mind.

“First-hand experience?” Geralt snorted, shaking his head when the bard, despite his drunkenness, managed to pull out another great move in their Gwent game – not once thinking that perhaps he too was inebriated in the slightest. “What? Did the woman you deem yourself ‘fated’ to marry reject you?”

Geralt smirked a little at his own jest, pleased.

Jaskier let it roll over him with all the candor of a duck shaking water from its feathers, smooth and easy.

“Hardly,” Jaskier laughed, watching Geralt as the man refocused on the game. “Well, I mean, you’re not wrong – Lady Emily was meant to be mine, and the world is a poorer place for her having married that lout Bartolomeo rather than myself – but no. That wasn’t it. You see, I was told ‘fate’ would have a big role in my life as well, witcher. Practically from the day I was born. And it didn’t. So there – same side.”

Geralt raised his brows, eyes lifting from his cards to drift up to Jaskier’s face with surprise. That sounded like quite the story and yet the bard didn’t immediately launch into it. Strange.

“I think that’s the briefest story you’ve ever told. Are you ill?”

“Ah!” Jaskier exclaimed, pointing at him as though he had caught the witcher red-handed in some years long investigation, “I knew you liked my stories.”

Geralt snorted, played his hand, then leaned back to cross his arms over his chest and stare at the bard menacingly – which was evidently not menacing at all, because the bard just waved him off as his eyes fell to their game and said distractedly, “Honestly, there’s no real story to tell, Geralt, don’t give me that look. Nothing happened - that’s the point.”

Geralt felt his lips curl the littlest bit downward. Now he was truly beginning to worry the man had been possessed. He even began running through the possibilities of what specific spirit it could be.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier blew out a breath that ruffled the fine curls of his bangs – if that was even what they were called, to be honest Geralt didn’t truly know – and rolled his eyes as though Geralt were the one prone to prying and not himself. Good, Geralt thought. Served him right to get a taste of his own medicine.

“It’s an old story, not even particularly special. It’s happened to others and it just so happened to my father. He was headed home from a gala of some sort – thankfully without my mother – and he and his carriage was attacked. Not even by anything particularly remarkable, by the by, that’s how droll this story is. He was traveling through the swamps that led to home, a wheel got stuck in the mud – drowners tried to off’em, you know the way it goes.”

Geralt felt the uncanny grip of something flipping his stomach upside down and chilling his skin as suddenly a memory slammed to the forefront of his mind, dragged up from the depths of decades, triggered by Jaskier’s words.

Geralt had been on his way back to the village to turn in a contract. He had been sore and tired, the worst of one of his potions slowly ebbing from him. His hair was a filthy, muddy, bloody thing and he looked rather like a monster himself. But the Water Hag was dead – a particularly old and particularly powerful hag at that – and the promise of a heavy purse was on the horizon. Coin and a bath and a bed. The thought alone quickened his steps for a moment.

But the swamp had been a muggy, dreadful thing. Geralt had resorted to leading Roach by her reins on foot rather than risk her ankles in the mud beneath his weight and that of his pack. He had been taking his time, grumbling now and then about the flies and the mosquitos that dogged him, the heat oppressive and thick.

He ultimately ended up leaving Roach behind when he heard a man scream up ahead. He slid through the mud in clumsy, fumbling strides only to find a carriage with its wheels stuck, plagued on all sides with drowners. They had taken the man’s horse out at the ankles and were dragging it through the mud. Geralt could still remember the panicked whites of its eyes and its shrill screaming – the sense of relief he felt knowing he had left Roach a safe distance behind. Somewhere out in the mud, he saw a gloved hand disappear beneath the mire – likely a travel guard. Dead now.

“Help! Oh, you there! Please don’t leave me!” A man had shouted from atop his cart, barely beyond the reach of webbed, grasping claws.

He shook himself. Tried to focus. Odd for the story to start out similarly, but like Jaskier said, the monsters were as common as the situation. Focus.

“Way he tells it, it’s quite a tale. It’s too bad you’re hearing it from me and not him. Man appeared out of nowhere and out of the goodness of his heart, he cut down all the drowners.”

It had been sloppy work, between the mud and the exhaustion. The swamp kept sucking his boots down into the muck, every move slow and squelching, but he managed. He took the head off two before they even noticed his presence – the beasts too lost to tunnel vision and bloodlust to manage much else – then cleaved the hand off another that reached too close to the man atop the carriage. That drew the beasts’ attention rather quickly.

The fight had left him even filthier. Slathered in guts and swamp gunk and reeds that peaked out of the edges and grooves of his armor in comical places. He leaned himself against the carriage, leaving a great messy smear behind him, and sucked in a breath. The horse was dead, the carriage a lost cause. But the man was alive. Hopefully that would be enough to spare him some random human’s moaning that he hadn’t arrived in time to spare the horse. But it wouldn’t be the first time it hadn’t been enough…

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” The man babbled urgently, scrabbling down from the top of his carriage to stand before the witcher. He was a bit of a rotund man – obviously well off – with dark mousey hair, and startlingly cornflower blue eyes. He wore rich fabrics done up in delicate, intricate threading and patterns. The knees of his trousers and ass had been muddied, his hands as well. But he looked rather cheerful for a royal of some sort who had recently taken a tumble through the mud. Most royalty always tended to be sour, even when their lives were saved. Geralt found himself off-balance.

“However can I thank you, Master…?” The man asked, letting the sentence drag pointedly.

“Witcher is fine,” Geralt said. People took none-too-kindly to his name these days. Witcher was safer; which in and of itself was a bit tragic.

“Master Witcher it is,” the man beamed, and for the life of him Geralt couldn’t fathom how a man managed to smile like that to a complete stranger. Smiling like they were longtime friends reunited after decades of getting old in separate lands, but never forgotten. This was usually the point in which people gave him a suspicious look and yet this man smiled.

“Father said the man wanted nothing. No price, no pay. Honestly, that’s why I think he’s lying. Even you witchers require pay when you help slay monsters. Who possibly would have stepped in on that situation and been willing to walk away after risking their lives for nothing?” Jaskier snorted. It was obvious that this story had once meant quite a deal to him at one point, and slowly – as the years passed – it had lost its glamor like petals falling from a flower one by one until nothing was left but a thin, weathered stalk. Geralt grunted and tried to banish that nagging memory from his mind, to focus on Jaskier’s story. He rested his wrists down against the table to steady the subtle shaking of his cards.

But more and more, his stomach dropped like a stone. Slipped beneath the surface of icy dread like that traveling guard’s hand had disappeared beneath the murk of the swamp.

“Honestly, don’t worry about it,” Geralt said. He was exhausted. The man surely had no coin on him of any import and Geralt had no interest in following the man home to then negotiate some fee as all men seemed inclined to do after the work was done and the threat gone. He wanted nothing more than to return to town, burrow into a bed at the tavern, and sleep off the rest of the potion still chewing at the edges of his system. He wanted to wrap up his current contract, not haggle another. He held a hand up to the man when he tried to pull the rings from his fingers and said, “Truly. It was only decent to stop and help. I didn’t even manage to spare your horse or guard—”

“Ah, Renfield—” the man said, suddenly sobering. A true sense of somber grief appeared to steal over the man, his eyes casting out to the spot in the swamp where he last saw him. “And to think I don’t even have a body to bring home to his wife…”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to go. He wanted to sleep.

“See? You owe me nothing,” Geralt offered softly.

“You still saved my life,” the man said, “That is not nothing.”

Geralt clenched his teeth and looked out over the wastes of the swamp. It was obvious the man would not relent. Furthermore, he couldn’t leave the man like this either – alone in the swamps among the carcasses of dead drowners. The witcher sighed, long and heavy through flared nostrils, and finally said, “Walk with me to town and I’ll surely think of something.”

“But father insisted on paying the man,” Jaskier said, a little grin slipping onto his face then as he proudly said, “We’re a bit of a stubborn lot, we of house de Lettenhove.”

Cornflower blue eyes drifted up to twinkle merrily at Geralt, surely expecting the witcher to sieze the opportunity to agree that, yes, Jaskier was nothing if not bullishly stubborn when he got something into his head. Something like following a witcher around and using those adventures as a muse, for instance.

Geralt was thanking his lucky star by the time they finally stumbled into the village where he needed to turn in his contract. The man – some Viscount from some place Geralt really had no intention of remembering – had managed to fill the silence Geralt so desperately wanted all the way from the moment they left the swamps to the second they stepped into the village. He spoke of why he was traveling with one guard - “Well my wife is pregnant, you see, and I was afraid to leave her alone in her state. She’s due any day now,” – and how they were expecting a wee lass and oh, how he’d tell her about the brave, muddied man who saved him.

Geralt barely stopped himself from burying his face into Roach’s neck when the man clapped him heartily on the back and exclaimed, “And now I owe you furthermore for escorting me to safety! Have you thought of a just reward?”

Geralt felt a groan lodge behind his teeth and just barely managed to smother it. The alderman’s home was right there. He was so close.

Geralt cleared his throat, but his voice still came out like a choked croak when he asked, “And your father wouldn’t take no for an answer, right?”

“Quite right, witcher-dear,” Jaskier said, finally playing his hand in their gwent game with a drunken flourish; but it felt a bit stale from some reason. In fact, everything about Jaskier felt stale the moment he started telling the story… “I think you’ll find this next bit the most interesting. It’s why I don’t think this child-surprise is anything worth worrying about – all just a load of rubbish.”

Geralt reached for his pint and took several deep pulls from the thing as though that might drown out what he knew was coming.

“He invoked the Law of Surprise,” Jaskier said coolly.

“I’ve thought of something,” Geralt said quickly. It was a foolish thing, more romantic than practical, but royals always seemed charmed by the idea. They sometimes asked for it themselves, often eager to pay slyly through a surprise shipment of silks or a newly whelped hound pup rather than true coin, all beneath the mask of ‘tradition’ rather than greed. Loathe as he was about the law, given it landed him in the School of the Wolf himself, he usually avoided it. But it had its uses - and the man was already expecting his daughter. Nothing ill should come of it. It should work mundanely, perfectly. “Law of Surprise. Are you familiar with it?”

The man’s eyes opened a little wider with childish wonder and he said, “Why, I thought that was just a myth about you witchers. Do you truly use the Law of Surprise as payment?”

“Aye, we do. That seems best, don’t you think? Given the circumstances? I’m afraid this is far as I can take you though… Send a messenger to your estate, have them send a true escort to see you safely home from here. And when you return, whatever you find that you did not expect – that will be my payment.”

“I’m afraid that even for royalty, we live a very plain and humble life. It might be a barrel of wine or a shipment of books—”

Perfect.

“—Quite alright, sir,” Geralt said soothingly, trying to make it sound as though the mystery and tradition were part of the value; anything to make the man agree and free himself to head to the inn as soon as possible. “Whatever you find will be mine, and one day I’ll return to collect.”

“Aye… Alright, witcher, you have yourself a deal!” The man said, beaming, as he shook Geralt’s hand without so much as an inch of hesitance about the grime and gunk dried onto Geralt’s hand. “I look forward to seeing you again and paying you properly, friend.”

Again Geralt was struck by the intimacy of the man, the sheer openness of him. He held no ill will for the witcher. Seemed intent on expressing his gratitude genuinely. If Geralt didn’t feel as though he were three steps away from a coma, he might have asked to journey home with the man himself. To get a good meal and a flea-less bed and a decent rest before heading out on the road again.

As it stood, he had no time, patience or energy for any of that. Instead he clapped the man at his bicep, squeezed, and agreed, “Until next time.”

He left the Viscount there to handle his own business with no intention of ever seeing him again. He had no need for books from royalty, more often than not focused on aesthetics than practicality. He had a horse, he had no need for a pup or silk or wine. And thankfully the man had told him more than once about the child his wife was about to birth. No surprises there. Nothing could go wrong, it was an easy out.

Geralt returned to the inn, collected his purse without having to haggle much for their priorly agreed upon sum after the fact – and as he bathed and ate and prepared to rest, he pat himself on the back for managing to slip away from the Viscount who wouldn’t shut up.

Geralt drank until his flagon ran dry, and felt it the moment everything he had chugged hit the bottom of his stomach sickly. He felt pale and clammy. Wide around the eyes and nearly removed from his own body. Jaskier was chuckling lightly, oblivious and self-depreciating with his humor as he said, “Man never returned to find out what he got. I suppose I wasn’t worth the journey back to get me. That’s ‘Fate’ for you. I grew up being told about how ‘Fate’ would bring this muddy stranger into my life. How he’d fetch me, how I’d be part of his life. My father got me tutors to prepare me for that sort of living, you know - adventuring. Medics and survivalists and all manner of men and women, all so I’d be ready for a life at some witcher’s side. I should have hated it… Should have hated the idea of being given away, of having no control in my life, but I was just so damned excited.“

Geralt’s eyes flicked up to catch the expression on the bard’s face - soft as he remembered the romantic fantasies of a child picturing a life of wild adventures at some hero’s side; eyes distant. Something twisted painfully in Geralt’s gut. It should have been a book or a pup or a bottle of wine. Not… this. It shouldn’t have hurt anyone. But the Law of Surprise rarely left his life unscathed. He should have known better. The Law of Surprise had made him a witcher. It had tied a young princess’ destiny to his own and now - Jaskier had been made victim of it to. The casualty? His childhood and the innocent belief children often had in stories. His sense of worth. Gods above, Geralt had been hurting Jaskier long enough before he ever said a cruel thing to his face.

He felt pale. Sickly. Thin and clammy and terrible.

“I kept waiting though. I wanted it to be true. I yearned for all the details my father never gave: what he looked like, how he acted. My father was so smitten, so blinded by his romanticism, he had barely anything left to describe him by beyond the fact that he was brave, valorous and muddy. But the witcher never came. So aye, Geralt, I’m with you. ‘Fate’ is all a load of horseshit and the only worth it has is to fill my pockets with gold when folk fall for my naive songs about it. Don’t worry. You won’t see that lass if you don’t go looking for her. I’m proof of that. You wouldn’t be the first witcher not to show up.”

But he would be. He was. He clung desperately to the knowledge that Viscount had been expecting a daughter. That he had been certain that by his wife’s slim frame, they weren’t having twins. But even as he tried to convince himself, he knew… Geralt’s eyes slowly drifted over the bard, wide like that dying horse’s eyes had been and just as cornered. He was gripping his cup so tightly it would’ve been shaking if it hadn’t been braced on the table. The witcher swallowed, throat dry despite the ale.

The man, that Viscount from the swamp… he had been expecting a daughter. Jaskier was definitely not a woman, he knew that firsthand. He covered his mouth with his hand to smother the sound that tried to escape him – strangled and out of control.

"Geralt?” Jaskier asked. There was a tightness about the bard’s eyes. Something worried for his friend, of course, but also something creeping, something suspicious. Geralt felt naked. “Are you alright? Do you… do you know this story? Do you know the witcher?”

Geralt swallowed.

Then he pulled his hand away and deflected, voice a rough croak from the ale and from guilt’s claws tearing his throat to ribbons, and said, “You’re lucky. When witchers come for their child-surprises and find them to be male, they take the Trial of the Grasses.”

Jaskier tilted his head at that - words that he was familiar with but Geralt knew the bard had never quite had the balls to ask. Now, well… Geralt couldn’t imagine refusing him answers now when he was too cowardly to tell the truth that actually mattered.

“As you did?” Jaskier asked. It was a surprisingly tame question, as though his story had drained some sparkle of life from him.

“Yes,” Geralt admitted, “As I did.”

“What was it like?”

Geralt ached to stand, to refill his cup and be done with this night. He clenched his jaw, all manner of relaxation gone, and said, “It burned everything away.”

His hope that his mother would return for him. His dreams of becoming a - he didn’t even remember anymore. It had dissolved everything from before the trials away to dust. By and far, he was born the day he survived it. Both harder and hollower for it. He was suddenly dizzy with the realization that because he had not known about Jaskier, he had not had to make the decision of what to do with him. Young boys were made into witchers, it was the way of things.

But would he have been able to do it, knowing how few survived? How much worse things got if they did.

“Then "Fate” is a ruse and I’m lucky for it,“ Jaskier said, raising his glass to Geralt. "No offense, of course.”

Geralt obligingly tapped his empty flagon against the bard’s, but set it aside to watch the man drink eagerly from his cup. He had never heard the bard sound so… hollow. As though beneath his songs and cheer laid a hole, covered by brush and leaves and full of jagged rocks at the bottom. That was his fault. When would he learn his lesson?

Jaskier finished his pint, stood suddenly as though invigorated, and exclaimed, “I think we are both in need of another refill!” Only to wobble rather perilously.

Geralt stood, his own hip connecting painfully with the table, but managed to steady the bard in time to stop him from toppling over. He grimaced at the sting in his hip, slight but annoying, then stilled when Jaskier practically melted into his hold like a maiden swooning. A thin arm wound around his neck, a whisker-less face pressed into the curve of his jaw, and Jaskier murmured, “On second thought,” a little weakly into his skin. His breath stank of booze. Geralt wrinkled his nose. He shouldn’t have let it go so far. Shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

“Bed,” the witcher rumbled, because he was afraid of saying anything else. Afraid of admitting anything else. Afraid of shattering the bard with the truth of it just as the bard had so easily, in one well swoop, shattered him. Fate was real. Between Jaskier and Yennefer and Ciri, there was nothing left in him but weak, exhausted acceptance. It was real and like a cat keen to curl in the lap of dog-lover, Fate followed him with spiteful compassion. Pulling more and more threads into his life until he was nothing but a puppet, tangled in strings.

He forced himself to focus on the mundane. The task was arduous - what with Jaskier barely awake and more wet noodle than man - but he managed to get them both upstairs to their room. The witcher took his time. Took the time he hadn’t given the bard, but had owed him for so very long. Gods above, it explained so much. How, despite his best efforts, the bard always found a way back to him - smiling and singing. Like sunlight, he always came back. Explained why Geralt didn't try very hard to leave him either. How many times could he have galloped away? Left while the man slept? He should have. For the bard’s own safety, he should have, but he never did. He hit him and he sneered and growled; all manner of things to at least drive a sane man away. But Jaskier stayed, fiercely compassionate and loyal, like his namesake. Steadfast and always blooming. Scatter him to the wind and he just came back more stubborn than before.

He disrobed him kindly, wary to jostle the bard too much as queasiness began to set in. He brushed the man’s hair back from his sweaty brow, hummed gently when his eyes tried to flicker open or when he tried to babble some drunken nonsense. Jaskier whined and moaned and, as expected, reacted to his own drunken state rather dramatically. But Geralt steadily learned what soothed him. Hands in his hair, at his cheek. Soft words, solid and firm like the bedrock of a home. Geralt got him into night clothes, settled him down into the bed. He brought a glass of water to the night stand, then wet a rag to set over the bard’s eyes. He was just about to take the chair - guilt gnawing too powerfully at his guts for him to share the bed with his abandoned bard - when Jaskier asked with surprising clarity, “Why didn’t he come, Geralt?”

Geralt looked at him. He wasn’t wholly there, not truly. Jaskier wouldn’t remember come morning, he could tell. This was merely the detail his drunken mind had fastened on. So, like a coward, Geralt answered, “Because witchers are fools,” knowing the bard couldn’t actually hear him. It was as close to sorry as he knew how to say. And it would never be enough.

That night, he stayed awake. He sobered quickly, watching the bard as he slept. Hindsight was a peculiar thing and now, thinking back, he could see so much of his life that he had been blind to before. Epiphanies that begged questions. Did he tolerate Jaskier because it was Fate? Was nothing in his life in his control? What was Fate and what was the purpose or significance of 'will’ if Fate existed? Would he have gone to Jaskier, had he known about his child surprise? Did knowing Jaskier’s true role in his life now change anything with Ciri? Was he only worth loving if someone was forced to love him, bound by fate?

If anything, it proved only the futility of it all. In avoiding fate, he had only hurt himself, hurt others. What would happen if he embraced it? At the very least, even if it became no less painful, at least he wouldn’t be exhausting himself trying to outrun it anymore. That thought wouldn’t have driven him to the road out of sheer spite, once. He should leave. He should spit in Fate’s face, howl into the winds, claim his life as his own. But when had he ever truly conquered Fate? And looking back… were the things Fate had brought into his life truly so bad?

He was tired. Tired of running. Tired of questioning everything. Tired like a dog that had pulling at its lead too long, too hard, wheezing and choking itself. He fell slack in the chair, every muscle letting go all at once, and realized - he wasn’t going to run. He had nothing left to give that life. No more energy with which to run and snarl and evade.

“You fucking win,” he growled, grumpy and bristling; and yet oddly relieved.

It was circular. Thoughts tumbling one after another, around and around, and Jaskier was the eye of the hurricane – calm and sleeping in the bed as Geralt watched on.

He watched the sun rise. Watched the way the warm light of day slowly painted Jaskier’s face in creamy golds and sleepy pinks and oranges. He should close the curtains, yet he couldn’t pry his eyes away… He did eventually, when Jaskier began to stir. He closed the curtains, slipped down silently to the kitchens, and gave into fate. He ordered a platter of biscuits and sweet jams to help absorb the worst of the alcohol, then breakfast meats and fruits for once Jaskier’s stomach settled. He fetched a pitcher of water, pulled a tonic from his pack to help with the inevitable pain, and then returned to the room and waited.

Jaskier stirred, as he did in all things, theatrically and lively. He moaned, curled tighter into the sheets, and pressed back oddly - searching for Geralt, he realized with a feeling of being struck. When he found no hard heat at his back, no arms to hold him, the bard’s nose crinkled and he peaked open one eye only to whisper a vicious curse. Geralt felt both fondness and dread build in his gut, uncomfortable. He never used to have to deal with emotions like this. Yet he did not entirely wish it away.

“Ger'lt,” Jaskier moaned when finally he opened his eyes long enough to catch sight of him, “I’ve been pois'ned.”

Geralt let out a soft huff of a breath, pried himself from his chair, and grabbed the tonic from the bedside to hand to Jaskier with a soft, “Drink.”

“Never drink ag'in,” Jaskier moaned, but eventually obliged with a curled lip when Geralt merely repeated the command more firmly. Geralt forced himself not to laugh when the bard let out a shiver like a cat that accidentally stepped in something wet. “Gods above, Geralt, that’s torture in a bottle!”

Well, he was cognizant again. At least there was that.

“Yeah, sorry,” Geralt said, pulling the tray over to place in Jaskier’s lap, “Eat. It’ll help.”

Jaskier stilled halfway into reaching for a pastry on instinct, his gaze turning suspicious as he gave Geralt a rumpled stink eye - a look ruined by the messy nest of hair sticking every which way from his head and the crease the pillow had left on his cheek. Soft, so soft - yet he travelled willingly with a witcher.

“Why are you being so nice?” Jaskier asked, “Who are you and what have you done with Geralt?”

“I’m that bad, huh?” Geralt mused, a little sting of guilt buried beneath his amused look.

“Bad? No. More… distantly aloof,” Jaskier said. It appeared as though he had dubbed the food safe enough to eat though - or at the very least the need to steady his stomach outweighed the oddness of the situation - because he grabbed a pastry and with one wary look at the jam, decided to eat it plain.

“Hmm.”

“Precisely,” Jaskier said pointedly, then after a bite or two he tilted his head a bit, taking Geralt in, and asked, “Are you feeling alright, Geralt? All jests aside, you are… I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re worrying me. You’re more stoic and yet not stoic than usual. Did something happen last night? I’m afraid it’s all a bit embarrassingly fuzzy.”

This was it. His last chance to back out. Something prickled at the back of his neck, something like awareness. Not so much something forcing him forward, or some unintended momentum - merely some instinctual understanding that the time was right, regardless of the outcome. So he sat down on the side of the bed, braced his elbows on his knees, and fastened his eyes to the wall as he forced himself to try something new. He didn’t run.

“You told me a story.”

Jaskier snorted and said, “I tell a lot of stories.”

“Aye, you do,” Geralt agreed, scratching at his stubble. “Thought I’d return the favor, for once.”

“Oh?” Jaskier said. There was moment behind him, no doubt Jaskier settling himself up against the headboard so he might properly listen. Without looking, Geralt could tell the man’s eyes were likely twinkling. Excited, eager for Geralt’s next story - no doubt already thinking of how he’d craft it into song. Geralt braced himself. His pause seemed to still Jaskier somewhat. Dampen him. That concern was back.

“Geralt?” Jaskier began, and Geralt took that as his cue: now or never.

“Once, a long time ago, I saved a man in a swamp. Drowners, a lot of them. They’d dragged the guy’s horse into the mire. Drowned his guard. His carriage was stuck, and he was surrounded, caught atop it.”

Jaskier hadn’t caught on yet. He could feel the bard’s eyes on him, waiting for the story to pick up, eager for the juicy part. The climax, he called it.

“I had just finished a contract. I was covered in death, you’ve seen it before. Unrecognizable. I stopped, I helped as best I could. It was simple - would have been simpler if not for the contract I had just finished. I wanted nothing more to claim my prize for the hag and sleep, but the man insisted on rewarding me.”

Behind him, Jaskier stilled. Geralt heard the faintest inhale of breath, how it caught and held in Jaskier’s chest. He closed his eyes and forced himself on.

“Bastard talked the whole way to the village. Non-stop. About his wife. His child-to-be: a daughter. How I was a good man, how he needed to find a way to repay me. I didn’t want to haggle and I didn’t want to deal with whatever process it would take to fetch his funds. I just wanted to sleep. He wouldn’t let it drop, so I invoked the Law of Surprise to get him off my back. I thought it harmless. Wine or a book. Maybe a pup if I was unlucky. He knew his wife was with child, after all. Knew the kid was coming. So it wouldn’t be…” His voice cut out with a dry little click. He cleared his throat and said, “I bid him farewell, never looked back. Never found out what surprised him when he got home.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said - whisper soft and pained, tight like he had been stabbed. Geralt forced himself onward. Maybe this was how he’d evade Fate after all. There was no way Jaskier would want to stay now that he knew.

“Never came up again… until last night,” Geralt finished, hanging his head now, still unable to look. “He told me he was having a daughter, Jaskier.”

He waited. Waited for Jaskier to slip from the bed, dress, and leave. Seconds hung like hours, weighing on him as heavily as the weight of the years he had left Jaskier to wonder why no one ever came for him.

“They were going to name me Juliana, after my mother’s mother,” Jaskier said. There was a quietness to his voice, a stillness, that was utterly unlike Jaskier. Not broken so much as tempered like a fine blade - and Geralt waited for it to strike him down and sever the threads that wound them together. “You didn’t know… He posted about it on the notice boards for miles.”

“I went south after that. Didn’t return for years. Just… happened that way.”

“You didn’t know,” Jaskier repeated.

“No.”

“It was you,” he said, just as clinically - as though he were reciting from a book rather than truly understanding the words, their meaning. “All this time, it was you.”

“Yes,” Geralt breathed. Waited.

“I found you," and finally he was back. Jaskier. His words, each pregnant with years of stories and yearnings and waiting that Geralt hadn’t been there for, said in a hush through shocked lips. Geralt turned, braced himself for a look of contorted hatred, only to grunt when the man launched himself into his chest. The platter clanged loudly when it hit the floor - pastries and fruit and meat tumbling in all directions. Geralt went still and taut, unable to follow what was happening, off-balance. Shoulders high around his neck, back a rigid line. Jaskier was bent in an odd position, but that didn’t stop him from pressing his face into Geralt’s neck, fingers winding into fine white hair. "You’re real.”

It was so similar to how he had drunkenly pressed himself into the witcher, yet now it was real. Jaskier wasn’t drunk. He was present. Willful. Hugging him despite the gravity of Geralt’s admission. The witcher’s brows drew together, confused. Yet even as apprehension stalled his heart and tensed his limbs, the longer the bard pressed into him, threaded his fingers in his hair, the more something in his chest settled. Like it had been floating all this time, and had finally found an anchor.

“Jaskier, I…”

“I had hoped it was you.”

Geralt let out a breath as though it had been punched out of him and couldn’t quite figure out how to inhale again. He thought of the man’s father - always smiling, so much quicker to offer a positive word than a curse. Open, instantaneously loving. He was holding that man’s son. A soul promised to him, tied to his fate.

“Jaskier.”

He grimaced. Why couldn’t he find the words, any words, for this man who had waited for him for so long? His lip curled, furious and sick of himself.

“I saw you that day in the tavern, sitting alone at the table, and I couldn’t look away. I knew that look. I’d had it myself before - wariness of people. You had your stones and I had my fruit, and we were just two kindred spirits no one wanted around, and I hoped… when I saw your eyes, I hoped I wasn’t just reading into it. That maybe, just maybe, I had found you.”

Jaskier pulled back, cornflower eyes misty and wet. His cheeks were smudged pink in odd places. Puffy with drink and grief - or was it something else. Something unidentifiable.

“Then the mountain. And Yen, and Ciri. You hated Fate so much, I knew it couldn’t be. And gods above, it was easy to hate Fate with you.”

All this time, Jaskier had known. Somewhere in the fiber of his being, Fate had tied a thread around his heart and willingly Jaskier had followed the call - followed and traveled and suffered scorn and horror - just to wait, and wait, and wait. Nearly three decades of waiting.

“And I was okay with that,” Jaskier said with a sniff, nodding, “Because Fate wasn’t real, and at least - if nothing else - it had trained me to survive long enough to do what I wanted to do. To travel with you. I figured that was fortuitous, right? Maybe I was making Fate happen for myself.”

Then his voice cracked again and that voice - so bold, so full of life - broke and whispered, “But still… I hoped one day you’d look at me and realize I was always yours. But then the mountain, and I-”

Geralt cut him off. With one large hand, he cradled the back of Jaskier’s neck and brought him close again. He wound his arms a little tighter when he felt the man shiver against him, sucking in quiet sounds that might have been dry sobs. Wheezing, heaving little catches of breath, buried in his shoulder. Jaskier grabbed at his back, wound his fingers into the loose fabric of his dark shirt and clung.

“Witchers are fools,” he finally said, as close as he could get to sorry. Jaskier let out a wet, messy laugh into the skin of his shoulder and collarbone, and said, “So I’ve heard.”

Geralt blew out a breath.

“What now, Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, too afraid to speak the words into existence, to tempt Fate: will you stay?

Geralt hummed, felt the force of it in Jaskier’s bird bones, and said, “We go get Ciri. Together.”

He felt Jaskier smile into his skin. Felt him clutch his shirt tighter, sink into the circle of his arms as closely as he could. Together. Fate did not seem so daunting now that he could add 'together’ to the end of the line. 'Together’ wasn’t a death sentence, it wasn’t a period at the end of the story.

It was the beginning. Finally.

Together.

#the witcher #gaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #law of surprise #fic prompt fill #drunken confessions #hurt/comfort (emotional)#fate #i stg i meant this to be half as long #I ALSO WILL WRITE SOMETHING SAD EVENTUALLY #one day #they are just soft babes i can't help it #had a headache at the end #so sorry if it stops making sense #yay trash

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marvelsswansong · 2 years ago

Text

you made me hate this city

summary: It was just a stupid bet. A way to prove Jason and his asshole friends wrong, to finally get under the blonde's skin. It was never supposed to end with Eddie falling in love, nor with him laying on your doorstep with bruised knees, begging for your forgiveness.

tags: Eddie x fem!reader, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, ice queen/social outcast reader, Hopper!reader (goddaughter), reader is 18+ (impli. twenties), fluff, humor, angst, happy ending tho ofc

☆ word count: 17K+ (i stg it's worth it) ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Winters in Hawkins were unbearable.

Eddie's fingers - dry skin cracking by his knuckles, pink lines marred by green veins poking out of his skin - shakily held up the lit joint to his chapped lips, allowing him to inhale deeply and let out a slow drag of smoke. Much like his muted breaths, the white whisps of air curled upwards in lazy swirls before dissipating into the night air, providing a momentary release from the cold.

The freezing temperatures embraced Eddie just as quickly afterwards, making him grumble in discomfort, swearing under his breath for how long Jason and his group of friends were taking to finish the damn basketball game. The heat provided from his van was rather weak - the heater having blown a fuse a week ago which he had yet to fix - and his jean jacket did little to provide any additional warmth as he grasped the lapels of the jacket and pulled it closer towards his body.

God, where were those assholes?

As if fate had been listening to his internal monologue, Eddie soon heard the crunching of snow beneath several pairs of feet accompanied by the recognizable rowdy chatter between the basketball players. Leading the group as usual was Jason Carver - the blonde's signature smug expression replaced by one of annoyance - followed by his two best friends, a brunette and a redhead who were practical carbon copies of each other (muscular airheads with big egos and loud voices). Not that Eddie could really distinguish between the basketball players at Hawkins High. They all tended to come from the same pool of people.

Tall, fit, conventionally attractive, white males from cushy upper class backgrounds.

Unfortunately, that also meant jocks were one of his most profitable clients. Hence why Eddie had dragged his van and stash of goods half-way across town during winter break in the freezing cold. Having waited a staggering twenty minutes with nothing more than a jean jacket to keep him company, he was simply looking forward to finalizing the deal and to be able to drive back home to fall underneath the covers.

"You got the goods, freak?" Nate, the tall brunette, yelled out in advance, clapping his meaty hands together. Eddie had to actively suppress an eyeroll - no matter how many times he regularly dealt with them, they'd never even gone so far as to call him by his real name. Wordlessly kicking open the back of his van, he pulled off the green tarp overlaying the interior to reveal a hefty amount of weed, neatly packaged in plastic containers and paper bags.

"What'd you want?" the metalhead asked, voice monotone and face straight - completely immune to their presence at this point. The transaction was, after all, a regular routine at this point so as to make Eddie's reactions automatic and reflexive. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as he could.

The basketball player standing next to Nate, a slim redhead named Oliver, cut into the conversation whilst brushing falling snowflakes off of his varsity jacket with a frown.

"Give us everything, son of satan."

"Everything?" Eddie raised his eyebrows, unable to hide his surprise. Jason only clicked his tongue at that, left hand coming up to swiftly comb through his hair - the blonde was on edge, that was as clear as daylight to see.

"Yeah, jackass, just give us what you got. I'm throwing a massive party and my parents are in California for another two weeks so I need all you got."

"That'll be $1,500." Eddie slowly said, eyeing the blonde up and down, expecting the man to pull out of the deal at any moment. Instead, the jock only let out an exasperated sigh, dropping his duffel bag to the floor before digging out a wad of cash.

"That's a shit ton of money you're blowing on weed, Carver." Oliver commented, slapping his friend's shoulder.

"Not enough money to impress (Y/n) though, apparently." Nate added from the side, causing both him and Oliver to crack up at the expense of a fuming Jason, the blonde's fists clenching tightly by his sides.

"Fuck off, would you?" the blonde shrugged his friend's arm off of his shoulders quickly, eyes burning with annoyance and betrayal. Eddie knew he wasn't supposed to be listening in on their conversation, his brown eyes still focused on the stack of notes in his hands as his fingers combed through each bill one by one. But his ears perked up at the mention of your name and he couldn't help but listen in closer as Jason's teammates laughed even harder at their leader's expression of fury.

"I'm telling you. Your daddy's money and status may get you everything you want, but not even you can win over the ice queen of Hawkins High." Nate drawled, with Oliver nodding eagerly behind him.

Jason only rolled his shoulders forward at that, unclenching his jaw with a frustrated sigh.

"Well how the fuck was I supposed to know that she was going to throw her drink on me and call me a 'blonde bimbo in ugly basketball shorts' just cause I asked her out?"

The chuckle that escaped from Eddie's lips was dangerous, but he couldn't help but let out a short laugh at the recollection of your comment, subjecting himself immediately to the harsh gazes of the three jocks. Jason in particular looked offended at that, cracking his knuckles and flashing the metalhead a stinging glare.

"You think that's funny, Munson?"

Counting up to the last thousand - damn, Jason really had handed him $1,500 on the dot - Eddie looked up at Jason with a sly smile, shaking his head lightly side to side.

"Meh, just a little. Doesn't matter though. You got the cash, I got the weed." he replied before stepping to the side, signaling for Nate and Oliver to begin shoving the packets of weed into their duffel bags. Whilst they did so, Jason slowly walked forward towards Eddie, an egotistical swagger to his steps.

"What? You think you can do better, freak?

"Asking girls out? Eh, maybe." Eddie decided to goad the blonde further, enjoying the delicious cruelty of being able to toy with the fragile ego of the star basketball player. Watching how Jason's neck strained at that comment, adam's apple bopping up and down.

Suddenly, the angry expression on Jason's face melted away into a wide grin, a new delightful idea seemingly having popped into his mind.

"Tell you what, freak. Let's wager a bet." Jason's tongue dragged across his lower lips slowly, his eyes were glinting with a certain kind of danger Eddie couldn't quite place. "You think you're such tough shit, that you're so much better than me - why don't you go after (Y/n)? If you can somehow get the infamous ice queen to say yes to a date, you win."

"And what exactly would I win?"

"I'll pay double the usual for all our dealings. Heard through the grapevine your shitty trailer home's overdue for a fix, no?"

Oliver and Nate cackled behind Jason at that comment, igniting fiery hatred in the metalhead's veins. Jaw feeling stiff, he forced himself to sit up straight, staring right back at the jocks.

"... That, and you leave me and my friends alone for the rest of the year."

"For that price, you'll have to have her say yes to prom too!" Oliver yelled out from the side, to which Jason nodded.

"Get her to say yes to dates and then prom, and then we'll say you win. I pay double, you can fix your shitty dump you call a house, and we'll stop bothering you and your band of freaks. Deal?"

It was no different to staring the devil in the face, devious and cruel smirk matched with voice dripping with venom as the blonde extended one hand forward. Eddie stared at it for a few seconds, contemplating his decisions: his uncle had tried to be sly about money problems but winter was only getting colder, and now that he had Dustin, Lucas and Mike in the group, he did want the bullying to stop against his group.

Swallowing his doubts, Eddie quickly shook Jason's hand, never once breaking eye contact.

"Deal."

-------------------------------------

First week back from winter break.

Eddie has been agonizing over how to even approach you. He's only spoken to you once before.

Actually, that may be an overstatement, he thinks, now looking back.

Eddie was being blocked from accessing his locker as a group of cheerleaders gossiped in the hallways, each of them blatantly ignoring Eddie's quiet pleas for them to move. When he coughed loudly and tried to wiggle through the crowd, the two head cheerleaders by the front shot him a nasty glare, the blonde one even going so far as to look him up and down and smirk.

"Thought I smelled trailer trash. Piss off, freak."

"I'm just trying to get to my locker, Joanne." he'd deadpanned - normally, he would've just walked away by now but he really needed to get to his fucking locker for that damn history textbook.

"Well we're too busy catching up about the rager Dianne went to last week in Idaho, so you can wait, okay?" the other head cheerleader, a petite raven haired girl named Sandra, snapped. That elicited a crowd of giggles to erupt amongst the group, and Eddie sighed again, running a hand down his face in exasperation.

"Look-"

"Didn't know this was the hangout spot for superficial barbies skipping their geometry classes." you sneered, coy smirk dancing on your glossy lips. The group of girls instantly froze at the sound of your voice, causing even the two head cheerleaders by Eddie to straighten up in fear.

"What'd you want, (L/n)?" Joanne stuttered out, the low pink flush in her cheeks clearly marking her embarrassment and fear. Eddie watched in awe as you simply stared the cheerleader down, dissecting the girl's layers with one glare and a low chuckle under your breath.

"For you and your fake friends to leave, obviously. What, too dumb to even figure that out?"

"Y-you can't make us leave! You have no authority to command so." Sandra blurted out, eyes darting away to the floor when you redirected your fiery gaze at her. Eddie had to admit, you were kind of terrifying - sharp eyes drawn forward, head held high, fingers gripping tightly onto the straps of your backpack.

"Is that so?" you questioned, stepping one step closer to the crowd of cheerleaders, all of whom instinctively backed up against the wall. Pink tongue tracing your lower lips, you cocked your head to the side in feigned interest. "I guess you only ever listen to the authority of Joanne's boyfriend, huh, Sandra? When he's leaving hickies on your neck and blowing off dinners with Joanne for you?"

"You did what?!" Joanne screamed out in anger at her best friend, causing Sandra to begin running in the opposite direction. Sensing a battle brewing between their two leaders, the rest of the cheerleaders deserted the hallway, leaving you and Eddie alone in the aftermath. You rolled your eyes, shoving away the last cheerleader evacuating the scene before Eddie's left hand reached out to grab your wrist.

"W-wait." he stuttered out, hesitant. You looked down at his hand with a cold glare, before staring back up at him in annoyance.

"What."

"Thank you for standing up for me. I mean, no one's ever talked back to the popular kids for me before. It's really cool of you." he rambled, hands fidgeting by his neck, not being able to quite meet your gaze upon feeling chills run down his spine at your icy demeanor. Your only response to his comment was to aggressively shake off his hand, recoiling from his touch as if you'd been burnt.

"I wasn't doing any of that for you, Munson. They were in the way to my Chemistry class."

Turning on your heel, you disappeared into the foreground before Eddie could muster up a response.

The rumors were true, he realized. You were exceptionally beautiful - it was no wonder that you were rumored to be scouted by the cheerleaders by third period on your first day (had you not literally dumped an iced coffee over their leader when she'd approached you during lunch). Even when you were snarling at him, arms crossed in a defensive posture and chilling orbs glaring daggers into his eyes, he couldn't help but feel warmth rise to his cheeks from being able to gaze at your face up close.

But Eddie wasn't able to focus on your features much - the dip of your neck leading down to the valley of your breasts, your glossy lips and bright eyes, jaw and cheeks carved by the harsh sunlight - when you'd snapped at him and turned the other way.

Staring down at his now empty hands, he shrugged. You were indeed, an ice queen.

Cut to the present, Eddie's hiding behind the door of his own locker, peeking out at the hallway every few seconds to watch you shuffle through your own belongings. Headphones around your ears, Walkman tape bouncing alongside your side as you pull down a stack of books from the top shelf, your skirt rides up ever so slightly to bunch at your waist.

To any passing stranger, you may even look sweet at the moment - soft body hugged by the green fabric, knee high socks, lipstick cautiously being applied by the small mirror taped to your locker door.

But Eddie knows better. The whole school knows better, with the way everyone makes a point to avoid you. Cheerleaders stop walking and turn the other way, the jocks avoid your gaze and keep as long of a distance from you, and even the nerds and band geeks make sure to walk with their head down and mind their steps to not bump into you.

"What are you looking at?" Dustin suddenly jumps in, face few inches from Eddie, causing the older boy to straighten up in surprise and hit his head against the wall. Clutching his head where it's beginning to bruise, he makes it a point to glare at the curly haired freshman, who only flashes him an innocent smile.

"Ouch, what the hell, Henderson?" Eddie grumbles.

"You got that 'I'm lost in my thoughts' look on your face. And I was just curious as to what could be so interesting to have you staring off into space."

"It's nothing." Eddie quickly blurts out, practically slamming his locker shut and leaning against it with a faux grin, cool relaxed posture with his arms crossed. Dustin doesn't buy that, only frowning in disbelief, before leaning to the side to peek towards where Eddie was staring.

The only person really visible is you, thumbing through your notebooks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Holy shit, were you... staring at (Y/n) (L/n)?" Dustin semi-shouts out of shock, forcing Eddie to practically grab the younger boy by the front of his t-shirt and yank him backwards, narrowly avoiding the curious look you throw behind your back upon hearing your name be shouted out.

"Keep your damn voice down, geez." Eddie swears, heart thrumming with anxiety. Dustin's face only quirks up in semi-annoyance, his left hand coming up to slap across the senior's chest.

"Why were you staring at her?"

"I was not staring at her." Eddie weakly responds. It's a total lie and they both know it, with Eddie unable to even look Dustin straight in the face.

"Listen, I know you're crazy and your whole thing is going against the grain - which I think is awesome, don't get me wrong. But getting involved with her? That's a death wish, man. She's fucking scary." Dustin shudders, shaking off faux chills as you slam your locker shut and shove past a group of cowering teens, not even sparing them a second glance.

Cursing internally, the metalhead swallows his comments and forces out a grin.

"Relax, man. I'm not getting involved with anyone."

----------------------------------

Eddie finally gets the courage to talk to you on a rainy Friday afternoon. The parking lot's deserted and the sky's a murky gray, harsh showers slapping against dulled windows fogged up from the cold.

Tucking his roleplaying notebook underneath his left arm, carefree smile on his face from the fantastic D&D session he's just had, he almost walks past where you're leaning against the wall without acknowledging that you're alone.

You're so good at that, Eddie realizes: blending into the background, simultaneously being so eye-catching and beautiful to catch his attention, whilst also exuding an uninviting aura that makes his brain immediately divert his gaze elsewhere.

Tapping your converse shoes against the cement floor, your head is drawn downwards with your eyes narrowly focused in on a hardcover book Eddie can't read the name of. The entire hallway's deserted and Eddie realizes that now's the best time - more than ever - to make his first move.

"Hey. (Y/n), right?" he starts out, waving for your attention and flashing you his most charming smile. It doesn't even leave a dent on your face: lips still in a straight line, your head not even picking up to stare at him.

"What do you want?" you drawl out, flipping a page with your thumb. He fumbles on what to say next, not used to having to speak to someone who won't even look at him - at the very least, he thinks, when jocks are jeering at him or cheerleaders are insulting him, they flash him a dirty glance.

"Tutoring." is the first thing that leaves his lips and that does the job of causing you to still and look up at him with your eyebrows raised, mocking grin on your face.

"Tutoring? You do know that I'm barely passing all my classes, right?" you spit out, unimpressed. Stranded, Eddie's hands fly up in mock surrender, voice edged with nerves as he forces out a laugh.

"Yeah uh, no, I meant like... I could tutor you."

You chuckle at that - a dry, bitter sound that makes him cringe - perfectly manicured fingers curling to point accusingly at his figure.

"You, Eddie Munson, repeat senior - tutoring me? Yeah right. Fuck off, won't you?"

Licking his lips, Eddie takes in a deep breath, ready to try and persuade you again when the loud honking of a car cuts in. Looking over your shoulder, he can see the faint outline of a truck and a man sitting by the front of the driver's seat, shouting your name. He can't make out much about the man's features - the glass windows fogged up and obscured by the pouring rain - and you brush past Eddie with ease, shoulders colliding with his.

"Well that went well." Eddie sarcastically comments under his breath.

Maybe this bet isn't going to work out, he bitterly thinks, kicking a small pebble in his way.

Then it's Monday. And thank god for Ms. Rogers of his American History class - because she announces a new group project, and the pairings just so work out to pair you and him together. Eddie has to conceal the rush of joy and relief when he sees his name hastily scrawled next to yours on the whiteboard, keeping his face straight and outwardly disinterested when he sits down next to you.

"Hey there, partner." he jokes, sliding his chair closer to the table. Your gaze remains fixated on your nails, your only acknowledgment of his presence being the rolling of your eyes. "How's life?"

"Life is life, Munson." you spit, harsh gaze shifting a fraction to cast him a dirty glance. It makes him feel small, goosebumps rising across his skin from the way your lip snarls and your voice tightens.

"Right, well, now that we're project partners we'll probably be seeing a lot of each other. Do you wanna meet up after school to discuss the basics?" Eddie trails off slowly, cautiously trying to survey your reactions.

He's silently bracing for another cruel remark - or maybe a disinterested eyeroll, coupled with a middle finger to his face - but to his surprise, you huff out a quick sigh and unclench your jaw.

"Fine. The library at 3.30."

"Oh actually, I was wondering if we could do later because technically we're supposed to have a Hellfire campaign tonight-"

You hold one hand up to his face, forcing him to shut up, before throwing him an annoyed glance.

"Do I look like I care? Reschedule."

All other arguments die in his mouth when the teacher begins to talk, signaling for everyone in the class to fall silent and redirect their attention to the front of the classroom. Eddie shifts to look forward, but he can't help but quickly glance at you from the corner of his eyes.

You look agitated, teeth biting down on the end of a yellow pencil, grinding down onto hard wood. Shoulder tensed, body braced forward as you lean onto your propped up arms. Eddie realizes then that he's never seen you relaxed. Or seen you smile, or hell, be anything other than aggressive and tense.

The thoughts of the bet with Jason re-enter his mind, which he's quick to scrub away in an attempt to pay attention. Above all, he supposes, he'd like to at least pass this fucking class so he's not a fourth time repeat senior.

The end of the school day arrives in a flash, it seems, with him anxiously jumping up and down on the balls of his feet outside the library whilst waiting for you to appear. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he then feels a warm hand on his back, twisting around clumsily to see your non-amused expression staring back at him.

"Come on, Munson. I don't have all day."

The first half an hour is painfully awkward. Eddie keeps on throwing jokes - "if I have to read another passage about a dead white man, I think I'm going to die myself" - and thoughtful compliments - "that's a really good idea, (Y/n), thank god we were paired together or else I would've failed" - but you don't seem the least bit deterred. Sitting at least five inches away from him, shoulders hunched over as your gaze remains fixated on the stack of papers strewn over the table surface. There's a permanent frown on your face, pulling down and wrinkling your features, coupled with an unwavering silence.

Eddie wonders what it'd be like if you smiled instead.

"So what do you think? I reckon pretty much everyone's going to do the easy topics - the ratification of the constitution or the fight for independence. So maybe it'd be better if we did something different, like maybe how the two party system emerged?" Eddie suggests lightly, leaning back on his seat, flashing you a hopeful smile.

You don't even look up at him, shrugging your shoulders.

"Sure, whatever."

"If you think there's something else we could do, I'd love to hear it." He's practically begging you to speak at this point, considering he's been the one filling the silence in the room for the past half hour.

"Don't have any ideas."

"You sure?"

"YES! Jesus christ, Munson, are you deaf?" you snap, looking up at him angrily.

"Alright, god, I'm sorry that I'm trying to include you in OUR project." he retorts, feeling his patience run dry. "You know-" He lets out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I've been nothing but nice to you the past few weeks-"

"Why is that?" you press, voice suddenly quiet.

"W-what?"

His breath catches in his throat when you make full eye contact with him, yellow embers reflecting in your orbs from the light bulbs hanging overhead.

"I'm confused as to why you've been so nice to me lately, Munson. What's your end game?" you question, slamming your book shut. Eddie blinks at you silently like a fish out of water - what the hell is he supposed to say to that? It must look awfully odd from your point of view, he realizes, for you two to go from strangers to him trying to talk to you all the time.

But what's he supposed to say? "Jason Carver and I fought and we got into a bet that I could seduce you and bring you to prom because you're this notorious ice queen."

Yeah right.

Exhaling quickly, he just cocks his head to the side and feigns calmness.

"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better."

"Me, seriously?" you scoff, clearly not believing him.

"Yeah! Look, I... I know what it's like for people at this shitty high school to not take you seriously or to make you feel like a complete outcast. I figured you could use a friend! Because no offense, I have the Hellfire Club, but I've never seen you with anyone but yourself."

He's being pretty sincere with that statement, and it seems to come through as you raise your eyebrows slowly in response, unreadable expression on your face.

"You've been... watching me?"

"Not in a creepy way! Just consider it, like, one outcast looking out for another."

It's the slightest change, a reflex that lasts for less than a second, but he catches the end of your lips twitch ever so slightly to indicate a grin. It disappears just as quickly it appears, but he catches it nonetheless, and it makes hope blossom in his lower abdomen.

"... Alright." you surrender, gaze slightly softer, voice no longer aggressive and defensive. It's impossible for him to conceal his joy at that.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Munson. I suppose I could be a bit nicer to you. But-" you poke him on the side with a spare pencil. "No promises. No pushing me into anything. We're hardly acquaintances, let alone friends. But I suppose if we need to work together on this stupid project together, we might as well get along. Okay?"

Eddie nearly pulls a muscle with how fast he nods in affirmation.

"Okay."

---------------------------------------

Tuesdays and Thursday evenings are from then on reserved for after school meet ups to work on the project. You're still characteristically you - full of mean comments, sassy eyerolls, judgmental gazes and all. But he does notice that as time goes on, you're snarling at him less and loosening up ever so slightly.

He's yet to seen you smile, however, though he's gotten close a couple of times. Like when he slipped on a banana peel whilst walking out the library with you last week or when yesterday, he made a dumb joke about a horrendous illustration of Thomas Jefferson in the textbook.

On a windy February afternoon, you two end up staying a bit later than expected. Eddie leaning against the wall, sitting on the carpeted floor with his legs crossed as he pours through five heavy leather bound books, you're hunched over a shitty desk lamp and a cup of coffee as you highlight passages from a textbook. Neither of you have cared to check the clock or have registered the fact that it's been a full two hours since the librarians notified you two that they're heading out.

"I think my brain's melting." he complains, slipping down the wall slowly in a dramatic fashion. You shoot him an amused glance, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth.

"Tough luck, devil boy. We've still got a lot more to read."

Eddie groans, rubbing his eyes with his metal ring clad fingers.

"I know, but it feels like we've been reading boring books in this stuffy room FOREVER now!"

The two of you pause at that, it suddenly dawning on both of you that the rest of the library seems oddly... dark. And quiet.

"Shit. What time is it?" you ask aloud, standing up so quickly that you topple your chair over. The nearest clock - hanging behind a row of oak bookshelves - indicates that it's nearly six thirty pm.

Far, far, later than anyone would be at school.

It's a scramble to dog-ear pages, organize the books in their relevant places and to shove all your belongings in to your respective bags before racing down the hallway to the front doors, which of course, are locked.

"Well, I guess we're gonna die here." Eddie remarks, dropping his hands from the front doors with a sigh. You slap him across the shoulder at that, though this time the action's more playful, more tongue in cheek.

"Relax, Munson. All we need is a phone, do you think the front office's phones still work?"

"Yeah. I would know, because they made a call to my uncle this morning to complain that I came in an hour late to first period."

"Classic Eddie." you comment, to which he visibly stiffens and stares down at you with awe. "What?" you press, confused at why he's suddenly looking at you like that.

"You said my name. Not Munson, not devil boy, not an insult."

To his quiet surprise, you seem to get embarrassed at that, eyes dropping to the floor as you shift nervously on your feet.

"I mean, that's your name, right? But if you prefer I call you like Munson instead I ca-"

"No, no." he lets out a gentle laugh, and a thought passes by your head like a bullet train that you really like it. It's soft, it's melodic, it's sweet: taste of sweet potatoes coated in cloud sugar on your tongue. "I really like hearing you say my name. Say it more."

Your lips quirk up again, signaling a potential smile, but it's not fully realized. But your shoulders do drop in a more relaxed manner, and you flash him an ambivalent glance.

"Sure."

After using a spare hairpin in Eddie's pocket to pick the lock to the front office, you jump over the counter to slide over the surface and reach the phone behind the desk. Eddie makes a joke about how you'd make an excellent spy - to which you throw him a dirty glare and signal for him to shut up - before you make a phone call. To whom, he doesn't know. But it's clear that you care for this person, as your voice becomes lower and less agitated.

"Hey. Yeah, sorry for worrying you. I was staying late with my project partner for American History and then... we lost track of the time and now we're locked in. Do you think you could come over and get us?" you pause, Eddie supposes it's to allow the person on the other line to respond. "Alright. Sounds good. See you soon."

"Who'd you call?" he quizzes, curious as he helps you slide off the desk, allowing you to grasp at his shoulders to jump off securely. He chooses to ignore the way his skin tingles with electricity when your soft hands grip at his skin, heat wrapping around his upper body.

"My godfather. But it'll probably take another half an hour for him to arrive so we should probably camp out by the front doors till then."

There's a good five minutes of uninhibited silence after that as you two sit by the front entrance. You're sitting across from him leaning against the lockers: one leg straight, the other propped up by your chest as you rest your arms on your knee and twist your body to look out the window. Eddie's sitting a few inches away from you, legs crossed, toying with the rings on his fingers.

It's not a tense silence, but it is boring.

"I didn't know you had a godfather." Eddie decides to say, looking up at you cautiously. "That's cool."

"Cool, huh?" you quip, tearing your gaze away from the window. "Not many people think that. Most people think it's fucking weird that I live with my godfather instead of my biological parents."

"Well most people are assholes and idiots. Don't listen to them." he argues, lacing his fingers together.

"That's true." you agree, nodding ambivalently. "What about you? You and your uncle? You two live by the trailer park, right?"

Neither of you delve into too much personal information - the conversation's restrained to surface level things, before somehow melting into a heated discussion over music. It turns out that you're a huge music fan, front pocket of your bag overflowing with cassettes, notebooks crumpled by the weight of your walkman and headphones.

"Listen, I can appreciate a good Billy Joel song and all, but Black Sabbath is god." Eddie insists, uncrossing his legs and gesturing frantically with his hands.

"Oh, please, Eddie! You're just saying that because your exposure to Billy Joel has primarily been Uptown Girl. He has some serious deep cuts, like you can't tell me that you're able to listen to Vienna without getting emotional."

"Hey, you can get PLENTY emotional to Black Sabbath."

"Really?" you quip, poking him in the shoulder, forcing him to fall back down on his heels. You're fully smiling at this point, eyes light and wide, lips outstretched into an actual grin. He really likes this sight, he thinks. The light even seems to hit you differently when you smile - carving shadows down your jaw, glittering light kissing your hairline, halo around your hair.

"Really. Pinky promise." Eddie argues, poking his pinkie finger out at you. You stare down at him, fully amused, shaking your head sideways at his antics.

"I'm not gonna pinky promise you shit." you mock, crossing your arm.

"Aw, come on." he leans in teasingly, backing you up against the lockers. He doesn't realize it, but your breath hitches in your throat at the action, as it hits you that he's so close that you can count the individual freckles adorning his cheeks and smell the mixed scents of pine, fresh rain and weed emanating from his jacket.

You both break away from your respective positions at the sound of the front doors unlocking, with a very unimpressed look on Hopper's face as he links back the keys to his belt and raises his eyebrows at you.

"Are you sure it was the project that made you late and not being with your boyfriend?" he drawls, forefinger outstretched to gesture between the two of you. You stand up so quickly you practically stumble forward, stuttering your words - you're so mortified, you can't even look at Eddie.

"Jesus, dad, NO! He's just a friend."

"Friend, huh?" Eddie teases, elbowing you on the side, to which you elbow him back harder (making him groan out in slight pain). He watches as the police chief's blue eyes narrow in on his figure, dissecting him with a single glance, before returning to stare at you. It registers in his mind that Hopper's eyes soften when they land on you, a small grin appearing on his aged face.

"Alright then. Good to see you've made friends, (Y/n)." he comments. You roll your eyes, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Speaking of which, Eddie needs to get going. Right?" you rush out, practically shoving Eddie forward. Eddie nods awkwardly, shooting the older man a (what he hopes is) charming smile before winking at you.

"Right. Thank you, sir, for saving us. (Y/n), I'll see you next Tuesday for the final bits of the project?"

"Yeah, see you."

The moment you hop into the front seat of Hopper's truck, you can practically feel the intensity of the the rush of thoughts in your godfather's mind, his heavy gaze alternating between the road and your anxious figure shifting against the leather seats.

"So... this Eddie. Your friend, huh?" he starts out, quiet.

"Just drive, Hop, jesus." you say out loud, leaning your head against the window, rubbing your temples in a soothing manner as if to cure a headache.

"Not commenting on it, sweetheart. Just saying it's nice to see you open up and make friends."

"A friend, dad. One. Singular." you correct, to which he just waves off your comment with a blow through his lips.

"Still. Maybe this'll help you adjust a bit better. You have been adjusting alright, right?"

He pulls over into the driveway of his house, hands lingering over the steering wheel as he glances over at you worryingly. Hopper's always been a protective godfather, never intrusive but often keeping a close watch on you from the background. You don't blame him for worrying, considering the whiplash of a turn your life's taken in the past few months.

Leaving your parents in New York, packing two bags of clothes before hitchhiking across the country to come all the way down to Hawkins to live with your godfather. Your 'real' parents are practically dead to you, hence why you've chosen to call Hopper 'dad', and you consider El to be your real life little sister.

You figure you're already asking so much of him: to take you in as his non-biological daughter, to provide you a place to sleep and eat, to pay for your schooling as you catch up on two years of high school you took off in New York. All of this, combined, has led you to be less than transparent about how you've been adjusting at your new school.

In fact, Hopper wouldn't even know anything about how you don't really have friends if it hadn't been for Mike and his big mouth, and El's sweet concerns being expressed to Hopper.

"I'm doing okay, dad. Seriously." you assure him, patting down on his hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

When your bedroom door finally closes behind you that night, it dawns on you as you're staring up at the ceiling - you've made a friend.

For the first time in a while, you fall asleep filled with joy and giddiness.

------------------------------------------

"Do you wanna come see my band play tonight?"

Eddie asks you on the final day of your project, closing your locker door for you, peering up at you with his doe like eyes. Your mind's been swimming with anxious thoughts all day - you're afraid that the only thing keeping your friendship afloat with Eddie is the project, which is due to be turned in today, and you're not sure what's going to happen once it's done.

So it's actually kind of a relief to have him beg you to see his band perform tonight, relief that you can't help but spill out into a small grin reflected on your lips.

"Corroded Coffin's playing tonight?"

"Yeah! And it's gonna be radical. Some of my other friends are gonna be attending too, so you won't have to show up alone."

"Aren't minors not allowed in seedy bars?" you tease. "Your friends are like, all freshman boys."

"Hey, I have friends that aren't Henderson or the other kids! Seriously, Steve and Robin are cool adults in their twenties and they will be there too."

"I don't think imaginary friends count." you continuously tease, walking away from him, as he follows right behind you.

"They're NOT imaginary! I swear, they're real people with real jobs and hobbies." Eddie pouts, looking like a kicked puppy. It's adorable, really, and you can't help but chuckle at his sad expression.

"Alright, alright, I'm joking! Sure, sounds good. When and where is it?"

"The downtown bar by the bookstore off the 45. Door's open at 7, but realistically we won't be playing till like 8.30 so feel free to come by then. I'll tell Steve and Robin to wait for you outside. They're cool, I promise."

You can't help but bite your bottom lip at that, anxiety gnawing at your chest.

"Are you sure? I just... I don't know if I'll get along with your friends, that's all. I mean, it took us like forever to be friends ourselves." you comment dryly.

"Pfft, you'll get along with them super well, don't worry! You're cool, they're cool, that's all you need."

All protests die in your mouth when he smiles at you like that, so you sigh and surrender to his demands.

"Alright, fine."

The bar's packed and loud, you think, flashes of yellow and red light emitting from the dingy entrance as you cross the road towards the establishment. There's already a line of people outside but there's two people in particular who stick out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of black and edgy looks - a girl and a boy around your age, mid-playful argument.

The guy meets your gaze and then waves you over, soft smile on his lips. He's quite cute, you think - not your type, but there's an undeniable charm to him, wavy chestnut brown hair, soft features and slight muscle definition to his thighs and arms. The girl's grinning at you and she's also pretty, short brunette bob framing her lively face quite nicely.

They're also dressed more for the park than a metal concert, but you suppose you haven't done much better (throwing on just a t-shirt and jeans over a pair of sneakers).

"Hey! (Y/n), right?" Steve asks, as you nod in response, slightly intimidated at the presence of these new people.

You do vaguely remember Hopper mentioning a guy named Steve once over a phone call with Joyce, but other than that you don't know too much about him. But Steve seems really nice, welcoming you into the group instantly, gently pulling you towards the two of them and away from the rest of the hectic crowds.

"I'm Steve. Nice to meet you. And this is Robin, my best friend and eternal pain in the ass."

"Cap your ego, Harrington. Don't listen to him, besides, us girls have to stick together, right?" Robin quips, pulling you against her and winking at you. You can't help but giggle at that, what with the way Steve's face then scrunches up into a haughty frown.

It turns out that they're a delightful pair to be around. Robin's sarcastic, witty and funny, and her no-bullshit attitude and dry sense of humor pairs nicely with Steve's slightly egotistical, flirty and outgoing nature. And with a bit of alcohol dancing on the tip of your tongue, you find yourself loosening and completely comfortable by the time the band comes out to play.

The music is loud - so loud that it reverberates through your body, so loud that it feels like the whole building shakes with the booming of the speakers - but it's also delirious and addicting, jumping up and down in a sea of people to the ear-splitting music.

The three of you stay long past after the show's wrapped up, leaning against the counter of the open bar with dopey smiles on each of your faces.

"Holy shit, my dad's gonna be so mad that I'm this tipsy." you comment, leaning onto Robin's shoulders for support.

"Really?" she teases, amused.

"Seriously. And the fact that he's the police chief probably isn't going to do me much favours."

"Hopper's your father?" Steve asks, surprised. He remembers in the back of his mind Hopper mentioning that he's taken in another kid a while ago, but he hadn't pressed the older man for details.

"Godfather, actually, but he might as well be my dad. Considering I left my shitty biological parents in New York."

"To shitty parents." Robin announces, raising her glass of whiskey into the air. Steve and you clink your glasses with hers in agreement.

"To shitty parents."

"Looks like someone's had a lot of fun." Eddie comments from behind you the moment you down the shot, your head slow to catch up with his presence before it hits you all at once.

"Eddie!" you squeal out, dropping the glass onto the counter and spinning around to envelope him in a fierce hug. He's wholly unprepared to catch your embrace with the speed and force with which you wrap your arms around his waist, causing him to stumble backwards.

"You were amazing! Like seriously, your guitar solo was the best part of the whole night." you gush and Eddie's glad that the harsh lighting of the bar is able to mask the slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Aw, thanks. Did Steve and Robin treat you alright?" he asks, looking up at his friends.

"More than alright, we nearly stole your girl." Steve teases, to which Eddie only scowls, waving away his friend's suggestive teasing.

"Alright, Harrington, keep it in your pants."

Robin and Steve continue to smirk at Eddie, making exaggerated lovesick expressions and throwing kisses at the two of you, none of which you're catching because your head is still buried against Eddie's chest. Eddie has to subtly - but fiercely - tell his friends to cut it out, gesturing with his hands and throwing nasty glares their way.

"Fuck, I really need to sober up though." you mumble, straightening up, stumbling ever so slightly on your feet.

"Yeah, and I'm beat. Wanna split a cab, Buckley?"

"Sure do, Steve. See you two kids around." Robin slyly adds, quickly exiting right after Steve to leave you alone with Eddie. It's clear what they're trying to do, but Eddie can't really bring it to himself to care when you tug at his sleeves, still tipsy and tired.

"Can we drive out somewhere cold and empty? If I go home now, Hopper's gonna be real mad about my alcohol consumption. Even if I'm over 18, that man is... protective."

Eddie chuckles, nodding, brushing away a stray strand of hair from your eyes.

"Alright then. Guess we're driving to the park."

On the way out to his car, his left hand resting on your back as he guides you into the front seat, Eddie meets Jason's eyes from across the road. The jock is leaning against his car, nursing a beer bottle in his right hand, whilst his group of friends rustle and joke around with each other by the gas tanks.

An unshakable feeling of disgust rises up in Eddie's throat, heart clenching at the way the blonde's eyes shift down at you, then on to Eddie's hand on your back, and how then a semi-impressed grin spreads on Jason's lips. The blonde ever so slightly nods at Eddie, as if confirming their bet, before returning to his conversation with his friends.

"Eddie?" you call out his name, breaking him out of his trance. "Everything alright?"

He's being paranoid, he tells himself. He hasn't even done anything yet, if anything, he's nowhere near "winning" the bet - you're just friends, that's all this is, leading you back to the car and helping you sober up by a park.

"Yeah. All good." Eddie forces out, faux grin and all. There's an odd bitter taste filling his lungs, but he breathes out slowly, reminding himself that he's not doing anything bad.

He's just a friend, taking another friend, to the park.

Sitting on the swing set, his fingers trail down the linked metal chains, small smile on his face as you childishly swing back at forth with your legs kicking out in front of you. It's your way of sobering up, you insist, and he can't complain - it's clearly making you very happy, the smile on your face permanent. It's a nice sight, a rare sight, one that he's keeping tucked in to the crevices of his mind for later.

"Be careful." Eddie chastises, watching you soar higher and higher towards the night sky. "I don't want you to break a bone or something. Think Hopper would be even more if you break a bone than if you show up a bit drunk."

Slowing down your movements, you scoff, but there's still a lazy smile on your face indicating that you're not really mad.

"I hate it when you're right." you mumble, drawing a loud laugh from Eddie's lips, head thrown back and all.

"I'm always right, (L/n)." he challenges, knocking his swing into yours.

"Sure, Munson. Except the times you're not. Which is almost every time."

"Almost."

Silence settles over the two of you again, the creaking of metal as you both lazily swing back and forth being the only sounds in the night, pale moon marking the shift into midnight. Eddie's fiddling with his rings absentmindedly, not really sure what to say or why he suddenly feels nervous sitting next to you, until you pick your head back up and speak.

"Thanks."

"For what?" he's confused and surprised.

"For inviting me. For letting me meet Steve and Robin, you're right, they're really cool. And like, I don't know. Thanks for being my friend, I guess." you look down immediately after finishing your sentence, hot embarrassment coursing through your veins, Eddie's soft stare too much to bare all at once on top of your heartfelt confession. The confession that tugs at Eddie's heartstrings, guilt pouring over him in waves.

"Yeah, so-"

"It's just crazy to me, you know?" you interrupt. "That you'd want to be friends with me. That anyone would want to be friends with me. I know I was a bitch when we first spoke. And uh, maybe I still kind of am. But you just... you're different, Eddie."

You pause for a tender moment, legs spreading as you shift your swing closer towards his, so that your knees are brushing against his and you can place a warm hand down onto his lap.

"I feel like you really see me. Not this whole 'ice queen' bullshit or whatever people are saying at school. The real me, the person behind all the walls and defences raised up. You kept on trying to get to know me even when I was pushing you away and being cruel to you. And it was thanks to that that we ended up becoming friends. So... yeah. Thank you, Eddie. Sincerely."

It's hard to shake off the shame now coating his lips, his skin burning and feeling sticky underneath your pure, innocent gaze and soft touch. He forces a smile, fingers uncurling from the metal chains of the swing to pat down on your warm hand, trying his best to maintain the neutrality of his voice.

"Y-yeah. No problem, I guess."

-------------------------------------------

Things shift after that night by the swing set.

Despite the history project having ended, he ends up seeing you even more regularly than before. It's because you end up taking a part-time job at Family Video after befriending Steve and Robin, and also because you start intermittently dropping by to watch his band pratcitce after school or swing by randomly to Hellfire Club sessions, at the insistence of El wanting to see Mike.

At this point, all of Eddie's friends know who you are. It was comedic at first, to see how Gareth nearly choked on his tongue and refused to make eye contact with you in your presence, and how all the freshman boys - Dustin, Mike and Lucas - pretended to be interested in a bunch of random sheet music thrown around the room to avoid having to look at you.

"Relax, kids, you can stare at her." Eddie had to say, laughing as he placed an arm around your shoulder. "Stop scaring them, (L/n)."

You just scowled at that, shrugging off his arm and sighing dramatically.

"I'm not trying to do that! It's just my reputation preceding me. I'm not as mean as I seem, I promise." you emphasized, turning to address the boys face to face. "I'm just here because Eddie promised to let me play for a 'taster' session of sorts."

"You're... joining Hellfire?" Dustin meekly asked, being the first out of the three to gain enough courage to look up at you. To his surprise, you didn't scowl or flip him off, if anything, you looked quite approachable and friendly standing next to Eddie, who was smiling at you with so much pride.

"Not sure if I'm necessarily joining, but... this meathead won't stop talking about this damn game so I wanted to see what all the hype was about."

The other boys loosened up after seeing how relaxed Eddie seemed to be around you, mock hurt on his face as he dramatically clutched his chest, stumbling backwards as if he'd been shot.

"You wound me with such harsh words! Now I can't promise that I'll go easy on you when we start playing."

"Why would that matter?"

"Duh, I'm the dungeon master, so everything you can do in the game is basically up to me. Or what you roll on the dice, but mainly up to me."

"That hardly seems fair." you commented, flashing the young boys a look of disbelief. "Is that really how this works?"

"Yeah, which is why we basically always have to gang up against him." Lucas replied, drawing a genuine laugh from your lips. It was the final straw to break the tension in the room, everyone loosening up and welcoming your new presence in the group.

"Sounds good, freshies. Us against Eddie, we can definitely take him." you winked at Eddie, rolling your shoulders forward. "Watch out, Eds."

It's late spring now, verging on summer. Eddie's lost count of the amount of time you two have spent together, be that in between periods at school (skipping classes together by the bleachers) or sneaking into the cinemas without paying on a tipsy game of truth or dare.

Eddie catches himself fully lost in your presence - watching your hair flip in the wind behind you whilst he drives with his window down, surveying how your delicate fingers toy with the fabric of your jacket when you're deep in concentration, counting your slow breaths as you lean against him in a darkened parking lot out of exhaustion - until the illusion is shattered for him by way of remembrance.

It's a bet.

But it doesn't matter, not really, he'd always tell himself. You two are still friends. And Eddie's not forcing it, being friends with you is natural, spending time with you is something he genuinely wants.

It's a hollow way of consoling himself, but it's the only way he's able to justify continuning to hang out with you and to slyly avoid Jason or his stupid best friends' constant pestering about how the bet is going.

"We're still just friends, Carver." Eddie gritted through his teeth, skillfully stepping past the blonde to get to his van. Jason didn't seem to like that response, one hand reaching out to grab at his wrist and yank him backwards.

"Listen, freak. I'm impressed, not gonna lie, that you even managed to become friends with her. But the bet was over dating her and getting her to go to prom. It's now, what, end of April?" the jock chuckled, tapping his two front fingers against the expensive watch around his wrist. "Time's running out. That said, I lose absolutely nothing if you lose the bet so actually-"

The blonde pulled away, victorious grin on his pink lips. He looked like a coy predator playing with his prey, smug cruelty rolling off of him in waves.

"Yeah, don't make a move. I'd love to win this bet."

Looking down at where Jason's filthy hand was wrapped around his wrist, Eddie roughly shook off the basketball player's grasp, glare fuelled by the heat of a thousand suns.

"I'm going to win the bet, Carver. Don't get too cocky."

"Did you see what Nate did yesterday?" you question him in the present. Eddie's lying down on the carpeted floor of your bedroom next to you, legs bent in a 45 degree angle, hands supporting the back of his head. You're lying down with your feet propped up on your bed, your eyes meeting his in a sly manner.

"Not really, why? What'd he do this time?"

"He tried doing a backflip during the lunch period and broke his left wrist. Cried like a little bitch about it, too."

The image of the tall, overconfident jock wailing like a child makes Eddie snort.

"That's hilarious."

"It's what he deserves too. He's a total creep." you shudder, remembering how he tried to hit on you on your first day of school. "Though, he did cry a bit more when I sprained his fingers because he tried to grab my ass on my first day."

"He did what?"

"Yeah, I know. Real fucking creep. Don't know why he bothered, either, the jeans I was wearing that day were super ugly."

"I highly doubt that." the comment slips out of Eddie's mouth unconsciously, piquing your curiosity enough for you to shift your body to the side to stare at him with confusion.

"What'd you mean?"

"Oh! Just like..." Eddie scratches his neck, avoiding your gaze. "I highly doubt that the jeans you were wearing were ugly. Just like, I don't think anything you could wear could be ugly."

You sit up at that, legs crossing underneath.

"You calling me pretty?"

"Well, uh-" he stumbles over his words, cheeks flushing vibrant pink as he begins to rattle off in an incoherent manner. "Yeah, I mean I always thought that but yeah you are. Objectively speaking. But also like I think you're pretty, is it hot in here suddenly or-" his hands fly up to the collar of his hellfire club shirt, pulling at the sides as if to let in cool air.

"Are you serious?" you sound shocked, in disbelief, which only confuses Eddie in return.

"Of course I am. Why... would I lie about that?"

You shrug, bringing a juice box to your lips.

"Figured if you thought I was pretty we wouldn't still be friends. That's a compliment you give to someone who's attracted to you, not someone who's just your friend."

"Oh." Eddie then comments, pausing ever so slightly. "Who says I'm not attracted to you?"

His daring question lingers in the air for a few baited breaths, the atmosphere in the room shifting in the microseconds it takes for that sentence to leave his lips and for him to suddenly shift closer to you.

"... I'm attracted to you too." you choke on your words, it barely being a whisper, but Eddie catches it nonetheless. His left hand comes to rest on your cheek, eyes staring right into yours that you think he must be able to see through your soul.

"Can I kiss you?"

You don't think you can speak. You're left to nod quietly, hoping that it's enough. And it is. The force with which he kisses you - he blames it on the months and months of pent up adoration - backs you up against your bed, your legs falling backwards as your back meets the soft mattress. He practically crawls on top of your lap, kiss messy and deep, strands of curly hair clouding your hazy vision.

When it's done, fresh air filling your lungs instead of the intoxicating scent of Eddie, muted taste of beer and mint chapstick dancing on your lips, you two stare at each other with wide eyes before bursting into a fit of nervous laughter.

"So... what now?" you question lightly, hands still gripping his forearms.

"Let's go on a date? Arcade after school on Friday?" he suggests.

"We already do that every week, doofus."

"I know, but this time it'll be different. I'll hold your hand and buy you dinner afterwards."

You pretend to think about it, humming quietly before nodding with a wide smile.

"Deal."

You fall asleep in his embrace that night, face squished against his upper chest, body rising and falling alongside your slow breaths. But Eddie can't sleep. The euphoria he's feeling is underlined with sickening guilt, a gnawing clawing sensation in his stomach, a harsh whisper in the back of his mind that none of this is real.

He's lying to you.

But what he feels for you isn't a lie, he reasons, so it's fine. He's driving himself insane with these internal arguments, subconsciously pulling your sleeping figure closer towards himself as his fingers clutch onto your waist tighter.

Burying his head into your hair, inhaling deeply, he attempts to quiet his thoughts. It'll all be over soon. Graduation is looming. He's just got one more part of the bargain to hold up - asking you to prom. It'll be over soon, it won't get worse....

Right?

------------------------------------------

"I'm really glad she's dating you."

Hopper comments two months later, looking over from the driver seat of his truck as Eddie jumps up straight upon being addressed by your godfather. The two men have spent countless times together - whether it be Eddie lounging on the couch in the living room whilst waiting for you or Hopper knocking on Eddie's trailer door to ask why you still haven't come home - but it never stops Eddie from getting a bit nervous around him.

He wants to make a good impression on the police chief for numerous reasons, but above all, because he's your father. Your only parent at this point. So even if it's something as casual as hitching a ride from Hopper the day Gareth had to borrow his van, Eddie's still a bit on edge when he's sitting in the passenger seat next to Hopper.

Upon seeing the younger man's eyes widen in surprise, Hopper chuckles, the sound a low rich baritone.

"Have to admit, the day I picked her up from school that day you two kids got yourselves locked inside and she called you her new friend... I felt that there was something more to that word. Friend. And despite your, um, questionable activities-"

Eddie flushes with embarrassment at that.

"You've always been good to her. And it's doing her wonders, I can tell. She went from this isolated, broken shell of a person to... Someone with friends her age. A job. Someone who smiles and laughs and says yes to spontaneous plans. I know it's not all you but you've been a big part of that so thank you." Hopper grumbles out, coughing awkwardly, not used to such heartfelt confessions. It makes Eddie feel even worse, almost making him want to sink into his seat.

"It's no big deal." Eddie forces out, voice strained and almost breaking because he's choking on recurrent waves of shame, guilt twisting like sharp veins around his chest and squeezing his heart. His mind is still foggy and reeling from the guilt when the truck finally pulls up by his trailer, and you come barreling from the inside of his trailer to hug Eddie.

"Didn't know you'd be here." Hopper comments, crossing his arms. You roll your eyes.

"I think I'm allowed to come over to visit my boyfriend, dad."

"Mmhmm, just make sure you're home by eleven."

"Midnight."

"Ten thirty."

"Eleven thirty."

Hopper pretends to be annoyed, sighing deeply, but he still smiles and ruffles your hair before leaving.

"Fine. See you then, kiddo."

Your legs thrown over his lap half-hazardously, Eddie can't really focus on the VHS tape you've generously 'rented' from your workplace - "Please, as if I'll get in trouble. The only employees are me, Robin and Steve and our boss basically never comes by." - as another character gets gruesomely killed on the screen.

"You're not watching the movie." you complain half-way through the movie, putting down the popcorn bowl to stare incredulously at your boyfriend. He only smiles in response, shaking his head sideways, symmetrical face framed by his long curls.

"Can't focus. You're too pretty." he offers, and you chuckle at that, his whining tone and pleading eyes melting your heart. You clamber on top of him, legs caging his body in between your thighs, as your hands come up to cup his cheeks.

"Aw.... Thanks, babe. But you really don't have to tell me that every day."

"I'd tell you that you're pretty every day just to see you smile like that." he admits softly, boyish grin on his lips and mischievous glint in his eyes. You open your mouth to respond with a sassy comment when someone knocks on the door loudly, accompanied by a furious set of even louder knocks.

It's your sister, El, jumping up and down anxiously before her eyes fall upon your familiar figure.

"El, what's wrong?" you question immediately, climbing off of the couch and rushing to cradle your younger sister's face in your hands. She doesn't look physically harmed nor does she look particularly upset, just anxious to see you.

"I'm bored and Mike canceled on me last minute." she complains, stretching her arms out over her head. "I heard from dad that you were here and I wondered if we could like... hang out. We don't have to, if I'm intruding I can-"

You look at Eddie with a pleading gaze, but you honestly don't even need to convince him, as he's already fluffing up the pillows and shaking off the popcorn crumbs from the blanket strewn over the sofa.

"Nonsense, nonsense! You're totally welcome to join us. Just be careful with your sister - sometimes she screams really loudly at the jump scares." your boyfriend teases, winking at you. El giggles at that and you send the metalhead a harsh glare.

"I do not."

"You totally do, babe. But it's okay, I still find you hot."

"Is there popcorn left?" your younger sister then questions, wiggling out of your grasp to stare at the television with eyes full of wonder.

"I'll make more, why don't you two get comfortable." you quickly suggest, knowing Eddie's kitchen like the back of your hand. You take the quiet moments which follow to admire how Eddie interacts with El, your vision only slightly obscured from behind the counter.

El's rattling off about something you don't really understand but Eddie seems totally entraced by her, delighted smile and eager nodding, gently encouraging your younger sister to continue her story whenever she gets nervous that she's talking too much. Your sister looks wholly relaxed in his presence, shoulders lax and fingers thrumming gently against a cushion she's holding against her stomach.

When he makes a dumb joke and El laughs, the warmth blossoming in your chest worsens. You feel lightheaded, stomach filled with love, eyes glazed over in pink hue. You almost drop the popcorn packets on the floor when you realize what this is.

Love.

You love Eddie.

You're not surprised, concealing the smile on your face as you turn away and pop the paper packet into the microwave. Eddie's your first real boyfriend. First friend turned lover, first friend in Hawkins, the person who introduced you to your new group of friends - Steve, Robin, and now Nancy and Jonathan as they swing by Family Video ever so often.

It was inevitable then that you'd fall in love with Eddie.

It's all you can think about for the rest of the night, in between stupid jokes thrown in by Eddie and comments of awe and shock muttered by El in between mouthfuls of popcorn, until she's practically falling asleep on your lap. Checking your watch, you realize that it's nearly 11:30 anyways, so you'd better get home.

"Do you think you could drive us back?" you question quietly, whispering as you gesture to El's sleeping figure. Eddie nods, turning off the television and gently pocketing his car keys as you lightly shake your sister awake and strap her into the backseat. She mumbles incoherently, asking sleepily where you two are going, to which you only shush her and assure her that Eddie's just driving you two home.

The conversation in the car is light and spare - it's late at night, El's still sleeping in the backseat, and unbeknownst to each other, you both have a lot on your minds.

Eddie's fixated on how much he likes you, how much he's scared of losing you and how it's almost been two months of dating you. You're transfixed on the realization that you love Eddie, the tall metalhead who loves his guitar and D&D, the boy with copious jean jackets and an oddly obnoxious charm that broke down your walls brick by brick. The constant wondering if he feels the same, the worries that you're overthinking it, layered with the euphoric rush of adoration and infatuation makes you almost sick with joy.

When the familiar outline of your house comes into view, Eddie piggybacks El into your house as you open up the front door for him, allowing him to gently tuck your sister into bed before you close the door. You accompany Eddie back out to the driveway, fingers anxiously twitching by your sides as the confession sits on the tip of your tongue. It's burning your mouth to keep it in, heart beating at a million miles per minute.

"What's on your mind, princess?" he gently asks you, the sour expression on your face giving you away in a moment's notice that you're clearly deep in thought. But nothing could've prepared him for what you said next.

"I love you." you blurt out. "I actually, wholly, undoubtedly love you."

Eddie freezes at that, grin falling ever so slightly, eyes wide and unblinking. You take it as a bad sign, fumbling over your words desperately as you try to salvage the situation.

"I-I know that might be kind of quick because we've only been dating for two months, but if you think about it we've been friends for almost like three quarters of a year, so it's not-"

"No, no." your boyfriend quickly reassures you, hand cupping your chin to stop your talking and to focus your attention on him. You realize that up close, you can better make out his features in the dark: he's smiling brightly, eyes fawning and voice gentle. "It's not quick. I realized I loved you many weeks ago. Was just waiting for you to catch up." Eddie adds, winking at you.

You laugh at that, nodding eagerly, tension dissipating from the night air in an instant. The boy then kisses you gently under the pale moonlight, his tongue slipping in to trace your bottom lip when you moan out in surprise, the strength and passion with which he presses into your mouth catching you off guard.

Eddie's kissed you a million times at this point, but this time it feels different to you. It feels like a million unsaid "i love you"s wrapped into one, delicate touch burning golden tattoos alongside your skin as his hand dances up your waist, pleasant melodies ringing in your ears even when you pull away to catch your breath.

"So... you love me and I love you, I guess." you breathe out into the cold air, affirming reality for yourself by speaking out loud.

"Yeah." Eddie replies, licking his lips to chase the aftertaste of your cherry lipgloss.

"Two people in love. How romantic." you joke, smiling.

Eddie doesn't respond to that, only pressing another shaky kiss to your lips before bidding you goodnight, his knuckles turning white with the strength with which he grips the steering wheel on his drive back. His anxiety has snowballed past its tipping point, his head a toxic warzone of jumbled thoughts, nauseous feeling causing bile to rise up to his throat that Eddie needs to pull over to the side mid-drive.

His heart feels like it's being crushed.

He can't stand it anymore - the lying, the secrets, the way you look at him like he's the only thing that matters in this cruel world. And now, it's undeniable. The truth is staring him right in the face.

You said you loved him.

And fuck, he loves you.

It's gone too far. He's fallen too deep. He's sinking into a bottomless pit and he's dragging you down with him.

And for what? Eddie bitterly ponders, smashing his hands down onto the steering wheel with anger. A stupid bet with a jock?

He needs to call it off.

He makes a beeline to the locker room the next morning, frantically tearing through the school hallways in search of Jason. Unfortunately, the best he can do is to run into Oliver and Nate post-shower, flicking each other with wet towels before Eddie coughs and demands their attention.

"Where's Jason?"

"Pissed off the coach so he's doing another lap. Why, backing out of your bet like a pussy?" Nate teases, drawing a howling laugh from Oliver. Not that Eddie cares. It just frustrates him because first period starts in a few minutes and if he's late one more time for chemistry, he knows it's another detention slip being put into his hands.

"Just tell Carver to meet me by the bleachers during lunch. It's important. And yes, it's about the bet."

Eddie thanks god that you don't share any classes with him today. He doesn't think he could stomach it, looking into your innocent eyes and letting you kiss and hold him softly when he doesn't deserve your love.

He feels as if he's in a trance the whole day, going through the motions of life, eyes empty and mind buzzing with static as he nods along to one lecture after another.

The only thing to jolt him awake is when, in between his second and third period, he hears a familiar set of voices whispering from inside the janitor's closet. It's Dustin, Mike and Lucas, with Dustin clearly pained and tired whilst the other two boys whisper frantically amongst themselves.

Privacy be damned, Eddie opens the door and flicks on the light, jaw clenching with anger the moment the small space is enveloped in bright light and he sees the shiny black bruise blossoming on Dustin's forehead.

"What the hell happened?" Eddie quickly questions, closing the door quietly behind him. He's far too tall for the enclosed space, head awkwardly brushing up against the ceiling, his limbs stretching into mops and cleaning supplies, but he can't give a shit. His veins are coursing with anger, worry tightening his chest as he surveys the extent of Dustin's injuries - the curly haired boy only sighing and refusing to meet the senior's gaze.

"Jason Carver happened to him." Lucas cuts in, voice also tense and angry.

"We were hanging out by the entrance and Dustin decided to stand up to Jason and his teammates for bullying us and, well.. he didn't like Dustin's smart mouth." Mike comments quietly.

"So what, that bastard punched you?!" Eddie exclaims, hysterical.

"He didn't punch me, relax. He just knocked me up against the wall and I happened to slam my head against a brick out of place."

"A BRICK?" Eddie screams, causing all of them to cringe at the sudden loud noise. "Shit, Henderson, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, seriously! I mean, just another Monday, right?" Dustin tries to joke, flashing the older boy a reassuring grin. But it does little to quiet Eddie's fury and guilt, not being able to protect his fellow Hellfire Club members in their time of need.

Lunch time rolls around achingly slow, Eddie munching on his homemade sandwich quickly whilst waiting for Jason to show up by the bleachers. The blonde makes his appearance a full ten minutes into lunch, striding across the green fields in large steps with a scowl on his face.

"What's so important you had to cut into my lunch time, huh?" he growls, clearly annoyed.

"I'm calling the bet off."

"Huh?"

"The bet. I'm fucking over it. I don't care about the money. You win, okay? Now let me out."

Eddie attempts to shove past the blonde but it's like walking into a brick wall, Jason's left hand flying up to Eddie's chest to stop him from walking away before shoving him backwards.

"You're backing out now? When prom's just around the corner and you've already got that bitch riding your dick? I'm surprised, freak." he cruelly comments, cocking his head to the side in fake interest.

"Yeah, I'm out. Now let me go."

"I'm just surprised, that's all. Thought you'd stick by the bet, especially with what happened to that twerp this morning. What's his name, Justin?"

"It's Dustin." Eddie grits, fists clenching by his sides.

"Yeah, whatever. You want to give up the money we bet on, cool, whatever. But a part of our deal was that I'd - along with my friends - lay off of your band of freaks. If you want to call off the bet, that offer is also taken off the table."

Jason's words hang in the air, metaphorical black smoke filling Eddie's lungs and restricting his airways. He feels like he can't breathe, hands clawing at his skin, heart beating at a million miles per minute whilst he mulls over the blonde's words.

All he can focus on is the panicked and scared looks on Lucas and Mike's faces, and the shiny bruise on Dustin's forehead. And Eddie's being given the choice for them to not be bullied for the rest of the whole year, to finally not be terrorized every time they walk into school.

"Still want to call off the bet?" Jason mocks, extending a hand forward. "Shake my hand and it's over."

Eddie stares at the blonde's outstretched hand in silence.

He doesn't shake it.

-----------------------------------------

You can barely sit still, the low humming of Billy Joel flowing from your record player barely settling your nerves as you shift back and forth between your bed and the full length mirror in your room, criticizing every stray hem of your dress. There's a quiet set of knocks against your door and you yell out that you're not ready yet, expecting it to be Hopper.

"It's me!" El announces. "I can help you get dressed, if that's okay?"

Dropping your dress onto your bed, you open the door with a large smile, the excited and eager expression on your younger sister's face too sweet to reject. She sits on your bed with her legs dangling off, watching as you hold up different fabrics up to your chest and ask for her approval. After a several tries and pleas for you to "spin around", you two settle on a nice baby blue doll dress with a sweetheart neckline.

"Can I try doing your mascara?" El then asks quietly, pointing to the mess of makeup littered on your vanity. You laugh, nodding, closing your eyes quietly as her shaky hands attempt to carefully brush through your lashes with the wand. To your delighted surprise, she's a master at it, even going so far as to blend out your eyeshadow perfectly when you hand over your brushes to her.

"What shoes are you wearing?" she asks immediately after that, practically bouncing with excitement.

"I'm starting to think you're more excited about me going to prom than I am, El." you tease, opening your closet and pulling out a pair of sparkly white heels.

"Oh, I can't help it!" she gushes. "It's like all the romantic movies I watched, they always end with the girl and the boy going to prom. It's so romantic." she dreamily sighs, landing on your bed with her back on the mattress.

"Does that make me the protagonist?" you joke, strapping on your heels as you lean down towards your feet.

"Duh. And it makes Eddie your love interest."

"Very handsome, very charming, love interest, I'd like to add." Eddie suddenly cuts in, standing behind your door with a smug smile on his face. It fades into a soft, adoring grin when he sees you in your dress, dolled up and pretty yet still so naturally you. He hopes you can't tell that he loses his cool at the sight, voice slightly strained and tips of his ears flushing pink. "You look absolutely gorgeous, princess."

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself." you comment, throwing him a flirtatious wink. It's no lie, he cleans up well - the suit is a little awkward on him in some places, but the clean cut look makes his jaw stand out more, lean muscle straining the fabric perfectly.

"Shall we get going, my dear love interest?" you joke, offering one arm forward. El scrambles off your bed to hold open the door for you as Eddie wraps one of his arms around yours, nodding.

"We shall." he puts on a horrible posh accent, making you laugh at his antics. Hopper asks - no, practically demands - to sneak in a couple polaroids of you two together before you're burning with embarrassment and desperately shoving Eddie out the door, calling out to your father that you'd be back by midnight.

By the time the two of you pull up to the gymnasium, the party's already started. You're buzzing with anticipation and nerves when Eddie gently helps you hop off of his van, eyes burning with so much adoration that you can't even meet his gaze without melting.

"Bet you that the punch is gonna suck." he whispers into your ear, the flashing lights overhead blinding your eyes ever so slightly.

"Meh, that's why I did this."

You hike up the skirt of your dress to reveal a bottle of vodka strapped to your thigh, Eddie watching in awe as you twist off the red metal cap and pour him a shot into a red solo cup.

"God, I fucking love you." he moans, practically whining it against your lips. You smirk.

"I know."

Eddie's not thinking of anything but how beautiful you look - so carefree, hands thrown up in the air, bubbly laughter erupting from your throat when he dips you or tugs you towards the food stand - that he doesn't even register Jason and his boys' persistent gazes throughout the night. It's only when you declare that you need some fresh air that he's broken out of his lovesick trance, his jacket finding home on your shoulders as you two lean against the wall of the school building.

"Having too much fun?" Eddie teases, knocking his shoulders against yours.

"Definitely. That, and the three shots of vodka and all the pizza grease is melting my brain."

"Ditto."

Eddie's shoulders tense when he hears sets of footsteps approach, accompanied by the drunken yellings of Jason and his friends. Hands flying to your waist, he pulls you upwards, unreadable expression on his face.

"Let's go back inside." Eddie suddenly hurries out, clearly panicked. You frown, confused.

"We literally just came outside."

"I-I know, but uh, let's go-"

"MUNSON!!!!! There's the man of the hour." Oliver screams, cupping his hands together to amplify his voice across the parking lot. Eddie freezes in place, trapped, as you scowl and cross your arms over your chest.

"Piss off, asshole." you bark back, stepping in front of Eddie protectively.

"Oh, got your little bitch fighting your fights now, impressive. You trained her well, freak." Nate drawls, practically tripping over his words with how drunk he is. Eddie can hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears, panic settling in.

"Don't talk about her like that." he manages to choke out, standing up on shaky legs. But he falters under Jason's gaze, green with envy and red hot with anger, as the blonde steps forward in front of his friends.

"Come on, freak, you can drop the act now. You've won the bet, fair and square."

"What bet?" you stumble backwards in shock, frantic eyes flying to Eddie, who is now suddenly refusing to meet your gaze. "Eddie, what's going on?"

"Ah right, of course little miss ice queen would be confused! Let me break it down for you, sweetheart." Jason practically shouts, clapping his hands together with a gleeful smile. "Back in December, your little boyfriend and I waged a bet. This loser thought he could do a better job asking out girls than me, so I said that if he could get your prissy ass to say yes to a date and to prom, he'd win."

"What?"

Eddie doesn't have the courage to look at you. He's sparing himself the trouble of having to see the crestfallen look on your face, of having to actually see for himself the way your hopes come crashing down into a pile of rubble, to be standing in the aftermath of his destruction.

"We're all impressed that he managed to succeed." the blonde jokes, his two friends eagerly nodding from the back. "Guess we underestimated your abilities, freak." Jason reaches forward and punches Eddie in the shoulder, knocking him back against the wall.

"(Y/n), I can explain-" Eddie starts out lowly, but you're not willing to hear any of it. He can see it in your eyes: in a moment's notice, you've pulled back up all your defences, warmth and kindness disappearing behind your walls as your voice drips with venom.

"Fuck off, Munson."

The laughter of the basketball players continuously rings in Eddie's ears as he chases after you, desperately trying to catch up to you as you run across the parking lot.

"Please, just hear me out-"

"NO." you announce firmly, spinning on your heels and staring up at him with burning hatred. You've never stared at him with anything other than fondness and warmth the past few months. It's then gut wrenching that the fury with which you're glaring at him now - the lack of any kind of kindness or playfulness in your eyes - is unprecedented.

"You know, I knew this was too good to be true." you start, voice shaky. "God, you have no idea how many fucking times I found myself thinking throughout the course of our relationship - no, even when we were just fucking friends - that I didn't deserve this. That there was a reason no one wanted to be my friend. But I was a fucking idiot, because-"

You choke on your words, a sob hanging by the edge of your lips, but you bitterly swallow it down. You'd be damned if Eddie gets your tears on top of everything else.

"Because I thought this was my reward. I was thinking, finally, after all these years of suffering, I could get something nice. New friends, new family, a boy who liked me for who I was... But I realize now that I was nothing more than a joke to you. A sleazy bet with the sleaziest douchebags in school."

"(Y/n)-" Eddie tries again, he can feel you slipping through his fingers and it's breaking him, heart aching to just have you in his arms again. But all you do is shake your head sideways, gritting your teeth as you shrug off his jacket and throw the fabric against his chest.

"Don't fucking talk to me again. If you even so much as look at me, I'll ask Hopper to step in."

"At least let me drive you home." he quietly mutters. "You don't even have a car."

"Save it. I'll take the bus."

Eddie stands there staring at his jacket in his hands, your perfume still lingering in the fabric as he watches hopelessly you walk away into the dark woods.

"Fuck." he breathes out, tears stinging his eyes.

He's fucked up. Really, really badly.

------------------------------------

Steve and Robin both glare daggers into Eddie's back as he shuffles through the aisles of Family Video, both of them pretending to be busy when he'd first entered the store and muttered a quiet "hello." They're pissed at him, for good reason, of course, but it's awkward to know that his friends (who are also your friends) have all turned on him.

It's even more awkward having to make excuses as to why you're no longer showing up to band practice or to D&D sessions to the oblivious freshman and his other friends like Jeff and Gareth, who always looked forward to your sarcastic comments and humorous quips to pass the time.

"Just this, please." Eddie says, throwing a VHS tape of Evil Dead onto the counter. Both Steve and Robin stare down at the tape, then at Eddie, before resuming their conversation behind the counter as if they've never seen him. Eddie rolls his eyes, suppressing a deep sigh.

"Come on guys, this is childish. This isn't even for me, this is for Gareth."

"Then why didn't he come here and rent it himself?" Robin interrogates, tone harsh and dry.

"Got held up doing house chores by his mom. Just scan this damn thing, I'll pay, and I'll be right out of your eyesight, okay?" Eddie's practically pleading at this point and Robin sends Steve a knowing look, forcing the other boy to jump off of his seat and begin to mindlessly scan the tape.

"That'll be $2.50."

In between the painfully awkward and silent transaction, Eddie's looking at everywhere but his friends' faces. Their silent frustration, disapproval and disappointment is too heavy to bear, alongside the heavy guilt and crushing depression he's been experiencing the past two weeks since prom.

"Why'd you do it?" Steve blurts out mid-handing off the tape to Eddie, causing Robin to slap her best friend across the shoulder for his outburst.

"What?"

"I just, I don't get it. It doesn't make sense. I saw - we both saw -" Steve gestures to Robin, sending her a warning glare. "How you looked at (Y/n). How you spoke about her. How much you loved her. What'd you even bet for?"

Pocketing the tape into his back pocket, Eddie sighs slowly, contemplating whether or not to tell them the truth. But hell, he's got nothing to lose at this point, he figures.

"Happened over a weed dealing. I was just talking shit, really, because Jason's ego was bruised after being rejected by (Y/n). We bet over me being able to successfully ask her out to a date and then to prom. If I won, the conditions were that Jason would buy for double - and I knew that Wayne was tight on money, and the trailer's been long overdue for a fix. And he also, uh... said if I won the bet, he'd stop bothering me and my friends."

Eddie doesn't notice it, because he's staring down at his hands whilst rambling, but Steve and Robin exchange a sympathetic glance as Eddie continues to pour his heart out.

"I tried pulling out a million times. But for one reason or another, I could never do it. I was a coward, don't get me wrong, but... when she told me she loved me, I knew it'd gone too far. I was so intently committed to breaking the bet off, consequences and money be damned, but then I saw Henderson had a bruise on his face from Jason roughing him up." Eddie swallows nervously, throat feeling prickly and dry. "I couldn't back out of it then. I didn't want any of the kids to get more hurt when I could prevent it."

"Oh, Eddie..." Robin says quietly, placing a warm hand on his arm. He only shakes her off though, forced grin pulling his lips apart.

"It's whatever. Point is, regardless of good intentions or bad circumstances, I was a fucking coward. And a liar. And an asshole. I broke her heart and I deserve all the bad things in the world for that."

"Does she know any of this?" Steve presses, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"No. I haven't spoken to her since prom. Never even so much as drove past her home. Pretty sure Hopper would shoot my tires flat if I tried, anyways." Eddie weakly jokes.

"You should tell her. If not for you, than for her. She deserves to know the truth."

The metalhead only sighs at that, shaking his head lightly in denial.

"She already knows the truth, Steve."

"Not the bet, but the reasons behind the bet. Your feelings through out the whole thing. How you tried to pull out but you couldn't. I mean the whole truth, Eddie." Steve insists, unwavering.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with this loser." Robin dryly comments, flicking Steve's forehead. Steve scowls at that, sending the brunette girl a playful glare before turning around to stare at Eddie.

"Seriously. Let her know the truth. It'll both do you good."

"If I were you though, I'd bring chocolates as a peace offering or something, because I did hear that Hopper got a new rifle last week." Robin adds, swinging her legs off the counter as Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Gee, thanks, Buckley."

"Don't sweat it, Munson."

"....Thanks." Eddie quietly whispers, genuinely touched by his friends' advice. Their words continue to replay in his mind like a broken record on his drive back home and out of the corner of his eyes, Eddie continues to see a phantom outline of you. Sitting next to him, singing from the driver's seat, hair being ruffled from the open window.

You're still haunting him, he still can't stop thinking about you. Mulling it over, he realizes that the least he can do is to try. Try and talk to you, to iron things out.

He just hopes you're willing to listen.

---------------------------------------

Eddie doesn't think he's ever felt this nervous before.

Standing by your front porch, throwing small pebbles at your bedroom window late at night, hoping that you notice the odd sounds and look outside. It's weird - a part of him is screaming at him to run away, that this was a mistake and that he should run into his van and drive home right now. But there's another part of him, one which is stronger and louder, reminding him that he has to explain himself to you.

He sees you lean out your window with a confused expression on your face, eyes scanning the night sky and trees before landing on his figure. You roll your eyes and slam your window shut, forcing him to escalate his plan.

The next time Eddie's knocking on your window he's precariously balancing on the slippery roof tiles, gripping onto your windowsill for dear life and hoping you have enough mercy in your heart to let him in. You're still scowling when you open your window back up, but this time there's a hint of care and worry in your eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing? You got a death wish, Munson?" you hiss, careful to not wake anyone else in the house.

"Well you weren't going to let me in the normal way, so I had to do the next best thing." he weakly offers, fingers turning white. "Are you going to let me in so I don't die, then?"

You click your tongue, swearing under your breath.

"Just because I don't want to attend your fucking funeral." you warn, stepping back and letting him climb in through your window. He practically falls onto the floor face first, limbs awkwardly tumbling forward, his left arm catching his fall ever so slightly in an effort to save the bouquet of flowers and chocolate from getting crushed.

"H-here." he shakily offers them by thrusting the items into your hands, which you cautiously take before throwing it behind you on the bed.

"Thanks. You can leave now."

"Wait, wait, wait-" he rushes to block off your access to the door before you can push him out the bedroom, making you stomp your feet in frustration.

"What, Eddie? I'm fucking tired, it's a Wednesday night, for fuck's sake."

"I know you don't want to talk to me. But it's fucking killing me that you don't even know the whole story. Please, hear me, out. Just five minutes, and if you still want me to leave, I... I will."

You should be laughing at his face. You should be your usual coldhearted self, uncaring smirk lacing your lips as you shove him out the front door and throw the flowers and chocolate back onto his chest. But you can't find it in yourself to do so.

Damn Eddie Munson and his handsome face, you think. You also can't deny the lingering affection you hold for him, and fuck... you have missed him. Greatly. The amount of times you've cried in the past two weeks is a testament to that.

The worst harm's already been done, you think. Might as well hear him out.

"Fine. You've got five minutes." you say, and you can see his face light up visibly with joy and relief.

"Thank you. The bet, listen, it... it happened during a drug deal. Jason was pissed that you'd rejected him and I was just trying to push his bottoms and toy with his fragile ego by boasting that I could probably be better with girls than him. He knew that I was having money issues and the trailer needed to be fixed, so he cut me a deal. If I got you to say yes to a date, then he'd start paying double for our weed dealings." Eddie rushes out, speaking so fast that he has to catch a deep breath in between.

"Then I added I wanted him to stop bothering me and my friends at school. Especially now that I got the freshman kids to look out for, I just wanted his word that he'd stop bothering them all. In return for that, however, it was additionally agreed that I'd also have to get you to say yes to prom."

"That's... oddly sweet of you. Kind of." you mutter, thoughts running a million miles per hour at the revelation. You figured that the bet was just a joke to exploit you. Not something Eddie agreed to in an effort to protect his uncle and his friends.

"It's really not, because I hurt you. I knew from the beginning that this was wrong. I had this persistent, sick, stabbing sensation in my stomach all throughout our friendship that this was wrong. I tried to lie to myself that I hadn't done anything bad yet, because we hadn't even started dating, but I knew it was only a matter of time before we became real. And once that happened, I..." he chuckles sadly, gaze lowering to the floor.

"I liked the illusion of us together too much to pull back. The bet was always lingering in the back of my mind, sure. But I liked you too much. I love you too much. So I ignored it. Even if it was fake, it felt real whenever I got to hold you and kiss you."

He runs a quick hand through his hair before resuming.

"And then the night that you told me you loved me, I panicked. It was like I was finally awake, like icy cold water had been dumped over my head and I saw what a fucked up mess I'd gotten us into. I told Jason the next day that the bet was off, but... he held the end deal of our bargain over my head. The part about no longer bullying my friends. And Dustin had gotten a black eye that morning from a rough altercation with Jason and I... I didn't end up backing out of the deal because of that. But I tried to get out. God, I tried many, many times. Maybe not as strongly as I should've, but there were numerous times where I tried to get out of the deal." Eddie affirms, pleading.

"So... all of that. All the lying, all the secrets, all the play pretend... was it worth it?" you whisper out loud, hands clutching at your sides as you hug yourself and look up at him.

"Yes." Eddie responds automatically, confident. "Because it meant I got to have you. And I never faked my feelings for you. Not even once. That was all, always, genuine."

You're left to stare at him in silence, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you reflect over his words, Eddie taking in shallow breaths as he carefully surveys your reaction. He can't read your mind right now, he so badly wishes he could see what you're thinking because your expression is kept tight and neutral through it all.

"Do you... still want me to leave?" he whispers quietly. You don't speak, you don't nod nor deny him, you just continue to stare at him with a blank expression.

It's enough of an answer for him.

"You do, huh?" he chuckles, the sound as hollow as his heart. "It's fine, I uh, knew you wouldn't want me again after this. But you... you deserved to know the truth. Again, I'm so sorry for hurting you. I love you though. And I never lied about that."

He's hoping that you're going to stop him from leaving. That this is going to be the breakthrough moment in those romantic films, where you cut him off from speaking with a fierce kiss and whisper forgiveness against his lips, pinning him against the door.

But you don't even twitch. You just silently nod, unreadable expression on your face, and let him brush past you and walk down the stairs silently.

Eddie's heart stills feels heavy, grieving the loss of you and your love. But his shoulders feel ever so lighter, knowing that he's done the right thing by apologizing and explaining himself. He still feels like shit, he still thoroughly plans on smoking at least two packs when he gets back to his trailer, but he feels like he can breathe a tiny bit easier now.

"Wait."

Your voice suddenly rings out from behind him, your front door hanging open behind you as you've clearly ran through the house in a rush. Eddie jumps up in surprise, bewildered that you've chased him down the stairs.

"Y-yeah?" he stumbles out, pulling away from his van door.

"I forgive you. Sort of, I mean, it'll take a while for me to get over it and to fully trust you again but I... I still love you. Do you still love me too?" you whisper, doubtful.

Eddie almost wants to laugh at that question: that you'd even think for a second that he's spent any moment of the past two weeks being anything but in love with you.

"Of course I do, princess. Never stopped."

"Then that's all that matters."

This kiss tastes and feels totally new. Salty tears, mint toothpaste, your shaky fingers grabbing his as Eddie pulls you in impossibly close.

He's trying to memorize every aspect of you, having been starved of your presence for too long, committing every single aspect of you to memory. How you taste against his lips. How your body fits right against his when he places an arm around your waist. How your hair tickles his neck from this angle, moonlight shining a halo around the crown of your head.

You try to pull away a few times to catch your breath, but he doesn't let you, your giggles being swallowed by another needy kiss.

Eddie doesn't ever want to lose you again. Not even for a second.

a/n: if anybody actually read to the end of this story... thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart. This story has been a true labor of love, sweat and tears and countless hours of work. Whilst I was re-editing this I realized I kind of don't like how it turned out but I worked so hard on it and I already announced I was gonna post it so here it goes, I guess.

I've had this concept of a social outcast x Eddie reader with a enemies to lovers trope thrown in for a while so I'm just glad that I got it out my system. Totally nervous and completely unsure of how this will be received (my longest fic to date) but it's out now. Thank you for reading ❣️

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dirtytransmasc · 2 years ago

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first off, the comment on Jake is perfection, I feel like people struggle to understand you can understand, criticize, and love a character all at once (wee see this with spider and Quaritch too, and even Ronal, though with her it's a little different). I understand why he did the things he did, I don't blame him, but I can also acknowledge that he was wrong/harmful at the same time. I do whole heartedly hate his hypocrisy, the way he treats his sons, and the way he treats spider; its like he forgets so much of his past, so many of the worlds/his mistakes, and is repeating them on his kids.

same with Neytiri, I feel like because they only focused on her when she was upset, angry, or showing understandable but heavy prejudice/aggression against mostly spider but also most of the other characters, she kinda just got boiled down to The Angry Women, and even more harmful The Angry Native. and while this wasn't the intention, what else can we expect from the general audience (cause omg half of this fandom is killing me with their awful takes, like good God, it's hard to handle sometimes). she deserved more screentime, more complexity, she deserved to just be a mother. she's a mighty warrior, she has been long before she was even an adult herself. I feel like she was pushed so far in the back, especially by Jake. I'm kinda mad, cause to me at least, its kinda like hotd all over again, she becomes an easily unlikeable character because the narrative oversimplifies her, if that makes sense? I too find myself without the words to fully describe her.

I can't wait to see whats in the books for quaritch, he's so complex and there's so many ways to take his characters. personally me and my daddy issue want him to get a redemption arc via spider, but there's so much potential. I hope he gets a detroit becomes human moment, question himself, who he is, what he's meant to be, what he wants to be. also I too need him to connect with Eywa and have a crisis, it will make my day. I also need more of him and cupcake.

the tulkun kill me, they make me so sad. I go to a aquaculture school, I've been genuinely depressed for the last week cause one of my fish died, so to see these sentient whales (an animal in our world that is a straight sucker punch to the gut on a good day) go through so much pain, had me sobbing like a little bitch. payakan and lo'ak will put me in my grave I stg its not funny anymore.

I really loved the design of the metkeyina people so much, I think they are so uniquely beautiful, watching them swim and just exist is so majestic. I also just loved tonowari, like he's just such a dad, like I don't think any can be more of a dad then him. aonung is a character I wish they spent more one on one time on, he seemed really interesting, and I feel like it would have been a great chance to explore the kids as kids more.

spider is spider, I won't ever stop talking about him. I was him one, and if any of my many shitty father figure were cloned and treated me like quaritch did, I would have gone back for them, it's called empathy, I need people to understand that. he did the right thing, because he still had the good in his heart to do it. am I saying that I would hate any of the others for not saving him? no. I'm saying that spider is the necessery heart of the sully's as of right now. he believes people can be good, he can empathize when the sully's have grown cold in the response to so much loss and pain. he's fascinating and heartbreaking and complex and I love him so much.

kiri is really calling out my autistic, religious trauma, having ass, and its not nice. I love her and watching her continue to evolve and grow as a character is so satisfying. she's that character that just resonates at my core and I can't put my feelings into words.

and a final note, family therapy, all of you, get in a circle, and talk about your feelings god dammit.

I just got back from seeing Avatar: Way of Water and I’m about to make it everyone’s problem.

First off, the movie was absolutely visually stunning. The planet, the locations, the animals, all of it was gorgeous. Some of the most gorgeous shots I’ve ever seen.

I loved the Metkayina designs. They were clearly designed with water life in mind—the wider tails, wider arms to allow for better swimming. I also noticed inspiration drawn from Māori tattoos for their facial markings.

I loved all the kids, but Spider is definitely my favorite. It just makes me so sad that this kid has grown up never fitting in with the humans or the Na’vi and has been barely tolerated by most adults in his life. I have a lot of thoughts on Spider, but that’s a whole separate post. Basically I love him, I want him to be safe, and he’s a kind kid with a big heart and I’ll defend him to my dying day.

Kiri is a close second favorite. I was literally thinking “are there autistic Na’vi?” Before watching this and I kind of got my answer. Yes, i do 100% see Kiri as autistic. Also she’s canonically epileptic, which I thought was interesting. I just want more disabled characters that are interesting and contribute to the story, and she delivers. I also think it’s so cool that they gave her such a close connection with Eywa (no I don’t have religious trauma leave me alone). My only complaint is that Sigourney Weaver’s voice doesn’t…sound like a teenager’s voice to me. She plays the part very well, but her voice throws me off a bit.

I think it’s very interesting what they’ve done with Quaritch’s character. By making him a clone, you basically start over. He’s got all the memories but basically only a year or so of life experience and a lot of that influences how he interacts with the world, especially Pandora since he’s experiencing it from a new angle. He also noticeably softens toward Spider and while it may have started as manipulative, I do think he genuinely cares for Spider by the end. He reminds me a bit of early-show Zuko, and I can see him getting redeemed through his bond with Spider. I really want to see him link with a Spirit Tree, the existential crisis it would cause would make for great writing.

I don’t feel that Jake has been super poorly written, but I feel that we’re seeing him acting in survival mode so I don’t know what his relationship with his kids is usually like. I understand why he would revert to military training in a time of crisis.

I do feel like Jake has forgotten what it was like to be human in some ways, like he’s forgotten that he wasn’t always Na’vi. He does great his boys like they’re soldiers under his command, and I feel like his treatment of Spider shows just how much he’s forgotten what it was like to be human. What it was like to live in a world that wasn’t compatible with his body.

I also feel like Jake doesn’t have a full grasp of Na’vi culture still, and he sometimes overrides Neytiri when he should listen to her experience. Again, I understand the reasoning, it just annoys me.

Neytiri got shoved to the side a bit, in my opinion. She was in character, and I understand all of her responses, but I felt that Jake didn’t always treat her as an equal or value her knowledge enough. I don’t quite have words for how her emotions impact her character, but they’re all very impressed words. Just wow.

The tulkun are so cool to me. It started out as just kind of a whaling story, but you realize that these creatures are sentient, they’re capable of thought, they’re deeply intelligent beings. They’re people, plain and simple. And seeing the whaling analogy paired with the fact that these creatures are people, it made me nearly cry. Seeing them being murdered and their bodies desecrated for a tiny bit of profit had me cringing in my seat and made me so angry.

Random thoughts in no particular order:

Tsireya is so pretty I love her. She reminds me of a fantasy Elf for some reason.

Quaritch attempting the “death by thighs” move was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. I’m used to seeing femme fatale characters use that move, and I’m pretty sure I was blushing.

All of the Sully boys have daddy issues now, and Spider also has mommy issues

The “why so blue?” dad joke and Spider getting the one “fuck” of the movie made me laugh

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demetriandelibinaryboyfriends · 2 years ago

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*submits this and passes out*

HERE IS THE FIRST HALF OF THE FIC THAT HAS TAKEN OVER EVERY LAST ONE OF MY LIFE OBLIGATIONS FOR THE PAST WEEK AND A HALF

I STG I DID NOT MEAN TO GET THIS INVESTED BUT

@ckhalloween22 spoopy season Elimetri for the “monstrous transformations” prompt, as promised!!! Chapter 2 will hopefully be up later this week!

Fun fact: I actually made that moodboard ages ago (like...early 2021??? Purple Hawk did not even exist yet :O) and just never got around to posting it. Mainly because I was planning on posting this long list of vampire/werewolf headcanons to go with it, and I just...was too lazy to, RIP. But now there’s a whole-ass fic to go with it, so it seemed like a good time to post it XD

Spoilers ig that there are in fact werewolves in Chapter 2 lmao

Hopefully this will be on AO3 soon!!! Just gotta like. Recover from binge-writing this entire 14k-word fic in a few days, whoops. Y’all this was originally gonna be a one-shot and then it turned into a MONSTER (no pun intended) and now it’s a two-shot XD

Anyways enjoy the exact kinda angsty nonsense that I have been using as Daydream Scenarios for months now to entertain myself before I go to sleep. I never thought they would leave my head, but here we are.

ALSO @lizziefanconfessions I vaguely remember you saying you liked my vampire!Elimetri content, so. Come get fed!!! Highkey went all out with this one XD

EDIT: Chapter 2 is HERE!

Nocturnal Chapter 1 - Before Daybreak

There’s a strange smell coming from the hallway.

Demetri clutches at the lavish bedsheets. He should feel spoiled, but he knows it’s just another taunt.

He’s willing to bet Terry Silver has 15 identical guestrooms, all lavishly furnished. Each costing maybe 3 thousand dollars—or more.

A reminder that Terry Silver has enough money to do whatever the hell he wants. Even kidnap teenagers. Even…

Demetri’s hand drifts to the sores on his neck. They still hurt like a bitch.

He tastes the air again. There’s so much more than there used to be, and it’s unnerving. Lacquer. Candle wax. Velvet. Carpet cleaner. Marble. Stonework.

The one in the hallway is new, he can tell that much. Different enough from the olfactory default he’s gotten used to. Now if he could just tell what—

He chokes on his breath.

It’s Eli.

He’s not sure how he knows. Perhaps he’s always been able to recognize it, on a subconscious level. But every scrap of his fucked-up body is suddenly certain.

Eli, leave! Just fucking leave! Demetri wants to scream into his bedsheets.

When he screamed at Silver that his friends would come for him, he was bluffing. Always bluffing. He didn’t want any of them anywhere near this place, Eli least of all.

And yet here he was, strolling in on some convoluted rescue mission and about to get himself killed. Or…worse.

Eli’s scent draws closer. Demetri wants to shout a warning, tell him to get out of here…but with dear old Terry’s cronies and guards and henchmen behind every decorative statue, calling attention to his best friend’s presence would be about the most morally reprehensible thing he could do.

A discordant clicking fills the room, and Demetri realizes Eli must be fiddling with the electronic padlock.

It won’t take long to hack. Unfortunately.

The door swings open, and Demetri forgets how much he isn’t supposed to want this.

Eli’s face is glistening with sweat, scar flaring up red the way it sometimes does when he’s out of breath. Long hair—down, undyed—is plastered to his skin.

He must not have wanted to stand out. He must have insisted on being the clandestine part of the operation.

The one who found Demetri.

He drinks in everything about Eli Moskowitz—wiry limbs, track pants, gray jacket, blue eyes, panicked face. All things Demetri was convinced he’d never see again.

“Demetri.”

Eli whispers his name. A tactical maneuver, meant not to alert any hostile presences nearby.

Nonetheless, Demetri gets the feeling Eli wants to shout.

“I—”

There are too many things he wants to say. I missed you. You shouldn’t be here. I just want to hold you. Get the fuck out. I need you. You’re in danger.

“You need to leave,” he manages. He sounds raspy, unsure, and probably desperate. Fucking pathetic.

“Not…without you?” Eli’s brow furrows in confusion. “I’m rescuing you, asshole.”

Demetri shakes his head, eyes wild. “No—no, you have to stay away from me. You have to. You—”

Eli’s scent is overwhelming now. Something vaguely bringing to mind Mrs. Moskowitz pulling fresh-baked hamantaschen out of the oven.

Tantalizing.

And Demetri wants it. All of it.

“You’re not making any fucking sense!” Eli is scowling, and Demetri shoves the hunger down.

He slides off the bed, starting to back toward the wall. “He did something to me,” he gasps out. “Silver. I don’t know what, but now I want—there’s a part of me that wants—”

There’s a part of me that wants to kill you.

He can’t say it out loud. It wouldn’t be his first thought of Eli that never makes it into the spoken world.

“Demetri.” Eli slowly moves toward him, as though approaching a scared wild animal. Not that far off the mark, really. “What happened to you? What did he do?”

Demetri’s back hits the wall. He realizes with a prick of dread that there’s no way to run to the door without Eli intercepting him.

“Please.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Whatever it is.” Eli is as calm as ever—a jarring change from his usual demeanor. “We can figure it out. Just let me get you out of here.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t go. Something’s wrong with me. I don’t—I don’t know what I’ll do out there.”

Eli steps closer. Demetri’s about to be cornered.

He knows he’s sick in the head, for letting this happen when he knows the risk.

Eli’s blood could be on his hands. A beautifully, terribly layered statement.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what he did to you.” Eli’s voice hardens.

Panic sears through him, and he feels like he’s on the verge of collapse. The hunger is hissing at him to pounce, to slice a hole in Eli’s neck…

Shut the fuck up.

Not Eli Moskowitz. He’ll tear through the rest of humanity if he has to, leave a trail of carnage wherever he goes…but he’ll be damned if he ever lays a hand on Eli again.

“Hey.”

Eli doesn’t break Demetri’s gaze. Another step. Demetri holds his breath.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

Eli doesn’t sound scornful or dismissive when he says it. Not like the way Demetri spat it out in the comic book store, all those months ago.

He only seems worried.

“You should be,” Demetri says. “I’m not the same. I’m not who you remember, I’m just…” He struggles for an appropriate metaphor.

“I’m just corrupted data.”

“That’s not true.” Eli smiles. “I come in here, and not 10 seconds later you’re freaking out and fussing over me doing some reckless shit you’re not cool with. That’s exactly who I remember.”

Slender fingers wrap around Demetri’s wrist, and he gasps.

Eli’s hand is warm. Not in a burning way, but…a cozy way, almost. Like coming inside on a rainy winter day.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Eli says cheekily. “You have a mental breakdown every time your mom puts too much coriander in the shawarma. One time you stepped on Heracles’s tail and prepared an apology soliloquy. Like, ooooh, I am quivering in terror.”

Demetri laughs, and Eli looks at him with a fondness that makes him ache with longing.

It’s then something clicks.

Eli’s close enough to see Demetri’s teeth, now honed to unflattering points. He’s felt Demetri’s skin, which now looks and feels like a bedsheet left by an air conditioner.

He has to know by now what’s going on.

Why is Eli still here? He’s smart enough to run. At least Demetri hopes so.

Eli’s hand slides down his wrist, slowly weaving their fingers together. It’s the type of soft gentleness Demetri hasn’t experienced for a long time.

And it’s enough to make him shatter.

He crumples into Eli and erupts in sobs. His hands knot into gray fabric, clinging to it like it’s the only thing left in the world.

Strong arms wrap around his back, hands tracing circles along his spine. He almost wants to laugh at the irony.

It’s always been Eli who needs this. When the panic attacks or the meltdowns hit, or when the world just gets to be too much, Demetri holds him until he feels safe again.

Now Demetri’s on the inside of it all, frantically trying to stabilize.

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” Eli’s voice slides out in a soothing whisper. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Demetri shakes, and Eli holds him tighter. Everything about him is warm and steady and secure, and the anxiety and sheer terror of the last several days finally starts to drain away.

“Please let me take you home.”

Demetri knows he shouldn’t say yes. He nods anyway.

***

“So he held you down and…” Eli trails off.

“Drank me.” Demetri shudders at the memory. “Bit a hole in my neck and started gulping down my bodily fluids like they were Mr. Pibbs.”

“Ew.” Eli scowls at him. “Bodily fluids? Just say your blood, dude. I don’t need that mental image.”

Demetri scoffs, bumping Eli’s shoulder. “Still gross, either way.”

“So…what then?”

He freezes, going rigid as the image of snakelike red eyes boring into him comes trickling back. “He, um…”

A thin arm snakes around his neck, and Demetri feels Eli’s hand on his shoulder. A couple quick squeezes, and Demetri can breathe again.

“I guess I was kind of out of it by the end. My head felt all fuzzy. I remember someone dragged me into that room, and then I started feeling…hungry. And I could smell everything.” He turns, smiling weakly. “I could even smell you coming to get me.”

Eli smirks. “Do I smell good?”

“You smell amazing.” He nudges his friend’s side. “An absolute snack.”

Demetri leans into Eli as he laughs. His hand roams up his chest, clutching at the hand still squeezing his shoulder.

“‘Metri.” Fingertips brush against his neck, and he winces at the sudden pricks of pain. “Do they still hurt?”

He sighs. “Not as much as they did, but…yeah.”

“I can get a cream or something. My mom’s got a whole cabinet full of that shit.”

“I don’t know if it’ll work on undead skin, but I guess it’s worth a try.”

Eli walks out of the room, and Demetri is alone with the moonlight streaming through the window. He reclines on Eli’s bed, letting out a long breath.

It’s 3 am now. At least a few more hours before Demetri has to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do about his mom and Heracles. About his Tech Town shifts. About Miguel and Sam and Chris and Nate and Mr. LaRusso and everyone else who he can’t go near ever again.

That was supposed to be Eli too, but he was a stubborn fucker. Getting a redwood tree to budge would be easier.

He stretches out his arms, and his hand hits something plush. He turns, smiling.

He didn’t notice when he first came in, but Raptor Reynaldo, the stuffed hawk he won for Eli at a carnival when they were 7, is perched on his best friend’s pillow. Demetri spent an hour getting the damn bird out of a claw machine, and he’s been a scowling Eli Moskowitz bedroom presence ever since. Eli got his mom to sew a stupid red mohawk onto Raptor Reynaldo’s head during junior year, and he still hasn’t gotten around to taking it off.

Edgy idiot.

Despite himself, Demetri grabs the bird and pulls him in. It’s nice to have something soft to squeeze. Gets some of the tension out, at least.

Besides, maybe Raptor Reynaldo’s ridiculous new hairdo will pop off and go flying across the room. Perhaps into the garbage.

“Demetri.” A tired voice from the doorway. “Please don’t tell me you added Raptor Reynaldo to your legion of the undead.”

“Mmmm. I tried.” Demetri smirks. “Little hard to suck cotton stuffing, though.”

The bed compresses next to him. “Okay, sit up. I need to put this on.” Groaning, he reluctantly complies.

As Eli coats his fingers in some type of unpronounceable soothing lotion, he looks at Demetri with narrowed eyes. “Are you…are you going to let go of Raptor Reynaldo?”

Demetri scoffs. “Make me.”

Soft fingers brush his neck, and his eyes slip closed. They rub gentle spirals and curls, careful to never press too hard.

Demetri has no earthly idea whether the gel Eli picked is actually helping or not, but his best friend has a warmth that he could drink in forever.

His stomach tightens, arms tensing around the plush hawk. He grabs at his shirt and squeezes, trying to banish the thought of how badly he suddenly wants to grab Eli.

Get the fuck out of my head.

He’d sooner run full-speed into the sunrise than hurt Eli again.

“See if that helps.” Eli’s fingers slip away, and Demetri wilts in disappointment. “You want me to kiss your booboo better?”

“Oh my god, Eli.” The taller boy snorts out a laugh. “What am I, five and a half?”

“You sound pretty offended for someone cuddling a stuffed animal.”

“How could you!” Demetri does his best to sound aghast. “Raptor Reynaldo understands me, Eli.”

“I’m sure he does.”

Before Demetri can process it, Eli is swooping in and pressing warm lips to his bitemarks. The fragility he felt earlier comes rushing back.

It’s almost cruel, he thinks, Eli taunting him with what he can never have now. Not that Eli even realizes he’s doing it.

Tears threaten to leak out of him again. He gathers his resolve and holds them back.

Not twice in one night. He needs to have some standards.

“Fuck.” He leans his head on Eli’s shoulder. He feels he’s allowed that sort of small pleasure, at least. “What do I even do?”

“About…?”

“About everything. What the hell do I tell my mom?! ‘Oh, hey, sorry, I need to drop out of high school, can’t go to college, and have to work graveyard shifts at Ralph’s for the rest of my life?!’ And I know fucking Silver’s up to something, too. Betting he bribes the Hunter’s Guild not to go after him. And now he can tell all his buddies in there that there’s a new vampire on the loose. Oh, boy!”

“Demetri,” Eli murmurs into his hair. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again. You know that, right?”

The scent of Eli—so torturously close—wraps around him. Something dark roils up inside Demetri, like a snake making its way through his intestines.

“I shouldn’t even be here with you.”

His voice is breaking again. Humiliating.

What’s even left to break?

“Says who?” Eli demands.

“Uh, says every piece of vampire lore since the dawn of time? I’m a resurrected corpse with no soul.”

“Like you would ever be cool enough to pull off the ‘resurrected corpse with no soul’ descriptor. You’re like…an anxious zombie with less skin falling off.”

Demetri laughs, and some of the stones in his stomach lift. “Then it makes even less sense why you’d want me around. You can’t get into an Ivy League if I eat your brain, Eli.” He jabs at Eli’s temple, and the shorter boy scoffs.

“Oh, please. You’d spend so much time worrying about eating my brain that you’d never get around to actually doing it.”

If he was wondering before, he’s sure now. Eli has no intention of letting him go.

In better circumstances, he’d be flattered. Ecstatic, even. But as of this moment…

If he wants to run away—if he wants to put as much distance between himself and Eli Moskowitz as possible—he’ll have to do it by himself. If he wants to keep Eli safe, there’s no way in hell Eli’s going to help with it.

Eli’s loyal. He’s stubborn. He’s reckless. He’s an utter pain in the ass.

And when Demetri loses him again, it’s going to gut him a thousand times harder than the last time.

He has to leave. He knows this. Anything less would make him deplorable.

The embodiment of the very monster he’s turned into.

After all, who is he to put his own happiness above Eli’s safety?

“I can get the spare blanket,” Eli says. “You can stay here tonight. We’ll…I don’t know, we’ll watch the Star Wars prequels and make fun of them. Get your mind off shit for a while.”

He uncurls himself from Demetri. As he stands up, Demetri grabs his wrist, pulling him back.

If he doesn’t say something now, he might never get the chance.

“I love you.”

Eli turns, eyes bright with shock. “You what?”

“I love you.” His voice trembles as he repeats it. “And every second, I’m so fucking scared that I’m going to lose my grip on this…thing Sensei Targaryen made me into, and I’m going to hurt you. Or kill you, I don’t know. And it’s destroying me.”

A moment of silence. Demetri feels like a clogged drainpipe about to burst.

Then Eli steps back and sinks onto the bed beside him. Wiry arms wrap around his neck, and Eli presses their foreheads together.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he whispers. “You won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?” Demetri’s voice croaks as he says it, and he feels another sob rising in his throat.

“Because I trust you. Well, I mean…”

Hesitation. If Demetri still had a heartbeat, it would stop.

“Not with Raptor Reynaldo’s hair—I see you over there, giving it the stink eye. Basically everything else, though.”

Despite everything, Demetri laughs again. How strange, he thinks, to be the one who needs to be distracted from his misery by stupid jokes. Stranger still that Eli learned the tactic from him.

Warmth fills his stomach. All those years of his inane comedy routine to get them through the hellhole of middle school and high school, and it’s the first thing Eli pulls out when he’s hurting.

Then again, how could it be any other way?

Demetri was always the one who looked like he had it together. Making wisecracks, rattling off Doctor Who fan theories, steering lunchroom conversations toward Dungeon Lord so Eli wouldn’t notice people staring. Eli was the one who broke easily, and Demetri was the one who put him back together. And when Demetri’s own defenses finally did give way…

Well, it’s not like Eli was around to see.

And now Demetri’s fraying apart like the world’s flimsiest pipe cleaner, and the only model Eli has to pull him out of the darkness again is the only one he ever saw. The only one he knew, for years and years and years.

Demetri’s.

Something about the thought soothes him.

“You’re the strongest person I know.” Eli’s voice grows serious again. “You never gave up on me when I gave you every reason to. You were the only one who got all the squabbling rival dojo kids to see any damn sense. You see the best in people even when they treat you like shit. And some pony-tailed fuck isn’t going to bite you one time and make all that go away. I’m not abandoning you.”

“But…Eli, I…”

“We can work with this. I know it sucks balls right now, but you’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

His eyes blaze, and Demetri chuckles. “Is that a threat?”

“It might be. Don’t make me follow through. I—I…” Eli chokes on his words. “I won’t let that fucking asshole take you away from me. Not now, not ever. Get used to it.”

Eli takes a breath, and Demetri feels it ripple through his entire body.

“I love you too, Demetri.”

Demetri is still processing this when Eli closes the space between them.

Eli kisses like a hurricane—a whirlwind of ferocity and passion and power, and Demetri’s stomach may as well be swirling right toward the eye. The gales are howling in his ear, and he could swear he’s being lifted off the ground.

He’s not sure if vampires can actually do the bat shapeshifting thing, but if they can, he imagines this is what it feels like. Swooping through cool clouds, wind rushing across his small, lightweight body, starlight shining on his wings, a world of sparkling lights below him and eternal stars above.

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

Nonetheless, he holds back. He doesn’t give in to Eli’s vigor all the way.

He’s terrified of how far he might go if he does.

So as Eli kisses him like he’s dissolving, he returns it slower—gentle, steady, slightly tentative. His hand slides up, cupping the side of Eli’s face and rubbing his cheek with a cold thumb.

How funny is it, Demetri thinks, to have their old roles so drastically reversed. He remembers again of when he was the abrasive one and Eli was the timid, fragile one.

There’s a thump, and Demetri pulls away to see a stuffed beak glaring up at them from the floor.

Eli lets out a cry of despair. “No! Raptor Rey!”

“Now you’ve done it.” Demetri shoves Eli’s chest playfully. “Look what you’ve done to our only son.”

Eli sticks his tongue out—a tongue that Demetri now knows tastes very nice. A little bit like the Chinese food leftovers he had for dinner.

“You were the one who dropped him!”

Demetri sighs, leaning off the bed and scooping up the stuffed bird. When he puts Raptor Reynaldo back on Eli’s pillow, he pointedly faces him toward the wall.

“There. We don’t need to soil his innocent eyes.”

Eli snorts. “You’re such a fucking dork.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

It feels strange to say it. Demetri likes the sound of it though.

He scoots across the covers, wrapping long arms around Eli’s waist. Something giddy rises in his chest, briefly overpowering any of the dark impulses still churning around down there.

“You love me,” he says again.

“That’s what I said.” Eli jabs him in the chest accusingly. “What, did Silver bust up your hearing or something?”

He swats Eli’s hand away and pulls him in, stealing another kiss. “You love me,” he hums against his lips.

“Ugh. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Demetri grins. “You love me.” He lets his voice adopt an annoying singsong cadence, and Eli groans. “You love me, Eli Moskowitz.”

He kisses Eli again, and the other boy leans into it. Demetri’s grin grows so big his face hurts.

They slump onto the bed, Eli sprawled on top of him. His arms lock down on either side of Demetri’s waist, effectively caging him in.

Apparently, Eli’s taking precautions to make sure he can’t dart away like a scared rabbit. He wants Demetri to stay that badly.

The thought is strangely flattering, if frustrating.

“You love me,” Demetri whispers in between kisses. Because it’s true. Because he can. “You love me, you love me, you love me.”

If he hadn’t already risen from an early grave, he’s sure he would have died of shock by now.

They end up a tangled mess of limbs and blankets, Eli’s head under Demetri’s chin. He feels Eli trace his chest with one hand and his arms with the other, and for a moment, everything seems like it’s going to be fine.

Demetri kisses Eli’s hair. “I’m sorry I got bloodstains on your hoodie.”

His tears have blood in them now. It’s such embarrassing edgelord nonsense right out of a middle school scene kid’s poetry. Nonetheless, it’s a sad reality he’ll now have to make do with.

Hopefully in a way that doesn’t involve ruining half of Eli’s closet.

Eli only laughs, taking it in stride. “Oh, that? Please. I have like fifteen others just like it. Went out and bought a shit ton when I stopped wearing polos.”

“That’s just as well. You looked a little dorky.” Demetri kisses his head again. “I miss the sweaters, though. Those were cute.”

Eli snorts. “I can’t wear those around you. Do you know how much of a bitch it is to clean blood out of knitted shit?!”

“Well, then, don’t make me cry. Extra incentive to make sure I’m not sad! That, and. You know.” He snickers. “You love me.”

Eli groans again. “God, shut up. Smug asshole.”

He shuffles against Demetri, turning his head slightly. Moonlight glows off his skin, washing it in a sleek silvery-white.

Demetri’s stomach contracts.

Eli’s exposed neck suddenly looks a little too clean. A little too…unmarred.

He shoves the impulse away. Nonetheless, the reminder worms into him, putting the stones right back in his chest.

“It’s dangerous, you know,” Demetri murmurs. “Being with me. Being around me at all.”

“Mmmm, don’t fucking care.” Eli pushes a hand into Demetri’s hair, gently twirling a strand around his finger. “I stole a venomous snake from a zoo, Demetri. I also backstabbed a literal war criminal who could probably make my death look like an accident. And I may have survived rabies. I can handle danger.”

“This isn’t the same.” Demetri shakes his head. “People will hunt me. Maybe…maybe forever. And if they find out we’re together, they’ll hunt you, too.”

Eli scoffs. “Yeah, I know, genius.”

Demetri looks at the boy wrapped around him. Cozy, comfortable, completely relaxed.

Perhaps putting a tad too much faith into Demetri’s Vampire Hunger Regulation Abilities.

He takes a breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to keep being…me. I could still hurt you. Without…without even meaning to or wanting to or anything.”

Eli has no idea what he’s getting into. Not really.

Demetri at least owes him that out.

“I know.” Eli presses into his chest. “But that’s my decision, isn’t it? You can’t make that for me.”

“Maybe not, but you have to know it’s ill-advised to—”

“You’re not getting rid of me,” Eli cuts him off sharply. “Stop trying.”

“Just…if I get worse…” He rubs gentle circles along Eli’s back. “You need to—”

He can’t finish. He should tell Eli to run, but the words won’t come out.

“We’ll worry about that later.” Eli pulls him closer. “Just…let me try and help you. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

“Okay.” Demetri exhales, fingers brushing through light brown hair. “Okay.”

***

A disgusted shout fills the cool night air as Eli’s arm flies over the boat railing. Two bright spoons plummet from his hand, plopping into the starlit ocean.

His eyes lock on them until they sink out of sight, lip curling.

Demetri nervously taps a finger against the railing. “Is that the last of them?”

Eli turns and walks over to the unzipped silverware pack, lying on the deck a few feet away. He crouches down, peering inside.

Demetri can sense his heartbeat slow down a little as he relaxes. “Yeah. They’re all gone.”

He reclaims his spot next to Demetri, staring out at the inky water with a furrowed brow. Demetri inches closer to him, pressing into his shoulder.

He sighs. “You know, Moon wouldn’t like this shameless environmental degradation you’re causing.”

Eli rolls his eyes. “Silver’s a naturally-occurring metal. It’s fine.”

Demetri pulls his lips into an exaggerated pout. “Oh, Eli, the bottom-dwellers are weeping at your disrespect! What, you want the giant isopods to break their teeth trying to eat metal?!”

“If an isopod breaks all their teeth eating metal, I think it’s like…natural selection. The species’ll manage.”

Eli leans into Demetri’s shoulder, and Demetri feels him tense up.

“I couldn’t let that shit anywhere near you.”

Demetri’s hand inches across the railing, finding the other boy’s. He weaves them together in a fluid movement that has become second nature.

“You know I wouldn’t dissolve in a puff of smoke, right?” he murmurs. “I’d probably just get a nasty burn. A little antiseptic and I’d be right as rain.”

Eli grunts disapprovingly. “No one says that anymore. And do you know for sure you wouldn’t turn into smoke?”

“Well, if silver evaporates us, that would’ve been helpful to know earlier.” He throws an arm around Eli and jostles his shoulder, earning a reluctant chuckle. “Someone could’ve chucked one of those $4000 ladles at good old Terrence when he showed up at Mr. LaRusso’s door. Would’ve solved at least half of our problems.”

Truthfully, Demetri shouldn’t have even known what was going on at the LaRusso residence. He should’ve been gone from their lives weeks ago.

But, of course, his attempts to freeze out the dojo have been a resounding failure.

It was easy enough to have his Tech Town shifts “keep interfering” with daytime practice, but people weren’t about to let him get away with bailing on every single social event. The house parties, the game nights, the pool hangouts…eventually nothing short of working 60 hours a week could account for missing all of them.

And by “people” he means Miguel. It was always Miguel.

Another beautiful spectacle of irony, he thinks. That’s twice Miguel Diaz has nagged him not to quit karate…although he likes to believe his reasons are a little better this time around.

Still, the guy missed his terrible puns more than Demetri was anticipating. So to the nighttime events and get-togethers he went, attached at the hip to Eli and wallowing in the strange melancholy of being surrounded by friends who loved a version of him that didn’t fully exist anymore.

“So let me get this straight.” Eli’s voice brings him out of his thoughts. “Terry Silver just…rings Mr. LaRusso’s doorbell, says he ‘hears he’s having vampire problems,’ hands him a box of antique silverware, and then fucks off?”

Demetri shrugs. “That’s what he told me. Sensei Toxic Waste Scandal loves his little mind games.”

Eli wrinkles his nose. “How did he even carry the box without hurting himself?”

“He has minions, Eli. I’m sure they help haul around all the garlic and stakes and crucifixes and anything else he might need to antagonize his many vampire karate rivals. Guy seems good at making enemies, so I’m betting he has at least 15.”

Although Eli forces a chuckle, it quickly gives way to a concerned frown.

“Did Mr. LaRusso know? About you being…”

“Not before that, no.” Demetri sighs. “But it wasn’t exactly hard for him to put two and two together. Me never being out in the sunlight anymore. Only showing up for movie nights and pizza parties. Not eating many of the snacks. Not using that Pizza Hut garlic dip anymore. Making some excuse to leave if someone got a cut. Not…smiling with my teeth for group photos.”

He winces. Eli clutches his hand a little tighter.

“Word gets around.” Demetri shrugs, trying his best to look indifferent. “The whole dojo knows now. Don’t know why they’re still protecting me, to be honest.”

“Because…they care about you?” Eli knits his brow.

“For now.” He lets out a tired breath. “Wait until I accidentally do something creepy, and someone ‘spills’ the garlic dip. I don’t know. They’re going to figure out I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“You’re not.” Demetri feels Eli’s thumb brush against the back of his hand, and his skin flutters.

“Not…” He looks away. “Not according to Silver, I don’t think.”

“What do you mean?”

Eli’s voice is suddenly terse with worry—the exact kind of concern that would be much better spent on the land of the living.

“Don’t you get it?” Demetri turns back, giving him a morose look. “That’s why it was so easy to rescue me. He let you. He figured I’d go crazy eventually and try to eat everyone, and then Mr. LaRusso would remember who swooped in like a knight in karate armor and gave him the very MacGuffin he needed to save the day. You know, the…vampiric Excalibur. Good way to get Mr. L in his debt, I guess.”

“But…Sam’s family’s already pretty rich.” Eli sounds dubious. “Don’t they have their own fine silver?”

“It was probably more a symbolic thing. But I mean, who better to know what kind of silver is actually lethal to vampires than…vampires?”

A silence falls over them. Demetri stares down at the lapping waves below, following the curves in the moonlight.

Eli presses closer to him, and he drinks in the warmth.

“He was wrong, though. You haven’t tried to eat everyone. You haven’t touched anyone.”

His voice is soft, hopeful. Demetri can’t stand to crush it.

But he knows he has to.

“Not yet.”

“Do you need to feed again?” Eli’s tone is casual. “Because you know, Sam and I could just scam another blood bank—”

“And is that okay?!”

It comes out with more ferocity than he intends.

“Probably more okay than draining our friends? Or…random people on the street?”

Demetri looks up to see Eli’s lips slightly apart, the way they always are when he’s genuinely confused.

“But people need that for blood transfusions. Aren’t we like…indirectly killing them or something?!”

Eli snorts. “Yeah, well, you also need it to not die. Why are you any less important?”

“Because I’m a blood-sucking monstrosity with evil dagger teeth?!”

“If you’re trying to sell me on how horribly undeserving of life you are, you should stop using the coolest possible descriptors for yourself.”

Demetri rolls his eyes. “Not my fault you’re turned on by everything even slightly morally-depraved.”

“Hell yeah I am.”

Eli brushes a kiss against his cheek. Demetri smiles at the boat railing, the edges of his unease ebbing away.

“Cheer up.” Eli bumps his shoulder. “Mr. LaRusso’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t have given us that box to get rid of if he thought you were gonna go on a rampage.”

“Hmmm.” He squeezes Eli’s hand, trying to push down the growing worry. “Maybe that’s his mistake.”

“I think the only one here who doesn’t trust you is you.”

And just like that, Eli is giving him the doe eyes again.

Curse this kid’s faith in him. There’s no way he deserves it.

Still, he can’t help but be grateful.

He kisses the side of Eli’s head. “Thank you. I love you.”

Another silence passes over them. Demetri closes his eyes, letting himself hear nothing but the ocean and the wind and feel nothing but Eli’s heartbeat.

Steady. Slow. Relaxed. Unafraid.

It’s one of the only things that can calm him these days.

“Nice of Yas to help us rent this boat,” Eli pipes up after a while. “Must’ve had to really pull some strings to get the guys to give it to us at 2 in the fucking morning.”

“And nice of her to check if the silver’s real, too,” Demetri adds. “Growing up in the most bougie part of Encino has its perks.”

Eli glances behind them, and Demetri follows his gaze.

The boat cabin is lit up, giggling trailing out of the windows and weed smoke wreathing through the cool night air. Whatever Yasmine and Moon are doing, the girls seem to be having a lot more fun than them.

“You wanna go upstairs?” Eli asks.

Demetri smiles. “Read my mind.”

His boyfriend shoves him playfully. “Don’t I always?”

He clicks his tongue. “Goes both ways, love. Didn’t need fabled vampiric mind-scanning abilities to get access to yours, though. Memorized the keycode ages ago.”

For a moment, Eli looks thrown off.

“Can you read minds?”

“Ha! No.” Demetri snorts. “I’ve already got the enhanced strength and speed and rapid tree-climbing thing. They had to give us some nerfs.”

“Oh, yeah. Otherwise I know you’d take over the world.”

Eli ducks out from Demetri’s arm and turns to the boat cabin, pulling his boyfriend along.

“You know…” Demetri plants his feet in the deck, gaze straying toward the empty silverware box. He lets out a long, weary breath.

“That won’t be the last time that happens. People are going to keep trying, Silver and whoever else.”

Eli scoffs. “I knew what I was getting into, Demetri. I’m not stupid.”

“I know, but are you sure you want to—”

“Yes, idiot. For the millionth time. I…” His voice cracks slightly. “I meant what I said, you know. The night you got turned. No one fucking touches you. And if they try…”

His eyes darken, taking on a sheen that Demetri used to dread. The kind of No Mercy look that’s still hardwired into him.

“I’ll end them.”

“Oh, I know.” Demetri chuckles. “If I know you, you’ll do your damndest. But I suppose not everyone has a giant karate trophy to back up that kind of claim.”

“Not a bad weapon, either.” Eli smirks. “All else fails, I can smash them over the head with it.”

“Oh, that would be a sight.”

Eli laughs, and Demetri pulls him in. He plants a lingering kiss before smiling against his lips.

“Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

Every time he says it, he means it a little more.

***

“It’s a terrible idea, Eli!”

Eli rolls his eyes, pulling Demetri out the back door. “Come on, man. I’ve done the math. If we stay on the west-ish side of your house, the sun won’t touch you.”

“But—”

“You haven’t seen sunlight in...what? 3 months now? That’s depressing.”

“Fine.”

Demetri’s loathe to admit it, but it doesn’t turn out to be a terrible idea.

The sunrise is gorgeous, all rich golds and peachy pinks. It glints off his neighbors’ windows and bathes the street’s murky trees in a soft glow.

Of course, Demetri hides behind Eli the entire time, clinging to his arm with pale, freezing fingers.

“See?” Eli weaves their hands together. They’re intertwined more often than not these days. “Told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Like seeing daytime again?”

A deep yearning stirs inside Demetri. His fingers twitch, suddenly wanting more than anything to poke out of the shadows.

He kisses Eli’s shoulder. “Yeah. Thank you.”

They stand in silence for a while, watching the sky go from light gray to orange-rimmed to blue. The yearning only tightens its grip.

Before the change, he never had a preference for day or night. You could watch TV or play Crucible Control or read comics in either. But now…

He realizes he missed the sunshine. He missed the fluffy cotton clouds that he and Eli used to watch at recess, lying on the grass next to the playground. He missed the sound of birds, as much as he once complained about them waking him up at ungodly hours.

Sharp pain seizes his toes, and he jumps back with a hiss.

“Shit.” Eli’s brow furrows. “You okay?”

He sighs, glancing down at where the house’s shadow has started to rescind. “Yeah, yeah. Just wasn’t paying attention.”

“You want to go inside?”

Demetri shakes his head. “We can spare a few more minutes.”

They back up, sitting against the wall. Demetri drinks in the growing morning, wondering how he convinced himself he was content to never see this again.

“Dude.”

Demetri frowns. “What?”

“Are you crying?”

He notices the wet sensation around his eyes a few moments too late. His entire body burns with embarrassment.

“I…” He does his best to sound nonchalant. “…have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Look at me, Demetri.”

“No. Fuck off.”

He feels Eli’s hand on his cheek and swats it away. “Leave me alone,” he grumbles.

Vampirism is already bad enough without him bawling like a 4-year-old because the sky turned blue. As in the color it had been Demetri’s entire fucking life. This is beyond humiliating.

Eli reaches for him again. He turns away, only for his boyfriend’s other hand to slip from his own and shoot up to catch Demetri’s cheek.

“Hold still, moron. People are gonna freak out if they see you leaking blood out of your eyes. They’ll think it’s some shit from The Exorcist and douse you in salt or something.”

Demetri lets out a defeated sigh, letting Eli brush gentle thumbs across his cheeks. “You’d better not use this as blackmail.”

“First of all, I’ve got better shit for that.” Eli pauses to wipe off his fingers on the grass, creating what will inevitably end up looking like a squirrel crime scene. “Second of all, like.”

He gives Demetri a searching look as he continues to gather up the tiny, blood-filled droplets. “It’s okay to be upset about this, man. It sucks. I mean the teeth are badass and I’m kind of jealous, but yeah, I mean…shit’s hard.”

Demetri hums thoughtfully. “You should bribe your dentist to file your teeth into little fangs. What with all the hair dye and the tattoos, what’s asking your parents for a few more hundred bucks?”

Eli laughs, giving him a look so soft that he’s now at risk of crying more. Absolutely unfair, not to mention counterproductive.

At some point, Eli pauses, hands resting on Demetri’s cheeks and scarred-knuckle thumbs in mid-swipe.

“I’m glad your eyes didn’t change,” he says suddenly.

Demetri blinks at him. “Huh?”

“I thought they’d turn red or yellow or something. But they’re still green.”

“Are they?”

He chuckles. He’d wondered here and there how different he looked now, but it wasn’t as though his house’s mirrors were going to be much help figuring that out.

“Yeah, like…” Eli inspects him through narrowed eyes. “Slight gold-ish tint, but that’s it. Thank god. I’ve always liked your eyes.”

Demetri’s face goes hot. “Can you stop saying cute stuff for like…10 seconds? You’re making me too flustered to function.”

“No chance in hell, asshole.”

They settle back against the house wall, fingers entwined again. The morning continues to crawl in, and Demetri knows they’ll have to go inside soon.

Regardless, he’ll drink up every nanosecond of daylight until the time comes.

Demetri takes a long breath.

“I told my mom.”

“What?” Eli turns, eyes wide. “What happened? What’d she say?”

He chuckles. “She was…surprisingly unsurprised. I guess it checks out, her growing up in Orestiada and all. All the folklore and whatnot was right next door. She just never put a lot of stock in it. Woman of science, as you know.”

He smiles weakly. He never knew his dad, but he imagines he has Ms. Alexopoulos to thank for most of his good traits.

“I kind of had to explain why I wanted to drop out of school and get an online GED,” he adds, grimacing. “And even before that, um…well, I couldn’t hide this forever.”

He pulls up his flannel sleeve to uncover a crisscross of burned skin, seared into his upper arm. Eli winces.

“Shit, right. What did you tell her happened that night, anyways? No way you’d come home roughed up and she wouldn’t throw a fit.”

“Said we got jumped by some Cobra Kais. It’s the standard explanation for being a victim of violence in the Valley these days.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t look too much into it.” Eli traces delicate fingers across his skin, brushing over the branded crucifix. “On your bad luck arm, too.”

His right arm. The one Eli broke what seems like a lifetime ago.

“God.” He laughs. “It really is.”

“So is she…okay with it?” Eli bites his lip, giving Demetri’s bad luck arm a small squeeze. “Not just the crucifix burn, but like…everything.”

“Seems like it.” Demetri chuckles again. “She did a garlic purge as soon as I told her. Said she was actually a little relieved because she was worried her skordalia had been really shitty lately. I mean, I told her she could still eat it, but she was adamant that she intended never to touch a clove of the stuff again.”

“So she didn’t disown you, then.” Eli laughs. “Thank god.”

“Well. It’s not like I came home and told her I want to re-decorate our living room to look like Mrs. Hasapi’s. Now that is a disownable offense.”

Eli snorts. “What even is your mom’s beef with her?”

“Oh, none, really. She just thinks her armchairs look like they were unearthed from the local landfill.”

They both laugh for a while, leaning into each other and taking in the neighborhood coming to life. Eli rests his head on Demetri’s shoulder, letting out a small sigh.

“I looked into some online colleges, by the way. They’re not bad. UMass has a pretty good online CS program.”

Demetri doesn’t allow himself to indulge in Eli’s hopefulness.

“Oh, yeah?” he mutters forlornly. “And what tech company needs night watch guys, may I ask?”

Eli shrugs. “You could do contract work. Just charge people independently to fix their shit. Might be a pain in the ass to get customers at first, but you’d probably make bank eventually.”

Demetri purses his lips, thinking.

“I…guess it’s not a completely unreasonable idea. But you know you don’t have to do all that for me.”

“Yeah, I do.” Eli’s thumb rubs along the back of his hand. “I love you, stupid. And you’re too busy moping and crying blood everywhere to do it yourself.��

He beams.

He should be used to Eli loving him by now, but he doesn’t think he ever will be.

***

So I was joking with some friends in a discord server before S5 dropped that maybe the reason Dem wasn’t in a bunch of the trailer scenes was because he got kidnapped by Terry Silver and/or turned into a vampire and can’t be in direct sunlight and then it just kinda. Became a fic. Against my will. Like I do not at all have the time to write this AND YET.

Also, yes, Demetri did indeed fight off his vampire impulses just by being like “hey fuck off” and then they did. And that’s on the power of gay love <3

I am an evil god who loves writing Demetri angsting and having breakdowns because if the show will not let him McFucking Lose It, then I will <3 <3 Peace and love on earth!!! Anyways, if Eli’s a lil bit more gentle with him than usual here, that’s why. Boy is Going Through It to the highest degree.

Enjoy the abundance of “I love you”s here, because these idiots are not going to get there for several more chapters of the road trip fic XD Kinda my first crack at writing Established Relationship Elimetri, but don’t worry!!! There will be angst and drama aplenty!!! I am putting them through horrors >:3

This goes with this, this, and this!!! Most I was able to work into the actual story except for the last one :P Also Raptor Reynaldo is from this post!!!

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hmspogue · 3 years ago

Text

Outer Banks season 2 Official Trailer shot-by-shot rundown

A comprehensive post where I scream about analyze the entire trailer frame by frame for clues, theories, and plot. Just my own opinions and general tin foil-hatting

These are screenshots from Netflix’s trailer for Outer Banks season 2. I do not claim or own any of these.

note: this post is tagged as a long post if you wish to avoid having to scroll until your thumbs break.

“My old man used to tell me, ‘it’s best to never say you’ve hit rock bottom’.”

(Putting all of these shots together since they’re scenes we already know but-) Holy shit, okay let’s just....start off like this I guess, damn.

“'Trust me’, he said...”

Kiara looking back and forth between the boys like this really just feeds the headcanon I have that her form of grief this season is going to be her trying to hold it together for their sakes (and eventually just snapping).

JJ just looks fucking furious someone give these kids a hug? I already know this scene is going to ruin me.

“You can always go...”

JJ back working at the hotel. He looks literally so angry again in this scene I could see him self destructing at work and losing his job? (Please do not be isolating yourself you beautiful son of a bitch even though I know you’re going to).

Pope in the Twinkie (costuming wise they all are in warmer looking clothes for some of the shots, so just confirming it’s a little bit into the school year when this all takes place).

“Lower”

Big John was real big into pep talks, I see. (seriously can you imagine Big John having this conversation with like 8 year old John B after he fucking dropped his ice cream cone or some shit I shouldn’t be laughing).

I’m just-

These poor kids, I wanna know how the police all the way down in the Bahama’s knew about them?

Their calves....

“RUN!”

Are going to be so fucking jacked by the end of this season I stg.

Fuck you.

“The gold from the Royal Merchant....it’s here.”

For a while, I had thought that maybe they didn’t even make it to the Bahama’s at the front of the season and ended there (because everyone had been filming in there). But I guess they’re going to be making two trips.

If I were a bird from this POV I’d shit right on that house no questions asked.

oooooh ho hokay. Just so we’re clear. Ward Cameron not only get away with murder and about two dozen other felonies, but-

“Half a billion.”

HE STILL FINDS THE GOLD IN THE CRAIN HOUSE AND GETS TO KEEP IT?

Not the polo with the snap back, I just know this man has a playlist called Sad Boi Hours that is just Juice WRLD’s top 5 songs on Spotify and he tells his friends they wouldn’t know the underground artists he listens to.

Sh, you have lost screaming privileges. Go inside and take a nap maybe.

“John B, we are fugitives in a foreign country.”

So, previously, I was talking about how I was confused how they would still be trying to find him is everyone thought he was dead, but here the wanted poster clearly says “presumed lost at sea”. I think that will be interesting to see how the Pogues all interpret that.

Especially because they already had a memorial for John B and everything, I wonder if there will be any part of the Pogues holding out hope that they both could still be out there OUCH.

I’m going to circle back to this, but it looks like John B and Sarah are going to get separated for a little while in this man hunt, I could see my idiot himbo son trying to sacrifice himself so Sarah can get away but in reality just....stranding her.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

Oh, sweetie....

“Well, Sarah Cameron, I do stupid things all the time without realizing it.”

The volume of his self awareness is astronomical. sir, that is your whole character summed up in your own words.

GOD, IT’S ME AGAIN. PLEASE LET THEM LEAN INTO COMPLETE HIMBO JOHN B THIS SEASON I’LL DO ANYTHING-

nyyooooOOOOOOOOOOOOM-

“Hold on!”

The complete abject terror I would feel having John Booker Routledge driving get-away and then saying the words “Hold on” while reaching fro the gear shift? The english language fails me.

Sarah, bestie, I’m so sorry.

I just wanna know-

what the plan or objective was in this situation. What was the reason for being this dramatic.

Rest in piss, bozo <3

“Ward’s still out there...”

Okay, same conversation they were having as before. I wonder what makes them decide they need to get back to the OBX for this tho.

“I can clear my name. This can all be over in one shot.”

It looks like Topper watching this but way more concerningly, correct me if I’m wrong but this 100% looks like....John B gets caught. And the DEATH PENALTY?! He did have a mug shot for the fliers in s1 and the one above but he was never brought in? Plus he just looks super dirty and dishevled in this one so I-

Jail break anyone?

I also still want to know if they’re going to go with a Topper redemption arc this season. like, does he know more than he should just from being around Rafe and his big fat mouth? Is he going to help out the Pogues even if it’s just for Sarah?

This shot just suddenly made me really sad. The thought of this all started because Big John left one last thing for his son to find, his literal life’s work. And when it all started, it was just a fun adventure John B and his best friends were going on together and having fun with. Then it all got dragged to absolute shit and turned into what it did, including the remaining 3 Pogues thinking that this treasure hunt took their two best friends away from them. And it’s nothing like Big John intended it to be.

Why my eyes wet?

Now we’re edging into what I was talking about earlier with John B and Sarah getting separated.

“If you think there is anything I wouldn’t do...”

Once again, John B is no where to be found. Also, just in case y’all didn’t already know or forgot Ward is an actual psychopath.

I believe this one of the new character, played by Jontavious Johnson (Stubbs). Based on the voice over it lowkey sounds like they’re implying Ward maybe hired Stubbs and Cleo to find and bring Sarah back. My theory would be I bet they do go to retrieve her, but she somehow convinces them that it would be more beneficial for them in the end to be on the Pogue’s side instead.

Miss Girl you gotta be keeping your head on a SWIVEL. Especially when you’re a FUGITIVE of the LAW-

“...you haven’t been paying attention.”

My guy, who are you clarifying this for?

It’s what you deserve for monologuing.

in all seriousness, the idea of them coming to face to face with Ward in Nassau after thinking they finally escaped him is genuinely terrifying.

“SARAH!”

It kind of looks like they’re either hiding their faces or covering their noses? I don’t know maybe it was from some tactic to get away from Ward.

What did I literally jsut say about yelling privileges, you unhinged mother fucker?

“I’m calling the shots now. I’m driving.”

The following progression of scenes made me actually snort-

“I can’t drive stick.”

PLEASE THE FINGER GUNS LAUNCHED ME INTO ORBIT I LOVE THEM, YOUR HONOR.

Alright, so now it looks like we’re in Charleston. This is the same scene with Heyward’s truck that got leaked from BTS (read: JJ and Kie shoulder touch).

One of the main things that stuck out to me in the following scenes which, you will see, is it lowkey looks like Pope is kind of heading up this part of the operation, or even going in alone? The following clips are just very Pope focused.

I don’t know what it means, it’s just an observation.

“John B was not the only one that Ward double-crossed.”

LIMBRY-

Bro, we have been hearing about this woman for literal months and I just have....so many questions?

Who the hell is she? How is she connected to Ward? Why is she in South Carolina instead of the OBX? How do the Pogues even learn about her and how to track her down? How is she meant to “help” them? GAH I JUST WANNA KNOOOW. I already know I don’t trust her though and no I will not be offering up supporting evidence.

Sir, that is my son please unhand him.

“I think you know what I want.”

.......no? But feel....free to explain yourself?

The print on the paper is the same one that’s on the ceiling tiles in the following scene. Obviously, with a key on it that most likely goes to the place a few shots from now.

Hell yeah, son, let’s get SLEUTHING.

“The treasure belongs to the Pogues.”

DAMN STRAIGHT.

Bestie’s I’m not going to lie, I stared at this frame for a solid 10 minuets and I have no idea what it says on there I’m sorry. Someone in the comments is welcome to enlighten us.

“We gotta find it first.”

I can’t tell if that’s just dirt or if he hurt his head? But he look GOOD right now for one thing. For another, same outfit as the one in the Twinkie from the beginning of the trailer.

Look at her. LooK AT HER! LOOK! AT! HER! I MISSED HER SO MUCH even in that damn smiley face top that continues to haunt my waking hours she is in it so much and it stresses me out for literally no good reason I’m sorry-

I could literally cry right now and I think that speaks volumes to how little we actually see him genuinely happy. Have I mentioned how much I love that red hat?

Also, probably not that important, but this is not from the same scene as the shots of Pope and Kiara were. This is from the next one-

“Woogity-woogity?”

“Give me some woogity, baby!”

Yeah, this pushed me over the fucking edge, the way that they’re actually happy and laughing? The fact that they kept woogity-woogity and made it A Thing? Yes.

I am, however, going to be intentionally ignoring what appears to be the very intentional stagingof having such an obvious space between where Kiara and Pope are sitting adn where JJ sits, even including the level they’re sitting on because I don’t have the emotional capacity to face those implications right now. Thank you for your time.

Yes yeeeeEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

GIVE ME ALL OF THE SCENES OF THEM ACTUALLY GETTING TO BE TEENAGERS AND JUST BREATHE AND LAUGH AND HAVE A GOOD TIME AND NOT BE RUNNING FOR THEIR FUCKING LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!

before Rafe comes in and literally starts shooting because they can’t breathe for more than 7 seconds but we’ll....get to that.

They refer to Sarah as a Pogue this season or I burn Netflix to the ground. Your move, Jonas.

50 bucks says John B is driving the Twinkie again for the first time since being back.

I deadass think the Pogues JUST got Sarah and John B back and they’re just having the time of their life. Kie was in her smiley face outfit when Pope was in this one a few clips ago, and I still hold to the belief that that one still they released of JJ and Kie hopping over a fence is the Pogue reunion so-

Ward? I have no idea what he’s looking at behind the wall paper and I’ll be so honest I don’t care my eyes are only seeing Pogue content right now.

“This is a map of the whole island.”

This fit, when will John B learn how to operate buttons, stay tuned for season 5. Also my previous theory of this being their reunion outfits and stuff because Pope is in the back in the same jacket as before.

The plot thickens and so has JJ’s hair, Rudy drop the shampoo brand.

Please, dear God, tell me they’re back in the sex church. For @jiaaraa sake.

Kiara, your Madison is showing.

Okay, I really did try but all I can make out is Something to the tomb begin something something.

You’re welcome.

I am no expert but I do not believe boats operate on land.

John B looks like he is in the same outfit here that is in his mug shot we saw on the TV screen so I have a sneaking suspicion this is where he gets caught.

“John B is back-”

Once again with the damn sexual tension that’s always between Barry and Rafe in every scene they do are we about to kiss right now?

“-it’s him or me.”

First of all, no.

Second of all, I’m just....so very confused about this time line this season. It kind of looks like Ward and Rafe follow and find Sarah and John B in Nassau (unless those scenes by the truck were actually back in the OBX). So did they....go to Nassau, then just come right back when they did? I’m just confused.

Put that thing back where it came from or so help me.

Literally when will you stop at this point I am begging you.

This looks like the same scene the Pogues were, ya know, literally just having a good time at so fuck me, I guess.

Yeah, no, it’s going to be a no from me, I’m just going to pretend like I’m not seeing this and moving on.

I have simply no idea what is going on here or who that is on the bike but maybe JJ? Maybe Luke even? I think that’s JJ’s bike.

The sewer scene. The SEWER SCENE-

For months sicne that tiktok leaked this damn scene has been genuinely all I could think about. So (obviously) it seems like they’re sending Kie down into the sewer to go do seomthing and things go horribly, horribly wrong.

If you haven’t seen the tiktok, essentially all it was was JJ and Pope screaming and trying to lift up the man hole cover while Kie is begging for them to hurry from inside. I’m cheating a little bit as this isn’t a shot from the trailer but this picture was posted and it’s from the same scene.

I’ll just....leave this here. Back to the trailer shots.

Nice. Also, same shirt as mugshot.

Hey, um, what?

Kiara’s car, she’s driving, I can’t tell who’s in the back seat or the front.

Holy God what is going on and how can I as an audience member put a stop to it?

So, same scene as we will see and was in the teaser but, for some reason, they’re all jumping off of a giant ass boat into the little life raft where it looks like JJ gets hurt later but don’t you worry we’re getting to that.

JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE THEY BOTH LOOK SO DAMN GOOD AND THEIR LITTLE SMILES SPARE ME-

Cleo 🥵

I’m so excited to see her arc and what it brings this season you guys have no idea.

Please for the love of God be about to get Ward Cameron’s ass like he deserves literally punt him into jail right from Tanny Hill.

Sarah at My Druther’s with what looks like a bloody bandage on her side? Same outfit she’s wearing when they’re running from the police on the beach and she has the bandage there too so. Interesting.

Topper hugging who I’m pretty sure is Sarah, being a general douche because he’s clearly looking at John B like 😏

Clips like these serve to remind me just how many of my worldly posessions I would gladly give up to be able to punch Topper Thorton in the throat one time.

I think this is Cleo jumping off the boat with Pope after John B and Sarah.

Absolutely busting a lung at Pope’s form in this one.

John B and Sarah waiting in the life raft, still Cleo and Pope coming after them. The obvious next question is where are JJ and Kiara. The scene I’m sure you all have been waiting for is coming up and clearly takes place in the life raft as well.

So, I really think JJ and Kie get left for last, something horrible happens as they’re trying to jump (my head instantly goes to JJ maybe like pushing Kie out of the way and getting hit on the head instead or even just some accident).

And, oh my GOD a scene of him falling off the boat after it happens and Kiara diving in after him immediately, having to desperatly try to stop him from sinkingand get to the life raft holy shit-

Girl CATCH HIM?????

Because why wouldn’t this be Rafe’s fault. Part of me wonders if this isn’t related to JJ being hurt.

I am going to try and unpack this as calmly as possible because behind my computer screen I am vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass but respectfully.

WHAT IN THE FUCK IS TIAUEWFHLAILA

Okay, so scene wise, JJ’s hit his head somehow (probably while he was jumping with Kiara) it looks like and now they’re back on the raft.

In my opinion, this is either:

A) JJ is in really, really bad condition after getting hurt in the jump and they’re not sure he’s going to make it. So this is a “Please stay with me, stay awake, please don’t die” hug OR

B) They very narrowly just avoided a deadly situation (my first thought is JJ hits his head while jumping, passes out in the water, maybe almost drowns but Kie and the others get him onto the life raft in time) and this is more of a “Oh my God, you’re okay, you’re safe now, we’re okay” hug.

I honestly lean more to the second one based on the little bit of Sarah’s face we saw in the background. To me, it almost looked like she was smiling thru tears, which, fits way more with the second option than the first.

Anyways. Moving on before I burst a lung again.

(also, before anyone comes at me, no, I’m not happy JJ is hurt, obviously.

(Once again, arrest outfits). You can still see the bandage but it looks like Sarah’s limping now too so...good Lord give the girl a break maybe?

Everything in this trailer just went to shit so fast I think I have whip lash, can we go back to the Pogues hanging out and being happy now pkease I liked those scenes.

“I get it. You guys are scared.”

“No.”

She’s cute but, uh, hello sewer scene outfits. Seems like them planning to do whatever the hell they were going to do in the sewers but the boys are starting to get cold feet as maybe they should but hind sight is 20/20 I suppose.

“It’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You should’ve just led with that.”

I will never be able to express how much I adore Pogue banter and general dumbassery and I have a feeling this season will not be lacking in either department

I high key don’t think these two are actually going to be there for this scene to go down but I’ll let it slide this time because-

They do be kinda cute.

It both feels like I’ve been waiting for this damn show for 3 years and also like I just watched season 1 last month explain that to me.

Either way holy shit. I missed this dumb show and these dumb kids so much it physcially hurts and WE GET THEM BACK IN T-MINUS 16 DAYS.

Also. Where The Hell Is Wheezie Cameron And When Will She Have The Rights She Deserves.

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pumpkinglooms · 3 years ago

Text

The Calm Before The Storm

° Kazutora x GN! Reader °

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mentions of death, and mentions of blood.

TOKYO REVENGERS SPOILERS

Category: Fluff to Angst

Rain is all that filled the quiet air as the alarm clock on your bedside read, "2:21am" The only light in the room is from your phone as you text your boyfriend, Kazutora.

"If your scared I can come over"

"Don't, If my parents find out you're in my room I'm screwed"

"You're scared, and you expect me to sit around and do nothing???"

"Well yeah, kinda."

"I'm coming over"

"Kaz no"

"Kazutora"

"I stg you better not have leave me on read" read 2:27am

"You're an ass" read 2:28am

Not even 20 minutes later, there's a knock at your window. You lower your phone from your face and lower the cover slightly. Low and behold, It’s your boyfriend, Kazutora Hanemiya.

You stare at him as he grins at you. You let out a sigh as you throw off the covers and go to open the window.

He quickly climbs inside, takes off his shoes and hugs you, you hug back. "Are you still scared?" His head placed on top of yours. "No, cause you're here now." You hug him a bit tighter as you can hear a soft chuckle escape his lips. "I'm glad." He speaks, softly.

He's the first to break the hug, he grabs your hands and leads you to the bed, climbing in first then dragging you in the bed as well. Soon after the both of your are comfortable, you resume the same position you had before, both of your hugging the other tightly he places his head on top of yours.

Minutes of silence, and you're the first to break it. "Kazu?" You ask, meant to come out soft but instead comes out as a whisper. "Yes Y/N?" He whispers back, hints of tiredness laced in his voice.

"Y'know you mean a lot to me right?" You say, voice still in a whisper, yet more quiet then before. He let's out a small, soft chuckle before speaking. "I know" Still tired as he let's out a yawn right after.

"Ok, just making sure.." Your voice still in a quiet whisper, cracking ever so slightly.

You were there, at the scene when the police took Baji and Kazutora away for murdering Mikey's older brother. You were there to see the look on Kazutora's face as tears rolled down his cheeks, looking at you as if he was going insane.

And you were there, when Kazutora got out of jail 2 years later. How much he changed, how he grew. You both cried in each others arms after not seeing each other for 2 long years.

But it felt as if none of that mattered as the both of you held each other, finding warmth and comfort in the embraces. Dozing off to the sound of rain entering the room- Entering? Entering.

Quite literally throwing the covers off, yanking yourself from Kazutora's embrace, making him jolt awake and throwing yourself out of bed you bolt to your window as the rain is still entering. You slam it shut, lock it and slide down the wall in relief.

Kazutora, being half awake and unable to grasp what's going on so quickly, just stares at you while propping himself up on his elbows before letting out a light sigh with a smile and lower himself back down as he closes his eyes and opens his arms as he waits for you to join him and get some rest. You smile as you walk back over to him and join him underneath the warm blankets, hugging him tightly as he does the same for you.

You breathe in his cologne as you both drift back off to sleep, you wish that this moment could last forever.

But unfortunately, you can’t always have everything you want.

You were there, when you saw Kazutora stab Baji as Hanagaki tried to stop it. You were there when Baji stabbed himself as you watched him fall to the ground. You were there as Baji passed away in Chifuyu’s arms as tears fell down his face. Watching everyone cry, but your gaze focused not on the grieving blonde with an undercut, but rather the boy with a beauty mark under his left eye as his eyes held back tears from flowing.

You yelled at Mikey to stop as you watched him beat Kazutora as Hanagaki intervened. But got punched instead, As Hanagaki tried to stop the angry, souless eyed blonde, You ran to Kazutora, his face bloody and bruised as the police sirens in the background got louder and closer. He smiled once more before holding you tightly, just as he did a few nights prior to this. You couldn’t help but cry as everyone else escaped from the scene.

You were there when Kazutora went to jail at only 12 years old, You were there when He got out 2 years later. You were there when he killed Baji, and now you’re here, watching him be put in the back of a police car as he gives you one last warm smile with a light chuckle, similar to the one he gave you whilst holding you during the rainstorm.

It was only 2 days after the incident that you understood what happened. Why he was so clingy with you, why he was so keen on coming over to your house. Those nights, were simply the calm before the storm.

#kazutora #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora x reader #tokyo manji gang #valhalla #tokyo revengers spoilers #mikey #takemichi #tokyo revengers angst

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mymedicine · 4 years ago

Text

Love and Other Drugs

or, 5k of new bf harry

moodboard/inspo tag + my masterlist

sum - yacht parties are cool and all, but harry really just wants to spend more time with his girl

warnings - alcohol (have I even written a fic where both mc’s are sober the whole time yet lmao), light sexy stuff (lil bit of ch*king k*nk if you squint), swearing probably, harry being a little shit, fluff to the maxxxxx

notes - good lord, this fic has been the absolute death of me. I stg, murphy’s law is real. anyways, the driving home scene is completely inspired by real life events that once made me swoon, but now I am lonely and so so tired so pls be nice to me thx much love <3

“Hold still!”

Harry whined and craned his neck away from his girlfriend’s hand, but he wasn’t able to go far with his back flush against the car door. “No baby, we’re already late!”

“But you’ve got jam on you!” Y/N cried. She reached her fingers up to rub the reddish marks off of his face, but, once again, he turned his head away like a stubborn child. “And we wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t spent two hours combing your hair.”

“S not jam, it’s lipstick,” He insisted, deliberately ignoring her second (valid) point.

“Whatever. It’s on your cheek.”

Y/N made one final attempt to clean him up, but this time, he managed to escape the circle of her arms. He ran backwards toward the dock, taunting her playfully as he went, “Come on, baby!”

“Harry!” Given no other choice, she frantically pushed the lock button on the car key and chased after her child—er, boyfriend. She winced as her high heels hit the asphalt, feet aching against the gold sandals already. He’d slowed down a little to give her a break, but she was still panting as she yelled, “You can’t go to a fancy yacht party with lipstick on your face!”

He finally stopped running—thank God, because they were right in front of the ship and the last thing Y/N needed was to embarrass herself (or rather, be embarrassed by her man-child boyfriend) within sight of all the famous people that would surely be onboard already.

“But I like it.” He pouted as she reached him, entwining his fingers with hers before she could use them to try to scrub his face again.

Before she could reply, a familiar Irish accent boomed over the loud purring of the boat’s engine, “Harry! Y/N!”

Y/N really hoped someone was keeping an eye on Niall tonight. It was barely dusk and he already looked a little too buzzed to be leaning over the railing on the top deck. She craned her neck up to look at him, giggling to herself at the flush in his cheeks and the blonde mess on top of his head.

“Welcome abooaaard!” He waved far more aggressively than was necessary.

“Happy birthday, Niall!” Y/N yelled back at him, blocking the bright sun with one hand—a hand she discreetly wrestled out of Harry’s.

Harry, too, looked upward and was squinting into the sky. The sun was just beginning its descent into the horizon, and soon the evening would be hanging behind the silvery moon. In the mean time, the sky was bright and painted with delicate strokes of soft pink and peachy orange.

While Harry waved back at his friend, Y/N took advantage of the distraction—and his exposed cheek.

Without warning, she hurled her hand up to his face and swiped at the pink mark as hard as she could.

“Hey!” Harry whipped his head back to her, mock hurt written all over his face.

Y/N flashed him a cheeky, victorious smile. “Got it!”

September in south Florida was as hot and humid as summer anywhere else. Even out at sea, with the cool ocean wind surging throughout the top deck of the yacht, it was plenty warm enough for the guests to enjoy the outdoors.

“H, can you hold my phone and keys in your pocket?”

Harry was standing awkwardly near the railing of the boat, fiddling absently with the plume of lace and chiffon on his black top. He still had a faint reddish mark on his cheek (she wasn’t sure if it was leftover lipstick or just irritated from her rubbing at it) that Y/N, despite the turmoil that had ensued over it, found very endearing. She always thought he was handsome. She had since the first day they met four months earlier. But tonight, he was positively glowing. He shined in the fabulous black number, his skin further brightened by the setting sun and the utter joy coursing through him (the entire flute of champagne he’d already downed certainly didn’t hurt, either).

He took the phone and keys from her while she admired him, happy to help her but not without a smart remark: “You should’ve worn the dress with the pockets, love,” he chastised her playfully, a smirk dressing his berry lips.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You said you liked the pink on me!”

Choosing her dress for the night had been an ordeal that rivaled even Harry’s complicated hair routine. She’d originally chosen a black long sleeved one with pockets that was comfortable and appropriate and matched Harry’s own all-black ensemble (which he’d had picked out for weeks). Her boyfriend rejected the black dress, pointing out that she’d be hot it in because “It’s practically summer in Miami, love.” Instead, he chose a silky pink number, midi-length and tight in all the right places with a tastefully low cowl neckline. She’d dressed it up with a few gold bracelets and a single pearl earring in her left ear that, to her satisfaction, matched Harry’s. And yeah—it didn’t have pockets, but Harry liked it and it made her feel sexy and that’s all that mattered.

Harry hummed with a tight lipped grin. “Yeah, you’re right,” His tone was innocent, almost regretful as he looked her up and down. The pink sunset behind her was highlighting her figure just right, wind rushing through her hair, exposed skin supple and tempting. Harry was mesmerized by her.

His hands moved on their own accord to gently hold her by the waist. “Your ass looks really cute in the silk…I reckon the color makes your skin glow a bit, too. And matches your makeup, and looks nice with my earring…” He continued spewing some breathy compliments at her, even after she sort of stopped listening when a waiter holding a tray of delectable looking hors d'oeuvres caught her attention.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, honey,” she replied (mostly) honestly. He was always a mushy little sap for her, but she truly did love the way he appreciated the little things she put effort into. “Thank you for noticing those little details.”

“You’re welcome. Know ya don’ just do it f’me though,” His ring clad fingers drummed against her waist, the metal cold through the thin silky material she wore. “Love that about you.”

Y/N cracked a smile in spite of the nervous shiver washing over her at his words. She couldn’t help but notice it was already the second time he’d said that word since they’d embarked. He was treading dangerously close to the vast, uncharted l-word territory. He’s a little buzzed, she reasoned with herself, despite also knowing it was silly because he’d only had a single champagne. But then again, he was a lightweight—and judging by the way he suddenly dropped her waist to chase down a passing waitress for two more glasses, he wouldn’t be slowing down any time soon. If he told her while he was drunk, would it really count?

He returned to her side, keeping one flute for himself and presenting the other to her. “Thank you, honey,” she said, grasping the stem of it (even though she still had a half full one resting precariously on the railing behind her). It was a fitting nickname for him, she thought. She hadn’t really meant for that to become her little pet name for him, but he loved it just as much as she did. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re sweeter,” her boyfriend hummed happily, “even when you’re checking out that waiter…”

“No! I wasn’t!”

“You kinda were,” He smiled cheekily at her.

“Was not.”

“’S alright, baby. He’s handsome. You’re allowed to have a little look.” But the way he held her protectively by the hip betrayed his words.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” If that wasn’t a hint, she didn’t know what was. “I’m just hungry. He was holding bacon wrapped shrimp, I think.”

“Mmm, me too,” Harry replied, the interaction already forgotten in favor of a savory snack. He tugged on her hand so they could follow that waiter, grumbling as they padded around the crowded deck. “Niall’s a fuckin ass for not serving dinner at an evening party.”

“Oh give him a break! It’s his birthday.” she let him pull her toward the middle where more people were gathered around the bar and admiring the decor—

“Is that an ice scultpure?”

Harry was right. It was a giant clear sculpture of a guitar made entirely out of ice. People were around it, admiring the intricacies and mingling and sipping on expensive looking drinks.

“How long you bet til it melts?”

“Not before Niall accidentally knocks it over,” Y/N laughed and gestured toward the man of the hour, who indeed was stumbling over his feet while trying to maintain a conversation with a group of several strikingly beautiful looking people—models? Probably.

It was obvious that Niall hadn’t planned this for himself. The whole thing was far too elegant and classy. His drunken ramblings were entertaining, sure, but he stood out amidst the black tie formals and live R&B music floating around the large deck of the luxurious vehicle.

Harry chased down the waiter and grabbed shrimp skewers for them both while Y/N continued quietly giggling at Niall’s antics.

Minutes drifted into hours as alcohol, shrimp skewers, and joyful conversation flowed liberally about the deck. Y/N had separated herself from Harry—much to his drunken dismay—to go and mingle with some of the “famous people.” She did it all on her own, confidently striding over and striking up a conversation with anyone worthy of her attention.

“Long time no see, mate.” Mitch’s voice interrupted Harry’s inner thoughts surrounding his girlfriend. He tore his eyes away from her and turned to face his friend, who was standing with his own girlfriend beside him.

“Been busy,” Harry replied.

Sarah’s eyebrows rose as a grin spread across her cheeks. She glanced at Mitch, who wore a matching one.

“You both have been quite busy, yeah?” Sarah cocked her head toward where Y/N was, grin widening along with Harry’s eyes.

Harry hid his smile in his glass, taking a large gulp of the bubbly. “What d’ya mean?” He asked innocently.

“We saw you staring at her, buddy.”

Well, fuck. He can’t exactly deny that. He was indeed watching her as she mingled with a group of people—exceptionally beautiful people. She fit in perfectly with the models, her smile bright and dress shiny, hips swaying tantalizingly to the beat of the drums. She engaged effortlessly in what looked like an exciting conversation with A-listers and held their attention with sweeping hand gestures. Even from across the deck, he swore he could feel her joy. Light just radiated off of her and sent a gentle flutter through his belly and a heat wave through his heart.

Sarah studied him. The way his eyes twinkled and his cheeks flushed with happiness…it was obvious. “You love her.” She deadpanned.

Harry shrugged in response, a knowing smile on his face which he didn’t bother to hide this time.

“You do!” It was Mitch this time, who wrapped an arm around Sarah and looked at her with the same happy smile his friend wore.

“No comment.” A twinge of jealously bit his heart as he watched a handsome brunette lean down to whisper something in his girlfriend’s ear. He frowned instinctively, picturing the man muttering flirtatious compliments or dirty suggestions to her like he should be doing right now.

Sarah continued to watch Harry watch Y/N, unsure if he was even listening anymore. “It’s alright to admit it. Love is a beautiful thing.”

“Don’t listen to her,” said Mitch, “it’s a drug!”

“Hey look!” Harry shouted a distraction, pointing somewhere behind the two of them. He spotted two waiters bringing out an impressive tiered cake swirled with white frosting and topped with those sparkling candles. “It’s time to sing for the birthday boy!”

The boat erupted in a cacophonous rendition of the birthday song as the cake was placed on top of the bar. Night had fallen over the deck, making the sparkly decorations shine blindly bright against the moonlight. Meanwhile, Niall was dancing hysterically among the crowds, even singing along to his own birthday song in a drunken spree. At the final, …to you! he performed a dramatic bow and roared, “Thank you, beautiful people!”

Applause died slowly as Niall began grabbing peoples’ faces to kiss their cheeks in thanks. Y/N looked around for Harry, quite certain that her boyfriend would be perfectly willing to accept a kiss from the birthday boy, especially when he was inebriated. Sure enough, she caught sight of him wrapped up in an embrace with the blonde, a wide smile on his face as Mitch and Sarah laughed hysterically at the interaction.

Harry accepted the cheek kiss, just as his eyes met hers over Niall’s shoulder.

“Y/N!” He screeched and broke the embrace. He started running over to her in an uncoordinated stride, limbs flailing and most definitely spilling alcohol on other peoples’ expensive clothes.

“Y/N!” he slurred, finally reaching her side, “Gimme a kissy!”

She laughed. “You just got kissies from Niall, honey.” “But I want your lipstick on me. Yeh wiped it off.” He frowned deeply, no—melodramatically as his hand cupped his own cheeks where the pink lipstick mark once was.

She called him a little baby but obliged anyways, stamping a firm lip shaped mark on one of his flushed cheeks. He grinned wildly in response and looked at her with that look in his eyes that she absolutely adored. He was looking at her like she was royalty, like she hung the moon and commanded the sea and granted miracles upon mere mortals such as himself.

“Wish I could give you one too…” Harry trailed off, eyes wandering around the room. “Maybe then all those hot models and waiters would leave you alone.”

“Aw, you jealous baby?”

He nodded shamelessly and, with a pouty look, tucked her into his arms. He pressed a series of hard kisses on her cheeks and temples, squeezing the silky pink fabric at her waist. The feeling made her heart squeeze in the most delightful way—chest tight and warm with…with love.

“Wanna go check out the lower deck?”

And Y/N hadn’t known this man too long, but it was long enough to know that he had anything but innocent intentions with his sweet request. She was still only nursing her third glass of bubbly, but Harry’s suggestive stare and wandering hands seemed to ignite the slight heat flowing through her veins into an inferno.

It engulfed them both as Y/N’s back hit the inside of the door to the lower deck bathroom.

Harry’s lips were soft and playful and sexy all at once—just like him. He trailed hot kisses down her cheeks and jaw much like he had earlier, only now there was no audience. No need to hold back. Only hot, sweet skin swathed in pink silk and black chiffon.

“You marked me already, ’s my turn.”

Just when she was feeling a little too sober, Harry’s words drenched her in the heat of desire. This was definitely a bad idea, but it didn’t sound like one when he put it like that.

His fingers slipped from her jaw and followed his lips down to her throat, enticing her with a gentle squeeze—a warning? Or a promise for later? Either way, this bathroom escapade was fucking sliced bread and she was putty in his hands.

He sucked harshly on the supple skin of her neck without warning. A gasp slips out of Y/N’s mouth and Harry’s ringed thumb pressed deeply into the center of her throat in reprimanding. His other fingers gripped the crook of her neck, just enough to make her head spin and keep her body pliant.

Meanwhile, his other hand slithered down the smooth silk to her waist, his hold on her heavy and warm. Harry’s swollen lips retracted from her bruised neck, not before pressing a few gentle pecks to the hickeys to soothe the pain.

Y/N felt dizzy with pleasure and enveloped in love. She couldn’t help but chase his lips for a few more desperate kisses as he pulled away from her neck. She suddenly wished she could admire the marks he’d left, but the glazed, hungry look in his eyes would definitely suffice. The little bathroom felt ten degrees warmer—leaving Harry looking hot and flushed and absolutely irresistible.

“You okay, baby?” Harry whispered in the tiny space between them, words slightly slurred and dipped in bliss.

Y/N nodded aggressively, letting her hands wrap around the back of his neck where his skin was hot and hair curled adorably. “Please kiss me again.”

He did as he was told, of course. His lips moved tenderly with hers and his hands trailed lower, gently caressing her waist and hips. His fingers started a course back up to her ass, this time taking the fabric of her dress with them.

Y/N’s head felt light as a feather, no thoughts besides Harry…Harry’s hands…Harry’s lips…Harry…

She curled her thighs around his hips and he responded effortlessly, hoisting her up by the backs of her thighs and pressing taut between the cold bathroom wall and his own hot chest. The temperature in the room seemed to rise impossibly then, the sounds of breathy moans and gentle sucking kisses seamlessly diffusing into the heat and surrounding them in a delightful symphony.

Y/N was thrilled by the way Harry’s tongue tasted like champagne—as sweet and plushy as always. She decided then that she would never get tired of the feeling of his mouth on hers, of the dizzying joyful feeling his lips gave her every single time.

“Harry…honey…”

“What ’s it pretty girl?”

The pet name in his raspy accent went straight to her core. She let out another shameless whine, squeezing his waist tighter with her legs.

“I need you, Harry…”

“Hm? Need what?”

She groaned—now he wanted to be a tease. After he’d gotten to give her the hickeys like he wanted.

“Harry, please.”

“‘M just messing, pretty girl. I know what you ne—“

Suddenly, a loud crash rang out in the little cabin. Y/N let out a screech and sprang away from Harry, landing awkwardly on her stiletto heels. Wide eyed, she and Harry both looked up toward the source of the sound. Muffled shouts followed, in the midst of a horrible shattering sound, like broken glass, or hail or—

“The ice sculpture!”

They were both wide eyed and panting and a little sweaty, hair tousled and lips swollen red.

“Oh shit,” There were more muffled shouts and some shuffling of feet above them. Even through the ornate ceiling of the bathroom, it was clear there was an ordeal going on up there.

Breathy pants lingered between them, and the room suddenly felt even smaller, even more swelteringly hot and stuffy. Of all things to ruin the heat of the moment…a fucking ice sculpture.

They looked at each other blankly, as if to say what the hell do we do now?

“Let’s head back up while everyone’s distracted.” It was Harry’s alcohol-induced idea, cooked up in his foggy brain.

“There’s no way we can go back to the party like this.” Y/N gestured between them—the sweaty foreheads, messy hair, skin dotted with hickeys, and most prominently, her boyfriend’s obvious arousal.

Harry sighed, glancing down at himself. “Let’s leave then.”

“What, you wanna swim home?”

Harry frowned, “Huh?”

“We’re on a fucking boat, dumbass.”

Harry looked away from her with wide eyes and burning cheeks. Right…Absently, he thought it was funny how she could go from making out with him against the wall of the bathroom, practically begging for more, to mercilessly making fun of him, all within seconds. His thoughts bled into his expression, a happy smile tugging on his lips as he thought about her and her unparalleled sex appeal and her cute laugh and her mock insults and her more and more.

And just like that, he was laughing. His wild laughter seemed to echo in the small bathroom. Despite their hot rendezvous being rudely interrupted, Y/N swore she could smell the happiness in the room—almost as poignant as the champagne on his breath.

Seconds later, she couldn’t help but join him in happy laughter.

Turns out, the fallen ice sculpture was even more of a hazard than they’d initially realized—so much so that the captain of the yacht demanded an early return to shore and a continuation of the party on land. Many patrons were disappointed by the early end to the yacht cruise, not including the birthday boy himself, who Y/N would be surprised if was still walking at this point.

As they sailed back toward the shore, Harry was nursing yet another flute of champagne while Y/N clung to him in the boat’s interior—half because she wanted to cover his erection from any passerbys, and half because she just really wanted to hold him. He’d also managed to produce a slice of cake on a porcelain plate, which he’d presumably snagged when he left her on the couch to find more alcohol.

“You look cute,” she mused at him while he chewed the forkful of cake she’d just slid into his mouth. She was sideways in his lap, bare feet rested on the arm of an expensive looking couch. She vaguely realized that this area of the boat was probably off limits for guests, but fuck it, she thought, no harm no foul.

“Hm?”

“I said, ‘you look cute.’” Y/N repeated. He really did look cute like that, with his face flushed and hair messy and a tinge of lipstick still lingering on his cheek.

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled with frosting still between his teeth, “I heard you the first time.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying. I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back!”

She gathered another forkful of cake and brought it up to his lips, “I just did.”

“Fine then,” He said, “I’ll just toss you overboard. Out of sight, out of mind.”

At that, Y/N gasped. She quickly turned her hand away and brought the cake into her own mouth, licking her lips for extra impact.

“Noooo!” He held her by the hip and dragged her even closer to him, as if she were about to get up and actually go overboard and take the cake with her. “I’m sorry baby, you’re cute, too. So cute. Like, so cute that I can’t believe you like me.”

Like? I think I more than like you.

“I can’t believe it, either.”

The words were on the tip of her tongue, dancing around in the tiny space between their lips like electricity. Harry leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, sucking on her bottom lip as if trying to pull them out of her.

Yet again, they were interrupted. This time by a loud horn blare and the captain’s voice over the intercom. “Land, ho!”

“Finally.” Harry sighed in relief, already trying to stand up from the couch, “Can you take me home now, please.”

“We can’t just leave when the party’s still going! What about Niall?” Y/N pressed her hands against his chest to slow him down.

“Niall won’t remember a damn thing.”

She considered his words. He wasn’t wrong; Niall had already knocked over the ice sculpture, after all.

“Take a left here,”

“Here?”

“Ye—wait, no.” Harry slurred, shaking his head from the passenger seat.

But his girlfriend had already turned the wheel to the left, inevitably sending the car in the wrong direction, again.

“Shit, M’ sorry baby.” he said with a drunken giggle.

“Good lord Harry…”

She threw the car into a random driveway, grumbling as she executed a clumsy K-turn.

She could hear the cranky frown in Harry’s voice as he groaned, “You’re a shit driver.”

“Well you’re a shit navigator!” Y/N looked over and gave him a pointed look. But the look only fell on his droopy, half-open eyes. “Where the fuck do I go?”

A beat of silence passed as Harry’s head lolled around. He hummed a bit, imitating the low rumble of the car’s engine. Finally, he murmured, “Keep goin’ straight.”

“Are you sure?”

He didn’t reply, just turned to look at her with that mischievous drunken smile.

“Aw fuck, no. We passed it up.”

“Harry!” She couldn’t help but laugh. Despite her annoyance, his antics were amusing. “Are you sure you actually know where you live?”

“Of course I know where I live!”

Y/N sped into another middle-of-the-road U-turn, and Harry dramatically fell into her lap with a low yell.

“Slow down, you minx! Gonna get us killed!”

“You’re so dramatic, Harry. If you’d just tell me where the fuck you live!”

“Can’t remember.”

She craned her head up to ceiling, letting her own eyes fall shut as she inhaled her frustration.

“Okay, fine. It’s that blue one over there.” He gestured vaguely to the right, but it was too dark to see the colors of the houses anyways.

Y/N let out her deep breath, “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

His growing smirk gave him away. After only a few seconds, his foggy brain would not allow him to contain his giggles.

“Harry!” she whined. He was always kind of silly and clingy, but the excessive alcohol made him an actual baby. He was still laying in her lap over the center console.

“Why are you like this?”

He pouted, feigning hurt. “Maybe I just wanna spend more time with you.”

Y/N’s fingers loosed on the wheel. She slowed the car to a stop against on of the curbs in the quiet neighborhood, poised under the soft light of a street lamp. Her annoyed expression softened and the familiar urge washed over her—the urge to kiss his cheeks and tell him she loved him and squeeze him tight and never let him go. How could one person be so annoying yet so fucking adorable?

She pushed his hair back (not without thinking about how he would’ve scolded her for messing it up at the beginning of the night when he had been sober, but now he was far too drunk to care) and wrapped an arm around his neck. It was definitely an awkward position and Harry couldn’t have been comfortable like that, but he didn’t seem to mind. He held her arm in both hands and snuggled into her lap as she cooed at him. “Aw, baby. You could’ve just told me.”

“But we’ve only been together for a little bit…and I don’t want ya to get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you, honey. Not even if I wanted to,” she said earnestly, continuing to stroke her fingers gently through his curls.

“Really?”

Now if that wasn’t a hint…this man was even stupider than she thought. In spite of his endearing idiocy, Y/N still could not resist the urge to just love him.

The idea that he could possibly love her back crossed her mind several times, especially in the past few weeks.

But they’d only been officially for a month and a half…was it too soon? Would she scare him off? Was there some unwritten rule of love to wait until they’d at least seen each others’ homes? Although, if she did tell him now, Harry was so drunk he may not even remember. If it went horrifically wrong, maybe she could forget it happened. (No, she definitely would not ever be able to forget if that happened, but the lie comforted her a little nonetheless). But if it went well, she’d be more confident telling him again when he was sober tomorrow. And at last, she didn’t even think she could hold the words in for another second while he was cuddling into her and kissing her arms like a baby kitten.

“I love you, Harry.”

“You do?!”

Suddenly, he seemed alarmingly sober.

“Ugh, yes. How could I not?”

He looked appalled, really. As if the idea of her loving him was absolutely insane. “Well, I annoy you, I kiss you in public, I drink too much, I spend way too much time on my hair, I’m not as handsome as that waiter…”

“And you’re pretty stupid.” Y/N interrupted with her own addition to the growing list.

“Yeah, you’re right. I am pretty dumb…But,” he paused, flipping over in her lap to look her in the eyes, “I did get one thing right.”

“What’s that?” She asked, fondly stroking his gelled hair with trembling hands.

“Falling in love with you.”

And loving him was that easy, as easy as sipping champagne and eating cake and falling overboard. She loved his flamboyance, his confidence, his kindness. She loved his silly tattoos and his bunny teeth and the little scar under his chin and the faint lipstick stain on his cheek. She loved the way they teased each other like children. She loved the way his mouth felt against hers. She loved the way he adored her. And so, she couldn’t help but smile wide.

“Alright, let’s add you’re super cheesy to that list, too…”

thanks for reading! please reblog if you enjoyed <3

feedback is welcomed, encouraged, and highly appreciated!

#harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #boyfriend!harry #yacht!harry #harry styles #my writing #i know shes a lil babie one shot but please be nice i have slaved over her

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