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missybee-writes · 17 days ago

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Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Three - Fearless

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Ao3 link

---

The grandfather clock chimed four times, the echo ringing softly throughout the dilapidated house, floating all the way up the stairs to Rose’s attic lair. The noise was soft, but she was already wide awake, legs twisted in the crumpled bed sheets, flipping her pillow for the hundredth time to find a comfy position to sleep.

Fuck it.

She flung off the covers and tiptoed over the smooth, varnished floorboards, turning on her bedside lamp. Her eyes stung as the dark room flooded with light, the huge space with its vaulted, beamed ceilings and dormer windows bathed in shadow.

The house had four large double bedrooms on its second floor, but there was something about the attic room that drew her to it when she, her mother and stepfather Jerry had taken possession of the crumbling place two months ago. The twisting little staircase up to the top floor, the spectacular view of the woods from both front and back, and the quirky, dramatic interior called to her. There was something oddly romantic about this room.

The place had since been dusted within an inch of its life, floor varnished, thick rugs laid upon the boards, and an old wrought iron bed manhandled up the stairs. When her posters were pinned up on the brick wall and her clothes and books found homes in the shelves and wardrobes, it began to feel homely. Hers .

Except for the piano. That had come with the house, stowed away in the attic room, a gorgeous old piece, out of tune and unloved. Rose had years of piano lessons from her mother’s elderly aunt as a child, and whilst it was not an all-consuming passion, she could play pretty well. The piano had been retuned, but it felt...strange. Rose could never forget that it belonged to someone else once, someone long dead. She didn’t know the story behind the murder that inspired its nickname Murder house on Morehead , and planned on keeping it that way; her dreams were troubled enough without sketching out and colouring in the gothic murder that took place in these walls. It was like something out of the Edgar Allen Poe stories they worked on in O’Donnell’s English class...like she’d prize open the floorboards and find a beating heart. Ugh.

But Rose crept about her room this morning with a bubbling excitement, looking forward to school and the strange new friends she made on Friday night in the drama prop room. Sad, wasn’t it, that her weekend was boring and unremarkable, and she longed for school.

She folded and hung the piles of laundry that occupied her Saturday night, then took out half her clothes and laid them on the bed, throwing together five different outfit options and hating every one of them. The overalls were too whimsical, the dress too frumpy, the blouse didn’t fit well anymore.

“Pull yourself together, you muppet,” she mumbled to herself, sitting cross legged in the middle of half her upturned wardrobe. “It’s just clothes. Since when did you give a shit about fashion? Not like anyone’s going to be looking at me. Unless they want to laugh.”

By the time the clock chimed six, she had chosen the least nauseating of her options, but also one that felt her. Okay, perhaps not her usual style, but the her she wanted to be. A green tailored pinafore dress with double breasted buttons, fancier and more form fitting than most of her casual clothes, with a pretty white shirt underneath. Doc Martens bought in Camden Market, yellow stitches standing out against the black leather.

Punk and fancy...an eclectic mix, maybe. But perhaps that suited her. And despite a very dull weekend trying not to fixate on the events of Friday night, the slightly flirtatious words of one particular Dungeon Master popped up in her head. You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be.

Forty minutes and half a can of Aqua Net later, Rose emerged into the kitchen, colliding with a figure by the stove, narrowly avoiding a stream of scalding liquid.

“Oh, Jiminy Cricket, that was close!” Jerry cried out, clutching unsteadily onto a porcelain teapot and hopping backward.

Her stepfather was short, slightly rounded, with hair greying at the temples and a timid disposition that would border on pathetic if he wasn’t so bloody nice all the time. God, the man couldn’t even swear properly. Rose often thought it was like living with a character from a children's cartoon.

“Sorry, I was lost in my own head,” she murmured, fetching something to mop the scalding liquid from the floor, and also his now-splotchy tie. It was a novelty tie, of course, printed with colourful horse-shoe magnets with googly eyes and moustaches, as if they were alive.

Jerry quickly set the teapot down, hopping about the wet patch on the kitchen floor. “That’s a-okay. I was hoping to have your tea all ready, but half of it’s on the floor. I did what ya said last week, I added an extra spoonful of leaves.” He smiled goofily, “One for each cup, and one for the pot. ”

Rose couldn’t help but smile as she blotted up the spillage on the floor. “You remembered that?”

“Of course, buddy. Gotta perfect those tea-making skills in a house full of English ladies, haven’t I?” He looked down at Rose, feigning surprise. “A teenager up before sunrise...has the world turned upside down?”

“Haha,” she said drily.

“And what’s that on your face? Is that lipstick ?”

She busied herself with teacups and plates, scavenging for some breakfast to go with the tea. “I wear lipstick sometimes.” Sometimes...when she snuck into the pub last summer, with an eye on the handsome young barman.

“Oh, sure,” Jerry nodded along timidly, not quite daring enough to contradict her. They began their new morning ritual, one that had taken root over the last year both here and at home in England. He poured a cup, added a dash of milk, and passed it over for her inspection.

Rose breathed it in, cup almost hot enough to blister her hand, and took a sip.

“Well?” Jerry was on tenterhooks, waiting for the verdict.

“Nine out of ten,” she marked him, after a long pause. “Nice and strong, but there’s a taste I can’t quite recognise.”

Jerry turned away quickly, tidying up the clutter on the countertop. “Oh? Must be the milk, I think it’s starting to sour. I’ll pick up some more when I stop by the store today, I need to go to Melvald’s for some more varnish for the staircase anyway, and the grocery store is only next door.”

“Thank you.”

“I know this weekend was kinda quiet, with your mom and I out at the antique store in Carterville all day Saturday, but I thought maybe we could go to that Family Video rental place next weekend. I hear that the new James Bond movie is out on VHS already. Or maybe the record store? I know Duran Duran had that song on the movie soundtrack, maybe you could get the single on cassette.”

Rose groaned. “I would, but I've lost my walkman. It must be somewhere in this enormous museum of a house.”

That walkman had seen her through countless hours in hospital wards, waiting rooms, and at home when she became invisible to all her old friends. Yes, she could get a new one, but the lump of plastic was oddly important to her.

A noise at the kitchen door heralded her mother’s arrival. “Careful,” she said to Jerry. “If you mention Duran Duran or Simon Le Bon she’ll combust on the spot. She has a little crush.”

Jerry cocked his head, confused. “I thought it was Simon the Skinhead from the pub back at home?”

“Right,” Rose stood up abruptly, deciding whether to flee or face the Balrog herself. Perhaps if she could face down a dragon with a bunch of unfamiliar teenage boys, she could do it. “I am eighteen, mother. Old enough to marry, go to war, to vote, and to drive. And in any civilised country, to get blindingly drunk. There will be no talk of crushes, Simon Le Bon, Simon from the Nag’s Head, or any other bloody Simons.”

Her mum simply clicked her tongue. But as she moved about the kitchen, Rose could see shadows under her eyes, and her skin had an unhealthy grey sheen.

“I’m only joking, mum,” Rose said quickly. “You don’t look well. Are you alright?”

“Me?” Mum smiled, but it was brittle. “Oh, it's nothing. Just had a few headaches, and a bad night’s sleep. Nothing a cup of tea and an early night won’t cure.”

Rose hesitated. “Are you sure? I’m at the hospital next week for ECG and scans anyway, maybe you could go and see someone whilst I'm being prodded and poked like a lab rat. Maybe they’ll put me on a wheel and tempt me with some peanuts.”

“It’s really nothing, Rosebud,” she said. “You have enough to worry about, with your first full week of school. I’m just glad that you’ve joined a little book club already. What was it called again?”

Rose winced. “Hellfire, Mum. And it’s not a book club, it's a fantasy game.”

“If you say so.”

Jerry coughed awkwardly. “Well, I'll make sure I bring home something nice for dinner so you don’t need to cook. Pizza, maybe? Have a great day, ladies,” Jerry said, pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek and fetching his briefcase. “And if the lights start acting up again, just ignore it. I’ve already called John the electrician. He’s on it!”

---

Butterflies hit her stomach the second she stepped into the parking lot, scanning the faces of every student hurrying into the school building; no Hellfire shirts, no friendly faces, no metalhead with the prettiest eyes and enough charisma to have her babbling and weak at the knees, only a sea of unfamiliar people. Except for Andy the meathead, of course. He nearly ran her over in a shiny red muscle car, a whole pack of basketball players bursting out its doors as it pulled into a space, laughing their asses off at Rose as she almost tripped to avoid the swerving car.

The hallways were no less intimidating than Friday, stuffed full of strangers who all knew each other, who spared not a single glance for Rose. It took five attempts to remember the combination on her locker, swearing under her breath the whole time, being nudged and bumped by unfamiliar people trying to retrieve their own books. The PA system blurted out cheery messages on this week’s homecoming dance, one which Rose had no intention of attending.

History went by in a blur, math was painful but bearable, and before she knew it, lunch had come around again. This was it, wasn’t it? Unremarkable days, punctuated by crappy lessons and crappy food, with none of the friendship or wild experiences she had craved in all those months in hospital or at home, living vicariously through books and movies and music. Dull. Rinse and repeat.

Just like Friday, she entered the bustling cafeteria alone. She took a deep breath and surveyed the crowded tables, scanning over the jocks in their letterman jackets, the effortlessly cool party kids slouched elegantly over the hard plastic seating, wearing sunglasses indoors on a grey September day. Band kids carrying instruments. Then, something caught her eye. Hellfire.

They sat at the same table as last week, but the guys were incognito today, not wearing the demon-emblazoned shirts they saved for campaign days. She could see the back of Mike and Dustin’s heads, along with another younger boy she had yet to meet; Gareth, Chris and Jeff were on the opposite side of the table, all three of them laughing and turned towards their glorious DM like flowers leaning toward the sun.

There he was, perched awkwardly on the back of the chair rather than sitting in it, a head above the rest of the guys. Big, frizzy curls, Iron Maiden t-shirt, smiling like he was feeding off his friends laughter, so comfortable in the spotlight, so happy being seen.

And Rose couldn’t deny it anymore, the little flame sparked on Friday night, one that only burned hotter after a long weekend playing and replaying the possible, hopeful , flirting during the D&D session. She fancied Eddie Munson, she had a great big crush on him after only three hours.

Naturally, the thought of actually sauntering up to the Hellfire table and sitting down with her lunch tray was terrifying. Yes, they were welcoming to her on Friday, but didn’t that mean they wanted the random new girl to hang out during the week, did it?

Then he spotted her. Puppy dog brown eyes became alert and his whole body shifted from its awkward perch on the back of the seat towards Rose’s position. But the thin, flexible plastic had other ideas. It snapped, and he collapsed off the back of the damn thing, jean chain jangling and feet up in the air as he rolled over - to the cheers and laughter of the general population in that half of the cafeteria.

“Total wipe-out!” A blazer-clad, sunglass wearing party dude cried out.

“Total freak- out,” another party kid returned, sniggering.

The Hellfire guys flipped him off and a minor turf war seemed to begin, in gestures and passive aggressive jeers. But Rose was kind of mesmerised; Eddie rolled over and leapt to his feet, spinning until he locked eyes with her and shrugging dramatically for her benefit, laughing off his own shame. She grinned back in return. Hell, he didn’t have any shame, he didn’t give a damn about the rest of them. Rose envied that with a sudden punch to the gut; in a hundred years, she didn’t think she’d grow that self assured.

Eddie settled in another chair further down the table, and waved at her, pointing to the empty seat by his side.

She waved back gingerly and went to get some food, picking up a tray of something labelled tuna casserole. Upon inspection it seemed to consist of tuna, pasta and cream sauce, topped in cheese, which was so far from her understanding of a casserole that it boggled her mind for a moment. Clutching her tray with unsteady fingers, she honed in on Hellfire, picking her way around the crowd, past a studious table of kids studying, and another table of younger girls flipping through the pages of glossy magazines and squealing, until she saw it. The ghost table. The always empty table in the corner of the room, tucked away and obscured by a pillar, that she’d chosen to hide on her first day.

Except the ghost table wasn’t empty. Robin Buckley slumped over its surface, head propped up in her hands, red-eyed and all alone. She toyed with her milk carton, picking the laminated carton into curly pieces, completely cut off from the world..

Rose had spent enough time crying in a corner to notice that same misery in another. So despite the lure of Hellfire, she turned away and walked up to the ghost table. Robin hardly noticed, not glancing up or stopping her slow dismantling of the milk carton.

“You know,” Rose began tentatively, “If you keep that up you’ll end up with a milk over your tuna casserole.”

Robin’s eyes snapped up, red-rimmed, cornflower blue. Up close, her face was smattered with freckles. Very pretty, despite the puffy redness. “Yeah, well...I think a good coating of milk will actually improve the food here. Might wash off the school-mandated funk.”

“Funk - is that what this is?” Rose gestured to the casserole with her chin. “I thought it was mac and cheese.”

“Well at least the school board is saving money on the lunches...expired military rations must come cheap,” Robin chuckled dryly. Her blank face morphed into a frown, and she looked up pitifully. “Listen, I wanted to speak to you this morning. I tried to find you, but I didn’t know which classes you had, or where your locker was.”

“ I have no idea where my locker is,” Rose joked back. But beneath her flippant attitude she was kind of nervous. Robin’s tentative signs of friendship ended badly last week, and she didn’t know what to think of her classmate yet, not after the conversation in the locker room.

Robin stuffed her hands into the pocket of her classic bomber jacket. “I know I roped you into soccer tryouts, but I was a little surprised that you didn’t show up. I mean, i’d say I scared you off but you’re back, talking to me. Though i’d guess that’s more pity than genuine desire to join the soccer team.”

“There was some pity involved,” Rose admitted. She looked down at her black leather Doc Martens, almost squirming as she gathered the courage to say it. “I...uh...I heard you and your friends in the locker room. I just wanted to say that you don’t need to be ‘ all fake nice, and shit’ , or pretend to be my friend. I’ll do just fine by myself.”

Robin’s face fell, and she gasped through gritted teeth. “Holy shit. I did not mean for you to hear that...i’m sorry. I just wanna clarify I do not support what Linda said, she was a bitch, and I told her that to her face this weekend. It may have led to a serious breaking up, friendship-wise.”

Rose was oddly touched that a near-stranger would stand up for her, in any capacity. She sat down tentatively on the chair next to Robin, placing down her lunch tray. “Was it bad?”

“The worst,” Robin sighed, slumping on the table even further. “She said I was so different after the summer, and I was dragging down in her senior year. Apparently she can’t focus on college applications if she’s so bummed out by my miserable aura .”

Rose would feign surprise, but Linda did come across self-centred and, quite frankly, a bit of a bitch on Friday. “Bollocks. A good friend wouldn’t say that.”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re right,” Robin shook her head. “She was my best friend all through middle school. And I guess we grew apart over the last couple of years. You reach a point where you realise, you know what, everything we do or talk about is about her . I started listening to Blondie because she liked it, I played soccer because it was her favourite sport...I don’t even like soccer.”

“Neither do I!” Rose laughed.

That had Robin confused. “You were going to try out for something you didn’t like?”

“I was hoping to talk to some people, maybe make some friends. But I should have said that I hated it straight away, then I could have left you and your friends alone.”

Robin snapped to attention. “Hey, I didn’t just want to talk to you because of soccer. I hope you know that.”

Her stomach did a hopeful little flip. “Really?”

“Uh, shut up, dingus. You are totally cool. And it's nice not to be the only one with verbal diarrhoea for once.”

A little cackle came out of Rose’s throat. “Yep. That shit’s contagious.”

Robin’s shoulder shook with laughter, messy tangled hair bouncing about her face. “Oh my god, that is so lame. You sound like Dustin.”

“You know Dustin?”

“ You know Dustin?” Robin echoed right back at her. “Dustin Henderson? How is that even possible?!”

Rose grinned and leaned in conspiratorially. “Friday evening was kind of weird for me...it's a long story.”

The chaotic girl nudged closer. “Oh, I am so in need of a long story that isn’t about Linda’s college plans or Steve’s miserable love life. Hit me with it.”

Rose took a deep breath and prepared to explain how she came to meet a gaggle of teenage dungeon dwellers on a Friday night, but one fleeting look in Hellfire’s direction stopped her in her tracks.

Eddie was moping in his chair, casting a dejected look her way. As soon as she made eye contact he snapped away, as if burned, and turned back to the guys. The last thing she wanted to do was damage her tentative relationship with Hellfire - okay, with Eddie - when they had been so kind and patient with her last week. But at the same time, Robin was alone and in need of a friendly ear. Damn, the social hierarchy was brutal in this place.

“Can...can you give me a minute?” Rose asked Robin. “I just need to say hello to some new friends and let them know I haven’t forgotten them.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of this already,” she raised her fingers to her temple in a mock salute. “Permission to depart granted, Private McAllister. Return for duty at thirteen hundred hours. Wait...is that one p.m.? I have no idea.”

Rose almost skipped as she stood up and backed away from the ghost table, saluting her right back. “Yes, drill sergeant.”

Eddie caught sight of her halfway across the room, his entire demeanour brightening with each step she took toward Hellfire’s table. By the time she stood two feet in front of him he was lit up like a lightbulb, drumming on his ripped jeans with his fingers to a rhythm only he knew, flexing just a little bit in the artfully distressed Iron Maiden t-shirt.

God, he smelled nice. The scent of Old Spice was pretty strong even from two feet away from him, along with a tinge of cigarette smoke and something else she couldn’t name.

“Hi guys,” she said feebly, hands twisting together behind her back.

“Hi,” Eddie returned, brown eyes soft as he looked up at Rose. All the Hellfire members turned to her at once, the separate conversations that were happening in tandem all trailing off into silence. There wasn’t hostility, but there was something more...a little surprise, maybe? They weren’t as confident in the school cafeteria as they were in the drama room. Less themselves.

“So,” she continued. “I hear this place isn’t as friendly as Eddie the Bard’s tavern, but it seems to be where the adventurer’s hang out.”

“Haha,” Dustin chuckled. “It’s like a tavern, but not. Because it's terrible here, and the food is kinda gross.”

“Incredibly gross,” Jeff agreed.

“Plus, no mead,” Eddie chimed in. “Maybe I could deal with O’Donnell’s English class if I were a little buzzed.”

Wait, what? Eddie had O’Donnell’s class too? Ah, now she remembered, there was an elusive Mr Munson she had sent to detention prior to Rose’s catastrophic arrival. Actually, thank god he had missed her embarrassing rant. For very budding, very obvious reasons she didn’t want to come across as an absolute loser. “If you find any, you’d better share it.”

He smiled. “Of course, Lady Rose. I...uh...admit I thought you might be too concerned with your social standing to dare talk to the freaks in daylight.”

Shit. He waved her over earlier and she sat with Robin instead...the man might be uber-confident, but he was still human , and maybe she had upset him. She had to put that right, no matter what it did to her social standing.

Rose looked around; a third of the cafeteria had eyes on the exchange. Whether their curiosity was more about the new girl, or the freak table, she couldn’t tell.

“You thought wrong, dungeon master,” she sat down in the empty seat by Eddie’s side, “I’ve no social standing left to lose. And even if I did, I don’t give a fuck about the opinion of a bunch of gorillas in letterman jackets, and the jungle they think they rule over.”

“Wait,” Eddie tapped the table with his ringed fingers, eyes swivelling about as if he were confused and searching for something. “We’ve gone from a tavern to a jungle? Sweetheart, if I'm gonna keep up with your impressive range of analogies I'll need notes. Maybe a lesson or two.”

She blushed again - goddamn it, the perils of having vampire-pale skin - and looked down. Her bare knee was inches from his, she could feel heat radiate from his body. “I think the workings of my brain would frighten off anyone.”

“Try me,” he leaned back casually, gesturing at himself. “I’m literally tattooed with bats and demons, if you hadn’t noticed. I’m not easily scared.”

“Oh,” she signed softly, eyeing the ink peeping from his shirt sleeves, “I’ve...um...definitely noticed.”

A throat cleared behind them, and Rose suddenly realised the rest of the guys were watching with expressions ranging from innocent puppy-like enthusiasm (Dustin), mischievous glee (Gareth), or mild interest (Chris, Jeff, and Mike). Plus confusion, from another one she didn’t know.

“Right, introductions,” Eddie said, “Rose, you know everyone except Sinclair the fickle-hearted, betrayer of adventurers, the newest member of the big-orange-ball team.”

“Hi,” the guy between Mike and Dustin waved. “I’m Lucas. I heard a lot about your session on Friday. Mike said it was awesome, I wish I could have seen it.”

“Congratulations on joining the basketball team. Oh, and whatever they said about me, it’s all lies,” she said nervously. “I’m not very good. I just happened to turn up at the strangest possible moment...everything else was Eddie.”

Mike and Lucas shared a strange look, an ‘ I told you so’ kind of look. It had her palms sweating.

Eddie turned back to her. “No lunch tray then, huh. Abandoning Hellfire so soon?”

“I just wanted to say hello and explain that I need to have lunch with Robin today. I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s not having the best day.”

He leaned to one side and looked beyond her to the ghost table. “Buckley? She’s a band nerd, right?”

“I guess so. I don’t want to jinx it but I think we’re going to be friends. And friends don’t leave each other when they are alone.”

Instead of disappointment or anger, something else flashed across his face. “Look at you, gathering your own sheepies. I can’t say i’m not disappointed, but I get it.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” She asked hopefully.

He made a show of thinking about it, playing it up for her amusement. “Maybe, possibly, okay definitely . Wait!” He leaned forward, arms braced on his knees, looking around sheepishly. “There’s something I need to give you today. Kind of a slipper situation.”

Rose scrunched up her nose. “Huh?”

He shook his curly hair and waved dismissively. “Don’t worry, i’ll explain later. Are you around sometime this afternoon, after school maybe?”

“My Mum is picking me up again. The terrible price of not being able to drive.”

Eddie laughed. “You should really get on that. Or at least convince the Balrog to let you get the bus.”

Rose bit her lip. She didn’t want to wait until tomorrow; a fleeting few minutes at the lunch table was not a big enough hit of whatever this was, not even a little bit. “But I do have a free period after English class.”

His eyes lit up. “Really? Wait a minute...me too!”

Gareth’s elbows slammed against the table opposite them. “No you d-”

“No I don’t have plans for that free period, thanks for your concern, Gareth.” Eddie said very pointedly, shooting a manic look at his friend. “If you want to hang out after English I can explain this whole thing, maybe show you the parts of Hawkins High that weren’t on the formal guided tour.”

Eddie wanted to hang out with her. Alone, without the other guys...wait, this was without the other guys, wasn’t it? Or would they all trail after him? Somehow she couldn’t picture Eddie without his little misfit flock of sheepies .

“That sounds great,” Rose said, standing up, fidgeting with her hands. “See you after English, Eddie.”

She spun around before he could even respond, half-skipping back to the ghost table, heavy leather boots as light as a feather on the shiny floor. Robin was watching, squinting in her direction, fingers peeling at the milk carton in her lap again, absentmindedly.

“Context,” she fired off as soon as Rose sat back down. “I need context, stat. I have no idea what's going on right now.”

Rose smiled brightly. “I think I've joined a satanic cult.”

Robin gawped and grabbed the carton; the warped laminated cardboard split open with a pop and drenched her entire lower half with milk. It soaked her jeans, spilled a milky waterfall into her sneakers, and sloshed all over the floor. She made a loud, bleugh noise in her throat as she surveyed the damage, and looked up at Rose with an utterly defeated expression.

“Your new Lord and master Satan, does he offer a cleanup service?”

---

Midway through Biology, nose-deep in the pages of a brand new textbook and speed-reading the section on neurological impulses in the brain, it hit her. She was meeting Eddie for a free period. As far as she knew, just the two of them. Did this mean he liked her as more than a friend? Or was this typical extroverted-Eddie behaviour? Just a casual, low-key hangout that somehow involved a slipper ?

Robin quizzed her thoroughly in the cafeteria, but she was light on details. Yes, she came across Hellfire by accident, yes D&D was fun (no, it was not really a satanic cult), yes she seems to have joined. But the panic-inducing crush on its DM? She may have left that out, for now.

Rose was suddenly seized with the impulse to flee to the girls bathroom and check on her hair; yes, it was in far better shape today, natural curls actually teased out a bit and sprayed with some Aqua Net, but did it still look decent? Maybe she should get out the lipstick buried in the bottom of her bag.

“Oh, this is hopeless ,” she groaned into the pages of the textbook.

“I know, right?” A gentle voice sighed. “This neuroscience quiz is going to be the death of me.”

Rose lowered her book. Over the top of the pages hovered a cheerleader, elfin-faced, with strawberry-blonde hair, sitting just at the lab table in front of her. Rose thought she looked familiar from English, but she was quiet, like she too wanted to be invisible despite the green and white uniform. Her cream jacket emblazoned with a Hawkins Tiger swallowed her slender frame, and she looked downcast, like she wanted to burrow into it and never come out. She looked like the kind of girl to have a charmed life, but instead was forlorn, more sad than a biology test could account for.

A sudden rush of sympathy came over Rose. “Mr Kaminski doesn’t seem that...enthusiastic,” she admitted quietly.

In fact, the teacher was currently scribbling long sections of text with no explanation or even discussion with the class. His balding head hovered close to the chalkboard, fingers and jacket collar dusted with pale chalk, arms moving in a blur as he raced to write out his lesson plan as quickly as possible.

“I suppose. Maybe it’s just my brain. I’m stupid, just like my mom says,” the cheerleader said, melancholy. Gosh, she had such pretty blue eye shadow, just the same shade as her eyes.

Wait, should Rose be wearing eyeshadow? She didn’t think she’d ever pull off that elegant pastel look, it tended to clash with her hair. Though she might curse her own features sometimes - she always thought her nose was too large for her face - she did actually like her hair colour: red, but a slightly darker auburn red, not a carrot top as the kids used to call her at home, before her hair darkened.

Rose abandoned any thoughts of dazzling blue eye shadow, and decided to make an offer. “There’s no way you’re stupid. Oh, I made some flashcards whilst he was talking, you could borrow them, if you like?”

“Really, you would do that? For someone you don’t even know?”

“I’m Rose, you probably knew that already, from the forced introduction at the front of the class.”

“Chrissy, Chrissy Cunningham,” the forlorn cheerleader introduced herself. “Jason Carver’s girlfriend.”

Oh. Jason...king of the jocks, antagoniser of freaks, preacher of morality in English class. She couldn’t see them together, somehow.

Rose held out a thick wad of neon yellow cards, covered in her loopy handwriting. “So now we know each other, you can borrow the flashcards.”

Chrissy’s smile was dazzling as she took the notes. “You’re too nice. Won’t you need to use them yourself though?”

“I’ll make some more,” Rose shrugged.

Turns out, when you spend half your teens in a hospital undergoing every scan on the planet and talking with specialists, including neurological examinations after the little died-for-a-while incident, this stuff came quite easy. Not that she had any ambition to pursue biology or medicine or anything vaguely health-related as a career - she’d had enough of the frailty of the human condition, thank you very much.

She was first out the door when the bell rang, books clutched to her chest, almost knocking over a boy in the crowded hall in her haste to get to English class. She speed-walked right past her locker, groaning and slapping her own forehead when she had to turn back and fiddle with the awkward little dial, messing up the combination and cursing under her breath as she tried to get the bloody thing open. When she eventually cracked it and pulled the metal door open hastily, her books collapsed onto the floor in a head, and she had to scoop them all up, chanting “fuck, fucking fuckity fuck,” and earning some serious side-eye from a girl with an enormous permed side-pony and a gigantic blue scrunchie.

So by the time she arrived at O’Donnell’s door, most of the class were chatting and taking their seats. Except this time, her desk at the back of the room was taken. Occupied by none other than Eddie, who seemed to take the rigid metal and wood frame of the desk and chair as a personal challenge, slouched in the chair at such a weird angle that he was almost lying down, feet squirming against the floor.

Miraculously, the desk to his left was free. And with no fear of offending Robin - who had used the milk stunt in the cafeteria and a very impassioned plea to Principal Higgins to get the afternoon off and go home to change - she slipped past the other students and took the empty desk.

“Twice in one day, McAllister?” Eddie quipped, leaning toward her. He put a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Should I get a restraining order? Pepper spray? Maybe keep Dustin around as a highly ineffective bodyguard?”

She took out her new copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories and poems, the gothic raven taking wing on the front cover, dropping it on the faded wooden desktop. “I’ve seen Dustin with a d20 in one hand and a sharpened pencil in the other, roaring like a tiger as he took down a demogorgon. He was feral. I’d put my money on him any day.”

It made him chuckle, eyes sparkling under the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom. “Henderson is totally terrifying in his own way. Damn, sweetheart. Here I was, betting on you getting through-”

“Mr Munson, is that you?” O’Donnell’s nasal voice sliced right through whatever Eddie was about to say, jolting him to attention, his pencil bouncing on the floor. “I had almost begun to forget what you looked like.”

He took it like a blow to the chest, his quick-tongued, brash exterior slipping right into place. “You wound me, Mrs O’Donnell. Did our time together mean nothing to you?”

Rose looked around. Half the students including meathead Andy were laughing, the other were quiet, looks of apathy, or even hostility all across the classroom. Jason Carver most of all.

Mrs O’Donnell peered over the rims of her tortoiseshell glasses, her defeated stance obvious to the whole class. “On the contrary, I remember it all. Every expletive-filled rant about the curriculum, every complaint from another concerned parent who begged me to move you from their precious children’s class, every flunked test. In fact, I regularly pray for you to get your smart mouth in gear, put pen to paper, and finally get a passing grade so we never have to see each other again.”

Ouch. That hurt, even as a bystander. But it rolled off Eddie like oil on water; in fact, he seemed to feed on it. “I know, Irene. I’ve treated you bad. But we’ll always have those beautiful Saturday morning detentions, I'll look back on our memories fondly.”

Even Andy gasped at that one. One girl’s bubble gum dropped out her open mouth, stuck to the page of her open notebook.

“How Principal Higgins continues to let you on the school grounds and in a classroom is beyond me, Mr Munson,” O’Donnell fumed, the folds of her sagging neck shaking like a turkey as she vibrated with anger. “But I will not let you detract from the education of the other students. Save your theatrics for drama class.”

Eddie - for once - said nothing and let her cool off; she turned to the desk and took a huge shoulder-shaking breath before digging out her teacher’s copy of Poe. “Back to The Tell-Tale Heart, please class. Today we will discuss the physical manifestation of death and paranoia in the story, and how the house itself is a character, influencing the plot and bringing about the climax of the book. Listen up, for the themes here will be found in The Fall of the House of Usher when we study Poe’s other works after Thanksgiving.”

O’Donnell set to the lesson, and after a few minutes of settling the class and discussing the text, Rose finally spared a long glance at Eddie. He’d deflated, like the quippy defensive act with the teacher had truly taken it out of him. She didn’t like the look of it at all, that trace of sadness that lingered in his eyes.

He caught her staring.

You okay? She mouthed at him, totally unfocused on the lesson, grateful they were at the very back of the class.

Eddie gave her a weak thumbs up, smile lines etched into his cheek. He was way over the pretense that he was reading the book, looking downward at the desk, taking something small out of his pocket and pressing it to the desk. But then he stopped, frowning and inspecting the tabletop with serious interest. Whatever it was, it was shiny and sharp, partly obscured by his unruly hair.

Oh fuck. Rose sat there last week; etched into that desk was a seriously cool-looking grim reaper, shadowed by a cowl, face unseen, wielding a scythe. She’d traced her fingers over the drawing and she’d drawn a severed heart in the path of the scythe in red marker pen, inspired by the beating heart that haunted Poe’s narrator and drove him to confess.

She must have made a pitiful noise of some kind, for when his eyes swivelled up, he knew . She could just tell. His ringed finger pointed at her then back at the desk, question written all over his own face.

Casual. Yes, Rose could be casual about it. She shrugged, but it became a weird cringey motion and before she knew it she’d leaned into her own shoulder, muffling her own groan and hiding. Just wanting to be swallowed by the floor. Of course he could draw, of course the bloody grim reaper was penned by the Dungeon Master of Hellfire. It was so on brand, so in character...and she’d just doodled on top of his creation on her first day, like it was nothing.

Avoid eye contact. That will work. She kept her head down and listened to O’Donnell, focusing on her explanation of literary devices. Dramatic irony...fascinating.

Rose lasted thirty seconds. She snuck a glance toward him; Eddie immediately sprang to life, pulling a grotesque face with his tongue pointing down to his chin, eyes devil-wide and fingers feigning pointy horns on his head.

Rose spluttered, unable to stop herself. Her bark of laughter choked in her throat and became a humiliating cough, every person in the room suddenly swivelling to see what was wrong.

“Do you need a glass of water Miss McAllister, or can I get back to the class?” O’Donnell asked.

Tears stung the corner of her eyes. Eddie - the bastard - had quickly composed himself, pencil in hand, poised over his notebook as if he were diligently taking notes. Butter wouldn’t melt, puppy dog eyes. Only Rose could see the open page of his notebook was completely blank.

“Sorry,” Rose croaked. “My throat feels a bit dry, but i’ll be fine.”

O’Donnell narrowed her eyes, looking between the two of them. “Hmm,” her lips pressed together, and she launched straight back into the lesson.

Thus it began. Forty minutes of torture. Each time they made eye contact she was struck with an uncontrollable, side-splitting urge to laugh, bursting in her chest, threatening to spill out at any minute. It didn’t help that he committed to the bit with more vigour than a Shakespearean actor, pulling more faces, winking, mimicking O’Donnell by pushing non existent spectacles and peering over them.

By the time the bell rang her stomach ached, and she had learned absolutely nothing about the literary devices of Edgar Allen Poe. Couldn’t tell you a thing. Stupefied, sent into a dreamy daze.

When the bell screamed out, that stomach ache quickly turned to butterflies. Eddie shrugged on his leather jacket and denim battle vest, hovering by her side as she grabbed her leather satchel from the floor, pushing her books in clumsily.

“So,” Rose began, as they walked side by side out of class, shoulders bumping into each other at the door. “I’ve been dying to ask you about the slipper thing since lunch. Are we talking about a literal slipper, something I can wear on my feet?"

Eddie smiled bashfully. “Purely metaphorical, sweetheart. Though if you are into cosy footwear, you should go for it. Fly that freak flag high and proud, baby. I...uh... admit, i’m liking these boots though. Very Anarchy in the UK .”

Rose looked down and almost tripped, suddenly aware of her own clumsy feet. “Skinhead, actually,” she corrected. “I got them in Camden Market a few years ago. Though everyone seems to wear them since John Entwhistle went on stage in them a few years ago. He’s a guitarist-”

“The bassist from The Who,” Eddie cut in, nodding eagerly. “Oh I know who he is. He’s seriously good...so good they call him Thunderfingers. He experimented a lot with bi-amps and all these stacks of speakers so he could actually hear himself over the goddamn drummer, cause you know The Who weren’t known for being quiet, man,” he paused, grabbing the back of his neck and looking a little sheepish. “Sorry, I get a little crazy when it comes to music. The guys usually throw something at me to make me stop. Gareth’s broken a dozen drumsticks that way. In fact, I have to buy him some more from the music store in Cartersville before the weekend, or we won’t be able to practice.”

Really? Did his friends find this irritating? Because Rose wanted nothing more than to let him keep talking, revealing more about himself.

“There are so many questions I want to ask,” she said, gesturing with her hands, becoming more animated. “But most of all...you’re in a band? With Gareth? Do you play rock music? I figured it would have to be, with this entire look you have going on.”

They had wandered the corridors together. Eddie opened the door to the parking lot as she spoke, holding it open for her with a small bow, and following her outside. His limbs became looser, more free, with each step away from the school doors.

“Yeah, i’m in a band,” he flexed his shoulders, jean chain slapping into his thigh. “We all are, the older Hellfire guys. Gareth’s our drummer, Jeff is rhythm guitar, Chris is our bassist. But Corroded Coffin doesn't just play rock music, we’re a metal band.”

Rose followed him across the lot, no awareness of her surroundings. “Ah. The Iron Maiden t-shirt should have given it away, shouldn’t it,” she muttered, thinking herself foolish for not noticing earlier. “Wait, so if Gareth is the drummer, and Chris and Jeff are guitarists, what does that make you?”

Eddie had stopped, leaning against the panel of a beaten up old Chevy van, black with a white stripe across its middle. His stance was too casual for it to be someone else's, one of his sneakered feet braced against the panelling. His wicked smile spread slowly, dimples forming underneath the apple of his cheeks. “Lead singer, and lead guitarist, sweetheart. You think Hellfire is my baby? Wait til you see me on stage, wielding the mighty Warlock. There’s nothing else like it. It’s fucking intoxicating.”

Rose bit her lip. Eddie on stage, Eddie with a guitar...that was imagination overload, almost breaking her brain. “Your band is called Corroded Coffin? That’s gothic. Are you sure you haven’t been reading Edgar Allen Poe?”

Eddie looked flustered. “Ha ha. Yeah, it’s the best a bunch of middle schoolers could come up with. Eighth grade Eddie thought it was cool as hell.”

“It’s right up there with Black Sabbath. Wait...they are metal, aren’t they?”

“Rose,” he said seriously. “If you start me up on the definition of metal, it will take more than a full free period to explain. Before you go all adorably ranty and ask me a million questions, I have to give you something.”

Eddie opened the drivers door of the van and leaned right in, jeans dropping at his hips until a stripe of plaid boxers were on show. He rummaged around in the cluttered front seat, throwing wrappers and tapes around until he cackled like a horror villain and grabbed something, turning around, hands hidden behind his back.

“What is it?” Rose said, on edge.

He whipped his arms around with a flourish. A very familiar silver walkman sat in his hands, headphones attached with a coiled little cord.

“Thank fucking Christ,” she let our a deeply held breath. “I looked for that thing for hours, and turned up the whole house. Mum was tearing her hair out. I honestly thought I had lost it.”

Eddie handed it to her extravagantly. “You must have dropped it at Hellfire. I’m glad I could be of service to the fair Lady Thorn, nymph of Icewind Dale,” he squirmed and shuffled on his Reeboks, squinting as he looked at her. “I...uh...I have a confession to make though.”

Rose held the walkman tightly, against her chest. “Is this the part where you bundle me in the back of the satanic murder van and I become a gruesome story on the six-o-clock news?”

He gasped theatrically. “Shit, no way. Hellfire can’t sacrifice its own members, even satanists have to have some morals. You’re off limits.”

“Ah, so other students are on the table?” Rose asks.

His tongue ran over his teeth devilishly, and it did something feral to her, spreading warm, rushing feelings across her body, in particular places she shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “We prefer a nice ritual altar, but the lunch tables could do in a pinch.”

Rose snorted out a laugh, covering her mouth again, blushing furiously as she realised how inelegant she sounded. But she couldn’t be composed and cool when he was so lame and adorably funny.

Eddie stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, his words spilling out in a rush. “I was serious about the confession though. I just possibly, might have, okay definitely and repeatedly listened to your mixtape.”

“What?!”

“Now i’ve said it out loud that sounds like a total invasion of privacy,” he panicked, hands pulled out, palms up in a defensive gesture. “But it was there...all tempting and seductive, whispering Eddie, push my buttons...play me.. .and I caved like a little bitch.”

Rose bit her lip. “It’s okay. It’s not like you read my diary or something. Don’t even have one.”

“Oh, thank Satan,” he sagged with relief. “Because I have so many thoughts about your taste in music. Dear god, I have never heard so much Duran Duran in my entire life. Hungry Like the Wolf was on there twice ...was that an accident?”

She was mortified, and it felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. She had a giant, unrelenting thing for Eddie Munson, rock god and frontman of a metal band...and he’d heard all her guilty pleasure songs, a tracklist she’d put together without any thoughts of being overheard by magnetic, weirdly, alluringly, handsome boys dissecting her music tastes.

“Kill me now,” she mumbled. “Just tie me up and put me in the van, let Hellfire sacrifice me on the altar.”

Eddie blinked several times like an owl, head dipping low. “Wha- what?”

“Well, now you have seen my inner loser,” Rose said, laughing sarcastically. “You know what? I’m not ashamed. This is me, Rose McAllister, lover of shit music, that must be what you’re thinking. I like Duran Duran. And Queen. And...and...and I suddenly can’t remember who else is on the tape.”

“Bowie, Billy Idol, Flock of Seagulls...” he trailed off gleefully, taking a step forward with each musical act, until he was so close she could see the dark liquid amber of his eyes. “And i’ll admit, for a minute there I was confused. Yes, it’s eclectic. There’s some normie shit on that tape. But when I flipped that little sucker over and listened to the other side, White Room came on and I was floored. Cream? Come on, fucking Eric Clapton on guitar? That is awesome. Sunshine of Your Love too...and then Hendrix with Voodoo Child, and that sweet opening riff of Smoke on the Water by Deep fucking Purple ? That’s rock, baby. That’s some serious orgasmic fucking guitar work right there...and Deep Purple are the goddamn progenitors of metal. Well, I'm kind of shafting Sabbath here, which feels wrong. Sabbath is really the bedrock of metal, who am I kidding. But the point is, you might just be a potential metalhead.”

He was so passionate as he went on and on about music that he seemed to vibrate, like he would burst at any moment, head shaking side to side, frizzy hair with a life of its own.

She took the lifeline, held onto it tight. “So i’m not a lost cause, then?”

“Lost cause? Fuck no!” He shouted the last two words and their little bubble popped when a teacher yelled across the parking lot, reminding them both that this was still school, even if it was a free period.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, holding up the walkman. “For returning it. This little thing got me through three long-term hospital stays, and Duran Duran and Cream and all the other bands, they kept me sane when I thought I was going crazy.”

His eyes softened. “You’re welcome, Rose. Can’t have you going crazy, we need that eighth player for Hellfire on Friday night. Gareth’s counting on you to do the girl voices.”

“Are there a lot of female voices?”

He leaned back casually on the van again. “Oh, we come across a few fair maidens on our travels. Sometimes other warriors, sometimes a saucy tavern wench we have to seduce to gain information. But...uh...we won’t make you do anything like that. Nothing creepy or uncomfortable. Just warrior maidens in this campaign.”

“Great,” she said, fighting off some serious nerves. The thought of being seduced by Eddie with words over the Hellfire table had her spiralling. Earth to McAllister, get your mind out of the gutter. She tried to change tack, before she blurted out something stupid. “So I believe I was promised a tour of the school. One that included all the parts the teachers won’t tell you about.”

Eddie flared to life again, slamming the door of this van shut and bowing for her again, ushering her toward the school building, where they walked in tandem, crossing the parking lot and going down the side of the building. “One tour coming up, milady. Can’t go back on my word now, can I. So these are the dumpsters that the lunch leftovers are thrown in each day. Smells divine, doesn’t it.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “Just lovely.”

“I caught one of the teachers dumpster diving here once...that was a disturbing sight. Couldn’t look at them the same again. But quickly, we’ll move onto the athletic grounds, where the brightest and best of the monkey house fling faeces...I mean balls....up into the air to show off their masculine prowess and attract a mate.”

They approached a small outdoor field marked out with white lines, surrounded on two long sides by rickety metal frames of seating.

“The jock in his natural habitat,” Rose joined in, putting on a posh voice like the narrator of a documentary. “Threatened by other mature males, he peacocks, putting on a large helmet to increase the size of his head, and a jockstrap to appear more appealing to the female of the species.”

Eddie was in his element, joining right in. “And here, the bleachers. The mating grounds of the common jockstrap, where after the mating dance on the football field is complete, he attempts to lure the female with exaggerated claims of manliness, in a desperate attempt to procreate.”

Rose’s laughter trailed off as their hands accidentally brushed, and she felt as dizzy as a drunk coming out of a bar on a cold night, hit by fresh air. Eddie must have sensed it too, for he dropped the act and flexed his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with them. They took quiet, almost aimless steps across the grassy field, until he suddenly grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the treeline, jolting her forward.

“Come on,” he said cheerily. “Last stop’s this way.”

He dragged past the bleachers and into the , following a narrow, well-trodden path, where the beautiful golden leaves that made up the autumn tree canopy widened into an opening. Stray leaves crunched under Rose’s sturdy Doc Martens, but all she could feel was his hand, curled confidently around hers. Eddie was tactile with all the Hellfire guys, but friends don’t lead each other by the hands into secret spots in the woods...did they?

“If this leads towards a creepy ritual altar, Munson, then i’ll...”

His head whipped around. “Don’t stop there, I’m intrigued.”

I’ll let you tie me up and do whatever you bloody like, Rose’s traitorous inner voice whispered. “Go for the eyes or the balls,” she said out loud. “Or if I was at home, crack you over the head with my hockey stick. I once saw a girl knocked clean unconscious on the hockey field.”

“That’s so brutal,” he grinned. “I would not have pegged you for a violent kind of girl.”

“I know i’m a clumsy, babbling idiot, but perhaps there’s more to me than people think.”

“Oh I am certain of that,” Eddie said with conviction.

When he turned back to the woods trail she spotted a black bandana tucked in his back jean pocket, and the huge Dio emblazoned on the back of his denim sleeves jacket. From his hair, rings, and the badges sewn all over his clothes, to the chain sewn clumsily into his sleeve where the zipper had broken, everything about Eddie Munson was unique, unapologetic about who he was.

They emerged in a clearing, dominated by a weathered picnic table and benches. It was a really odd spot for a picnic table, but Rose supposed the woods were pretty at this time of year, and the tree cover gave them complete privacy.

Privacy. Actually, this was the first time they had been alone, and far from the observing eyes of the Hawkins High student body.

“Last stop,” he swaggered around the clearing, letting go of her hand and leaning on the picnic table. “The most dangerous spot in the school, where all the stoners go to score some pot.”

Rose chuckled and came to sit at the table, opposite him. “Which idiot thought this completely obvious spot would be a good spot for a secret drug deal? Let me guess, is it one of the basketball team?”

Eddie went quiet, eyes wide as saucers, waiting for something. She looked around, taking in the sights and smells of the forest, and looking down at the splintered table top. There was something etched into the wood, a bat...a whole series of bats, in the same style of the grim reaper from O’Donnell’s English classroom. Eddie’s grim reaper.

“Shit,” she exclaimed, breaking the silence. “Fuck. It’s you, isn’t it?”

His whole expression was vulnerable, watching her closely, warily. “Afraid so. Guilty as charged. I guess this is the part where you tell me to fuck off and leave you alone, huh?”

Rose didn’t expect it, she hadn’t really thought much about his life outside of school. She’d only known the guy for a couple of days, a few hours altogether. That rocker image he gave off was an outline, one she had yet to fill in with colour and shade, the complex reality of his life still unknown.

She turned introspective for a minute. She might have spent a lot of her teen years in and out of hospital - which was boring, filled with straight-laced medical staff and other sick children - but when she had recovered, she’d quickly tried to seek out all the elusive, wild experiences she’d dreamed about for years. Bars and pubs and alcohol, late nights with new people she’d hoped to call friends, but never really stuck around. There was a streak in her that she inherited from her father. It killed him in the end, led him to a cold, watery grave when she was thirteen and newly diagnosed, so drunk he’d swerved off the road into a small lake. So no wonder her mother watched over Rose like a hawk, melting down when she was home late, smelling of cheap spirits or beer, seeking out something to make her feel.

Life was messy. Hers had been, at least. So it should be no surprise that Eddie Munson’s was too.

“Motherf-” Eddie bit off his own curse, turning around slowly, sinking down onto the bench opposite with his back to her. He sat with his head in his hands, completely still. She’d not seen him that still in all the short time she’d known him.

She realised it had been a long time since he made his admission; she’d just sat there in silence, leaving him with no answer. And no answer probably felt like judgement or rejection.

“I see what this is,” Rose said, trying to keep her voice lighthearted. “You can’t sacrifice me to your lord and master Satan, but at least you can make a few bucks and convert me to the devil’s lettuce.”

“Don’t,” he murmured back quickly, still buried in his hands.

Okay, so joking didn’t land well. Rose leapt over the table - though it was more of an awkward scramble with a sudden realisation that her dress wasn’t that long so she should be careful of her leg placement - and dropped on the bench alongside Eddie. She couldn’t say why the hell she didn’t walk around, a momentary madness maybe, or copying the habits of the boy next to her.

“You can flee now,” Eddie said. “But i’ll walk you back to school if you want. Don’t know who else is out in these woods.”

“Why would I flee?!” Rose asked, voice high pitched.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re in the woods with a fucking drug dealer. You must think i’m a waste of space. I would.”

She raised her hand, placing it tentatively on his back, wary they had not touched above the hand holding when he dragged her here. “I don’t give a fuck if you sell weed. I mean, assuming you’re not selling coke or heroin to the kids...”

“Fuck no,” he responds immediately, enough punchy anger in that statement to let he know he means it. “Just weed at school. Some bennies and ketamine too, but i’ve never sold them here. Mostly outside bars.”

“I’m not shocked. I was sick a lot, but I did have a fucking life, Eddie. I’ve done stuff i’m not proud of. But my opinion shouldn’t matter, what do you think about it?”

Eddie drew in a deep breath and sat up. He still couldn’t look at her; his face profiled from the side, staring at the forest floor. “What do I think that I can’t get an honest fucking job in this town, where the name Munson is synonymous with lying, cheating, stealing and wasting away like goddamn trailer trash? Because I am trailer trash by the way, I live with my Uncle Wayne in a one-bed unit off Kerley. Its just fuckin’ fantastic...I sell to kids who wanna get high at high school parties, living a little before they piss off to college and get white collar jobs or settle down and start cookie cutter little families. Whilst i’m a two-time super senior who can’t even scrape together enough credits to graduate from this shit hole.”

Eddie was gathering momentum, a dam burst behind the endlessly funny, confident demeanour he’d shown her. His knees were bouncing relentlessly, hands gesturing to punctuate the helplessness of his words.

“I’m twenty years old, and the highlight of my fucking life is playing Dungeons and Dragons with a bunch of fourteen year old boys, or playing guitar with a garage band on the weekends and clinging onto the vanishing fucking hope that we might be good enough, that I might be good enough for something more than being booed off stage by a crowd of five drunks at The Hideout on a Tuesday. And knowing i’m gonna end up like my Uncle Wayne working twelve hour shifts at the plant with a trailer to come home to if i’m lucky, or even worse, like my old man...Al Munson, the two-time felon who tried to get me to mule fucking drugs for him...who left me to deal with the aftermath of a shootout without a second goddamn thought, leaving me to keep that cop from bleeding to death. So it's a factory or a jail cell for Eddie Munson. Glamorous, huh? Just the kind of guy you wanna be...you wanna be spending time with.”

Rose let the words echo around her. She laid her head back on the picnic table, the gravity of his words settled in as the russet leaves of the red maple tree swayed in the wind. “Come here,” she said softly.

Eddie snapped. “What?”

“Lie back with me.”

“This is a weird moment to be having a nap, sweetheart.”

“Just do it.”

He hesitated. Seconds later she heard a resigned gruff sigh and felt strands of his hair tickle her neck, heads laid side by side on the table.

“What are we looking at?” Eddie asked.

“Leaves. They’re pretty."

“Okaaay. I get it. I broke you, didn’t I. Fried your wires.”

“I want to spend time with you,” she began tentatively. “I want to be around you because you should be scary-”

“This isn’t a good start,” he interrupted.

“Shh. Just hold on. You should be scary, you're covered in tattoos and chains and badges of heavy metal bands. You’re a bit obnoxious-”

“Wow.”

Rose swatted his hand, and somehow, his ended up tangled with hers again. But this time their fingers were entwined, the kind of intimate hand-holding for those destined to be way more than friends. He held onto her like his life depended on it.

“Go on, Rosie,” he said, softer this time. “Tell me how obnoxious I am.”

Rosie. That was new. Well, it was better than Rosebud.

“Don’t be so impatient,” she chastised him. “I was saying...everything you do projects this big, fearless rockstar. Bold and scary and brave, shepherding these kids from the people that would bully them, their shield against the judgemental dickheads of the world. They think you’re tough because you don’t care for the opinions of normies. But you do care, and that’s exactly what makes you strong. You exist loudly, brilliantly, exactly as yourself, despite that fear. I’m not exaggerating when I say that in the two days I've spent with you, Edward Munson, I feel like a better person. I’m a little less afraid to be me. Maybe I can be fearless too.”

He squeezed her hand, until her fingers went numb. She squeezed back, until she swore she felt one of their knuckles pop, fingers so entwined she couldn’t tell where hers ended and his began.

“It’s Edgar.”

She sat up, blood rushing to her head. “What?”

Eddie’s hair was splayed about his face like a curly brown halo. He turned to face her, a slow smile turning the corners of his lips upward. “My full name is Edgar. I blame the old man, the asshole. I’m telling you this in complete confidence, the only person in school that knows is Jeff. If Henderson or the other kids find out...”

“ Edgar? Like Edgar Allen Poe?” Rose almost screeched. “Should I be following you around with a raven or a beating heart, reciting poetry?”

“Piss off,” he said, still smiling.

“Edgar Munson. Were you born in the Victorian era? I know you said you were a super senior but...wow. Should I get you a cane to walk with? A top hat? Shit, should I be calling you Mr Munson?”

“Seriously, McAllister. I’m gonna-”

“Mr Munson, esquire. I shouldn’t forget to respect my elders.”

Eddie tugged on their joined hands until she rolled into him, the full length of her torso pressed against his. Every cell of her brain deteriorated at once, the sheer heat of his body, the badges and zips pressing into her breasts, the immediate dismantling of the personal space that had kept them at a polite distance...and now they were in the same space, all pretense dropped, sharing breath, noses almost brushing. So close she had to look between his endlessly dark eyes to see them both, trying to determine what he was thinking.

“You were saying?” He said low; she could feel it vibrate through her chest, sending her into a daze until she had to remember to actually breathe.

“I...I don’t know,” she babbled, cripplingly aware that she was nearly straddling his lap, their thighs pressed side by side. Her lips parted, working up the courage to close the distance and kiss him.

Eddie reached out his free hand and held her jaw, stroking the skin of her cheekbone with his thumb. She would have sworn that literal violins struck up in the background, a chorus marching to the rapid beating of her heart, like she was in a period romance with the brooding hero. And when his hand slipped into her hair, raking through it, bringing her head closer, it was so perfect that it was almost...painful?”

“Ow,” Rose winced, her scalp on fire. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Shit, what did I do?” Eddie cried out, face twisting into shock.

They tried to spring apart, snapped back by his hand caught in her hair. Rose felt a few strands of her hair torn out at the root. Eddie’s chunky silver rings had caught in the thick strands; the more he struggled, the more she cursed and hissed in pain.

Eddie was babbling. “Oh my god i’m so sorry, what the fuck, i don’t wanna hurt you sweetheart please...i’m so sorry. Let me take them off, let me-”

“Fucking hell, Jesus Christ, I feel like i’m being scalped,” Rose mumbled back to him, tears springing in the corner of her eyes. She closed the distance again, needing to stay close to prevent the damage from worsening. Eddie’s face was right by hers, at one point their cheeks were pressed against each other and she fully ended up in his lap, as he wriggled the massive rings from his fingers.

“I’m sorry baby, i’m sorry,” Eddie said soothingly, his teeth gritting as he tried to delicately remove the last of the rings.

By the time they were all freed and his hand could untangle from her hair, they were breathing hard like they’d both run a marathon. Eye contact made, shock and panic shooting adrenaline through both of their veins, like she’d been drinking hard. She laughed, he followed. Sinking into mirth, the tense, romantic mood shattered into pieces, left with something funny, something still deep, something that was paving the way for serious, heart-stopping feelings.

“What is it?” Rose asked, seeing Eddie dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Is it the hair, do I look ridiculous?”

Eddie’s eyes were glowing. “My rings are all stuck in your hair...your hair is literally metal, McAllister. That’s so fucking weird.”

Her hands flew to her scalp and were met with four lumpy, cold chunks of metal. “Oh shit. What do I do? Will they come out by themselves? I don’t want to lose any more hair, I got chewing gum in my hair as a child and Mum had to cut it out, it took two years to fully grow out.”

Eddie nodded vigorously, taking off the ring on his other hand. “Just relax, I swear i’m not gonna do any more damage. At least, I don’t think so.”

Rose laughed again. “Are you sure it won’t hurt?”

Eddie thought of something, he dipped his hand into his pocket, bringing out a plain cassette tape in a transparent case. “I can’t promise, sweetheart. But I have a distraction for you. After I heard that beautiful mess of a mixtape in your walkman, I kind of made one for you.”

Rose felt more tears at the corners of her eyes, but not from the pain. “You made me a mixtape? After Friday night?” The subtext was clear: after one meeting, one session with Hellfire?

“Yeah. It’s metal songs that I thought you might like, after working out what music you’re into. Do you wanna listen whilst I try to untangle the rings?”

She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“Okay, here we go,” Eddie nodded. He switched out the tapes, clicking the walkman cover into place and putting her own tape into the case. He brushed the hair back from her shoulders gently, placing the headphones over her head, adjusting them carefully until the offending section of hair was free and the headphone cups covered her ears properly.

“You good?”

“I’m great,” Rose replied.

His bare hands looked different, fingers pale. He must wear the rings a lot . He pressed the play button and a guitar struck up, a kind of restrained introduction with a drumbeat slowly rolling in. It wasn’t heavy , not in the way she expected. It was...nice.

Raspy vocals kicked in, still relatively tame compared to her expectations.

I ride, I ride the winds that bring the rain

A creature of love and I can't be tamed

I want you, 'cause I'm gonna take your love from him

And I'll touch your face and hot burning skin

Eddie had wordlessly begun, fingers stroking her scalp, gently lifting away sections of hair until the rings were visible.

No, he'll never ever touch you like I do

So look in my eyes and burn alive the truth

She closed her eyes and felt the music, and Eddie’s fingers, struck by the sheer intimacy of sitting so close to someone, fully trusting them to tend to you whilst you couldn’t hear a thing. She felt when one of the rings came free, just as the song’s chorus swelled.

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you

My heart's in exile I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you

My heart's in exile I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I want you

Rose was nodding her head in time to the beat, losing herself in the music. By the time the first song had finished, Eddie was tapping her on the shoulder. She opened her eyes and found him watching with concern, as he carefully took off the headphones.

“I’m all done, sweetheart. Did that hurt?”

“Not a bit. Eddie, the song was great. Who was it? I’ve never heard them before.”

His answering smile was contagious. “That’s W.A.S.P. See?” He pointed to one of the badges on his denim vest. “They’re kinda recent, made a name for themselves in L.A. Really good showmen, their concerts are legendary. I’ve been meaning to go see them when they tour. But don’t lie to me, Rose. Did you like it?”

“Loved it. Play the next song,” she demanded.

Eddie stowed his rings in his jacket pocket and put the headphones back on her. “This is Sabbath, but not Ozzy Sabbath, Dio Sabbath. Lady Evil is such a great song, I love this one.”

“Listen with me then,” Rose slipped them off straight away, inverting the earcups and pressing one to her ear, pulling Eddie close so he could listen from the other ear. Faces only inches away, sat side by side on the picnic bench, she felt as giddy as a thirteen year old with their first crush.

The music played again, and she could feel Eddie’s body move with the music.

“I can’t believe I've not really listened to metal before,” Rose admitted, caught up in the smooth vocals of Dio. “This is great.”

Eddie gave her an intense look. “You can’t start with full on thrash metal, sweetheart. You’ve gotta work it up, take it slow. Build up the intensity, until it’s pounding at your eardrums and you’re begging for more. Just wait, we’ll get you there. You’ll be listening to Metallica and Slayer in no time.”

Rose lowered her eyes and flushed again, feeling suddenly nervous that the man at her side had evaded the law, dealt drugs, and probably had vast and thorough experience to back up the clearly sexual innuendo behind his words. Whilst she had never gone beyond some frantic snogging and a bit of over-the-clothes groping with Simon the skinhead, the young barman from the pub at home, which her mother thankfully seemed to have no clue about.

But as Black Sabbath launched into the chorus of Lady Evil and her little finger gently nudged against Eddie’s on the table, the slightest contact causing his breath to hitch and his cheshire grin to spread slowly across his face, she knew in her bones that whatever was happening was affecting them in equal measure. She might be able to live up to her little speech earlier; she might just be fearless.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson/oc #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfiction #fic #eddie munson fluff

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spacesquidlings · 10 months ago

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If You Need To, Darling, Lean Your Weight On Me: Succor

Summary: At Astarion's insistence, they find somewhere to stay to wait out the storm. Cold, tired, and covered in mud and rain, Aspen is still not entirely willing to let herself be tended to, not that he is having any of that.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (OC Aspen)

Warnings: Suggestive comments

A request from the wonderful @spacebarbarianweird !!!!! Thank you so much for this request and your patience!!!!! <3

Table of Contents

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Much to Aspen’s surprise, there really was somewhere for them to stay in the middle of nowhere.

Astarion preened smugly as she gawked at the stout inn. A buttery golden glow spilled from the windows and the cracks around the door, plumes of grey smoke spilling from an old brick chimney. The smell of roasting meats and melting butter and herbs and onions and spices she couldn’t name wafted from the inn on the bruising wind, softening its cold sting.

Her stomach cramped, dull pain radiating through her belly. She’d been too cold and miserable to even notice how hungry she was, but as the savoury smells of whatever delicious things were being cooked found her, she felt a wave of pain wash over her. Not just from the cold, or the exhaustion, but from a hunger so deep she felt like someone had torn a hole through her body.

She whined, leaning against Astarion as they stumbled over the muddy ground, towards the start of the little cobbled path that led to the front of the inn.

“What’s wrong?” He arched one ivory brow, infuriatingly beautiful despite the downpour.

There was mud caked to his boots, his trousers. His cloak was limp, blades of grass and fallen leaves and clumps of mud clinging to the hem. Once a beautiful, deep vermillion, it now looked midnight dark from the renewed storm. And yet despite how bedraggled he ought to look, as she no doubt did, he looked nothing less than enchanting. Ethereal.

He looked like a forest nymph stepping out from a storybook. Like a fairy princeling in a song. His eyes were star-bright, his face stained with a delicate cherry-blossom flush from the cold. The raindrops that fell on him glittered like they were made of quicksilver moonbeams, and his ivory curls, although plastered to his brow, looked like they’d been styled that way by a god.

Even his mud-splattered clothes seemed refined. Although his boots were a mess, the intricate, gold embroidery that was stitched across his shirt and his trousers still shone. They were reminiscent of flashes of sunshine, of the veins of gold that glimmered from between the darkness of the clouds.

His brows rose, the perfect picture of regal bemusement. Had she any skill in drawing she could spend the rest of her years painting portraits of fairies and gods and princes in his likeness.

He chuckled at her poorly veiled wonder, slipping an arm around her waist, tucking her against his side. It was a cumbersome way to walk, and yet she felt grateful, in spite of the ire provoked by how effortlessly beautiful he always was, even after traipsing through the wild in a constant squall. His support was welcome, comforting, kindling a small ember of warmth in the soggy, cold depths of her heart.

“See?” He murmured, his smile devilish. “I’m right here, I’ll always be right here for you.”

“Whatever they’re making in there smells so good,” she whined, her cheek falling on his shoulder. “I’m so hungry my stomach hurts.”

“My poor darling,” he crooned, half dragging her now over the slick cobblestones that snaked up towards the door. “Just a little further now, and I’ll make sure we have the best room they have to offer.”

He was a balm to her aching skin, a lullaby to her tired mind. He was a kernel of warmth flaring bright in a pile of soggy kindling, catching fire against all odds.

When they reached the door he held her closer, ushering her through in front of him. In less than a moment she went from the frigid chill of the storm to a near blistering warmth that tangled around her like a blanket.

It was so sudden she coughed, choking on the heat, on the smell of sizzling foods, of the chatter in the simple room stretching before them. Water pooled at her feet, mud trailing behind her as she stumbled forward on weak legs, doing her best not to look like a lunatic as she breathed deeply, as her skin began to tingle and burn from the sudden warmth cascading over her cold, clammy skin.

She was standing in a tavern, lit by soft candlelight that flickered across the simple wooden tables that were scattered throughout the room. It was mostly empty, with only a handful of tables further to the back occupied by a few couples, a group of adventurers playing a card game, and one tired looking family with a squalling newborn. A woman with wispy brown hair was flitting between the tables, setting down steaming bowls of stew and heaping plates of meats and potatoes and sandwiches.

Another pang of hunger cut through Aspen’s belly, and she would have keeled over had Astarion not wrapped his arm around her waist once more.

“Easy now, darling,” he murmured, brushing his lips over where her ear was hidden beneath her cloak. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Maybe I’m just swooning from your touch,” she muttered, peering up at him from underneath her hood. “You’re holding me so romantically.”

“Darling.” He sounded like he was humouring her, like she was being silly and naive. “When I’m touching you romantically, you’ll know.”

“Maybe I find everything you do romantic.”

He snorted. “I’m flattered, but if you swoon here, then how will you make it to our room?”

She shrugged, tugging her hood back to give him the prettiest smile she could muster, bedraggled and sodden though she was. “Perhaps I just want to be carried. After all there is nowhere I like being more than in your arms.”

Beneath the shadows of his hood she could see how his eyes darkened, how his canines caught the golden light as his lips spread wide in a devious smile. Their sharp tips gleamed wickedly, and it made her mouth go dry as her mind stumbled over all the memories of the times he’d teased her with those teeth, and all the times he’d plunged them into her skin.

But before Astarion could respond, a clear voice rang out, grabbing their attention. The woman set a tray of dirty glasses and plates on an empty table before hurrying towards them, her brow furrowed as she took them in.

“Look at the state of you two!” She cried, planting her hands on her hips as she looked them both up and down. Upon closer look, Aspen noted the soft curve of the woman’s ears, tapering off into delicate points. “You look like you’ve been lost in this storm all night!”

Aspen gave a small nod as Astarion pulled down his hood, rivulets of water slipping down his cheeks in streams of silver, liquid moonlight gilding his features. “We thought it would clear up earlier, but-”

The half-elven woman frowned, shaking her head. “It’s storm season. We’ve had rainstorms last for weeks before.”

Aspen cringed, covering her face. She really should have done more research on weather patterns before they’d begun this little escapade. Then they could have at least packed the appropriate gear.

“Well that sounds…” Astarion trailed off, and Aspen, face still hidden behind her hands, could imagine the little wrinkle to his nose, the creases around his mouth as his lips tilted into a frown. “Deeply annoying.”

“We’re used to it around her. Plus it gives us an excuse to break out all our nicest spices to warm everyone up.”

Astarion’s responding hum sounded amused, and Aspen peaked up to see his lips quirked into a smirk.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any rooms suitable for warming up guests available, would you?” He traced his fingers over her side where his hand still rested as he spoke, leaving the faintest impression of warmth in their wake. His words were smooth and sweet as honey, his lips twisting into a smirk as he tried charming the woman. “We’ve been travelling all night and I fear my lover is in danger of falling ill.”

Too tired to level a glower at him, Aspen merely closed her eyes, annoyance sparking and vanishing just as quickly. He hummed at her lackluster response, having hoped to stoke her ire, to garner a reaction from crooning that they were lovers to this stranger.

He wasn’t wrong, but he seemed particularly fond of ‘lover’ and all its implications, and the heat that scalded her cheeks whenever the word rolled from his lips.

The woman, for her part, only giggled. Aspen opened her eyes to see the woman cross her arms, a small smile on her face as she nodded. “I’m sure we have a room that can accommodate the two of you.”

“We would be most grateful.” Astarion bobbed his head as he spoke, his tone dulcet, warm. Her teeth ached from the sweetness she heard in his words, like they had been dipped in sugar.

Or maybe she was just tired, and her fatigue was making her vulnerable to his saccharine machinations.

Not that she’d ever been particularly resilient to them in the first place.

She trailed along beside Astarion, the arm still securely wrapped around her holding her fast to his side, as the woman gestured for them to follow her. She led them towards the back of the tavern, the delicious smells of melted butter and spices and something delicious and sugary growing stronger. The air seemed heavy with the smells, and Aspen felt like she could taste each dish on her tongue, her mouth watering as her mind conjured images of platters heavy with potatoes and stew and bread and every manner of dessert.

The tavern was much larger than she’d thought at first sigh, and it took a few moments for a simple bar to come into view, stretching across the length of the far wall. Behind it was a set of old double-doors, two windows glowing with firelight on either side. Sounds she hadn’t heard at first seemed to billow out from the windows along with the smell of melting butter and frying onions. The clang of metal against metal, the crackling of wood consumed by fire, the searing of vegetables in a skillet.

It was as painful as gums after a tooth had been torn free. She could not stop poking at it, could not stop focusing her attention on the smells, the sounds, even as pain from her empty stomach cut through her as easily as a knife through warm butter.

Through it all, the woman chattered, oblivious to Aspen’s discomfort, explaining to them that her name was Thistle, that she had inherited the inn from her parents, that she was the current innkeeper and could help them with anything for however long they stayed.

“You’ll have to forgive me for chatting,” she said, gesturing to two seats at the end of the bar. She rounded one side, ducking down behind the counter, her voice muffled as she continued speaking. “It’s the off-season, so we don’t usually get many visitors, aside from some of our regulars. And it’s always so fun to speak with newcomers. To learn about all the people passing through.”

She emerged a moment later, popping up like a children’s toy, startling Aspen so thoroughly that she nearly toppled from her seat. Had Astarion not caught her, looking like he was barely holding back a mocking comment, she would have most likely fallen on her face on the worn wooden floor.

Heedless of Aspen’s near-mishap, Thistle set a massive, cracking tome on the top of the bar, flipping idly through the pages.

“Let me see…” She hummed as she began running her fingers down lines that Aspen could not quite make out. “A room for two. Any particular amenities in mind?”

“A full bathroom,” Astarion said, keeping one hand on Aspen even as she fully settled in her seat. “With hot water, naturally.”

“Naturally,” she drawled, tapping her cheek.

“We’d like a small table to take our meals.” He smirked, leaning forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. “My beloved is a bit shy.”

Fatigued as she was, Aspen was never so fatigued she could not spare the energy to pinch him for saying something that silly. In response he merely pried her hand from his side, bringing it to his lips and pressing kisses to her fingertips.

“We would also appreciate some fresh linens, and dry clothes if you have any to spare,” he said, sparing Thistle a glance as he lowered Aspen’s hand. “And we’re not particular about any sort of view.”

“Not much to look at other than trees and rain anyways,” Thistle mused, drumming her fingers over the book. “I think I have the perfect room. Hold tight, and I’ll grab your keys.”

She ducked beneath the bar again, and Aspen had the foresight to clutch Astarion’s arm in anticipation of the jump-scare of the innkeeper bouncing up again with no warning.

He chuckled, trailing a finger over the back of her hand. “It seems like you’ve taken my words to heart.”

She frowned, although she did not loosen her hold. Her mind spun slowly, thoughts moving at a glacial pace as she struggled to figure out what he was talking about. “What?”

Another snort, the brush of his lips to her brow. “That you can rely on me to take care of you.”

“I’m just having a hard time sitting because my side is numb,” she grumbled. Her side wasn’t numb in the least, and even if it was she didn’t think that would lead to her needing to lean so heavily on Astarion.

Not that she was about to divulge those details to him.

He continued to sketch his finger over the back of her hand, his smile sly as he pressed chaste kisses to her cheek and her nose. “If you need support,” he murmured, with all the heat of a heady summer’s day. “You can sit on my lap. I’m sure I can-”

She was rescued from his teasing as Thistle popped up once more, beaming as she dangled an aging brass key before them. “Sorry, that took a minute! We’ve been doing some reorganizing and the room keys have all been moved.”

Astarion took the key before Aspen could even make one finger twitch, Thistle still chattering on, unaware of the mischief that had nearly transpired.

“You’ll be in room 29,” Thistle said. “Ninth room, second floor. There’s a set of stairs that will take you up to the guest rooms. It doesn’t have much of a view, but it’s one of our larger rooms, and it has everything you’re looking for.” She pulled a pen from one of the pockets in her apron, marking something off in the book. “And I’ll make sure to send someone up shortly with some fresh clothes. I think we should have a few things that fit the two of you until we can get your own clothes properly cleaned.”

Aspen started to protest, realizing not only were they being provided clothes, Thistle was also offering a cleaning service for them. She didn’t want to put her out, especially since they had barged in so suddenly, and the cost would certainly be exorbitant.

But Astarion cut her off before the words could even tumble from her mouth, a charming smile on his lips as he spun the key around his finger. “That all sounds wonderful, we’re much obliged.”

Thistle beamed all the brighter, shutting the heavy book with a dull thud. “It’s my pleasure. Now, would the two of you like something to eat?”

Astarion shot a glance at Aspen, his brows drawing together as he took her in. She must have looked utterly dishevelled, because he nodded sharply, covering the hand that was still clutching her arm. “If it’s not too much trouble, just something small and simple for now.”

“I’ll be right back!” And then Thistle was gone, swallowed by the golden light of the kitchens as she vanished behind the doors.

When Astarion turned to Aspen again all his mischief was gone. He looked strangely somber, his brow wrinkling in concern, his lips quirked to the side as he cupped her face, eyes searching hers.

“Darling, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” He pushed back a lock of hair that was stuck to her face, droplets of water sliding down her throat as he tucked it back behind her ear. “You look positively dreadful.”

She tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a hiccup. “Strange. I was thinking how you looked like a prince in a storybook.”

He clicked his tongue, his lips curling up in a half-smile. “You’re sweet, but I’m sure the weather has absolutely ruined my hair.”

“No,” she shook her head, reaching a hand to his curls. They were wet, and yet they seemed to shine like ivory, like fresh snow before the heat of the day turned it all to slush. “You look like you belong in a painting. Something beautiful that people would travel from all over the world to see.”

He chuckled, stroking her cheek. “Thank you, my love, flattery from you is always the sweetest.” His smile fell a moment later, his eyes still searching hers. “But gods, you’re cold. You feel like death.”

“Not dead,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “Can’t you feel my heartbeat?”

A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips for the barest of moments before falling away. “I can, but I would rather you were warm, too. Even your heartbeat is too slow.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that, ducking her head. Surely she would be better once she ate something and changed out of her sodden clothes, wouldn’t she?

“I’m sorry.”

The apology made her head snap up; Astarion so rarely apologized that it took her by surprise to hear him utter one now.

“For what?”

His expression was as melancholy as the sky before the rain had begun, the touch of his fingertips to her skin delicate as a breeze. “I didn’t realize how poorly you were feeling. I-”

It took more effort than it should have, but Aspen managed to unclench her hand from his arm so she could cup his cheek. His eyes widened, and his sentence fell away before he could finish.

“I didn’t tell you,” she said, her words little more than a sigh. “So how could you know? You can’t read my mind.”

He frowned. “Sometimes I wish I could.”

“What? And ruin all my mysterious charm?”

A true smile arced across his lips, and he even went so far as to roll his eyes. “Darling, I’ve met open books more mysterious than you.”

She feigned a gasp. “Isn’t that what attracted you in the first place?”

He snorted. “I was more intrigued by your blatant foolishness. The last thing I would call you, my dear, is mysterious.”

“And what would you call me?” She stroked his cheek, ensnared by his eyes. The heat of the kitchens was beginning to thaw the ice from her veins, and she was starting to feel like she was alive again. Still cold, still wet, but no longer a walking corpse tossed like a leaf through the storm.

He hummed, pushing her hair back, wiping away stray drops of water with his knuckles. “I would call you a fool, I would call you utterly mad.” His eyes softened, the tenderness in his face making her knees weak, and she was very thankful that she was sitting. “And I would call you my lover, my beloved, my partner.”

“I like that a little more than utterly mad,” she said, her own lips twitching into a smile.

“I thought you might.”

Thistle returned, a paper-wrapped parcel of food in her hands. Something for the two of them, she’d promised, to bring up to their room, and if they were still hungry they could always come back down.

Astarion thanked her, and she quickly flitted away as some of the other patrons still in the tavern beckoned her over with requests for another plate of food, ale, some napkins to clean a spill.

“Shall we go?” He murmured, pressing his lips to her ear. “Unless of course, you would like me to carry you. Because I’m more than happy to oblige.”

She really did consider taking him up on that, but she feared they’d already made a big enough scene, bursting into the quiet tavern with the wind and rain lashing at their backs.

She could feel his smile against her even as she told him no, not this time. “That’s okay, darling. There will be plenty of time to hold you in my arms soon enough.”

She did, however, twine her hand with his, wanting just that little bit of touch. Needing that little bit of touch. It was a comfort, his presence beside her, and it gave her the last sliver of energy she needed to shuffle from the tavern, to climb the stairs to the second floor, to make it to the door of their room.

By the time the door had been unlocked, they’d made it into the room, and they’d lit the few candles in the room to banish the shadows, Aspen felt like she would keel over. She was still starving, but her legs were shaking, and she could hardly keep her eyes open.

Astarion quickly stripped away his cloak, balling it up and throwing it into a corner of the room before dumping his pack beside it. But Aspen could not even summon the energy she needed to do that. Instead all she could manage was slumping into the closest seat, her soaking clothes and pack weighing her down as surely as lead.

“None of that,” he chided, frowning as she wilted in the chair. “Come on, get up. You need to get out of those clothes and eat.”

She groaned, throwing her head back. “I’m tired.”

“I know, darling. But you really will get sick if you stay in those clothes much longer.”

She didn’t move, sliding down the chair. Her pack pressed into her spine, dull pain spreading from where the books and supplies she had shoved into the pack japped at her. She winced, but did not move, feeling like she might never be able to move again.

Astarion groaned, throwing his head back. “I have to do everything myself, it seems.”

Before she could process what he could possibly mean he was crouching in front of her, hands hovering over her mud-spattered boots.

“What are you doing?”

He arched a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “What does it look like I’m doing, darling? If you don’t have the strength to move, then I’ll help you.” His smirk widened, bordering on smug, and his voice turned so sugary her teeth ached. “I can take care of my sweet, delicate lover.”

“You’re teasing me,” she whined. “I’m cold and tired, and you’re teasing me!”

“Really darling, you should know me better by now.” He was scolding her, but he said it so softly it could have been lyrics in a lullaby.

“Of course I’m teasing you,” he continued, his elegant fingers deftly untying the laces of her boots and sliding them from her feet. “You can’t undress without my help even when you aren’t cold.”

She considered kicking him for that. “I just get nervous. And distracted.”

He hummed, his smile sharp as he tugged off her socks. “Oh I know you get distracted, darling. And I don’t blame you, not when I’m around. But what’s your excuse this time?”

“It’s not an excuse.” She really would have kicked him had he not grasped her legs, holding them still. “I told you, I’m cold.”

He clicked his tongue, delighting in this sweet little torment as he inched his hands up to the waistband of her trousers. “Do you know what I think?”

She shivered despite her best efforts, face burning as he undid the buttons and began sliding the fabric down. It was soaking wet, and clung to her skin, and for a moment his expression shifted to annoyance as he gave them a tug.

“I think-” He grunted as he finally managed to drag them from her body, letting the trousers fall to the floor in a sopping puddle. “I think you’re just needy.”

“Needy?” Heat crawled over her cheeks, making her skin prinkle.

“Yes, n-” He ground his teeth as he tossed her pack to the side unceremoniously and started on her cloak and her tunic. The cloak came away easily, but her tunic and undershirt were pasted to her skin just as surely as her trousers had been. “Darling, I know it’s easier to wear trousers when we’re travelling, but it’s so much easier to undress you when you wear dresses.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, amused. “I do so love making it easier for you to take my clothes off.”

“Well it is the least you can do,” he said, grinning as he finally removed her tunic, tossing it to the side, the material flopping against her pack. “Especially when I try so hard to make sure you feel the most pleasure.”

Her body continued to warm, the flush in her cheeks staining her arms, her chest. Astarion’s smile grew as he caught sight of it, of the the rose-petal red spreading over her exposed skin.

He brushed his lips to her cheeks, to the column of her throat, in the valley between her breasts. His hands caressed her sides, slipped over the flare of her hips. Fire trailed in the wake of his touch, embers of warmth blooming to life beneath her skin. She felt like she was becoming spring, cold as melting ice beneath the afternoon sun, warmth slowly creeping over her, colour and wildflowers blooming where the pearlescent white of snow had once been.

“As I was saying…” He murmured, his words reverberating through the hollows of her bones. She could feel the flutter of her pulse, pressing against her skin as her blood heated with every touch of his lips, every flick of his tongue.

She hummed, tangling a hand in his hair without thought. His curls were damp, cool, but she could smell the delicate scent of his favoured soaps, his perfumes that he always applied so religiously. “What were you saying?”

With her cold, soaking clothes removed, already she was feeling better. Still though she shivered, gooseflesh racing across her bared skin, but she did not feel as heavy as she had before. And better yet, Astarion was close, his breath ghosting across her, his smile pressed against her skin.

He chuckled, fingers toying with the edges of her undergarments. “I was saying, I think that you’re desperate. For me to touch you, for me to have you.”

“And if I am?” The words came out in a breathless rush, her heartbeat erratic as it stumbled over itself in its haste. “What would you do?”

He looked up then, pupils so dilated they seemed to swallow the dark vermillion of his eyes. His smile was slow, languid. It reminded her of a predator, as his fangs slowly peaked through his widening smile.

“I think the better question would be what wouldn’t I do,” he breathed. His voice was low, heady. It reached deep in her veins, sent sparks of heat arcing in her core. “Because, my love, I would do anything if that were true.”

When she shivered again it had nothing to do with the cold. “Anything?”

He dragged her underclothes down slowly, heat blooming deep in her belly as he held her gaze, smirking so terribly smugly. “Would you like a demonstration?”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Perhaps.”

He hummed, lowering his lips to the inside of her thigh, his words ghosting against her skin. “I suppose I could think of something-”

But before he could say anything more he was swearing, pulling away to frown at her.

“What is it?”

“Gods, you’re just so cold,” he muttered, rubbing his hands up and down her legs. “Your skin really does feel like death.”

“I feel a little like it too,” she said. Disappointment coiled with the fatigue in her belly as she teetered on the edge of the fuzzy warmth his touch had filled her with. Her mind was starting to clear, and as it did she began to shiver, began to register the heaviness of her body once more.

Astarion hummed at her response, drumming his fingers on her hip. “I can think of a few ways I could warm you up.”

Although her heart began to race, her mind was clear enough to know how what he was implying would undoubtedly be disastrous. Desire twisted in her belly, but her fatigue was stronger, and she knew she was too weak for much of anything besides sleep.

“I don’t know if that would be such a good idea,” she admitted, begrudgingly. She would have liked to learn what exactly he thought would help warm her. “I’m so tired and stiff, I doubt I’d be able to do much.”

He chuckled. “I can think of something else that’s stiff that wouldn’t mind.”

She gaped, making a half-hearted attempt to smack him. “Astarion!”

“Yes, my darling?” He caught her hand, bringing her palm to his lips.

“You’re such a villain,” she grumbled.

He pouted, kissing her palm again. “But earlier you said I was a prince.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

His eyes narrowed, and in one quick movement he yanked her from her chair, letting her topple into his lap.

“Astarion!”

“Hmmm?” His smirk was nothing short of shit-eating, villainous and self-satisfied and infuriating.

It was adorable too, if she were honest. But she wasn’t telling him that.

“What are you doing?” Venom was gentler than her tone, and yet he laughed, a hand snaking around her to press his palm against the small of her back.

“What does it look like?” His non-answer was infuriating, but the feeling quickly passed as he nuzzled her throat, teeth scraping over the flutter of her pulse.

“It looks like you dragged me, half-naked, into your lap.”

He snorted, taking a shuddering breath as he swiped his tongue over her pulse. “You’re completely naked, my love.”

“That’s worse!” There was no bite to her words now, the hand at her back sliding lower. Astarion had never been one to keep his hands still.

“You’re acting like I’ve never done this before, pet,” he said. His words lilted through the air, mirth making them bright. He was having far too much fun, and here she was cold and tired, completely at his mercy.

She gave a half-hearted pinch to his side. “You’re proving my point, lover.”

“That I’m your perfect storybook prince?”

She rolled her eyes. “What storybooks have you been reading?”

“Awful ones.” The suddenness of the pinch to her ass made her squeak, and she hardly heard his response, spoken low and breathy, like it was a secret he was only sharing with her.

Laughing, he smoothed his hand over the ache in her skin. “But they’re certainly much more fun.”

She could think of no proper response, still smarting from the sharp pinch, her mind trying to catch up.

He nipped at her throat, teeth pressing into her skin just shy of piercing into her veins. She felt dizzy, losing herself in such small touches from him. His body was no warmer than room temperature, and yet it was so much warmer than she was, and she felt like ice melting beneath the golden caress of the sun.

Astarion straightened, lips twisted in a smug smile. “I do so love having fun with you, my dear. And do you know what I think?”

She shuddered at the feeling of his hand tracing over her thigh. She could hardly think herself, so easily brought to incoherence by his lips, his lithe fingers. There was no way she could guess what was happening in his mind. “What are you thinking?”

His smile widened, his teeth bared for her. Sometimes she liked to press her fingers to their sharp points, enamoured by them. “That you love having fun with me.”

“If you’re trying to tease me, you’re not doing a very good job.” She did press her thumb to one of his fangs, and he nipped at her playfully, chuckling.

“Have you considered that I’m not teasing you? I’m just stating facts, love.”

She quirked a brow as she plucked at the ties of his shirt. “That I love having fun with you?”

He caught her hand, bringing it back to his lips. “Why else would you choose a villain for a prince?”

“You are teasing me!”

His teeth scraped over her palm, the reverberations of his laughter seeping into her veins, warm as spring. “Maybe.”

“Yes, you are!” She squirmed, but she was stuck, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

Kisses fell on the heel of her hand, his lips soft and plush, sending fireflies of warmth and light flitting between her ribs, illuminating her veins, her heart, as its pulse quickened for him.

“And if I am?” He breathed, looking up at her from beneath his ivory lashes. “What would you do?”

“I would-” She didn’t know what she would do. What could she even do?

“Well? I’m waiting.”

“I…” She rolled the question around in her mind, coming up with less than nothing.

He lifted his brows. “You…?”

With a huff she leaned away, tipping her head back to peer down at him, feigning imperiousness. Pretending he wouldn’t immediately see through such a facade. “I would be very cross.”

“Oh my.” He couldn’t have sounded less bothered by her answer even if he’d tried.

“And…” She licked her lips. “I wouldn’t play with your hair. Or give you kisses goodnight.”

Her threats came off more childish than anything else, and they seemed to amuse him, his smile stretching wide.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we, pet?” He tipped his head back too, the picture of aristocratic indolence. He really did look the picture of a prince, even if he was a particularly devilish one.

She huffed. “We would not.”

Despite all her posturing, all her feigned ire, she could not hold her facade for long. Astarion laughed, soft and warm, and it was easy to get lost in the sound of it. His voice was a melody, his laughter a song. There was no ballad that could compare, no bard with a voice as sweet. To hear such warmth, such delight, spinning in the air of the room.

The sound put her at ease, and she was so busy melting into the cadence of his voice that she nearly leapt out of her skin when he stood, bringing her with him.

“What are you doing?” It was an effort to stop herself from shrieking, the shock she felt still rattling through her bones.

He tsked, shaking his head. “Behave, darling.”

“Or what?”

His brow arched high, the corners of his lips trembling like he was on the verge of laughter all over again. And when he spoke, his words were all smouldering warmth, stoking embers in her core that flared to life. “Are you sure you want to find out?”

“That’s not an answer, Astarion.”

He brought his lips to her ear, his sultry tone making her shudder. “Keep being disobedient and you’ll find out.”

She was sorely tempted to push him, having an idea of what would be in store for her if she did. But she was tired, too, and she liked when he praised her, when he was gentle and loving.

He carried her into a room half cloaked in shadow. Squinting, she could make out that it was the bathroom, not particularly luxurious, but it suited their needs. A bathtub took up nearly half of the room, a toilet and sink squeezed into the far corner, the candlelight from the main room barely reaching them.

She assumed Astarion would set her down to light the candles, but he did not, only clutching her tighter as he struggled to light the few sconces on the wall.

“My love, you can put me down you know,” she murmured.

As the candles flared to life she could make out the lines of his face, the uncharacteristic solemnity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

He tried flashing her a grin when he caught her staring, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Perhaps I’d prefer to hold you close.”

“Astarion.” She brushed back his curls, half-dried now that they were safe from the storm. “My love, tell me what’s on your mind.”

As she trailed her hands down to his cheeks he leaned into her touch, eyes half-lidded as he watched her. “The only thing on my mind, darling, is warming you up.”

“Is that not what you were doing before?” She stroked his cheek as he sighed, turning his head to nuzzle her palm. “Teasing me to warm me up.”

She could feel his smile against her skin, could feel the sharp prick of his fangs. “I only did that because I love to tease you, my dear.”

“No other reason?”

He nipped at her hand, all pleased smiles and mischief glinting in his eyes. “It’s one of my favourite pastimes, love. There is nothing I find more enjoyable than teasing you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now that can’t possibly be true.”

“And what else could you possibly be thinking of?” His voice reminded her of a purr, of syrupy sweetness hiding something else underneath. “That would be more pleasurable than this?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, heat rushing through her. His eyes were bright, sharp as starlight on a lake. The words would not come to her lips, her throat clogged so not even air could escape.

“Well?” He prodded, dragging his teeth over her palm again. Never hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her skin tingle from the pressure. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Aspen drew herself up as best as she could, peeling her hands away and crossing them over her chest. “Maybe I’m teasing you now.”

Clicking his tongue, he finally set her down. “That’s hardly fair. Here I am working so terribly hard and you have the gall to tease me.”

“And what exactly is it that you’re working so hard at?”

He pinched her waist, brow arching high. “You’re being such a brat.”

“Am not!”

He hummed, sliding his arm around her waist before she could move, drawing her close. Firelight flickered over him, limning his face in orange and gold. He looked sharper in the fluttering light, shadows rolling from him like a cloak, his eyes dark as an open wound. There was nothing but devilry in the crescent of his smile, in the creases at the corners of his eyes.

Sometimes she forgot that he was a predator, that he was dangerous. Stories and songs had been written about creatures like him, that lurked in the shadows, that stole away children and women who strayed too far from the light.

But she had leapt headfirst into his shadows, and she had found there was light there too. Softened moonlight, the quicksilver glimmer of stars. Gold and silver twining together, illuminating the tributaries of her veins, setting her heart alight with all the wondrous things she had felt since she had felt the kiss of his steel knife against her throat.

So even when he looked at her as a predator did prey, she could not find it within her to be afraid. There were no tendrils of fear, no blossoming anxieties. All she could think of was his tender smiles in the mornings, the puppy dog eyes he made when he wanted something, the petulant way he whined when things did not go his way, the mischievous little grin he wore whenever he said something that made her laugh.

It made her brave, foolishly so, and as he peered at her with such avarice she reached for him. She cupped his cheek in her palm, hovered her thumb over his lips, felt the warmth of his breath curling against her skin. She smiled, unafraid when she knew the soft, delicate core hidden behind his sharp smile.

“I love you so very much,” she said, practically the sing-song chirp of a songbird at dawn. “But I am not a brat.”

Astarion’s brow quirked, and his sharpness seemed to fade away. The candles fluttered, a phantom wind ghosting through the room, softening his features as the gold of the light washed over him once more. But soft as he looked now, even his eyes reminding her of summer-fresh cherries, his smile still remained.

“It’s a little too late to change your tune now, my dear.” He patted the hand pressed to his cheek as though he were consoling her.

“I’m not changing any tune!” Perhaps if she kept her voice sweet as sugar he would not attempt to retaliate. “I’m just saying that I love you.”

Another hum, his fingers curling loosely around her wrist. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And you’re saying you’re not a brat.”

“I am.”

For a moment she thought she had succeeded, for a moment she was certain he would move on to whatever else was churning in his mind, whatever reason he’d dragged her into the bathroom.

But Astarion had two hands, and she was only paying attention to one. Another pinch to her side had her squealing, yanking her hand from his face and clutching it to her chest like a wounded animal.

He tsked, leaning close until she could nearly feel his smile against her own lips. “Yet you’ve been fighting me since the moment we got to this room.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve been fighting you…” She muttered, trailing off. He’d been teasing her mercilessly, and she figured she ought to put up at least a slight resistance.

Another click of his tongue, another pinch that had her backing away quickly. “Stop that!”

“What else am I supposed to do when you won’t do what I want?” He laughed, giving chase.

Too late Aspen realized she had nowhere to go as her back hit the rough wooden panels of the wall. “You don’t have to keep pinching me!”

She was trapped. His hands settled on her hips, fingers pressing into her skin. He sighed, watching her quietly for a moment, firelight flickering across his face. “But I do so love to see your flustered expressions when I do.”

“It’s mean.” Her retort came out smaller than she had intended, sounding childish.

It garnered nothing but soft laughter as Astarion dragged her closer to him, as he pressed his face against her throat, muffling the sounds.

“Maybe if you listened more, I wouldn’t have to be so mean.” He was still laughing, the reverberations of his voice running across her nerves, spiderwebbing across her skin in warm tingles that made her knees weaken.

The touch of his lips to her skin made her feel dizzy, senseless. She’d been trying to escape his teasing, but instead she’d only been ensnared further. She wished he was closer, wished he would discard his own sopping wet clothing, if only to feel the slow tempo of his heart, sluggishly pushing blood through his veins.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, swallowing a whine as he scraped his teeth above her fluttering pulse. “You could just not be mean ever.”

He sighed, nipping her once more before drawing back, meeting her eyes. “You’re not giving me a lot of credit, you know.”

Now it was her turn to quirk a brow. “Pardon?”

“I’m very nice. And sweet, and generous,” he preened, looking equal parts mischievous and earnest. “You’re just not giving me a reason to be nice.”

“Isn’t being your lover reason enough?” She pouted, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

His mouth opened, closed again. She was almost certain colour crept into his cheeks as he swallowed, looking entirely, for a moment, at a loss.

“Well yes of course, darling…” he finally said, words popping like joints loose from sockets. Gone was the charming, teasing tone as his rhythm was thrown off, his careful verbal dance reduced to the uncoordinated stumbling of a toddler.

“Of course being your lover is reason enough?” She finished the sentence for him, although that was certainly not how he would have finished it. But she had to take advantage, tongue-tied as he was. It wasn’t very often her silver-tongued lover tripped finding his words. “Reason to be nice? To not tease me so?”

She pressed her hands to his chest, slid them down until they found the clasps of his shirt. She plucked at them, not quite undoing them and freeing him from his clothes. She gave him the prettiest smile she could, leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his shoulder, looking sweet and innocent and docile. Someone he couldn’t not be kind to.

He scowled, sensing her ploy, but it was dull as a wooden sword; no real edge to cut her with. Already the lines of his annoyance were fading, softening like shadows beneath morning light. “You’re distracting me.”

She batted her lashes, peering up at him with wide, doe eyes. “Distracting you from what?”

He groaned, brow twitching, yet the corners of his lips quivered, like he was fighting a losing battle against his smile. “This is one of the reasons I’m not always nice.”

She pouted, tipping her head to the side. “You don’t like this? You don’t want me to be close to you?”

Astarion’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments, and then he snorted, caressing her cheek. “You know, I think you might be the villain, love.”

“Well, I did learn from the best.”

His eyes glittered with starlight, his chest puffing out from the compliment. “I am the best, aren’t I?”

“You are.” She agreed wholeheartedly, and not just because she was trying to tease him. She adored him, cherished every part of him. “You’re the best, most important person in my life.”

Astarion smirked, clearly catching onto her ruse. Yet he did not chide her for it, instead only tapping her nose affectionately. “You really must stop distracting me, my dear. I have a task to accomplish.”

“What sort of task could be more important than me?”

He ran his hands down her sides, cushioning his chin on the top of her head. “Warming you up, darling. You’re still cold as death.”

He was right, and pressing herself against his rain-drenched clothes was not helping that. But joking with him was a welcome distraction, keeping her mind away from the painful numbness that had overtaken her feet and her hands, from the prickling tingles of ice shards melting beneath her skin.

She supposed that would be quite important. She wasn’t exactly keen on staying cold.

“What did you have in mind?” She mumbled, some of her sugary veneer melting away. She’d been able to ignore the chill clinging to her as surely as a second skin, but now it was rushing back. The burn of her hands, the throb of her skin as if it would crawl from her body at any moment.

Astarion’s arms looped around her waist, holding her close. He was only marginally warmer than her, although how she wasn’t entirely sure. But it was a comfort all the same, whatever heat he harboured leaching into her bare skin.

“I was going to draw you a bath,” he murmured, a balm that eased some of her chills, a lullaby for cold nights.

“A bath?” Perhaps the storm and her fatigue had made her simple, slow.

“Yes.” He sounded amused, delight a bright flame to gathered kindling. “We’ve been trekking through the forest all night, and no offense, darling, but you’ve looked better.”

She glared at him, scrunching up her nose until a sharp flick to her side snapped the glower from her face.

“You’re still beautiful,” he continued, smoothing his hand over where he’d flicked her side. “You’re always beautiful to me, my love. But you do look like you’ve rolled in mud.”

He smirked, plucking something from her hair and tickling it against her nose. She snatched it from his hand, glaring at a leaf, floppy and damp from the deluge they had travelled through.

She flicked the leaf to the side, letting it careen to the floor. “Fine. Point taken.”

“And,” Astarion continued, taking her chin and tilting it up, so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “It should chase away the last of that chill.”

Caught in his grasp as surely as a fly in spider’s silk, she could do nothing but nod. His hold was firm, his eyes bright as glee danced in them. She could not wrestle herself free, not that she particularly wanted to. He was the moon, and she was the ocean’s waves, ebbing and flowing at his whim. If he thought this was a good idea, then she was not about to argue.

A pleased smile curved across his lips like sunlight peeking from behind storm-clouds. He pressed a kiss to her brow, sighing. “Good girl. Now stay there.”

In an instant he was gone, returning only to press the paper-wrapped package Thistle had given them earlier into her hand.

It was a sandwich, the bread toasted and warm, crust crumbling in her fingers as she unwrapped it. It was made of nothing more than lettuce and cheese and tomatoes and crispy meat, a yet it smelled heavenly. Her stomach ached just looking at it.

“To give you a little more strength,” was his answer to her unasked question. When she hesitated to take a bite he lifted her hands to her mouth, his tone brooking no argument. “Eat. It will take me a few minutes here to get everything ready anyways.”

She did not have to be told twice, spilling crumbs as she took ravenous bites all while Astarion busied himself with filling the tub. She watched as steam rose from the water, as he moved around the room, sniffing at the little bottles lined up on a ledge behind the tub. He grimaced, vanishing from the bathroom, the sound of bottles clicking and clothes and books being tossed to the sound coming from deeper in the rooms.

Astarion returned as she was licking crumbs and sauce from her fingers, her hunger only marginally sated. Firelight flickered silver over the bottles in his hands, and she looked up to see their own personal stash of favoured soaps and oils in hand. He added a generous amount of oils and perfumes, and quickly the room was enveloped in a floral-scented fog. She could smell rose and lavender and violets, the faintest touch of vanilla and cinnamon.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, a scrap of her energy restored, shivering even as the temperature in the bathroom rose. Astarion had moved away from her, and without him close by she felt all too vulnerable, and the cold that still clung to the air managed to find her, burrowed itself into the hollows of her bones until they were covered in frost.

It was another while before Astarion was satisfied, as he sniffed at the air, dipped his hands into the water, added something new, and repeated the process all over again.

Centuries might have passed before he finally gave a pleased nod. He turned back to her, grinning widely, proud of himself already. He held out his hand, beckoning her over. “Come here, my love.”

The room was small, and she was beside him in a moment, her fingers threading between his. He drew her closer still, until her chest was pressed to his, until her chin was perched on his shoulder.

“Astarion?” He ran his hands down her sides, dancing over the tips of her thighs before sliding up once more. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, to her cheek, to her thrumming pulse. It was sweet and strange all at once, and she giggled as she said his name, again and again, as his kisses quickened, as his hands moved with a new fervor.

The ground fell out from under her suddenly, Astarion scooping her into his arms. A gasp fell from her lips, but the only sign that he noticed at all was the curve of his lips against her throat as he kissed her again.

He lowered her slowly into the tub, warm water swaddling her like a blanket. It burned at first, but it quickly turned to a soothing ache, and then nothing but a balm that eased the pain and cold from her bones.

“What was that for?” She asked, tipping her head back to follow him as he straightened, no longer showering her in affections.

Astarion only shrugged, nimble fingers making quick work of his shirt and his trousers. “I thought it might help to warm you up.”

She arched a brow. “Really? And it has nothing to do with you wanting to do any of that?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I was only acting out of the goodness of my heart, my darling. You’re so cold, and need to do everything I can to warm you up.”

“I hope that’s not the only thing you’re planning to do.” The heat from the water made her feel renewed, alive once more. And she did not want to sit in the tub alone, not when it was certainly large enough for both her and her beloved partner.

“You don’t need to fret, my love,” he crooned, discarding the last of his clothes. “I have plenty of ways I can warm you up.”

The surface of the bath rippled, gleaming pearlescence borne from the perfumes and oils that suffused the water and the air. Astarion settled behind her near soundlessly, and had it not been for the sturdiness of the legs that bracketed her sides and the gentle undulation of the water, she would have thought him a phantom. A silent spectre keeping watch.

His hands paused at her hips while he shifted, slowly inching across her belly until he had his arms wrapped fully around her, his chest flush with her back, sighing as though he was finally content.

“This is quite nice,” he mused, flicking iridescent water idly. “We should get a tub like this. I’ve grown so weary of bathing in little more than buckets.”

“And yet with all this space you’re still clinging to me,” she quipped, scooping water into her palms and watching as it slipped between her fingers. “You have all this space and you’re still stuck to my back.”

He chuckled, bringing his lips to the back of her neck. “You’re just going to have to get used to that, darling. I promised you I’d always be with you, didn’t I?”

She craned her neck around as far as she could go, just barely finding his eyes from the corners of hers. “And that means you’re always going to be practically stuck to me?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s hardly my fault you’re so captivating.”

Sighing, Astarion perched his chin on her shoulder, breathing his next words into her ear. “I could live a million lifetimes more, and I would still never have enough of you.”

Aspen shivered, all thoughts fleeing her mind, vanishing like deserters in battle.

Astarion did not give her a chance to concoct a proper response, or any response at all. He tapped his fingers against her skin, his arms loosening their hold. “But if you don’t want me to, I can always leave you to your own devices.”

He began to pull away, chest peeling from her back, leaving nothing but air and water and a sudden bone-deep ache that splintered her heart like cracked glass.

“I wouldn’t want to linger where I’m not wanted.” He didn’t sound particularly morose, although his face was pulled into an expression of mock misery.

Her hand snapped out before he could pull away entirely, her heart in her throat. “Wait, don’t go.”

She twisted further around, clutching at his arms. The thought of him leaving her, even if it was just to step into a different room, filled her with such abject sadness she would surely drown in the ocean of it. She was a pebble, weather-worn and smooth, caught in the force of his riptide. She did not want to be set free, lost to the waters of the sea. She wanted to dissolve entirely, wanted to flow along with his current.

Astarion’s brows shot up, but his eyes remained steady, not surprised in the least. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whined, heedless of the fact that she was almost certainly falling right into his trap.

“Is that so?” A dangerous glint came into his eyes, a sharp slice of his lips ticking up. “Are you sure? You made it seem like you didn’t want me very close at all.”

“I was only teasing.” She was already very nearly in his lap, and she wiggled closer still, much to his delight. She could tell from how his eyes lit up, how his smile grew wider, more smug. “I want you to stay.”

“Oh darling,” he ran the back of his knuckles over her cheek, caressing her gently. “You’re adorable. Even in hysterics you’re adorable.”

She sat up a little straighter, shoulders feeling a little looser. “So you’ll stay?”

He tipped his head to the side, his smirk infuriating. “Well I don’t know about that. You know you’ve hurt my feelings terribly, even if you were just teasing.”

Brows drawing together, Aspen frowned. She curled herself against his chest, looked up at him as sweetly as she could. She willed herself to be sugar, to be flavoured syrup in a sweetened drink. His fangs should ache, he should taste candy on his tongue.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, sliding her hands down his arms, twining her fingers with his. He seemed amused, letting her draw his hands to her chest, to her lips, letting her murmur her apologies against his knuckles. “I’m so so sorry, Astarion.”

His eyes narrowed, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

He tugged one of his hands from her grip, taking hold of her chin. The pad of his thumb ran across her bottom lip as he hummed, a tuneless melody she couldn’t place.

“What can I do so you believe me?” She still held one of his hands, and he seemed content to let her scatter kisses on his palm, his other hand now sliding down the column of her neck.

His thumb paused over her throat, stroking little circles against her windpipe. “Say please.”

“Please, will you believe me?” She arched her neck, just a little, giving him her biggest doe eyes.

He hummed, adding more pressure as he continued to press circles into her throat. His smile said he wasn’t ready to let this go just yet. “And who are you talking to, my dear?”

“Please, Astarion?”

His grip tightened, almost imperceptibly, as he frowned. Evidently, he was displeased.

She chewed on the corner of her lip, remembering something he’d said earlier. “Please, my love?”

The arch of one of his brows and the quiver of the corners of his lips told her she was on the right track.

“Please, my sweet? My beloved, won’t you please believe me?” She would have pressed her cheek to his shoulder, would have kissed him gently, were it not for the hand at her throat. Instead, she settled for kissing his palm again, and he smiled, seeming satisfied.

“Alright, alright.” He drew both hands away, settling them on her shoulders and gently pulling her away. “I’ve had my fun, but I really did have a plan here.”

“Was it to tease me?” She tried pinching his hands, but he batted her away with a snort. “Because if so, mission accomplished.”

He rolled his eyes. “Darling, I never plan to tease you. You make it so easy, I can do it whenever I want.”

“Hey!”

His smile was far too innocent to be believed. “Now let me clean you up before you pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out.” She felt strangely peevish, bristling at the suggestion she had a poor constitution. “I ate that sandwich and everything.”

His brows drew together, his tone strangely soothing, like he was trying to placate a child on the verge of a tantrum. “Darling, have you taken a look at yourself lately?”

“You know I haven’t.”

His lips twitched. “You’ve looked like you’re going to collapse for ages now. You’re paler than me.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Well I haven’t seen the sun in what feels like years now with this storm.”

Another twitch of his lips that he had to fight to get under control. It was clear he was trying to appear serious, and he was having a very difficult time with it. “Love, I had to carry you to the bathroom. I nearly had to carry you up the stairs.”

“I could have walked by myself,” she grumbled. At his arched brow she raised her shoulders, wrinkling her nose. “You were the one who decided you wanted to carry me.”

The way his brow creased and his eyes narrowed told her how much he believed that.

“Darling.” He sounded hesitant, tired. “My love, I really was worried. I thought you were going to pass out.”

Aspen stilled, whatever fight had been in her fizzling away like cheap sparklers bought at a market stall. Brilliant and bright and gone in an instant, leaving her devoid of even enough energy to lift her arms.

She slumped against him, sighing morosely. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.”

“It’s alright now,” he murmured, water trickling down her face as he stroked her hair. “You haven’t passed out yet, and even if you do, I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She closed her eyes, the feel of his fingers in her hair as good as a lullaby. “Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about drowning in this bath.”

He snorted, tugging gently at her hair as his fingers were caught in snarls and knots left there by the raging wind. “Thank goodness I’m here to have drawn this bath, so that you can get cleaned up.”

“That too.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, patting her side lightly. “Open your eyes for me, pet. I do want to clean you up before the water goes cold.”

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tighter.

“As adorable as you are pretending to sleep,” he crooned, a finger dragging over her cheek. “I am not above using less savoury methods of rousing you. Tired or no.”

She cracked an eye open, contemplating whether she wanted to learn exactly what unsavoury methods he had in mind.

But then she flicked her eyes up to find his, and although there was always that spark of mischief in his eyes, as surely as the stars were always glittering beyond the gold sheen of the sun, there was a tender warmth as well. The warmth of a crackling fire stoked in the midst of a winter storm, the warmth of a favoured blanket shared between two bodies, the warmth of a warm drink cradled in her palms.

She did not wish to invoke a response that would take that softness and bring it to a whetstone, filing it away until only diamond-sharpness remained. She craved his gentle moments, his kindhearted touch. Her hunger for his affection was ravenous, an empty pit in her chest that only felt sated when he looked at her like this, when he brushed his fingers over her cheeks, when he so idly toyed with her hair as she drifted off to sleep.

So Aspen sat up as best she could, letting him direct her until he was satisfied with how she sat. He asked her which of their soaps she wanted to use, humming as she picked her favourite botanical scents, running his fingers down her spine and bringing his lips to the nape of her neck to murmur praises when he liked certain smells best.

The heat of the water began to work its way between her frozen, knotted muscles as surely as Astarion’s fingers worked through the knots in her hair. He instructed her to lean back, to let him scoop the scented water into his palms and pour it over her scalp until her hair was soaked through, clinging to her cheeks and the back of her neck as she sat up again.

She felt loose, felt like she might melt into nothing, as though her bones had simply vanished, and she needed Astarion to ease her back into a sitting position, the warm tenor of his laughter making her dizzy.

“Stay with me, darling,” he murmured, lithe fingers gathering her hair from her cheeks and brushing it back. “I need you to stay awake.”

“I’m awake,” she muttered, although it was only partially true. She felt half unconscious already, gripped by the fatigue she’d been pretending not to feel for most of the night. It was an anchor tied to her feet, dragging her beneath the rolling waves of oblivion, and there was absolutely nothing in the candle-lit bathroom that was helping her to remain awake.

For all his teasing, Astarion’s gentle ministrations were making her sleepy, would have made her sleepy even if they had not traipsed overnight in a violent storm. He had unearthed a comb from one of their packs, and he worked it through the knots in her hair, applying a sweet-smelling conditioner as he went, softly cursing the winds and the gods for letting her hair get mangled so terribly.

Such gentleness felt almost foreign to her; as a child her mother had yanked brushes through her hair when it was knotted before tying it back in braids so tight it brought tears to her eyes. As she grew older she had not shown herself any kindness either, grabbing fistfuls of her hair away from her scalp so it did not hurt quite so terribly as she pulled her brush through her knots.

And when she’d grown old enough to control how long her hair could be, she’d had it cut short, grazing just below her chin, to make it all the easier to manage. She had thought it cute, and it meant she did not have to enact violence against her hair every morning when she prepared to greet the day.

But travelling as she did now, adventuring through parts of the world she had never once thought she would visit, her hair had grown longer, and the wispy strands were prone to tangles and knots that frustrated her to no end.

Yet Astarion’s touch remained gentle, almost reverent, as he worked through the snarls in her hair, combing them away until he could run his fingers through it with ease.

It made her eyes burn, and she quickly blinked away the tears, hoping he did not notice the few that managed to slide down her cheeks, drip into the bath. To be so cherished, to be seen as someone so precious that he would take his time with something so mundane. She did not have the words, did not know anything but the ache in her chest as her heart pressed against the cage of her ribs, yearning for him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close until she had memorized every flutter of breath, every line and wrinkle, every flex of a muscle.

When he was satisfied with her hair he brought his lips to the spot just behind her ear, his kiss reverent as that of a worshipper, devoted to their god.

“How do you feel?” He murmured the words against her skin, vibrations sending tingles over her shoulders, down her arms. His hands slid down her back, his thumbs pressing down on either side of her spine until he reached her waist and they slipped to the side, resting at the flare of her hips.

Aspen hummed, her mind a cloud of steam that smelled like spring, lost to the feeling of the pads of his fingers running down her back, of his breath curling against her ear.

His chuckle sent a shower of light fizzing in her chest, like embers thrown to the night’s sky, like the golden bubbles of champagne as they danced their secret ballet in crystal glasses.

“Are you at least still awake, darling?” His voice was practically a purr, a soft susurrus to her ear as his hands moved up her back once more.

His thumbs pressed small circles into either side of her spine at the nape of her neck, his fingers splaying around the sides of her throat. The pads of his fingers pressed into her skin as he applied gentle pressure, delicately massaging as he brushed his lips against her ear.

“Maybe.” Her answer was a sigh as her eyelids drooped. It would be so easy to fall asleep, to lose herself in his arms and the heat leaching into her skin.

“Hmmm.” She smiled as the reverberations of his voice echoed through her, a pleasant buzz resounding in her bones.

He brought his lips to the nape of her neck, the prick of his teeth making her gasp, eyes fluttering open wider.

He continued to hum, trailing kisses down her spine as he slid his hands over her shoulders, continuing to massage away the ice that had frozen her muscles. “There we go. Can’t have you falling asleep just yet, darling.”

The sound she made was dangerously close to a whimper, but Astarion did nothing but smile against her skin as kissed her lazily. “And why not?”

“I’m not done bathing you, for starters,” he did not pull away to respond, instead murmuring the words into her skin. She did not hear his answer so much as feel it in the movement of his lips, in the dips of his tone as his voice gave form to his words. “And you still have to eat more after this. That sandwich was hardly enough.”

The empty pangs in her belly could be entirely ignored, if she were honest. She would most certainly regret it when she awoke, but right now all she wanted to do was fade away, to let herself be swathed in her dreams.

“That can wait,” she whined, not caring how petulant she sounded. “Astarion, I’m so tired.”

His answer was an acquiescence, yet it was not permission, either. “I know,” he said, acknowledging that she was tired, that she was exhausted. “I know you are, my dear.” But he would not allow her to fall asleep, not until he was done.

After her hair came the rest of her body, and Astarion was as thorough as he had been with her hair.

Her back was first, and he alternated between tracking kisses over her and massaging her favourite soaps into her skin. He would rinse away suds only to cover her in sweetened kisses, sharp teeth pricking her flushed skin to keep her from succumbing to the temptation of oblivion that danced at the corners of her mind.

He dug his fingers into her muscles, dull pain radiating out from knots she hadn’t known she’d had, from ice that had frozen her muscles until they’d turned rigid and brittle. Her body needed warmth and movement to be coaxed back into them, but it still hurt, as though she was being slowly returned to life.

She hissed each time his clever fingers found a new ache, and he worked languorously, adoringly, smoothing his hands over the places that hurt most, gentle kisses decorating her skin as he slid his hands away. She felt like she was stone, and he was a sculptor, fashioning a masterpiece from the unyielding cold of her muscles and bones.

By the time he was satisfied with his work, hands fluttering over her sides as he gently crooned in her ear about how good she was being, finally, she felt like she had been unspooled. Perhaps she had been something whole once, but the delicate framework of her stitching had been undone beneath his hands. She had been pulled apart at the very seams, and now she waited to be knit together again, to be whole once more.

“I feel so sleepy, like I’m going to fall apart.” Her muttered whinging was met with laughter, and Astarion took great pains to gently take her chin, twisting her around to capture her lips.

“Finally, some honesty,” he groaned against her lips, smirking. “I knew you were tired.”

Aspen pried herself away from him, and although she did her best to glower at him, her body fought against her, and she ended up sinking into his arms as he watched her with amusement.

“So what if I’m tired?” She grumbled, focusing intently on the shadows flitting across the ceiling.

“I’m just delighted you’re opening up to me,” he said, voice lilting through a teasing melody. “That you feel comfortable being so honest with me, darling. That’s very important for any relationship.”

She rolled her eyes, halfheartedly splashing him. “I am honest with you.”

A click of his tongue told her how much he bought that story. “And that’s why you kept denying you were cold and tired? For hours? That’s why you kept pretending? Even now?”

“Well I-”

“And what about the time when you pretended you weren’t sick and then collapsed.” He splashed her back, floral water catching in her hair and her lashes. “Or the time when you waited hours to tell me you sprained your ankle.”

“I do tell you…” She trailed off, chewing on the corner of her lip. She felt reticent, certain that responding would only dig her grave further. “Just not always right away.”

“Mmm.” His touch was delicate as he brushed the water from her cheeks. “Well I want you to tell me right away.”

“But I don’t want to be a burden, and I don’t want to annoy you.”

A frown bloomed then, as hurricanes did over the ocean. She felt like a wildflower, wilting beneath the summer-sun strength of his withering glare. Such a look could surely shrivel ancient trees, could turn fields of lush grass and glades of bushes and flowers and shrubs to little more than ash.

“Say you’re a burden one more time,” he breathed, his smirk cold as the barren winter. “I dare you.”

Aspen shuddered, icy wind curling down her spine like ivy. The bath was still so hot her skin was flushed, but she felt a cold deep in her bones all the same.

“You don’t really make it sound enticing,” she managed, her voice a squeak as Astarion’s brows arched high. “I don’t think I want to know what the consequence will be.”

Like brutal summer heat giving way beneath the cool evening breeze, Astarion softened. His smile was no longer knife-sharp, his eyes no longer shards of ruby glass.

“A smart choice,” was his answer, cradling her face in his palms. “I would rather you tell me every thought in your mind, no matter how annoying, than say such a thing again.”

Her mouth twitched. “Are you saying I can be annoying?”

“That is not what I’m saying, you-” He pinched her cheek, rolling his eyes. “You cheeky little thing. You know that is not what I’m saying.”

“Well you’ve teased me so much,” she admitted. “I just wanted to return the favour.”

A groan. “Perhaps not when I’m trying to be terribly sweet and earnest, though?”

“You’re right,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “That was mean of me. I’m sorry, love.”

He hummed, sounding unconvinced. Their noses bumped together as he drew his face closer to hers, whispering furtively as though he were prying into a secret. “Are you sure you’re sorry?”

Aspen giggled despite herself, everything but the deep crimson of Astarion’s eyes and flickers of silver from where his curls fell into the corners of her vision.

“You don’t sound particularly sorry, darling,” he mused, laughter lacing his dulcet tones.

“I am a little,” she giggled again as she spoke, belying her words. Yet Astarion did not seem to mind, as he laughed too, soft and warm as a caress, his breath ghosting against her lips, reminding her of his kisses.

“Alright, I am choosing to believe you this time,” he teased, rolling his eyes as he pulled away. “Although you have given me no reason to trust you today.”

“I did say I was tired, didn’t I?”

He flicked water into her face, snorting as she shrieked. “You’re lucky I find you so exceedingly adorable. Now if you’re quite done, I’d like to finish up here before the water gets cold.”

“As you wish, my love.”

That earned her another splash of water in her face, although she could not figure out why. Perhaps it had something to do with her dry tone, or the smirk on her face.

She wiped away the water, and although it did little to wash away her smirk, it did soften as Astarion once more took up the little bottle of soap. He grumbled under his breath about his little liar, gently taking her arm and beginning the process all over again.

He worked slowly, diligently, digging his thumbs into her frozen skin, her blood warming like water spilling from a hot spring. Yet he did not move quite as languidly, sensing the shift in the water’s temperature already, wanting to finish up before the bath turned chilly.

Not that Aspen noticed it right away, half-asleep as he poured water over her arms, as he skillfully cleaned away the dirt and rainwater clinging to her body. Flickers of heat like stars blooming in the night sky spread through her as he pressed his lips to her skin, leaving chaste kisses that left behind tingles as he drew away.

It was all so gentle and affectionate it felt like a dream. The water began to cool enough that she noticed, but it did little to rouse her. She grew sleepier by the moment, and it would have been so easy to curl up and float away. Her eyelids were leaden, and the velvet darkness beneath them was welcome, swathing her mind in its soothing warmth as Astarion poured all his affection into each touch of his hand and his lips.

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #honey the sweeter the sun

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keffirinne · 4 months ago

Text

You would look good in red - part 6 / Victor Zsasz x OC

Ok, we are slowly getting there!

This chapter took me some time, I wanted to mix angst with smut and make it believable - did it work? You'll be the judge.

I love creepy Zsasz.

Enjoy!

Link to ao3: link

Triggers: Blood kink, Play with knives, Zsasz is a creep, cutting her and licking the blood

Chapter 6: Monster

The old staircase creaked in its characteristic way under the weight of Lisa and two heavy shopping bags that she was carrying. Each step raised small clouds of dust into the air making the stairs look like they were coughing. To say that the caretaker neglected his daily duties was not enough, the entire building needed a major overhaul, the dusty staircase was the least of problems. The pipes in the bathroom leaked, some windows in apartments didn't close, and the plate on the elevator saying "out of order" that had been hanging there for more than 2 years already was covered in a thick layer of dust. Although the last thing didn’t usually bother Lisa that much, since she lived on the second floor, today she counted down in her mind till she finally gets home.

She'd had a long and exhausting day on duty, the shopping bags had digged painfully into her hands, and to top it off, she'd dropped a vanilla yogurt in a supermarket, which had splashed on the floor, her shoes and her jeans. She was returning home not only tired but also with already dry, stiff stains on her clothes that were about to be immediately thrown in the laundry bin as soon as she returns.

Having reached her floor, she put the shopping bags against the wall, took the key out of her purse and opened the door. Then, holding it with her foot, she grabbed the bags back and entered the apartment, closing the door behind her. She routinely locked it from the inside and turned on the light. The chandelier illuminated the interior of the two-room, moderately cleaned apartment. The windows facing partly the city, partly the brick wall of the building across the street were closed, just as she had left them. Working as a police officer made her forethought about these things. Lisa put down her bags on the kitchen counter and immediately headed for the bedroom, pulling on stained jeans and sneakers on the way. They landed on the pile of laundry that already looked out of the bin, which heralded better than the calendar that the end of the week was approaching. Returning to the living room connected to the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and began emptying the shopping bags.

Later, Lisa was telling herself that she had to know that something was wrong. That for a long time, even in her sleep, she had been accompanied by an insistent feeling of anxiety and awareness that something bad was about to happen. Irrational, unrelated to anything specific, just a palpable feeling at the bottom of her stomach told her to prepare for the worst. Did she actually feel someone's presence in the apartment that day when she was unpacking the groceries? Did she subconsciously anticipate what was to come? Although she later thought so, the truth was that her main focus right now was to get the shopping done as quickly as possible, put the frozen pizza in the oven and spread out comfortably on the couch. Even if some feeling of unidentified uneasiness has been sitting in her for several days, she would by no means have been able to recognize it then as a warning or use it to prepare for imminent danger.

Done with groceries, Lisa closed the refrigerator and the frosty, chilling air stopped wrapping around her bare legs. Surprisingly, the feeling of cold soon returned but for some reason, this time on her neck.

Something hard and sharp was pressed to her skin, just right under the chin. The primal instinct of survival kicked in, before she could even acknowledge what was happening. Blood rushed to her head as the body itself noticed the danger, sending warning signals to other organs. Lisa looked down at a male hand decorated with many scars that was clenching on the handle of a folding knife whose blade was pressed against her throat.

She knew who it belonged to.

It was only when she heard that low voice, proving to her that she wasn’t hallucinating that a feeling of terror began to descend upon her.

"Keep your mouth shut, officer."

He didn't even have to say it, the paralyzing fear has robbed Lisa of the ability to make any sound. A single thought ran through her head, so this is how I will die, only to flood her mind a moment later with a quick display of memories from her entire life.

Zsasz stood so close that she could smell the musky scent of his cologne and the heat emanating from his body, so contrasting with the cold of the blade pressed against her skin. Before he spoke in his low, snarling voice, his scratchy stubble rubbed against her cheek and neck as he brought his nose close to her skin and took in her scent. Like a hunting dog catching his prey, wanting to remember how it smelled. He took a deep sniff of her scent, and a quiet growl escaped his throat. Lisa involuntarily trembled but instantly regretted it, when the pressure on her neck increased.

"I have a few questions for you, officer. Would be good for you if you cooperate. But I don't care if you don’t." His hot breath brushed her cheek as he spoke up again.

Lisa didn't dare to move, as if being still would guarantee her safety for at least a moment longer. Her gaze was fixed on his hand and the knife it was holding.

"I..." she started but the words caused her pain and immediately got stuck in her throat. Zsasz stroked her face with the top of his hand, as if it was supposed to encourage her to speak up. She trembled again, not awaiting such a tender gesture.

"Use your words, girl." he added then not so nicely anymore. "I asked you a question."

"Please don't kill me." she choked out finally, surprised how miserable her voice sounded.

A police officer killed in her own apartment, unarmed and half-naked, she could see the headlines. And she even begged him not to kill her, how embarrassing. Her thoughts ran to the dresser in her bedroom, where she kept her weapon, and with great pain she realized the distance was too far. The nearest set of kitchen knives was also out of her reach. Even if she suddenly darted toward them, she would need a few big jumps to grab one of them, and in that time Zsasz would easily catch her and....

She didn't even want to say it out loud.

Zsasz must have smiled, because his breath tickled her neck, when he parried amused by her request.

"It's up to you, Elisa." To hear him saying her name which she usually abbreviated, was weird.

"Come." He said and not at all gently pushed her in the direction of the couch, apparently planning to move the conversation from the kitchen into a better place.

Trapped between the deadly weapon in Zsasz’s hand, still tightly pressed to her neck and his strong body, whose proximity was giving her a sense of inappropriate intimacy, she obediently walked in the indicated direction.

He pulled her by the arm and violently pushed her toward the couch, making her sit down. Lisa pressed herself into the backrest, so far away from him as possible and crossed her bare legs to keep the remnants of her dignity. She put one hand to her neck, automatically covering the spot where the blade was touching her. Like a frightened deer chased into a dead end, she crouched in the corner staring at her tormentor with her bright eyes wide open.

Zsasz dragged himself a chair, sliding them noisily across the panels, and sat down on the very edge of it, leaning over the trembling girl. He still was holding the knife, close enough to be a realistic danger. Lisa was finally able to look at him. A tight, short-sleeved shirt fitted closely over his athletic, lean body to which he wore military pants, similar as she saw him in the warehouse. His face full of scars wasn’t betraying many emotions, she focused on the dark, glittering eyes that were staring at her from under his eyebrows. A small smirk was dancing on his lips, but it wasn’t making him look friendly. She noticed with fright that his gaze was resting on her body, as if he was looking at a particularly interesting painting. Lisa didn’t like the disturbing heat that it awakened in her body.

She hugged her legs even closer, wanting to hide her half-naked body from him. A short t-shirt and panties were definitely not enough to hide from his gaze.

"So, what are you up to, officer? You and your boss, Gordon?" Zsasz asked, his casual voice not matching the attitude he was giving.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me, girl. I saw you snooping around Roman's club. What were you searching for?"

"I swear, nothing. I was chasing this kid, he was trying to steal a car. You were there, you must have seen it all."

Zsasz did not look convinced. On the other hand, it was hard to read anything from his face. His fingers were fidgeting with the knife, but his eyes weren’t leaving her.

“Sounds like a big coincidence. Like before, in the docks.”

“But this is how it was.”

“Who told Gordon about the docks?”

“I don’t know. He has his informer, but I don’t know who he is.”

A moment of silence fell, during which Lisa strenuously was deluding herself that Zsasz believes her and will let her go. After all, she was telling the truth. His eyes resembled a lie detector, even if she wanted to lie to him, it seemed impossible. They were dark, firm, with a glimpse of something dangerous and unidentified. When they slid for a moment lower, to her exposed body, a strange wave of heat flooded her again. They didn't change its expression but a sting of embarrassment appeared in Lisa's chest.

When Zsasz spoke again, his voice didn't spell anything good.

"It really pisses me off when someone lies to me."

He suddenly stood up from his seat, Lisa trembled at this unexpected movement, sinking even deeper into the couch.

“No, no, please. I’m telling the truth.” she said in an exasperated voice, still somehow believing that the truth would ensure her survival. “The arrest was only a provocation. Gordon has an informer, one of Roman’s men, but I don’t know who it is. I swear that’s all I know. I was outside the club by accident, I swear.”

Her words didn't make much of an impression on him. Maybe he believed her, or maybe he just didn't care. The dangerous glint in his eyes tended to lean toward the latter.

Zsasz leaned over her, resting one knee next to her bare legs, the weapon still in his hand. She reflexively stretched her hands toward the knife, wanting to push it away, but he easily caught both her wrists and held them in the tight grip.

She tried to break away from him with a small squeal of fear, but when the cold blade danced on her cheek, she immediately stopped.

"They will be looking for me." she almost cried.

"I'll make sure they don't find you."

Zsasz lifted her wrists above her head, while he himself knelt over her legs, trapping them between his knees and straddling her. The fact that only the thin material of her panties was keeping her most intimate area from him was really worrying. Zsasz didn’t miss it, his eyes glanced briefly at her bare thighs.

"But you're gonna be the first suspect. Gordon won't let it go." she continued.

"You wanna bet?"

The blade sunk dangerously into the skin on her cheek, almost cutting it. Lisa's breathing accelerated rapidly.

"Zsasz. Victor. I swear I'm telling the truth."

She clenched her eyes, wanting very much not to start crying. Tears would make her look pathetic. However, it didn’t succeed and a single hot drop ran down her face.

Zsasz slowly leaned towards her face as if he wanted to kiss her and dragged his tongue across her cheek, licking away the tear. Her body shuddered as his warm and wet tongue glided over her skin. A gesture that only confused her, postponing the imminent torture.

"Even your tears taste sweet, girl." he whispered.

He replaced his tongue with the knife and let it slide across her skin. If it weren't for its sharp tip, it would have resembled a tender gesture as if he was gently stroking her face with a finger. Her heart was beating fast, but besides the icy grip of fear in her stomach, she felt also a strange tingling of warmth in her lower abdomen.

"Red looks good on you."

She followed his gaze to realize that he was referring to her panties, the disturbing heat only intensified. Zsasz only smiled wider, presenting his two gold teeth and gently ran the blade across her cheek again, not cutting the skin, just letting her feel its pressure. She fled with her eyes to the side, unable to face him. Not now, not when her mind was playing tricks on her. The mixture of fear and arousal, like in her dream, was pushing her into a direction she didn’t want to follow. Zsasz, however, did not allow this, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. The blade of the knife pressed harder into her skin, making her obey.

"Look at me." He commanded in a low voice.

With a pounding heart, she shifted her gaze, tears dancing in her eyes. A shameful blush appeared on her cheeks.

Zsasz rewarded her obedience with a mocking smile.

"Good girl. It's almost a shame to cut such a lovely face."

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

He moved the blade across her neck like a finger, and then she felt it, the sting when the skin parted under the incision. She automatically shivered and hissed, despite it didn’t hurt that much.

Zsasz looked as if he were in ecstasy, his usually stony face was now stretched in an expression of sadistic excitement. He brought his lips to the just-formed wound and kissed it. His tongue danced on her skin as he licked the red, metallic tasting drops that already started to seep from the cut. Lisa's mind whirled, for lack of ability to process what had just happened and how she should have reacted. She was expecting more pain, instead he was nibbling and sucking in an almost teasing way. Her breath quickened, making her chest rise and fall in quickly. The contradiction of these mixed signals didn’t allow her to think clearly.

"You do taste sweet, girl."

He was hunting her in her nightmares, hiding in the recesses of her mind and now was in front of her. As real as the goose bumps on Lisa’s arms and arousal in her groins. Was this a strange attempt of her fucked up mind at denial? To redirect the terror into something else?

Zsasz’s face, full of scars, was curved into a sadistic smile, a mix of madness and excitement painted in his eyes. Lisa realized that this whole situation was turning him on, her fear, the violence and the control he had over her. She watched him as he licked his lips, wiping the red spots of her blood from them.

“Does it turn you on?” she asked quietly, surprising herself with this question.

“This? Sure, officer. I was thinking about what you taste like for some time already.”

The attitude of a silent killer she used to see before was now gone. Zsasz couldn’t hide his excitement, he was breathing quicker, his eyes were gleaming with dangerous sparkles. He took a step back to look at her, like an artist proudly admiring his masterpiece.

Why didn’t she scream? There were neighbors living behind the wall, someone would definitely hear her.

Instead, she brought her hand to the wound, touched it, to stretch her fingers out in front of her and take a look. They were covered in light, red blood that was slowly trickling down her fingers, marking its path. Lisa didn’t wince, the wound didn’t hurt that much. It stung at the beginning and now was pulsing and prickling a bit.

Zsasz growled with approval, pleased with how carefully she was watching the cut he made.

He grabbed her hand and without taking his eyes off her, put her fingers in his mouth and licked the running down blood. Lisa involuntarily bit her lip as she felt his hot breath and his tongue gliding over her fingers.

“Look at you, officer. You don’t cry anymore.”

“Did you come here to kill me?” she asked quietly and swallowed. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Naah. My boss has other plans.” he answered with a slight disappointment and brushed her cheek with his thumb.

“I told you everything I know. It’s the truth.”

“I know.”

Zsasz took a breath out to maintain his composure and brought the blade closer to her neck again, but this time Lisa stopped him by gently grabbing his hand.

"Could you... put that down?" She asked quietly.

He frowned, not liking the request.

“Please?”

She let go and moved her hands to his chest, leaving him with the choice. Rested them on his chest, she felt the outline of his muscles under her fingers and the warmth beating from his body. A thrill of excitement went through her. Zsasz watched her with a grimace of discontent, but also a slight confusion. He let her move her hands higher, waiting to see what she was going to do. She wandered higher, to his neck, tracing the line of one of his scars with her fingertips. Zsasz narrowed his eyes and let out a low growl. Gently stroking his skin, she lifted her hand to cup his cheek, but he unexpectedly grabbed her wrist.

His gaze was stiff, watching her face closely, trying to find any trace of falsity in it. For a moment the two stared at each other. The wound on her neck had stopped burning, or maybe she had stopped noticing it.

An incomprehensible and unspoken agreement hung in the air between them as they both stared at each other in silence. Zsasz looked as if he was wrestling with his thoughts, as he looked at his knife and then at Lisa. It was possible that her life depended on this decision, or maybe he was just analyzing his options.

"Huh." he finally chuckled, more to himself. "This can be interesting."

<-previous

next->

@thegreatwicked

#victor zsasz #victor zsasz x oc #birds of prey #birds of prey zsasz #birds of prey fanfic #birds of prey victor zsasz #you would look good in red #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #birds of prey 2023 #dc #dcu #gotham city #victor zsasz fanfic #creepy zsasz #smut upcoming soon

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sachafaible · 5 months ago

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Echoes of Power - The Boys

In honor of The Boys Season 4 being released today, here's a short OC fanfic I wrote using Faible, and you can finish the interactive story using the link!

The sky over New York City was a smoky grey, a color that seemed to cling to the bustling metropolis. Orion Thorne walked briskly through the alleys of the Lower East Side, his mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts.

The discovery of his abilities had been jarring, to say the least. One moment, he was an ordinary citizen, and the next, a latent power surged through him, casting an eerie glow in his cerulean eyes.

Orion tugged his jacket tighter around himself as he approached a crumbling brick building. Inside, Lena Hart was waiting for him. The anti-Vought movement she led, "The Vox," had become his only refuge. Lena was a tireless journalist, determined to expose Vought's darkest secrets. Orion pushed open the door, the creak echoing through the silent room. Lena stood by a dimly lit desk, her hazel eyes scanning a pile of documents.

"Orion," she greeted, her voice steady but tinged with urgency, "we need to move quickly. Vought's agents are getting closer every day." He nodded, the weight of his newfound responsibilities pressing heavily.

"What have you found?" he asked, his voice low. Lena handed him a folder.

"Detailed plans of Vought's underground labs. They’re doing more than just creating supes—they're experimenting with something... ancient. Something that could tip the scales irreversibly." Orion's heart raced. Could these experiments be connected to his lineage, growing up, unaware of the profound legacy woven into his very DNA? His hands trembled slightly as he opened the folder, the grim reality of their situation unfolding before him. Just then, a sharp knock on the door broke the tense silence. Both heads turned. It wasn't unusual to have unexpected visitors, but given Vought's scrutiny, every knock carried a shadow of dread.

Orion nodded to Lena, signaling for her to take the lead. He stepped back, positioning himself near the shadows of the room where he could summon his powers if needed. Although they were still a bit rusty, he knew in a moment of urgency he could pull through, hopefully. He knew the fatality of his powers, both to him and to others, so he proceeded with caution.

Lena took a deep breath and approached the door slowly. The knock echoed again, more insistent this time. Her hand hovered over the handle for a moment before she steeled herself and swung it open. A sliver of light fell upon the worn face of an unexpected visitor—Jules Griffin. His gray eyes, haunted yet sharp, flickered between Lena and the interior of the room.

"Jules," Lena breathed, a mix of relief and concern in her voice. "What are you doing here? You risked a lot coming." He pushed past her, urgency in his movements.

"We don't have time," he said, his voice a gravelly whisper. "Vought's on the move. They know you're here." Orion stepped out of the shadows, his presence commanding but controlled.

"How do you know?" His eyes bore into Jules, searching for any hint of deceit. Jules met his gaze evenly.

"I still have some eyes and ears inside. They’re planning a sweep of this area tonight. We need to get out, now." Lena exchanged a quick glance with Orion, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They couldn’t afford to be caught. The intel they had was too crucial, and if Vought got their hands on Orion, the consequences would be dire. Orion clenched his fists, feeling the raw power pulsing beneath his skin.

"What's the plan?" he asked, his voice steady despite the rising tension. Jules pulled out a rough map from his pocket.

"There's a network of tunnels beneath this building. Old, forgotten. We use them to get to a safehouse on the outskirts." Lena nodded, already moving to gather their essentials.

"Let's not waste another moment," she said, her tone brisk but focused. As they prepared to leave, Orion couldn’t shake the feeling of impending confrontation. The power within him hummed, aware of the storm approaching. He knew that escape wouldn’t be as simple as navigating tunnels. Every step would be fraught with danger, each choice echoing with the potential for far-reaching consequences.

Orion let Jules and Lena take the lead as they descended into the dark, musty tunnels beneath the building. Jules moved with purpose, his knowledge of Vought’s tactics guiding their every step, while Lena used her familiarity with underground pathways to navigate the maze of dimly lit corridors. Orion trailed behind, his senses heightened and his powers humming just beneath the surface. There was something sinister about Jules' demeanor, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

Despite their strategic retreat, the oppressive silence of the tunnels and the distant hum of machinery made his muscles tense. They turned corner after corner, their footsteps echoing like whispers of ghosts long forgotten.

Suddenly, without warning, Orion took a wrong turn, the darkness playing tricks on him. He tried to backtrack but found himself disoriented in the labyrinthine passages. The walls seemed to close in, the tunnel narrowing with each step. A sense of unease gripped him as the realization of his isolation sank in. He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself, when a chilling voice echoed through the darkness.

"Lost, little lamb?" Orion's blood ran cold.

Emerging from the shadows was Homelander, his presence suffocating and malevolent. The air grew thick with tension, the very atmosphere seeming to ripple with the weight of the supe's power.

"Homelander," Orion breathed, his voice barely a whisper. His fists clenched, cerulean eyes glowing more intensely now as he called upon his dormant abilities. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to be ready. Homelander’s smile was twisted, a predator toying with its prey.

"I heard Vought had their eyes on something special down here. Didn’t expect it to be you." Orion squared his shoulders, his stance firm despite the unmistakable fear gnawing at him.

"What do you want, Homelander?" Homelander took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something far darker.

"Oh, just a little chat. You see, Vought’s very curious about this... line of yours. The power you possess. They think you might be a threat to my throne." Orion’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the energy within him ready to explode, the power he was barely beginning to understand. But facing Homelander head-on was a battle fraught with risk. "You think you can just waltz in and overthrow me?" Homelander's tone dripped with contempt. "Let’s see what you’re made of."

As the words lingered in the air, Orion realized the gravity of his situation. Alone and face-to-face with the most powerful—and dangerous—supe known to man, his next move could very well determine his fate.

#the boys #homelander #the boys amazon #the boys tv #billy butcher #hughie campbell #vought #gen v #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #oc #my ocs #au #writing #fanfic writing #creative writing #faible

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rissararity · 8 months ago

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Mercy Rose - (Steve Rogers/oc)

(Mira attempts to fight off Steve's attackers and ends up not much better off than him)

CHAPTER TWO:

Word count: 913

Mira missed the bus home and ran all the way there, hoping by some miracle she’d get there first.

She’d heard through the grapevine at school that a group of boys were planning on using beating up Steve as an initiation for a new kid that wanted to join their friend group.

She tried to tell Bucky at school but LouAnn was NOT going to let her get a word in. She knew he sometimes hangout with Steve, and wanted to make sure their date was still on for the evening.

So the sixteen year old was sprinting through town at full speed, ignoring the disgruntled shouts of those she nearly took out.

If only she could fly!

Lungs burning, she followed her ears to another ally where she could see a group of boys from her school, and a mop of blonde on the ground.

Seeing red, she strode over “What the hell are you doing?!” she grabbed one of the boys and shoved him aside to break the semi-circle and get to her friend.

Mira screamed and covered her mouth at the dirty, blood covered pile of skin and bones. “How could you!? Asshole!” she pulled her fist back and sucker punched the new boy with everything she had, sending him to the ground.

The other boys hooted and hollered, laughing. “Are you really gonna take that from a dame?” the leader, Troy, asked.

The boy turned his eyes to the beautiful, teary eyed girl and hesitated.

“Momma says woman beaters go to hell.” His South Carolina drawl sounded.

Troy snickered, “Of course she’d say that. She’s a woman.” He snapped his fingers, making his lacky-Elmer- grab both of her arms, holding them back and keeping her still.

“Let go! Fuck off!” Mira growled, pulling as hard as she could but unable to make Elmer budge.

Troy’s hand flew across her cheek, a sharp sting and tinge of blood on her lip appeared. She gasped in shock, glaring at him.

“A lady doesn’t speak so crass.”

“Fuck off, asshole.” She spat, pulling harder at her captor.

Troy’s green eyes hardened, handsome face contorting in anger, “You know what, Henry? We’ll get back to you. Go home.” He didn’t look at the person he was talking to.

“Sure thing!” Henry scurried off, tripping over himself in his haste.

The others closed in around Mira and Elmer, Steve-forgotten- slowly tried to sit up to intervene but his body wobbled and creaked in response to his efforts.

“You wouldn’t hit a lady!” she tried.

Troy smirked, “Well, you see angel face, you just proved to me that you’re not a lady.” He paused, watching her jaw drop, a handprint now clear on her cheek.

“and that makes you fair game.”

…

When Bucky found them after twenty minuets of frantic searching, they sat on the ground next to each other, leaning against the wall for support.

Both had a split eyebrow, fat lip and assorted bruises all over. He had a bloody nose and her lower lip was split, bleeding and bruised.

Still, he saw the telltale shine of her powers being used flicker against the brick. That’s actually how he found them.

When he rounded the corner of the dumpster he cursed aloud as he took in the state of the blondes.

Mira looked dizzy but tried to focus on Steve’s bruised ribs, her head dropped every few seconds but she jerked it back quickly.

That was the first time Bucky realized how much of an angel she really was. Injured and in pain, and she still prioritized Steve over healing herself.

The bright silver light cast an ethereal glow across her features, both figuratively and literally making him see her in a new light. Even while battered and exhausted, she was trying to help Steve.

He had no doubt she’d angered one of the assailants who really let her have it, with the looks of her bruised knuckles she’d even hit one of them.

His face fell as she looked up at him in surprise, one eye crusted with blood. His chest tightened as guilt gripped his heart.

He should have been here. She TRIED to tell him. He should have told LouAnn to pipe down and let her talk.

All affection he once had for that girl died immediately.

Teary eyed himself, Bucky fell to his knees before his friends and carefully pulled them into his chest, able to fit both thanks to Steve’s scrawny frame.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have been here.” He felt tears soak into his shirt on Mira’s side. “I should have told that dumb broad to shut it. I’ll never let any of ‘em treat you like that again-Angel, I mean it.” He swore, kissing the top of her head.

“He’s gonna be out for a couple of days at least. I’ll be good to go by tomorrow, but my aunt hasn’t been feeling great lately so I might have to stay home and take care of her a while. If I don’t come in tomorrow –“

Bucky chuckled, “Yes, I’ll swing by and grab your homework along with Steve’s and leave it between the screen and wooden door.”

“Right.” Her giggle was cut short by a gasp of pain as she accidently tugged at her lip cut.

The oldest boy frowned at the sound he swore he’d never forget. Her sound of pain.

He never wanted to hear it again.

#marvel fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x oc

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cathalbravecog · 11 months ago

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if all the cog managers were darkners. what object would they be based on?

gonna get to answering asks today as my inbox has looooooaaaads of them piled up (to me) - starting off with something easy and Very Autistic

honestly, i sometimes forget that darkners are objects in the lightner world in canon. i don't forget *forget*, but i put it in the back of my mind, since in DPAU this idea is changed, and doesn't work exactly as it does in canon.

but, still, it's an interesting idea!

for a lot of managers, i think they even be their drops. but let's think of possible items that could represent them! i'll be going over ONLY the 1.3 managers to save myself some time. if you're curious about anyone else, just ask!!

--------

let's start off with street managers, in order! also, these are color coded just so i personally see them a bit better.

duck shuffler: toy slot machine or just slot machine in general? i'd say duck SOMETHING but he does have a slot machine for his eyes.

deep diver: while she doesn't have one, i think he could be an diving air tank. or, if we go with a simpler approach - just a diving helmet!

gatekeeper: with a simpler approach:tm:, a knight helmet! or a knight toy. (mostly just going with the fact that as far as we currently know, darkners tend to be represented by smaller items that can be picked up easily.)

bellringer: this one's simple - a bell! maybe even a themed one of some sort? i know someone who collects bells from various places, mostly tourist stops. they sometimes come decorated in themes related to the area they were bought in. maybe he's a london based one, since, Big Ben and all. miniature big ben toy, maybe, lol

mouthpiece: an old crank wall phone or a cradle phone! (the type of phone she is! i had to research phones when designing phone-in, her grandkid. i'm no by means an expert and my names could be wrong - but from my old reference pieces here's what those look like because i spent hours on these STILL UNFINISHED reference gathers and i need to show something from them off)

as a bonus, phone-in, aka collin dama, my oc: he'd be a brick phone or a radiophone.

BONUS BONUS, tony trapezoid dama, another oc: they'd be a touch-tone-telephone. (I THINK ITS TIME FOR YOU TO KNOW THE AWFUL TRUTH , THE TRUTH ME AND THE TRUTH ABO - *gets hit in the face with a pie and gets dragged off-stage*)

firestarter: so, growing up in a firefighter family i could probably name some other objects he could maybe be but let's be honest he'd just probably be his firefighter helmet or a firefighter mask but also i fogor anything else because i ams very smarts. or they could be a box of matches.

treekiller: this one's simple as well - he'd be an axe! thought about toy vehicles that destroy trees - but it'd make less sense for him especially seeing as he does have a literal axe on his head. do you guys think spruce would be a trucker type guy in his free time

featherbedder: i think they'd be either a pillow (with an owl print?), or a soft owl plushie! something cuddly you'd keep on your bed and just snzzzznznz....

and now the kudos managers!

prethinker: even out of character i will be frostbite-type mean to brian because it's funny so he'd be one of those fuckass display brains in a jar :sob:. ok in all seriousness either something like that or maybe the smart cap he drops!

bonus, bright spark, another oc of mine's: since she's his sister she gets a mention. she'd just be a lightbulb since she literally is one

rainmaker: little tricky since you can't just have a Cloud - but a plushie one (i own a cloud shaped pillow irl) could work! maybe an umbrella...? trying to give alternative options since "plushie of:" is really easy to do. (works best for animals tho)

witch hunter: he's the mgr i know the least about(im sorry prester fans) so this one's a bit hard for me. a toy cauldron since his mouth is supposed to be one? maybe a stake or a pitchfork? or an unlit torch. or a lit one if you're fancy some arson!

multislacker: the cathal! quite easy - a crt television !! even with my url i cannot think of anything else. he is a crt tv and that's that. they have other design elements i could gush about but sadly, i have no other ideas. i just remembered my old crt that i didnt even use is like in the basement . i am so sorry cathal we'll get you outta there one day

major player: ohh, this is another one i think of when i say they could just be their drops (dave's rose) - but he could also be a cymbal like his hat or just a keyboard. i'd say a piano but pianos are fucking massive. maybe a vinyl disc of rick astley's never gonna give you up

plutocrat: hmm, from just what he wears , a monocle or a cigar. maybe a model of pluto (the dwarf planet). a laundered stash of cash, i dunno! cosmo's a fun character but i cannot think of anything else he would be.

chainsaw consultant: well, he's a chainsaw isn't he? his hat could also work!

pacesetter: oh graham would absolutely be his shredder guitar. no questions asked. maybe his shades? perhaps some other sports equipment - but it doesn't scream "him" as much as the other things. i can't make deeper gram pacer test jokes do i look like i'm american to you all i know r the memes

extra bonus for the crawler, aka crowley cents, another oc: he's based on the centipede family scolopendridae - giant centipedes that people call nightmarous monsters but i love very dearly they are cutie pies thanks for coming to my ted talk!! he'd be a model of one. can't pin point a specific one, he's based on several ones very loosely + has inspo from centiscorch.

...aaaand that's it! i'd go into some others but this is long enough now :p

#[answered]#mgrs

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pinface2 · 4 months ago

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3 paths walk, all the yellow brick road - oc fantasy!au

Chapter 1

It seemed like an easy plan. Pack your things, follow the straight and narrow path and you'll get everything you ever dreamed of. Everything, as long as you never deviated. This was the simple and brave mind of the young Bailey Riles, a boy raised among monks but held no intrest in their discipline or teachings. A troublemaker to be sure, but never did he hold ill-intent or work selfishly- in fact his poor actions were more often than not: misunderstandings.

As he finished wrapping the light layer of bandages around his hands and feet, a cloaked figure walked up the smooth stairs of the monastery. A dulled-blue cape dragged on the steps as a small, dark hand clutched the rim of a wide, navy, wizard hat.

"Don't tell me you're still getting ready," he said to Bailey, "we were supposed to leave about- an hour ago!"

Tilting his head up slightly, the exclaiming figure held a weak and worried expression beneath thin-rimmed glasses. The corner of their mouth shivered with annoyance.

"An hour ago, huh?" Bailey would stand and stretch, combing a hand through reddish hair, "then how come you're still here oh wise guy?"

The young wizard piped once again, their voice cracking, "I was waiting for you!" They tapped their foot meticulously, "and where are your bags!?"

"Marcus, Marcus, Marcus," Bailey chuckled, tapping his friend on the shoulder lightly, "you never said to bring a bag!"

"WHAT PART OF 'LETS RUN AWAY TO THE CAPITAL' WOULD NOT INVOLVE PACKING YOUR THINGS!?" instinctively, Marcus pulled a small wand from their belt and pointed down the stairs of the temple- 2 bags floated up to meet the two boys, "no matter," he sighed unwillingly, "luckily for you i've packed enough food and rescource for the first portion of the journey, and you only ever wear that one stupid outfit anyway." Marcus turned his back and gestured for Bailey to follow, which he did, leading the duo down and out the monastery, "we leave today. No more waiting!"

"It's not a stupid outfit..." Bailey mumbled to himself, not all bothered by the claim. It was shorts with an ivory tunic and a partially red, unbuttoned vest topped with worn fur around the neck. Nothing like the other monks, or really anyone in town. Why even call himself a monk at all? Perhaps that's why he was leaving: he was simply too good for them. ...Bailey winced at the passing thought and shook his head. No, that kind of thinking was wrong and would get him into trouble: his real reasoning for leaving was good and true. He knew it. He felt it.

The bags followed behind the two as Marcus lowered his wand, sweating slightly. Bailey would pick up the heavier suitcase and sling it over his shoulder. They wandered through the soft-sleeping flea market where no one paid them mind. They were hidden by the thick blankets of wools and piles of old books the town was best known for selling. The town of Dorma was a peaceful, quiet place secluded from the rest of the world. The town was slowly built around the monastery as people admired the calm, pacifist ways of the monks. Unfortunately as time wore on, people twisted the understanding of the town- calm meditation now normalised into lounging and sleeping, with story-books and well-made bedding to support this new lifestyle. This was no place the boys wished to spend their lifes and as they paced further towards their path, a great relief washed over them- as if waking from a dream.

Once they had reached the edge of their little town, they turned back to look at it all. Modest cobble lanes, closed flowers hanging from windows never to bloom, the big stone steps up to the monks temple and the occasional passerby, busy with slow conversation. The town was built into the side of a mountain, densely surrounded by thick forestry. The smell of warm drinks wafted through air, so apparent they could taste the tea. The morning sun kissed their warm skins, ensuring a clear day ahead.

"Are you gonna miss it?" Bailey asked softly.

"Not really." Marcus responded, "I mean, we were always destined to grow up and leave eventually right? We're just... ahead of the curb." He turned to face the brick road, leading out into the world. His face furrowed in tender thought.

"Do you think we'll come back one day?" Bailey asked, still looking into town, before turning to Marcus.

"What's there to come back to?" Marcus replied once again, sourly this time, "the people here won't even notice we're gone. No need for any final goodbyes." He shrugged and placed his wand back into his belt, now holding the lighter of the two bags with both hands.

Bailey tilted his head, "what about your parents?"

"What about your parents?", Marcus snapped softly, not missing a beat.

They held a moment of silence, hanging their heads a little. "Sorry." They said, in unison.

Bringing their attentions back to the brick road they took a deep breath and wandered into the morning horizon.

Marcus tidied the dreads underneath his hat, "the journey should only be a week, and it'll be even shorter if we catch a ride."

"You thinking a horse and carriage?" Bailey put his hands behind his head as they walked, still holding one of the bags, "if that was the case, we could've stopped by the horse stable back in town."

Marcus shook his head, "one of those new railroad stations opened up in the next town over, I was thinking it could be fun to try it out! We've never travelled by anything like it- in fact I cant recall anyone we know who has!"

"You mean, we'll be one of the first from our town to ride a train?" Bailey tilted his head slightly.

"We might be one of the first ever!" Marcus said enthusiastically, "you know, with how expensive they must be." They walked further before Marcus added, "they look expensive at least."

Bailey's eyes widened, "well I don't have that kind of money!"

"You don't have that kind of anything, Mr 'I won't pack my bags for the journey'." Marcus would mock him before reassuring, "I'll pay for us. Dont worry."

"And you got all that money when?" The monk boy raised an eyebrow.

Marcus pulled a face before putting a finger to his lips, "I borrowed it?" Bailey crossed his arms. The wizard chuckled softly,"...I'll give them the money back once I'm a successful wizard, studying in the capital and all."

The boys continued to talk and laugh through the day, no matter how bright the sun shone the air still felt cool. Gusts bellowed through the trees, rustling and moving the leaves. They couldn't see the town or the monastery now- far enough to only see the outline of the mountain range. Not that they wanted to see the town anymore anyway, not that they wanted to turn back. The landscape broke into a view of fields. Flower fields, teeming with animals and critters. The air was a stark contrast to the town, free and fresh with the taste of dew in the air. Bailey chased wild animals down the path for Marcus to follow- from great, big fuzzy beasts with bone-like spines protruding out their backs and big slobbering mouths to tiny, wet and slippery amphibians with long, thin bodies and colourful patterns. Marcus was careful to pull Bailey away before he could try to pet them all.

After a stop for lunch, they breached the top of a hill and jumped a fence into farmland, tall wheat hid them in the fields and tickled their skin until it itched. Within the dense pale forest, they heard the roaring of a steam train and hurriedly chased the sound. It cried like thunder, the clanging of metal in the distance before they saw it. Through the gaps in the wheat was the shape of a grand, dark, metal beast and a platform filled with eager passengers.

The two boys turned to eachother, exchanging wildly excited glances.

Also available to be read on Wattpad:

WAHOOO another task on the way to being done! I've been dedicating this first week to writing, unfortunately it wasn't to this story. I suddenly lost interest in it and the plot was starting to get too busy for me. Then I remembered I had this story in my back pocket I forgot I was supposed to write as well! So I've dropped the other one and I'm gonna sink my teeth into this one. Art of the main characters coming in chapter 2!

#oc #story #fantasy #fantasy!au #magic #fanfic #adventure #fanfiction #writing #writers on tumblr #original character #wizard of oz #wip #story writing #author

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starchildren220 · 7 months ago

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Eyes Don't Lie II

✮

Eyes Don't Lie Masterlist

✮

Severus Snape x OC x Lucius Malfoy

✮

It's been a few days and Charlotte still thought about how beautiful that man was, she could only hope to ever be that good looking. She had her headphones in and was listening to Cherry Bomb through her headphones. Carrying about fifteen, sixteen books, this was the last set of book she needed to transport before going school shopping herself. Luckily the people who own the shop were really nice and let her have the books she needed, she just had to get robes and all the other stuff.

Placing down the books on the table she split the pile into six parts and laid each section on the six book piles already on the table. She walked to the front where her boss was, pulling off her headphone's and pausing her music.

"I'm going, I'll be back in an hour or two. Bye!" She waved and her boss waved back. "Have fun!" Charlotte started out the door. First she did what she thought would take the longest which was getting fitted for a robe. After that she just went down her list.

✮

Sitting in one of the chairs at Florean Fortescue's she had an ice cream in one hand exhausted from all the shopping. She waved her wand and all her shopping bags disappeared, they waited on her bed for her to get back.

Finishing her ice cream didn't take long as she only got one scoop. She pushed her chair in and threw her trash away, walking out the bell on the door jingled. Walking back to work something caught her eye. Little trinkets from the antique shop, she's alway wanted to go but never had an excuse to, pushing the door open she was met with the smell of metal and old books, the store had a depressing atmosphere and would sour anyone's mood that walked in.

There were many shelves and tables but what cause her eye was the jewelry table. Looking through the jewelry she saw pretty rings and necklaces. Picking up a few rings she continued to look through. Stopping at the earring section she was a gorgeous dark oak jewelry box and right in front of that was a magnificent set of pearl drop earrings surrounded in silver spirals. Holding her items she brought them to the counter.

Placing them down gently, the woman working at the counter looked at the tags and put the prices into the register. "Seven galleon's, one sickle, and four knut's." Pulling out the money Charlotte handed it over and the women put her items in a bag, and handed it over to Charlotte.

"Thank you." Charlotte smiled at the lady, seeing Charlottes radiant grin the woman couldn't help herself and smiled back. "Anytime." She answered even after she left the woman and the whole store was a thousand times more colorful and happy.

✮

Closing up the shop Charlotte swept and wiped down the floors from people's muddy shoes and whatever dust they brought in with them. Her hips slightly swayed with the beat of 4:00A.M., she finished cleaning at the end of the the next song, Cherry Bomb.

Holding the broom and rag she walked to the back of the store putting the rag in the laundry basket and the broom in the corner leaning against the walls. Grabbing her bag from the table and checking it she grabbed the keys and walked out of the shop turning off the lights behind her. Locking the front door she started walking to the Leaky Cauldron.

✮

Upon opening the brick gateway she then walked into the back door. She waved to the bartender who waved back, then continued up the stairs to her room. Placing her bag in the dresser she dropped on her bed face first.

Letting out a loud groan she pushed herself back up, unbuttoning her jeans she pulled them off along with her underwear. Stepping out of the pile she lifted one leg at a time to take off her socks, dropping them in the pile too. Pulling the edge of he shirt up over her head she dropped it to the floor, reaching she unclasped her bra and let it slide down her shoulders.

She grabbed her wand and her green silk robe that was hanging from her bed frame. Sliding each of her arms into the arm holes she crossed the fabric over her body and tied the ribbon around her waist.

Walking into the connected bathroom Charlotte sat on the edge of the bathtub and turned on the waters. Waiting on the edge of the bathtub she waited for it to fill up. Pulling out her wand she waved it to set a temperature and keep it from over flowing.

Pulling at the tie at her waist the robe undid it's self, sliding the robe off her shoulders she let it pile at her feet. Stepping into the tub warmth spread through her body. Submerging her body she let her head lean back resting on the rim of the tub.

After about thirty minutes she pulled herself out of the water, standing in the water she grabbed her towel wrapping it around herself and she got out of the water. Wiping off the water she let the drain open, water exiting the tub.

Stepping into the room with a towel wrapped around her torso and her wand and robe in her right hand Charlotte placed down the robe and wand to get dressed. Dropping the towel she got her underwear and an oversized t-shirt from the old wooden dresser.

Stepping into the green lace underwear she started to walk to the side of the bed. Pulling the oversized t-shirt on her body Charlotte pulled the covers back and layer down on the bed. Turning on her side she let the dark feeling of sleep crash over her.

✮

#severus snape #oc #lucius malfoy #severus snape x oc x lucius malfoy

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ly-sona · 2 years ago

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[❀] ❝ twenty-four hours 。park sunghoon ❞

❀ pair: sunghoon x fem!oc ❀ tags: twenty four hour long date, established relationship ❀ au: soulmate au, non-idol ❀ warnings: angst, fluff ❀ word count: 4,756 ❀ status: completed they had twenty-four hours of freedom from the curse—twenty-four hours to live with freely their soulmate bond.

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Haewon’s room was a simple mess as the clock struck the anticipated eleven forty-five. Countless floral blouses littered the carpet. Heaps of skirts, jeans, and leggings were piled upon the plain bedding. Papers were scattered across her desk, fluttering with the strength of the fan that fought the raging heat. Across the only tan sheet of paper were two syllables.

Summer.

Her slender fingers tugged on her ears, looping the sterling silver through to let the sapphire butterflies fly with her movement. Her frantic hands gently pulled on the tangled hair, tugging and tugging until her hands grew tired and her mind gave up. A simple clip now kept the unruly locks in place.

Finally, Haewon sauntered back with her shoulders eased of tension. She gazed at her reflection for mere seconds before maneuvering her eyes toward the silver locket nestled atop her collarbone, toward the etched initials within the ring she cherished.

A soft smile graced her lips. A quick look toward the clock incited alarm within her. One last glance at the mirror allowed her to take her mauve tote bag and exit her apartment without a moment of hesitation.

Haewon’s every step bounced with a nostalgic content—as if she’d performed such routine millions of times despite the odd shape of the gibbous moon that shined above her. She fought the urge to stare at the blush watch that rested on her right wrist and instead trained her eyes toward the night sky.

Just as every night, she stared at the empty canvas—its only saving grace being the moon that dreaded to light the city’s sky. Or rather, Haewon could only imagine the rock’s feeling. Her mind was blank, yet a single thought whisked within.

If I was home, would I be able to see the stars again?

Haewon could only shrug the thought aside, as she couldn’t answer. After all, how would she know whether she could see the stars if she didn’t even know where “home” was?

To her, home once existed within the beautiful suburbs surrounding the city. Home existed not as red bricks that shined within the sunlight but rather as the twin fruit bars she’d share underneath the glistening heat of July. Home existed not within the gilded four walls of her old apartment but within the person she found herself excited to return to after a long day of work. The savory foods, the memories of childhood—nothing connected with the word home.

Only him. Her soulmate.

She’d known him her entire life, whether consciously or unconsciously. Her heart always waited for him. And so, when he first entered her life on the first day of high school, she knew nothing could be the same.

It wasn’t love at first sight. No. It was something stronger, something more innate. Magnetic—she was drawn to him like the opposite ends of a magnet. She couldn’t stop her hand from reaching out toward his shoulder and mumbling one sentence.

“Do I know you?”

Soon enough, their lives were weaved together by the red string looped around their pinkies, refusing to disperse until the Gods of Fate decided the trial they’d have to endure to prove their love as genuine.

For most, the trial is harmless, passable, and merciful. For Haewon, the trial was a torturous curse—one which she was enduring right now.

As Haewon tread on the pavement, she cast her glance down toward the beach. She didn’t even need to look down at the watch that shined under the streetlights—she knew the time by heart.

Eleven fifty-five.

Haewon’s gaze lingered on the strongest of the waves while her feet unconsciously carried her. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Once again, the most natural occurrences had allured her. She could feel the wave as it accumulated—as if she were surfing upon it. As the first wave began to descend, she trailed back to another.

Continuously. Never-ending.

Her eyes only stopped when she registered the sound of her alarm and the vibrations of the watch, pulling her from afar with just two senses. Haewon took a second to understand the meaning of the alarm. Then, her feet launched from the concrete in a desperate run, not willing to waste a second of the impending day.

One glance at her left pinky’s emptiness only tensed her heart, yet nothing mattered to her the moment she laid her eyes on him.

Within the darkness of the beach, surrounded by one dim streetlight, his silhouette was brighter than the moon. He stood tall in front of the navy waves, his shoulders lifted with anticipation. He was clad in a white shirt and trousers, tucked just as he liked. His hair wasn’t the raven strands she remembered it to be, rather a silver beacon of hope.

A slight tug on Haewon’s pinky caused her to snap her eyes toward the newly formed red string, and elation bloomed in her heart.

Then, and only then, does Haewon shout toward him.

“PARK SUNGHOON!” her voice boomed as her legs lept past the railings, landing gingerly upon the slipping sand.

Sunghoon’s eyes, which were originally locked on the softening waves, widened as his ears registered the melodic voice he’d missed. He tossed himself toward her voice, toward her, freezing once his eyes locked with hers.

One look. That’s all it took for the soulmate bond to slam into his veins, causing him to stagger. Not once did Sunghoon take his eyes away. He could feel her heartbeat match his. He could feel the sheer desperation hidden within her locked heart—one that she tried to mask with happiness. He could feel her presence. Her thoughts. Her fear. Her.

Sunghoon spent his time admiring her—from the chestnut locks that curled down her shoulders to the butterfly earrings he had lovingly gifted her on their third anniversary. And when he felt her smaller form crash into his, Sunghoon’s facade cracked.

“You’re here,” he mumbled into her skin, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in an effort to pull her closer. “You’re really here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Haewon whispered back, lifting her head that was snug upon his chest toward his shadowed face. Her hand snaked up to rest itself upon his cheek, and she gently swept a single tear with the pad of her thumb. “It’s the first day of summer.”

Both of them couldn’t recall how long they’d stayed within that hug. To them, time was inconsequential at that moment—despite the sheer importance it had upon them. Haewon felt the lightness of her mind as if the shackles of freedom from the soulmate bond had momentarily ceased.

“Sunghoon, look,” Haewon whispered, the awe in her eyes refusing to dissipate despite the numerous time she’d experienced this. She pulled back minimally to raise her hand, extending the small pinky ornated with the red string.

Sunghoon couldn’t help but gaze into the eyes that managed to hold so much hope despite everything, raising his own hand before linking their fingers together. He didn’t need to look down to notice that the thin yarn had looped itself messily around their hands. If anything, it only brought him a feeling of comfort—they were now more connected than they had been minutes prior.

“I missed you so damn much,” Sunghoon gently spoke, unable to resist leaning down to kiss her with the softest of motions.

He savored the feeling of the kiss, from the peach gloss which only tinted his lips to the sense of comfort that washed upon him despite the impending lack of air—Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to pull back. And Haewon made no moves to as well.

The delicacies of emotions slowly poured into their every movement, threatening to spill and intensify into something more. Yet, they held back, and the taller male opted to rest his forehead upon hers.

“I missed you more,” Haewon teased breathlessly as her lips quirked up in a meager grin.

Sunghoon’s smile only seemed to glow within the dark as he whispered in response, challenging her with the glint in his eyes. “Impossible.”

Soon, they were laying against the pearl sands with just a quilt in between, tangled within each other’s arms as they spent hours on end simply talking, taking a nap, or watching the moon set slowly.

The ever-insomniac Sunghoon found his safe place within her hold and soon drifted off to a paradisiacal sleep. Haewon, however, couldn’t keep her eyes away from the deep seas as the waves only grew in strength.

If their curse was the ocean, then June Twenty-First was the waves. Whereas the rest of the ocean only barely rippled or stayed serene, the waves were an accumulation of excitement. Sunghoon and Haewon’s moments from the second the clock struck zero were just a part of a wave, fated to crash and still once again.

Just as every soulmate pair, the two had always loved each other deeply. Sunghoon and Haewon believed their innate understanding of each other to be normal, that their perfect bond was generic. Then, they were given their trial. The curse.

Until determined the right time, Haewon and Sunghoon would be free of all ties from the soulmate bond save for two days—the summer and winter solstice. And other than those two days, they couldn’t interact with each other in any way.

When the pair tried to go against the curse, they only experienced excruciating pain instead. So, they conceded. With fear for the future, they conceded.

The particular trial gifted to them was gifted to those with the strongest of soulmate bonds, referred to around the world as the Solstice trial. Many couples weakened their bond to nonexistence before the trial ended, parting for good and separating. Yet for two years, Haewon and Sunghoon could think of no one but each other.

When the horizon began to shift from a deep navy to a violet, Haewon finally woke her soulmate. She gently shook his shoulders, careful not to startle him. It would take a few moments for Sunghoon to process reality, and Haewon preferred to comfort him as he did.

Sunghoon’s eyes fluttered open as a sleepy groan escaped his lips—which immediately quirked up at the sight of the one he loved most right next to him.

“Good…good morning,” he stuttered with precaution. His mind had only just woken—fragile in its state and scared to see that the girl in front of him was just an illusion, a cruel trick.

Sunghoon could only let out a sigh of relief as Haewon leaned forward, nuzzling his nose with hers as a silent reassurance.

She understood. With or without the bond, she always understood. “Good morning!”

Two soft words had brightened his heart, and the pair had found themself in a tangled mess of limbs and arms as they watched the sunrise. It was time for their day to finally begin.

Breakfast for them was simple—an iced americano and waffles were enough to keep their energy up throughout the day. Laughter rang across the empty cafe as they took their time to savor their first meal together in six months. Any silent moment would immediately be filled by Sunghoon, who couldn’t keep himself from expressing his elation from simply being in Haewon’s presence.

Hand in hand they exit the tan cafe, ready to tackle the next stop on Haewon’s list for the day. Sunghoon could only follow, pondering silently about what Haewon would want to do next.

Winter was Sunghoon’s; summer was Haewon’s.

“Come on,” Sunghoon playfully whined as the exuberant girl pulled him further down the morning streets, “can’t you just tell me where we’re going?”

Haewon didn’t bother turning around—she knew how impatient he could be. Never the one for surprises, but this time she wanted to keep the day a secret.

“Patience, Love, patience. We’re almost there anyway, so just enjoy the streets!”

Sunghoon wouldn’t stop, though. He continued to drag her name out despite knowing that she’ll never give in. If he was being honest, he didn’t even care if she told him or not. He just wanted to annoy her—it’d been way too long since he’d seen the reactions on her face.

True to her nature, Haewon couldn’t stop her face from contorting to a playful discontent, clearly annoyed by Sunghoon yet accepting of his nature.

“I win—you reacted,” Sunghoon spoke out, making the girl roll her eyes.

Finally, Haewon paused in her steps, pressing up on her tip-toes to quickly give him a peck. Her heart swelled when his eyes crinkled in a smile as she whispered, “are you happy now?”

Sunghoon nodded, parting his lips to kiss her again. “Extremely.”

Haewon hummed before forcefully turning his shoulders to the left. “Here we are!”

Sunghoon looked at the contemporary sign, glancing at the store through the windows. The interior was filled with shelves of bottles of liquids, and soon he realized where she’d brought them.

“We’re making perfumes?”

“Not for ourselves, but for each other,” Haewon answered, opening the door to the store as a gust of cool air hit her skin. She let out a refreshed sigh, happy to leave the humid summer air for a cooler indoor environment.

Sunghoon followed inside closely behind her, entering the mildly familiar shop. He’d come here before as a teenager, testing out the waters of creating his own fragrance as a perfume collector. It wasn’t much to him back then—just an interesting encounter.

Now, however, he took in every inch of the store hawk-eyed.

“Appointment for Seo Haewon?” the vibrant girl spoke to the clerk, ecstatic to finally cross something else off her bucket list.

“Yes, yes, right this way.”

Soon, the couple found themselves seated next to each other at a table, with a helper standing in front of them.

“What type of fragrances do you prefer?” the lady asked, smiling fondly at them.

“I prefer something a bit more…floral? Refreshing, for sure,” she responded, quickly turning to Sunghoon for his answer. Feeling her stare, he locked eyes with the spirited girl, a smile naturally making its way onto his face. “What about you, Love?”

Sunghoon hummed, naturally leaning against the bamboo table before speaking. “I prefer the clean scents, like cotton with the slightest floral hints—something similar to Byredo’s Blanche.”

Nodding, the lady noted everything down before bringing an array of tubes to them. “All you have to do now is smell and mark down the scents you like. I’ll return once you two are done.”

Haewon thanked the lady before facing Sunghoon again, unable to contain her giggles the moment her eyes landed upon his face. They’d been dating for years, and yet, Haewon felt like she was still a teenager in love.

“You’re so giggly today,” Sunghoon sang, immediately opening up the first tube to test out the scent.

“I feel like I inhaled an absurd amount of sugar right now—I think it’s coffee.” Haewon shrugged, taking another sip of her strong iced americano. “Let me smell first!”

Sunghoon laughs, proceeding to hand her the strip of paper drenched in the scent. “Are you sure it’s not because of me? I mean, just one look and you were all giggly like you were in high school again.”

“Narcissist,” Haewon sang before finally taking in the first scent. “This seems more like your style—it reminds me of something clean.”

“If I wasn’t a narcissist, you’d get bored of me easily,” he calmly responded, picking the paper out of her hand before taking it in himself. “Oh, this one’s pretty calm—I like it.”

Haewon only hummed, too focused on trying to find a seemingly floral scent by name. Her eyes landed on a tube labeled “Gardenia,” piquing her interest immediately as her hands immediately lifted the tube from its place.

“Hoon-ah, try this one for me.”

Sunghoon quickly discarded the previous testing paper for a new one, gingerly taking the new tube out of her hands to place some on the strip. He then allowed the fragrance to waft near his nose, immediately flooding his senses with a subtle jasmine.

“If the previous one was perfect for me, then this one is literally you,” he spoke, placing the strip near her nose, “right?”

Haewon couldn’t stop a small smile from curling up, happy from the floral scent. “It smells like my mom’s backyard—I love it”

Haewon never knew why she enjoyed floral scents so much, but that particular scent only reminded her of her childhood. Helping her mom out in the backyard, picking out some jasmine with Sunghoon—the scent only brought back fond memories.

Sunghoon watched as her mind wandered off, not having the heart to bring her out of her trance to continue their session. Usually, he’d scold her for daydreaming, reminding her of the dangers of falling into her mind when in a different environment. Today, however, he let her be and admired her instead. He didn’t know when he’d see her like this again, and he was willing to waste time just to watch her happily.

An hour passed before their perfume-making endeavor process was complete. Haewon had mixed the “Gardenia” scent with a sweet vanilla bean and lavender, satisfied with the fragrant, sweet perfume. Sunghoon had kept true to his clean image, choosing an icy scent with the scent of cotton—creating a white image.

They’d billed for their own perfumes after the incessant insistence from both of them to pay. Although Sunghoon was expecting to take the fragrance home with the memories of today, Haewon had come up with a different plan.

“Love?”

“Hm?”

“Let’s take home each other’s fragrance.”

Sunghoon was slightly shocked, not at all expecting the idea. Yet, a warmth filled his heart. It was a new item of reminder for the both of them, a fragrance that would keep each other connected when they weren’t. So, the boy eagerly nodded, taking the floral fragrance as his own.

Haewon dragged the two to roller skating next—her specialty. The two had found it ironic when they first found out about each other’s sports. One was a competitive figure skater and the other was a roller skater.

The two raced around the rink, betting on who would have to pay for their next meal—KBBQ. No matter how good Sunghoon was on land, though, he still ended up losing to his soulmate. Although, he was greatly distracted by the wide smile etched upon her face.

Afterward, they’d entered a barbeque restaurant, both starving and excited for the grilled meat. Haewon and Sunghoon didn’t have much in common, but meat was an exception as fanatics of grilled meat. Laughter rang across their booth. Food was fed across the seats. Kisses were shared.

Soon, they were off to an escape room—a horror one. Haewon only laughed as Sunghoon gripped her shoulders tight, cowering behind her the entire hour from the constant jumpscares. It was safe to say that one had a blast from the other’s suffering.

Now, it was ten under the night sky, and Haewon had one last item on her planned agenda. Ice cream.

She brought them both to a hidden store in a residential district, opening the door to the creamery with a giddy smile. It’d been years since she’d seen the specific store. The last time she’d walked through the glass door was the day the trial had started, on an ice cream date with Sunghoon.

Haewon didn’t have the heart to visit prior—her heart hurt too much. Today, however, she braved the fear, returning once again with the one she loved.

“Hel- Is that Seo Haewon? And her soulmate Park Sunghoon?” the aged man of the store spoke, pausing his cleaning at the sight of his two regular customers. “Little rascals—how many years has it been since you came back here?”

The pair could only laugh, with Haewon immediately running over to the old man. “We didn’t mean to never return, Uncle Byeon…”

“We just couldn’t handle coming back here alone after everything,” Sunghoon finished, following behind Haewon to give him a firm hug as well.

“Well, I’m glad to see my favorite customers return together! Sit down, Kids, I’ll get you your usuals,” Uncle Byeon said energetically, motioning for them to sit down in the plastic neon chairs of the ice cream store. He then disappeared into the back room in order to prepare their orders.

Haewon watched as he vanished behind the employee door, shaking her head. “It’s been two years, yet Uncle Byeon hasn’t changed.”

“It’s so weird being back here after so long…” Sunghoon trailed off, observing the ever-still store in awe. It was just as he’d remembered it—from the plastic neon chairs, to the wooden tables, to the posters of kpop groups Haewon had taped to the empty walls. He enjoyed the familiarity. It warmed his heart. “Look, your posters are still up there.”

Haewon fully turned around, snorting at the poorly taped posters. “I’m surprised they haven’t fallen off yet with my god-awful tape skills.”

“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think?” Sunghoon mused despite knowing her lack of coordination with physical crafts.

The girl immediately glared at him. “Do I have to remind of the nasty cut on my fingers all because I couldn’t rip a piece of tape?”

To this, the boy grimaced at the nasty memory. He’d entrusted her to rip him a piece of tape for his project, only to see a red-stained piece of tape.

“I’m never letting you near any tape again.”

Uncle Byeon quickly returned with a cup of mint chocolate ice cream and a cone of cappuccino ice cream. Haewon smiled at the aesthetic color of the ice cream, immediately drenching her spoon in green as the taste of mint filled her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you don’t like mint chocolate.”

Sunghoon only grimaced, incapable of understanding how his soulmate could stand such a strong taste. “No thanks, Won, I think I’ll stick to the coffee.”

Haewon shrugged, happily taking another bite. “I think you’re missing out on the best ice cream flavor to exist.”

“And I think all I’m skipping is toothpaste.”

“Don’t insult mint chocolate like that!”

“I’m not! I’m just…stating the truth.”

“Sunghoon!” Haewon whined, not fond of the mint chocolate slander.

She was an avid lover of the flavor, while he despised it. It was yet another category they were opposites in.

“It’s okay, Haewon. The world knows that mint chocolate isn’t a flavor but rather edible toothpaste,” Sunghoon teased, leaning across the table to flick her forehead.

Haewon’s hand immediately shot up to her forehead as she pouted, playfully glaring at the male. “If Sunoo was here, he’d be defending the honor of mint chocolate too.”

Sunghoon leaned back, taking the last bite of his cone before speaking. “But he’s not—so, I win!”

Haewon dramatically sighed, wiping some fake tears to play along. “I’m so sorry, mint chocolate, but I wasn’t your strongest soldier.”

The two stayed in the ice creamery for almost an hour, enjoying the time within the store well after finishing their food. By the time they’d bid Uncle Byeon goodbye, it was already eleven.

There was only an hour before midnight.

As they walked through the city, hand in hand, no words passed between them. The stark realization that they only had an hour left together loomed upon them, pushing them to dread every passing second exponentially.

Time seemed to run faster in the end, as their walk around the city lasted thirty minutes before they reached a familiar park. It was the park they’d walked by from school, and it was abandoned under the late moonlight.

Wordlessly, Haewon pulled them toward the swings, pausing by one before sitting down on the other. She then kicked off, happily maneuvering around to gain momentum and swing higher.

Sunghoon watched her for a few moments, falling into a daze from her existence. Then, he ran behind her, catching her seat before pushing it himself. A small, surprised squeal escaped Haewon’s mouth, causing him to chuckle.

“Did I surprise you?”

“A little bit…you don’t have to push me, you know?” Haewon spoke into the air, her pitch rising the higher she went.

Sunghoon shook his head, continuing to easily push the swing with his strength. “We used to do this all the time, remember?”

Haewon sighed, relenting. “You’d never sit in the swing yourself—even now, you still aren’t.”

“I prefer to push you, but that’s not my point. We used to study here, on those benches over there. You always delayed studying by asking to go on the swings,” Sunghoon reminisced, glancing at the empty black benches lining the park.

Haewon sighs, relaxing her feet and letting Sunghoon continue to push her. “Life was much easier then, Love. It makes me envious of our younger selves.”

Sunghoon stayed silent for a few moments, processing what Haewon had just said. It was true—they were young and didn’t worry about the soulmate trial. They were able to meet as often as they wanted. They probably even took that time for granted. Now, though, Sunghoon realized how valuable every moment with her was.

The distracting blare of an alarm pulled the two out of their thoughts, with Sunghoon scrambling to turn the dreadful alarm off. It was already five minutes till.

“Can’t time just stop for a minute?” Haewon spoke, jumping off the swing before tackling Sunghoon in a tight hug. “Why does it have to end like this?”

Sunghoon wrapped his arms around her shoulders before pulling her closer, stealthily blinking away his tears as he buries his face in her hair.

“It’ll end soon,” he tries to speak, “I promise.”

“I-It only feels hopeless the longer it lasts,” Haewon sobbed into his shirt, staining it with tears as she took a large breath. “W-Will we be able to do this any longer?”

“You’re so strong,” Sunghoon whispered, pulling back to ghost his lips on her forehead. “You’ve always been so strong—don’t wither now, Haewon.”

Haewon only shook her head as strings of curses and nos escaped her mouth, unable to comprehend how all of their time together had already come to an end.

“No…no…no…”

“Haewon…” Sunghoon trailed off, heartbroken to see her in such a state of denial.

“Please, Sunghoon, please…don’t go,” she pleaded. “Th-the trial will end today! We’ll be okay, right?!”

The tall male had no response—only silence. He could only calm Haewon down with reassuring hugs and warm kisses filled with desperation, and that’s what he did.

The clock struck eleven fifty-nine, and he pulled her in for a heated kiss, mixing his feelings with his actions as he melted upon her lips. Tears flowed down her face as she kissed him back, fingers tangling within his hair as she no longer tried to cherish the kiss. Instead, she chased after the feeling, hoping he’d never have to pull away—that the pain wouldn’t come.

One second, she felt everything. The next second, he’d already headed back the way he came from. Not even a single trace of him lingered, save for the sheer amount of cologne that tangled within her clothes. He’d left, just as he’d come.

Haewon reached for her phone, checking the time to confirm whether the dreaded days had truly begun or not once again.

True to time, the clock had struck midnight. And, true to the trial, the red string that rested upon her finger had disappeared.

Six months.

She would have to wait six months to even interact with him again, save for messaging. She didn’t know how to react. For the next ten minutes, Haewon stood in place, contemplating how on Earth their trial hadn’t ended yet.

Haewon could barely think. She was in shock.

One final tear slid down her neck before she made her way back home. Haewon knew what would happen. She knew that it wouldn’t be the happy ending she strongly craved. Yet, it hurt every time.

Dread filled her at the thought of the next six months. Time would go slowly now that she had to wait again, and all she could pray for was this nightmare to end. The wave that had accumulated had finally crashed with the sands of midnight. Once again, a new wave would need to grow.

Six months.

It sounded like a nightmare to her, waiting six whole months. She loved summer for the summer solstice, just as Sunghoon loved winter for the winter solstice.

Summer was Haewon’s favorite season, and yet, she could only wish for the rest of the summer days to disappear.

unedited

completed: 07/31/22

a/n: got this done for a friendly competition and decided to post it now :D

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