#or there are storms and the pressure is fucked up and i get a headache

[jonny-b-meowborn]

I love my paranoid brain because I'll be feeling physically bad for a while and there will be plenty of non-serious explanations (lack of exercise, bad diet, smoking, idk a simple illness, whatever) but I'll be terrified that I'm either dying or becoming in some way physically disabled

[moondirti]

JIGSAWS [ surgeon! simon riley x f! reader ] — masterlist / each part can be read separately : dealing with cruelty is hard when stress has a crippling effect. simon gives you a place to find comfort, however unconventional

dom/sub. dubcon (power dynamics). adjustment disorder. sexual harassment and battery. dacryphilia. hurt/comfort. biting. marking. brief fluff. medical settings. 2.8k

"Fuck aff, ya useless pillock."

At 0600 hours, a belligerent intake is the last thing you need.

Fatigue works her wily fingers into you, kneading staunchly into your shoulders to add resistance for every step forward. The sun hasn't yet peeked over the horizon, pellucid blue sky outside somehow consolidating every misery from the past week. If your exhaustion felt impregnable during the bright stretch of summer, autumn encroaches vindictive, dreary winds intent on teaching you to count your blessings, next time.

"Good morning, Mr. Cook. I'm one of the daytime neurosurgical residents, here to see how you’re doing since your admission last night at... 2100, is that right?" The script, if not plainly artificial, is a cornerstone for when you cannot muster your own words. Too often, you opt to lean into its guidance – a habit you picked up the hard way during intern year. Control all variables. That way, if things go sour, you can be almost sure that the error did not lie with you.

But perfunctoriness doesn't always bode over well. Mr. Cook's face twists into something foul, sunken eyes assessing you spitefully from his cot. You should have known to affect a different approach. He called you useless after all, for what you assume is frustrated reason. No one likes spending their time here without answers.

Try cutting to the chase, then.

"I see from your chart that you came in complaining about headaches, fever, and nausea. I understand how tired you must be. If it's alright with you, I’d like to perform a quick exam to get to the bottom of things."

"Ye'd be wasting my damn time, girl. Jus' lookin' at ya, I can tell the only thing ye're good for s'wetting my cock."

You sip a startled breath, consoling the erratic stutter of your heart with oxygen and four fingernails curled into your palm. It's not a serious threat – that much is evident by the slurred cadence, the unfocused hands he waves accusatorially in your direction. The overnight resident hadn't noted any aggression on his chart, either; which suggests this is new. Exacerbated by his condition, else the pain has loosened his tongue.

(And Kyle knows better than to schedule you with the tough ones. It's noted especially in your file, documented as a corrective action plan in prim, red ink.)

Though the smile has long since slipped off your lips, you amass what sympathy you can, nodding like it'll do anything to dissuade his suffering. Useless. "A little civility would help things run a lot smoother, Mr. Cook. It's just a few questions that will give me insight to your malaise. I'll even forward those to a senior physician, if you would prefer more qualified care."

Just one face refines itself in your mind's eye. Deep-set brown eyes, prying behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Sentiment that teeters the tightrope between indifference and affection. The days have buried their thumbs into your obsession, urging it deeper, beyond professionalism. Nudging your lungs, finding place amidst life-sustaining organs to become one of its own. Now, veins wire through, supplying blood to what should not be encouraged, should not be sustained–

You think of him, anyway.

"A'll tell y'what." A blurry shape swipes for your face. You flinch, neck snapping back, before finding that the rest of your body can't follow suit, arm held in a vice grip by a set of gnarled fingers. Mr. Cook's hold curls into bone, urging a whole world of pain to match the terror storming through your head. Your blood pressure skyrockets. Stress whistles sirens behind your ears. "How 'bout you call a proper doctor in now, and put on a li'l show for me in th'meanwhile, eh?"

A multitude of scenes, each more harrowing than the last, unfurl at his implication. If you cannot wrench yourself from him, what's to say you can fight back should he decide to pull you closer? Oh god. Your wrist struggles, thrashing wildly, disregarding its wellbeing for the opportunity to screw out of his grasp. The clipboard clatters to the floor. Your heart palpitates arrhythmically, unsteady palpitations battering war drums on your ribs. Though you've been trained for this, you cannot regulate your response to adrenaline. The exercises given to you by your therapist scatter at the first sign of real turmoil. Your body shuts down. Things spiral out of your control.

But your assailant's condition is not usual. Where a healthy man would only grow more determined in your struggle, he lets his aggression get the best of him. Roaring, his legs kick from beneath tight-fitted sheets, arm shuddering with the force it takes to keep you tethered in place. Eventually, your panic grows too much for him to subdue. With a final push of your heel off the floor, you free yourself, stumble three steps back, and fall flat on your ass. Hurt, but safe.

Mr. Cook grumbles, moving on too quickly for someone who had been so passionate just moments ago.

Safe, safe, safe.

You force yourself to repeat only that as you straighten yourself out. Hone in the truth of the matter, and not what your body tries desperately to have you believe. Safe. It's just another patient with neurological deficits. Safe. You have reason to hand his check-ups to someone else.

Safe. There's a place you can go to sap this off your chest.

"I'll order a CT scan for later this afternoon. We will do our best to help you once the results come in. Have a good day, Mr. Cook."

Still, as you scuttle out into the white-lit hall, you feel anything but.

"Come in."

Dr. Riley's office is comparatively dark to the fluorescent rest of the hospital, brightened only by the warm light of his desk lamp. Though his curtains are drawn shut, beams of pink from the vibrant dusk outside sneak their way through, casting everything in a rich glow. The day has been long, leagues more taxing than usual. Stepping into the space offers brief respite, then, like sinking into bed to reach for better dreams.

He looks up at you, impassive. There's never any indication to how he truly feels – whether creeping adoration curls around his heart at the very sight of you, or if he reserves it for after hours – but you've found that the puzzle attracts you more than it pushes you away. You like feeling pinned under his scrutiny, a little lab mouse tested for its wit. Even now, with a whole host of real matters to discuss, you can't help but pick apart the minutia in his expression.

"Dr. Riley," You whisper, careful not to disturb the tranquillity.

"Yes?"

"Um, I'm so sorry to bother you–"

"No need for that." He clips, the liquid of his eyes shifting as they coast back to assess his screen. The monitor projects stark shadows onto his face, harsher than usual. Despite your... relationship, it's hard not to feel discouraged. He wouldn't look away if he were interested in what you had to say. "We're alone."

"Right." Clearing your throat, you shuffle through the glossy prints in your arms. Cross-sectional imaging from Mr. Cook's CT scans, annotated in your illegible hand. The aftershocks of your stress are evident in the writing; loopy letters boasting sharp corners, a liberal use of shorthand where it wouldn't be allowed. When you place them on his desk, you pray he doesn't take heed of it. "A patient who was admitted last night. Though the tomographs are nonspecific, I have reason to believe it might be a brain abscess. If that is the case, I'd like to schedule him for surgery as soon as possible, and I know you're in the OR tomorrow, so..."

He doesn't look up at you while you speak, opting instead to skim the analysis you've left for him in the margins. Only after a long moment's silence do his lashes quiver, a voiceless acknowledgement to your request. The details come later. Tomorrow morning, likely, assigned by Kyle upon clocking in.

"You'll serve as my resident."

Your lips part. Seeing Mr. Cook again, even while under the effects of anaesthesia, brings a queasy ache to your stomach. It's about the most unprofessional thing you could voice, however – more so than any nasty promise Dr. Riley whispers to you in private – so you settle on keeping it to yourself.

"Okay."

But he doesn't miss a thing. The warble in your tone catches his attention like steaming gore to a predator, jaw ticking as salivate floods his mouth. You should have schooled your emotions better, should have given it a good, long mourn before coming to see him – because if you know anything, you know that there's nothing he loves more than seeing you cry.

And now–

Now, it's too late to renege. You're on a fixed path, the only variable being a matter of time until when. The rush of it already devastates your throat, stone lodged in a white river rapid of sentiment. Warmth fogs your eyes. Prelude to collapse, tremors buried deep beneath the earth's crust come to light.

"Out with it." He says.

And your body serves him, better than it could ever serve you.

A sob breaks the dam, first – snarling, ugly thing, face screwing up in a vain effort to tamp the subsequent flow of tears. Your head feels heavy, weighed down by briny devastation and the culmination of your pressures. Yet catharsis never fails; immediately, you feel it unravelling, hiccups picking the presumably impossible knots in your chest until they are nothing more than strings, meant to eventually tie back up again.

So it goes.

But it doesn't matter here. Can't. Not when Dr. Riley scoots his seat back, clearing a space by his legs. Parting heaven's gates, a little sanctuary for the desperate. You run to it, crumpling to the floor to bury your wet face in his trousers, hugging the wide breadth of his calves. It is as though your troubles melt off your skin, wax held close to a flame. No cologne or scented-soap veils the true essence of him; him, who's able to pacify you with little word. Musk, traces of sweat, a sage and cedar-wood body wash that still clings to him, despite the day and several layers. You suck in a chest-straining whiff of it all, stitching your eyes shut to etch the smell into your memory.

"H-He was awful. Said I was... was good for n-nothing but bei-ing a whore." You sniff, curling tighter around him. A lab mouse indeed, basking in the hand that feeds it. His own – large, dry, warm – pets your nape, tugging a little at the baby hairs below your ear. Idly playing, as though your grief does not necessitate his full notice.

"Comes with the job, little thing." You know that. You know that – have heard it many a time from your parents, your therapists, your peers and higher-ups. Anyone who has ever been privy to your condition has warned you that the medical field is never stressless, that you'll spend years miserable until it grows to be too much. And he must feel your bristling, the discomfort his advice affords, for he moves on sooner than you can state your case. "Did he touch you?"

You doubt it's meant as more than a simple inquiry. Still, you fumble for the right answer. Though the one you tend to is yes, yes he did – a childish grasp for some cosseting – you wonder if he'll take your minor wounds seriously at all. Does it count if what you have to show for it are surface-level contusions? Or will it only warrant mention if you can match the fissures of his flesh?

Tucking your arm between your legs, you shake your head no. Dr. Riley's forehead creases, brows knitting together reflexively. The move must not have been subtle enough, because he extends an expectant hand, impatience igniting his tail. Bones work under the scarred skin of his knuckles, muscles rippling in the quarter-length of an exposed forearm. He doesn't need to say anything. Just sits there and waits, the ire emanating off him enough to urge you into lift your bruised wrist.

(Splitting to his will like brain matter to the knife.)

Anyone would look delicate when set against him, yet you marvel at the contrast nonetheless. It resembles porcelain, fine china in his grip. His thick fingers twist to inspect the splotchy discolouration, set there by Mr. Cook's hold.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only when– ah," You huff. His thumb presses into the tender flesh, recalling the pain you've worked all day to ignore. "you do that."

"Hm."

The words tumble from your tongue before you can catch them.

"Are you mad?" You ask, softly, then cringe as the question finds its place in the lull. It's an awkward echo, like the ocean gnawing desperately on shore, trying to make its mark in the sand. No matter how hard the spume and saltwater crashes, no matter the devastation it wreaks, it will always be pulled back, away from what it hardly affected.

(You used to liken him to choppy waters, feeling drowned in all his callousness. Yet as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand, your passions warring with each other within a vessel that cannot contain it, it has never been more clear that he is the earth. The ground. Unfixed, unmoved. It is an impossible endeavour for you, whose impact is as thin as the tides.)

More than anything, you covet an admission of his concern. Warmth to feel him in your corner, eternally there, even as your sight’s set on other horizons. With it, you'd be able to stand it all, you think.

"No." He says. "Brain abscesses can exacerbate aggressive behaviour. I don't fault him for that."

It needles right over where it hurts, mangling the softened muscle of your heart.

"Oh."

"But," Dr. Riley adds, guiding you to a wobbly stand. If he didn't plan on transferring you to his lap, you would have fallen right back down. As it is, though, he uses your fawn-like strength to nestle you across his thighs, brushing the flyaways from your temple. "Don't like seein' the marks on you."

Your cheeks heat. Pressing them into his collarbone, you speak against his pulse. It flutters, tandem to your breath. "I'll put a warm compress on it tonight."

"Better. Should only be mine you carry, pet." His voice vibrates through you, sound waves absorbing to become one with your body. Never did you think it could feel so good, yet as he continues to speak, you find yourself wishing that he’ll do so forever, eternal, so that you may weld together eventually.

"Sir…"

"Lift your head f'me." He whispers, nipping your jaw when you follow his instruction. Thin lips scratch your neck, chapped from the tight constraints of his mask and the dry hospital air. You dizzy to think of wetting them with your tongue, running the muscle along his cupids bow, sharp canines, dunking to map the inside of his cheeks. But that isn’t what this is; he’s made sure to clarify that, of all things.

So, you dip your head, neck arching to widen the canvas to his onslaught.

His groan is hot, ticklish as it fans over the area. You wriggle in his firm lap, coming to expect something much more permanent once he latches to your sweet spot. Practiced, trained to the hollow of your throat. Blood rushes to the capillaries sitting just under the skin there, bursting when it grows to be too much. Building pressure that takes away from your brain, your numbing extremities. Your cunt throbs, balmy and slick. He keeps a large hand anchored between your thighs as if he’s aware of what you’ll try to do without direction.

As a high whine pitches from your chest, and you darken to the shape of his maw, Dr. Riley doesn’t budge. He pushes further, rather. Digging his teeth into you, laving over the iron that surfaces. It hurts something terrible. If it weren’t so late into the night, you would doubtlessly be interrupted as a louder wail splits the sheltered office space, carrying through the labyrinth halls. Pain eclipses any internal worry, though. And perhaps that was the intention, mind buzzing with white noise once he pulls away.

Blinking, you clear the gossamer webs of delirium off your eyes. His mouth comes into view, first; swollen, tinted with a diluted wash of ichor, purpling with a bruise that no doubt mirror yours. You can only imagine what a mess he’s made of you, if the evidence of his own undoing is so stark.

The dual marks brings a dumb smile to your face.

“There.” He resolves, at last. It sounds like pride and feels a lot like damnation. “Good.”

You can’t help but agree.

(Even the earth will eventually erode away. Even the earth.)

[alyswritings]

Pepsi Outrage

Request: Can you do a fic where Chris and younger sister oc pranking Matt and nick by Chris starting a argument over something stupid and then pretends like he’s gonna hit her and like nick gets protective and especially Matt gets super mad at Chris and likes hits him like he did in that one video where Chris interrupted Matt. ( only if you can!) ( don’t wanna pressure you , ps love your writing :) )

Sturniolo Triplets x sister!reader

Summary: Y/N and Chris play a prank on Matt and Nick.

Warnings: nothing really, siblings fighting ig

a/n: thank you for the request! hope you all enjoy!

(gif not mine)

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Y/N frowns.

"It'll be fine. Don't worry. We'll all laugh about it together in a few months." Chris promises.

"What if they get mad?" Y/N asks.

"They'll probably get more pissed at me than you." Chris says.

"You better not actually fucking hit me, though." Y/N warns.

"I won't. I won't." Chris promises.

---

Chris opens the fridge, knowing he won't find what he's looking for.

"Who drank the last Pepsi?" He asks, turning to his brothers.

"Not me." Matt shrugs.

"Wasn't me." Nick says. "You probably drank it and forgot you did it."

"No." Chris scoffs. "Y/N!" He yells.

"Yeah?" She walks out of Matt's room, scrolling on her phone.

"Did you drink the last Pepsi?" Chris asks.

"Yeah." Y/N nods, putting her phone up.

"Wh-- why would you do that?" Chris frowns.

"I was thirsty." She replies as if it's obvious.

"It was the last Pepsi. You don't take the last fucking Pepsi!" Chris exclaims.

"Okay, okay, sorry." Y/N mutters. "No need to have a bitch fit."

"It's my fucking Pepsi!" Chris yells. "You have to guy a new case!"

"Fine." Y/N rolls her eyes. "No need to be such a baby."

"You don't just take shit out of the fridge without asking, especially if it's the last thing of that item!" Chris continues to yell.

"Chris, get over it." Matt rolls his eyes, giving his brother a look.

"Yeah, it's just a fucking drink, you dumb fuck. We'll go buy some more." Nick says, sitting up on the couch.

"No! No, she should know she doesn't live here! We buy this shit and she should ask, and definitely ask when it's the last thing!" Chris yells. "She should fucking know better!"

"We all do it to each other. Get a fucking grip!" Matt yells.

"It's not that big of a deal!" Y/N exclaims.

"Yes, it is! It's fucking greedy!" Chris shouts.

The two continue to scream at each other, Matt and Nick sharing an annoyed look, trying to decipher when to intervene.

The oldest two watch the argument over a single can of Pepsi, headaches forming.

But they both jump up the moment Chris raises his fist to Y/N.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Nick shouts, clambering off the couch and rushing over.

"Chris!" Matt shouts, standing up from the table and storming over, Nick running to the two.

"Fuck off, Chris!" Nick yells, quickly yanking Y/N back, pulling her into a hug.

Matt grabs Chris' raised arm, using his other hand to deliver multiple harsh whacks to the back of Chris' head.

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Matt! Dude, chill!" Chris cries out in pain until he's able to escape Matt's grip. "Jesus, dude. What the fuck?"

"Are you fucking insane?!" Matt yells, glaring at Chris. "You are not fucking hitting her for any reason, especially over a fucking drink!"

"We all hit each other all the time!" Chris defends.

"You were about to beat the shit out of her!" Nick argues. "We don't do that, psycho!"

"Matt just did!" Chris counters.

"Cause you're out of line, you idiot!" Matt shoves him.

Y/N glances at Chris, giving him a look to end the prank. Chris starts laughing as Matt starts to threaten to call their parents.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Matt fumes.

"It was a prank, dudes." Chris laughs.

"What?" The other two frown.

They look over at Y/N who is sheepishly smiling.

"Gotcha." She grins, looking up at Nick.

"You-- this-- you guys--" Nick looks between the two as they laugh.

"You guys are fucking stupid." Matt sneers, glaring between the two pranksters.

"Unh-unh. Get away." Nick gently shoves Y/N back, going back over to the couch.

"Oh, come on, Nicky." Y/N calls. "It wasn't that bad."

"I was about to beat his ass." Nick says. "You two are fucking stupid."

"But you love us." Y/N grins, going over and wrapping her arms around Matt as he glares down at her. "Thanks for caring."

"I'm done." Matt moves her arms away, going to the table to grab his phone and root beer.

"I think you should apologize for hitting me so hard." Chris comments.

Matt smacks Chris on the back of the head again.

"Ow!" Chris cries out. "You're gonna cause brain damage, Matt!"

Matt flips him off before going to his room, slamming the door shut.

"We'll all laugh about this in a few months!" Chris promises.

"Fuck off." Nick groans, turning the TV on.

Taglist: @glxwingrxse @venomsvl @wildieflower @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @mrvlxgrl @star-wars-lover @champomiel

[mossygirl333]

Tiramisu/Jello Shots but with a comfort focus rather than smut? Maybe Reader's feelings are hurt by being called stupid and their partner (Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, or König, your choice) immediately stops the scene when they realized they went too far/accidentally hit a limit and just comforts them/is extremely apologetic and gives them good aftercare?

AN: I'll try my best!! Honestly I feel like konig would do this bc he's very cocky and just gets super into it and he forgets you aren't into degradation and it just slips out

Bakery Order: Tiramisu- "Oh you're a drunk stupid thing arent you?" + Jello Shots- Aftercare

Konig x f!insecure!reader

TW/CW: smut in the beginning, slight degrading, insecure reader, heavy heavy aftercare, lots and lots of praise, lots of kisses, badly translated German <3

You hiccuped, he felt so big. Slamming into you, huffing in your ear. Weak 'uh uh uh's left your lips, eyes rolled back. The entire bed shook with his fast grinding, desperate to reach a high that was just out of his grasp.

Head swimming, overcome with everything that was you. The tang of your slick was still heavy on his tongue, heady and wanton. The smell of sex settling in his nose, making him breathe harder. Desire coiling up in every fiber of muscle, hands balling up on the side of your head.

"You dirty little slut huh? You drunken whore, letting me fuck you like a fleshlight."

His words finally register in your mind and the pressure in your stomach immediately goes away, eyes staring up at the ceiling as you go quiet.

He pauses, his hand sliding down to your side. "Oh...schatz-" He starts but your lip is already quivering. Your drunken mind making your emotions uncontrollable.

You sniffle, hiccuping pathetically. "Why did you say that to me? I'm not a-"

He starts to panic, guilt coiling in his stomach like some storm. He pulls out quickly, wiping your wet thighs. "Oh no no, schatz, please don't cry...I'm such a Dummkopf." He mumbles. "You aren't a slut. It slipped out.

You bleat, sniffling. "But you said I was!" Your shaky hands go up to your face, the familiar insecurity clawing up into your chest. Settling like some thick sticky oil in your heart. Sharp and sickly, a headache starting to form between glossy eyes.

"No...No...C'mere, come here." He cradles you in his hands, unsure of what to say. Brushing his scarred lips against your sweaty forehead. "You're such a beautiful girl...so beautiful. So worthy of respect and praise...My schatz." Your hiccups stop, sniffles grow quieter. "C'mon, you can say it..."

Your nose bumps up against his chest, your head pressed up against his warm skin. Heavy hands sliding across your waist. You mumble out a tiny, "I'm worthy of respect."

"Good girl, see?" He sits you up, wiping away the slick from your thighs. "It'll be okay. Okay?"

You quietly nod, clinging to him with your face nuzzled into his neck. The smell of sex, alcohol, and soap clung to his beard in the best way possible. Heavy meaty hands sliding you into his lap as he carried you into the bathroom. "Okay." You finally whisper.

He sat you down in the bathtub, turning on warm water. Sliding into the bathtub beside you. "We're gonna get all clean, and you're gonna take a nap, okay?" You feel his rough fingers brush against your tear stained cheeks, washing away the insecurity. Kissing your nose.

"y- yeah...that sounds nice..."

He washes off the sweat and grime from your body, sliding warm soap through your skin. Rough hands massaging into your back and ass, kissing down your spine.

Now fully pliable and melted into him, he wraps you up in a fluffy blanket and hoists you into the bedroom.

Warm clean clothes and a fresh face, you get tucked in. A final kiss being placed on your sleepy eyelids. "Goodnight my...gorgeous sweet girl.."

You drift off, his fingers scratching against your scalp.

[jomiddlemarch]

until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness 

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: you already had a headache from the changing barometric pressure when the phone rang-- you almost didn't pick it up.

warnings: heavy petting, references to child abandonment, adults drinking alcohol, casual use of obscenities, Joel is the epitome of single DILF, TLOU AU where cordyceps never happens but Joel is still Joel

wc: 1.7k

an: this is my submission to summer lovin', brought to you by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy. The title is borrowed from Jack Kerouac's On The Road as it seemed roadtrip appropriate.

*

“Get in,” you said. 

The sky was a leaden grey, the clouds wadded up as if they’d stanch a wound, but there was a sickly green tinge that you recognized. Joel ought to as well, unless he’d forgotten, like he’d evidently forgotten so much else. 

You hadn’t forgotten anything. Not the way he shrugged, the way a tee-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, the way his hair curled when it was wet with rain or sweat. How he’d sounded, crooning a song to his guitar, humming under his breath when he scrambled eggs in the morning, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder, the roughly choked off moan when you took him in your mouth. How he’d tasted, how he felt, his hands on your hips, his lips on your forehead, the base of your throat. How he’d said he’d call, how he’d let the machine take your message, your messages plural, and his brother Tommy, who’d sounded embarrassed and annoyed, who hadn’t known your name though you’d known his.

“Didn’t mean to make you—” he began.

“Get the fuck in, Joel, and then we’ll talk. There’s a tornado watch. I didn’t buy a house with a cellar to get killed chatting on the shoulder of I-80,” you said sharply, your knuckles turning white where you grasped the steering wheel for dear life. Something dear, because otherwise, it meant you were imagining squeezing the life out of him and you were too tired and too old to buy that love and hate being two sides of the same coin bullshit.

It was probably the tornado that got him into your truck, though something in his dark eyes said maybe it had been your tone. Maybe that he remembered, though you’d used it rarely enough with him. A couple of times and then that third message on his machine, that you’d ended slamming the phone down, hoping he’d wince.

He sat quietly next to you, having thrown a beat-up canvas duffle in the back of the cab. He didn’t say anything about calling for a tow or asking if you knew the nearest mechanic. He just sat there, staring out the window, which was maybe a better choice than staring at you as you drove home, your foot heavy on the gas pedal, trying to beat the storm. Anyway, you thought he was staring out the window, his face obscured by his baseball cap and you weren’t about to go all Miss Priss and ask him to take it off inside, as if inside the truck’s cab was a place that deserved some sort of civilized etiquette.

He followed you into the house wordlessly, stood just inside the doorway while you turned on the radio to check on the storm’s progress and the likelihood that you’d both survive the night. The watch had been downgraded, so you went to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of beer and gestured for Joel to sit down at the kitchen table before you plunked one down in front of him.

“Church-key’s in the drawer next—” you said, breaking off as he fished the bottle opener out and used it to flick off his bottle’s cap before offering it to you.

“I know,” he said. He waited for you to open yours before he lifted his towards his lips.

“Sl��inte,” you said, taking a long swallow. It was cold, there hadn’t been a power outage while you were on the road, so there was that. You had a pound of ground chuck in the fridge for a meatloaf or burgers, you hadn’t decided, and now it looked like you wouldn’t poison yourself when you did. You still sort of wanted to poison Joel, but not with E. coli.

He watched you and you looked right back at him, like it was a dare or a staring contest. Something you could win.

He drank, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment, then set the bottle down and took off the baseball cap. His hair was greyer, curling around his ears. He was overdue for a haircut, ought to look like a slob but instead he looked like every dream you’d had of him over the past three years, dreams that you woke from trembling, slick, fumbling around for the vibrator in your bedside table drawer to finish off and have a chance of getting back to sleep.

“Road trip hasn’t exactly gone how I’d hoped,” he said.

“Yeah, unexpected stay with the ex I ghosted wouldn’t be on my goddamn mood-board either,” you said.

He chuckled, a low, dirty sound, that reminded you of too much.

“You haven’t changed,” he said and the smile he gave you was appreciative and not polite.

“How would you know?” you snapped.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I don’t,” he said. He fiddled with the bottle’s label, peeling away with the condensation. Fidgeting, a rarity for him. “I don’t want you to think I was happy about how it went down.”

“You mean the ghosting me part? Or me blowing up your machine or cursing you out to your brother?”

“I was an asshole, yeah. Everything you did I had comin’ and more,” he said. “There’s context, if you want it. Or I can shut the fuck up and drink my beer and try to keep out of the way until morning and then get out of your hair.”

“There’s context?” you repeated, the disbelief in your voice almost rude. “Context?”

“Yeah. Don’t sound much like you wanna hear it though,” he said, taking another swallow of the beer. You wanted to smack him and sit on his lap, to scream you were over him and murmur how much you’d missed him, how bad it had hurt when you thought you’d never see him again. How bad it hurt when you saw him leaning against his broken-down truck in the rain.

“Joel, why’d you even call me?”

“Yours was the only number I could remember,” he said.

“Oh,” you said, pretending to yourself oh was a word, an appropriate, cogent, thoughtful response and not just the shape of your mouth around breath, half-sigh, half-sob. 

“You could’ve hung up on me,” he said.

“That supposed to make me feel better?” You felt dizzy, still trying to make sense of what it meant, that he’d memorized your number, that it was the only number he could remember. You felt like you’d stumble if you stood up and you’d barely had any beer, there wouldn’t be any plausible deniability.

“It’s me sayin’ you’re treatin’ me better than I deserve. Like you always did. It’s me sayin’ I’m sorry, but doing a fucking piss-poor job of it,” he said.

“What’s the context?” you asked abruptly. 

“I got a call. My kid’s mom left. Took off, didn’t leave a note, nothing,” he said.

“I thought your daughter’s mom was dead,” you said, not trying to soften it with some bullshit like passed on. If he was going to lie to you, you weren’t going to let him get away with it.

“My other kid. Turns out I had another one. One-night stand, condom broke, she never told me but she put my name down on the birth certificate. I had to fly out to Virginia to get her before they put her up for adoption or into juvie. She was raising hell at the foster home they put her in,” Joel said.

“You took her in?”

“I brought her home. She’s my kid. She’s mine, no one else’s,” he said. “I didn’t have a hell of a lot of bandwidth for anything other than dealin’ with her and Sarah, gettin’ them both settled. Honeymoon lasted all of a weekend but they’re good now. Good enough, anyway. They gang up on me, which is what sisters are supposed to do, if brothers are anything to go by.”

“Where are they now? You left them both with your brother?”

“Hell no,” Joel laughed. “I just dropped them off at Girl Scout camp for three weeks. Sarah’s Auntie Michelle fixed it up for them. I was driving around for a while before heading back to get them. Cheaper than flyin’ home and back and Tommy’s got all the subs lined up for the next couple of projects.”

“This was your vacation, your single dad vacation, living off truck stop diner food, just driving around aimlessly?” you said. 

“Not aimlessly,” he said. “There was a reason I was in your neck of the woods—”

“You were hoping a fucking tornado would force me to take you in to save your life?” you said.

“I was just gonna call you. Or show up here with a huge bouquet of roses and a bottle of that white wine you liked and hope you didn’t kick my ass clear to Tampa,” he said. “I didn’t factor in a tornado.”

“Well fuck me sideways,” you said, the kitchen briefly illuminated by lightning followed so fast by a roll of thunder you knew the storm was right on top of you. Joel’s lips curved in an expression equal parts sly and tender, which you hadn’t understood was even a thing until you’d met him.

“I was working up to that, darlin’,” he said. “I wanted to start with rose petals though—”

“I don’t need them,” you said.

“No?” 

“What’s her name, your other little girl?” you asked.

“Ellie. Doesn’t have a middle name,” he said. “You want more context, before you forgive me?”

“Later. Context can come later,” you said, pushing your beer bottle away, getting up and walking around to where he sat. “I want you to come now.”

“You first, darlin’,” he replied, pulling you down onto his lap, trusting you to find your balance because he took your face in his hands, drew you near enough to kiss. “Can I stay?”

You knew he didn’t mean for the night or even the morning after. Lightning must have flickered again but you didn’t see it, your eyes closed as he kissed you. You only dimly heard the sound of the thunder over your half-swallowed moan as his tongue did wicked things to you. You broke away, gasping, his arms wrapped around you tight, just far enough to whisper.

“I never wanted you to go.”

[heliumshorns]

NOT ME HAVING THE HONOUR OF BEING MUTUALS WITH ONE OF MY FAV WRITERS, HELLO?!?!?!?!?

anyways, i rlly can't stop thinking ab soft Gojo :(

just him getting super emotional while cuddling cus he's thinking ab just how much he adores and appreciates having someone in his life, who loves and sees him for who he truly is cus he's always just percieved as the strongest and not as Satoru </3 (Sugurus "Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru, or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest" HURTS)

it's just softness and fluff everywhere as he slowly traces his hands all over his lovers body; squeezing, caressing, tracing, overall just trying to get himself to believe: "You're here, you're real, i have you."

A tear leaving his eye as he makes eye contact with his love, and they kiss it away whilist caressing his cheeks and whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but also reassuring and reminding him that yes, you deserve to be more than a weapon, you deserve to be you.

I'm so emotional ab him :((, this can also count as a request btw, i was mostly sharing brainrot cus im very much despising the jjk manga and am actively living in delusions :)

you can add some soft sex or keep it fluffy and bittersweet (if you wanna ofc, no pressure<3)

I fucking LOOOVE a soft Satoru I DONT CAREEEE

He's so adorable and it HURTS MEEE

(also, HI MOOT AND AHHHHH FAVOURITE WRITER??? I HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED ANYTHING PROPER YET😭😭)

tiny drabble under the cut because HDGSHHSHSH

(i didn't write smut but I am planning on working with that 😩)

The way his gentle eyes meet yours isn't enough to put into words. Or maybe it's too much. Words are complicated sometimes.

So it's understandable why Satoru doesn't speak when he gets home like this. Tired. Exhausted. Feeling like his headache is so bad not even a box of panadol can fix. Hell, he feels the pain in his soul.

But the second your soothing voice reaches his ears, it's like all of the turmoil is gone. The world reduces itself to the warmth of your skin and the smoothness of your voice. It becomes the simple moments of intimacy, where you just hold him to soothe his six eyes.

Where they can all, truly, fall shut and rest.

Like a safe space of some sorts. With your careful hands caressing his hair as you both lay, cuddling, all of the lights out. No music. No noise. Just your shared breathing, and heartbeats. How his hands rest on your back, his full weight on top of you, hair tousled and messy. His breaths deep and slow, making him slowly melt more and more into your embrace.

With gentle words and gentler touches.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too, my love."

Even being called that makes tears prickle his eyes. My love. Not Satoru. Not Gojo. Not the strongest nor a weapon. Just... someone. A random guy, who met the most amazing person, and just happens to be loved. It's like when he's with you, all worries vanish. You're the calm to his storm.

Even if it isn't visible.

That's the funny thing about storms, right? If you're in the eye of the hurricane, you won't notice until you open your eyes. And he, sadly, has six of them to remind him how he's constantly fighting for his life.

Sadly, some people are born to fight. His heart yearns for the gentleness of a lover, and his body is used to fight the toughest battles. All while putting up the facade that he's the strongest. As if being referred to as such doesn't hurt him more than anyone can. Words, sadly, go through his infinity.

Something he absolutely turns off whenever near you.

It's like you manage to calm even the deepest, most obscure parts of his brain. You make him forget instinct. When he's in your arms, he doesn't need to protect himself from anything. He's safe. Your lips to his dampened cheeks that serve as a reminder that maybe he does deserve love. He deserves to not having to be The Strongest all of the fime.

"Such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth

Do you find it all right, my dragonfly?"

HE DIDN'T DESERVE ITT WHAT THE FUUUUUCK HE JUST WANTED TO BE HAPPYYYYYYYYY AAAAAAAH

[bubblespalace]

Angst

Can you do the diaboys react to their s/o who was killed by one of the others(Diaboys) because they drank to much of her blood

Love your posts btw 🫶🏼

If their S/O was killed by another diaboy taking too much blood

Bubble: OOH! I like this idea! If ya'll didn't know, I'm great at angst. ;) Thanks for the request anon! <33 And thank you for your support!!

I only did the Sakaboys for this post, if you want a Mukami version, feel free to request again!! <3

TW: Death, Suicide, Blood, Gore, Language.

Under the cut:

Shu:

It seemed to be a normal day for Shu. He woke up, to his dismay, and went to school as usual. As he was laying with his back to the wall in one of the school hallways with less light, he listened to his music, eyes closed in his exhaustion. However, he couldn't remember the last time he saw you. Were you even in the car with him when the rest of his brothers and him were on their way? It was strange, since you normally sought him out during this time of the night, when you had some extra time between classes. It made Shu wonder what it was you were doing.

He quicked up the faintest sound of footsteps on his left side, immediately knowing it was his younger brother by the way they sounded. "Here to scold me again for how I'm not in class?" He asked with a sigh. "Bothersome..." Reiji's movements came to a halt and Shu opened his eyes and stared up at him. There was something different about how his brother looked down at his face. "Why are you here?" He questioned, raising a golden eyebrow.

"It has come to my attention... that I must inform you of something..." Reiji muttered, holding his hands behind his back. His eyes darted to the floor, unable to make full eye contact. "This morning, Miss Y/N came into my laboratory." He took a breath that seemed unstable. "I may have bit into her with the mere intention of drinking some of her blood but..."

As he trailed off, Shu's half-lidded eyes widened, looking up at his younger brother in shock. "D-did you...?" Reiji shut his eyes and looked at the blank wall. "You bastard. I know that you despise me, but there was no reason to ki-" He voice broke, the hall was so silent you could hear his labored breathing. With his supernatural speed, he got up and pushed Reiji against the wall, squeezing his neck in his fist. The dark-haired man's eyes widened and his glasses slid down his nose, looking at his older sibling in terror as he tried to breathe. "I should fucking snap your neck. But no, that would be too good for you, wouldn't it?" Warm tears rolled down his face as he blinked them out of his vision and glared at the vampire between him and the wall. "I'll get you back for this, I swear to God." Shu quickly teleported back home and stormed into the empty lab, there you were, your crimson blood all over the table and floor, some of it already dried. The normally wonderful smell made the blonde feel disgusted as he stepped closer, you beautiful face was covered in red and your eyes were wide open. Blood dripped from your slashed neck like a waterfall while Shu held back more tears and brushed your soaked hair out of your face. "I'm so sorry." He mumbled down to you as he held you, your blood staining his uniform. "I really am..."

Reiji:

School was giving Reiji a headache today, his focus wasn't as good as it was regularly. He could barely pay attention to the equations being written on the board, variables started to jumble with other numbers in his head, causing a pressure to form on both his temples. When the bell finally rang, it came to his tired mind that he should have you in his next class. You were always a wonderful study partner, and what is even better is that having you around might boost his mood.

However, that class had come and gone without you seated next to him. So during his free period, he searched for you. But when he couldn't find you, worry hit him like a bus. Thoughts of you escaping and leaving him empty attacked him. He became slightly more frantic until he came across a closet. The scent of your blood filled his senses, alerting him. He opened the door, missing the elegance and grace he normally held himself with.

You were laying on the concrete floor in a pool of your own blood, Reiji could tell you were just hanging on so when he slammed the door shut, he quickly got down on his knees. "Y/N... Whatever in the world happened? Who...?" He trailed off, his eyes zeroing in on the bite mark on your neck. "Shu" He spat with venom, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

You met his eyes and forced your hand up with all your strength so you could touch his face. "Reiji, there's nothing you can do. You're not going to be able to save me, he hit an artery..."

"Don't tell me there's nothing I can do. I'll say when I can't save you." He retorted, his magenta eyes misty. "I'll save you. If not then-"

"Rei." You muttered, brushing his hair out of his face as he looked down at you. "You really have to learn to let things be... I love you."

The light faded from your eyes immediately and Reiji held back a sound of despair. "I'll bring you back... I don't care about that woman anymore, I'll bring you back to me..."

Ayato:

"Chichinashi! Time for my takoyak-" Ayato cut himself off when the scent of blood filled his nostrils, your blood. It filled the air like a sweet aroma, but Ayato knew them and there was something wrong.

That's when his emerald eyes fell on a hand peeking out from behind the island in the home economics room, he hurried to teleport behind it. You were sprawled out, bleeding from a large bite in your collarbone. It seemed you were even fading in and out of consciousness. "Chichi- Y/N! What? Who...?" Ayato's voice cracked and he slid down on his knees, pushing his arms underneath you and bringing your head up on his lap.

"Ruki tried to bite me, and I tried to fight him off... Didn't really work so well." You coughed, wincing at the pain. Ayato's expression was twisted into worry, and as your vision blurred, you thought you saw tears forming. "I'm sorry, I really tried, Ayato." You whispered, closing your eyes.

Ayato held back a sound of despair, gripping onto your now cold body. "I should be sorry..."

Kanato:

As soon as Kanato noticed your absence in history class, he stood up and walked out the door, not caring what the teacher thought. He gripped Teddy against his chest, the thoughts for everything you could be doing flooding his brain. Was someone else touching you?? He would kill them, dispose of them and then show you why he claimed you. His senses immediately focused on the sweet smell of your blood, his irises swirled with rage as he storms into the otherwise empty women's locker room. You were leaning against a locker, a tired look on your face as red liquid dripped down your neck. Kanato flew into rage, screaming as loud as he could. "Who touched you?! Who?! Why did you let them hurt you?!"

You weakly looked at him and grabbed his hand gently, throwing him off. "Kana, trust me, I didn't want it. I wouldn't do that to you." You muttered, pulling him closer to you, which luckily, he allowed.

"But why!? Why would you let..." His eyes glanced at your neck, recognizing the bite mark. "Azusa of all people! Am I not enou-" Quickly, you pulled his lips to yours, letting him take his anger out through kisses one last time. It felt intense, like two waves crashing against each other one last time before the ocean stopped moving completely.

After a second, you pulled away, a tear falling down your cheek. "You've always been more than enough." You whispered, resting your forehead against his. "Don't yell, spend our last moments together holding me, please."

Kanato dropped Teddy to the floor carelessly and held you carefully until you became just like his other dolls, emotionless, soulless, and dead. "My poor dolly..." He sobbed, burying his face in your blood soaked hair. "I love you."

Laito:

"Bitch-chan~ Ooh! How fun to find you in the Biology classroom! You sure thought that out well~ Did you want to have some study time with your Laito-kun?" Laito chuckled as he peaked into the doorway, only to find you haphazardly spread out on a desk, your blood staining the light wood a dark shade of crimson. His face and stomach dropped and quickly rushed in, placing a finger to your wrist to check your pulse. "Bitc- Y/N, wake up please." He muttered, a rare terrified look on his face.

Your eyes fluttered open and met his green ones. "Lai?" You said, your voice strained. "I didn't want it... I swear, I'd never leave you-" You were cut off by Laito placing a finger to your lips, brushing his thumb against them softly. It was rare to see him like this, it was like he was acting like a normal teenager who was concerned, not your Laito.

"I know... I know, you would never try." He paused, his voice wavering. "You love me, you actually love me, right? You taught me the real meaning..."

You closed your eyes and parted your lips as he pressed a soft kiss to them, his nose grazing yours. "I love you, truly..." You muttered, just before you felt your own body go limp before you could do anything else.

Laito was left, a tear running through his eyelashes and down to your cold cheek. "I do too..."

Subaru:

Subaru laid, next to you, a knife in his hand. You looked at it sadly, before your eyes darted to his. "Subaru, no please. You will be okay without me." You muttered, too low on the energy and blood to raise your voice.

His expression was not something you could read at the moment. You had been unable to focus since Kou had drained you a little too much, your vision was slowly starting to go, and touches were getting fainter, like you were drifting away from reality, from the love you had only just found. "I can't... I can't stay on a plane without you."

"Then it's my last wish..." You pleaded, biting your lip as you touch his hand that was holding the dagger. "I'll be heartbroken if I see you up there the moment I leave."

Subaru exhaled, shutting his ruby eyes before hugging you to his chest, water pouring like waterfalls down his face. As your body untensed, you thought you would leave this world knowing your darling would fall in love again. But before you lost your hearing, you heard him mumble shakily. "I'm not going up there anyway..."

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 27: Migraine

cw: migraine, self depreciation, emeto, gory descriptions

previous

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 787

=~=~=

Shades of violet and blinding green swirled around him like storm clouds, spewing lightning and egging on the pain in his head. Hunter hugged his pillow tighter, willing the color to go away. Didn't do shit. The more he thought about wanting it gone, the stronger it got, like it was trying to spite him.

A new wave hit—white fire behind his eyes, his own brain screaming—and he bit down on the cushion until his jaw started to burn.

It hadn't been this bad since… since… the beginning. Since the test that activated his implant in the first place, since he'd crawled out of the burning lab, blinded by agony, the smell of smoke the only thing that kept him moving forward.

Had he overused it finding Manak? Every time he leaned into the patterns, used them, the headaches seemed to get worse.

If he did break his brain finding that arrogant asshole, he wouldn't fucking regret it. He'd made his choice, and Manak wouldn't be here right now if he hadn't.

He needed me. All the brains in the world, and in the end, he needed me, Hunter told himself through the next bout of searing pain, screaming into the pillow as it reached a new sharpness.

He wished he would just pass out. He wished—

“Harbor.”

Speak of the fuckin devil.

It was hard to keep from whimpering at the sudden sound, words somehow both blurred by the colors and sharpened by them, driving into his temple like a spike.

“What?” he managed to spit out, trying to blink past the cloying rainbow to get a look at Manak’s color. He was expecting the usual. Irritation, red and swirling. Can you shut up? Some of us want to sleep.

Instead, he was a neutral forest green, darkness clouding his throat and shoulders, misty red pain hovering around his knee.

The mist had been a lot thicker when he'd found him; flecks of red mingling with real blood, his green darkened to almost black. Brightening at the center when Hunter made himself known, when he carried him away. Manak never brightened around him before, never.

You did save his life. Even Manak would appreciate that, dumbass.

“Are you alright? I thought I heard…” He frowned, steps clicking as he moved closer to Hunter's bed. Crutches. He hadn't even noticed them until now. Manak shouldn’t be up. He should be sleeping, getting better, but somehow Hunter'd managed to fuck up what should've been the easy part.

“Fine,” Hunter choked out. “Just. Implant bullshit.” Power came at a cost. Anyone who picked up a comicbook knew that. So whatever, it was fine. He'd ride it out. He just wished it didn't feel like his head was going to explode.

“Do you want some pain medication?”

“Doesn't work.” The orange ones just made him nauseous, and everything else didn't reach his head. The only way he'd ever shut it up was through booze, and he doubted there was any of that on this tiny compound.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Help. Why would Manak want to help? Did he feel like he owed him? That had to be it. There was no other reason he'd still be in the room, no other reason he'd bother to check on Hunter in the first place.

“You can go away,” he said, and the words came out choked. A fresh pain was building, brighter than the sun, aching, stinging, burning, growing. Like a new star was trying to form in his fucking skull. Agony too loud to hear his own voice, Hunter only realized he was screaming when his lungs started to burn from the lack of air, throat aching from overuse.

He couldn't get away, no escape, the pain was him, he'd have to cut open his skull and let his brains spill out, had to relieve pressure, had to—

Everything went away.

Not for long enough. The pain came back as a dull ache, pounding like a drum in his head. It was hard to breathe at first, hard to see. His mouth tasted like battery acid, bile on his tongue, and for a moment he couldn't feel anything but the implant. Cold metal and brain tissue.

“Are you with me?”

He was sitting up. Hunched forwards a little, arms wrapped around him.

“Breathe.”

Hunter more choked than inhaled. His body felt shaky and bloodless, head floating in a sea of hurt.

Manak was holding him, a cool hand rubbing his back, Hunter’s puke down the front of his perfect sweater.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, the word barely more than a gurgle.

“Just breathe.”

He tried.

[moonshynecybin]

#fco au. obviously. ← this is where vale needs to swoop in and touch marc's waist and kiss him and tell the press they have something very very important to discuss it can't wait and then he drags marc away

LITERALLYYYY one of the myriad sexy things about fco conceptually is it explores the sort of. violence of being a celebrity. like everyone feels like they knows you and wants your opinion and a lot of people ignore your boundaries and treat you like a zoo animal. genuine nightmare scenario. like personally i think i would hate that,and certainly it seems like marc and vale have had their gripes with it in the past (vale asserting any partner of his would have to share him with the public, marc asking gresini if he could have less press appearances in his contract this year), but they are still crucially still very GOOD at it. and kind of accept it as part of their jobs in a way say. casey stoner did not.

so this is a fic scenario where essentially one of the WORST things possible for them gets leaked to the press (gay. fuck nasty. public.) in the direct aftermath of vale knowingly using the media circus to fuck marc over and HURT him. and then vale decides it goes too far and jumps on the shitwagon with him to protect him, even when he knows that the press will harass and abuse him the same way they do marc. it’s essentially like. i love you (he does notttt know that yet though) so i will stand in the eye of this storm WITH you and help you through it. very romantic to me..

so YES. even post fco drama when they’re together and happy it’s like. the media pressure does not necessarily STOP, it just CHANGES. like they’re still famous they’re the royal couple of racing, and after marc’s injury he still has all the same questions and microphones shoved in his face all the time and it SUCKS ! but hey! vale loves him ! and operates in the public arena just like he does ! and is maybe the only person in the world who can make a room full of motogp journalists pull their attention from marc. so i think on these high pressure weekends the most common place you can find vale is rightttt at marc’s elbow, spinning the room around his orbit as much as he can just so he can give marc a little relief. walks up BIG kisssss cameras flash. every microphone shifts a foot to marc’s left (not the bad side, vale is careful) and vale immediately starts jabbering about bezz and diggia and marc can feel the tension headache recede just a little…

[everalii]

No rest - Sebastian Sallow

Tw: depicted acquired schizophrenia, paranoia, death, suicide idealization, and self-harm. Pure angst. 18+. AFAB MC named Claire, but no traits are mentioned, you can imagine your own or any other character here.

No beta here. Read at your own risk.

I had this idea after talking to my dad, who was recently diagnosed with schizophrenia. According to his doctors, he acquired after a very traumatic experience as a way for the brain to "protect" itself. He told me what the voices he hears talk, the patterns and all, so everything here is based on what my dad taught me.

I am by no means a doctor or a specialist in schizophrenia, I'm just a curious and creative woman. Please, let me live lol

Enjoy. Or not, bc it's sad.

Now that you took him away from Anne, when will you take yourself away?

Sebastian hit his own head with his fist, in order to make the trail of thoughts cease.

It hasn't been easy since the events in the catacombs. He, somehow, manipulated, no, convinced both Ominis and Claire that he acted in self defense. Or was it intetional?

For gods sake, he knows he never intended to kill his uncle. And everyone should know too. Anne should. Anne should?

He smacked the back of his head again, his own internal voice failing giving him some comfort. The whispers haunting the library, quills being dragged around parchment to draw words and the flipping of pages were getting him mad.

Sebastian shoved the books under his arm and stormed off the library, not noticing Madam Scribner pointless words of how he should be more careful with her sacred books. As if he cared.

He needed silence and peace, so he ran to the old clock forgotten beneath the stairs of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The clinging of metal on stone sent shivers down his spine.

Finally, the Undercroft revelead itself proud in front of him. No lights were on. Only a rhythmic drop falling from the ceiling disturbed the eerie ambiance of the large secluded gallery. He lit the candelabra with confringo and sat next to the crates where he rested his books on.

Alone, as always... You should keep yourself away. Murderer.

Another time, he hit his own head. The guilt railed him from the inside out, it was clear: sleep deprived, no apetite and constant tiredness showed in heavy dark bags under his eyes, his voice faltering, his demeanor once proud is now timid. He wanted to pay attention to his studies, with the OWLs coming, he had to score high if he wanted the right subjects for the next ye-

Murderer. Murderer. What does Anne think?

- Bloody hell, enough! - he shouted, panting and fighting the tears back into his eyes. - Enough.

He knows fighting. Adorable boy. Mommy's boy. She's dead too, poor thing.

Sebastian dropped the quill from his fingers, hitting the back of his head hard against the stone of the gallery. He would get a headache for the next day, most likely.

Pain eases? Mommy's gone, baby boy. So does Anne, she'll die because of your incapacity.

- Shut up!!! - he screamed, clawing his fingers into the stone and punching it with full force. It was pointless now to fight the tears, they fell like a waterfall. - Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!!!

- Sebastian? What is happening?!

Sebastian opened his eyes to meet Claire's one's staring at him, hers filled with worry. She dared to touch his leg in a soothing way. He flinched at the contact, so she drawed her hand back.

- When you came in?

- Just now, I saw you punching the wall and screaming. What's happening? Tell me... - she begged

His mouth went dry while his stomach contracted itself, Sebastian felt relieved for not having nothing to eat for the past few days. He took in a few breaths, regaing his calm

Claire is too good for you. She's ashamed of you. You made her sin. Murderer. Mur-

- I'm just tired, love. Nothing to worry here. - he smiled, puffing out his chest. Claire stern gaze never faltered, she pressured him. - ...I am still thinking about that night.

Murderer. Murderer. Selfish murderer, you should be hanging on a rope.

- We will get over that, as painful as it is, Bash. - Claire sat beside him, embracing his large torso. He rested his head on her shoulder. - I am here.

She is, but not for long. She'll get over that, alone. You, alone. Murderer.

- ...I-I hope. I just want to rest. - he confessed. - I'm so tired.

Rest? You won't rest. Murderer. Rest is for uncle Solomon. Alone.

- You can rest now. I won't leave you.

He smiled, his heart sunk with the realization, she'd leave him. She would, he could feel it. He was a murderer.

Claire caressed his cheek and planted a shy kiss on his head, resting her head atop his.

Murderer.

Murderer.

Kinslayer... sounds good, a good name for Azkhaban. Murderer. She'll leave you for Ominis... Is he ratting you now?

He pressed his eyes closed, tears still falling from his eyes, now wetting Claire's robes, and his lips trembling.

- Promise you won't leave me?

- I promise I'll never leave you - she will.

Murderer. Murderer. We belong in Azkhaban.

You belong in Azkhaban.

[presidenthades]

what do you think would have happened if aegon didn't manage to break his engagement to helaena and they ended up married? who would be jace's husband in this universe?

I’ll try to answer this seriously first before I go for a more fun answer.

If the kids are caught trying to elope, Rhaenyra probably feels pressured to arrange Jace’s match sooner rather than later to thwart any future recklessness. Rhaenyra would want to keep Jace close to home, so she probably picks a Velaryon cousin or Celtigar.

If there isn’t an elopement attempt in the first place, then Rhaenyra continues with her plan in Chapter 4 of the Handbook to let Jace choose from a list of suitors. Jace doesn’t want to marry any of them so she tries to prolong the decision, but she does have to make a decision eventually. She might pick Cregan Stark or Qyle Martell because of the alliances they bring, but Jace wouldn’t be super happy living in the North or Dorne, far away from her family. Or she might pick a Tully boy because they’re younger, so she can buy more time before the wedding.

Meanwhile, it’s still in the Greens’ interest to try to get one of Rhaenyra’s daughters in marriage. Honestly, I could see Otto moving onto the next grandson and throwing Aemond at Jace, but Aegon would 100% try to kill Aemond in this scenario. Or Otto could try to match Aemond and Luce. Luce doesn’t take Aemond’s eye in this universe, and their falling-out is something they could overcome if they needed to. But Rhaenyra probably doesn’t accept (Daemon definitely wouldn’t like it), so it probably doesn’t happen.

Since the Blacks and Greens are still at odds, the Greens will crown Aegon. When both sides try to negotiate terms, there’s probably another proposal for Luce/Aemond. If she’s already betrothed or married (most likely to a Velaryon cousin), then they’d propose Joff/Daeron.

If the Dance happens, it wouldn’t have such an explosive beginning because Aemond is unlikely to kill Luce in this universe. But somebody (Daemon or one of the boys) will eventually do something stupid that causes war/violence to break out. Jace’s choice of husband probably affects the balance of land armies. Luce being alive might affect the dragon battles, but Arrax is very small so who knows? Also, despite the tensions, the Targkids are probably reluctant to fight each other.

I feel like my answers are very wishy-washy, but that’s because there are so many different decision points that could change the story, depending on what people choose. Regardless, it would be a less happy timeline for the characters because most people are marrying the wrong partner, and some Targs probably die 😢.

But now the FUN answer!

I actually started jotting down notes for this scenario before I got distracted by other things. I wanted to write a fic where the Dance does happen, but nobody dies and it’s kind of romcommy, and everyone does marry the right person. The initial idea for this fic was “what if Jace and Luce seduce Aegon and Aemond to stop the war,” and I ran with it from there 😇.

Aegon and Helaena get married, but it’s never consummated because Aegon is clinging to the hope of still being able to marry Jace somehow. Meanwhile Jace has managed to delay picking a husband, but she’s feeling more and more pressure to get on with her decision.

When Viserys dies, Aegon is convinced to take the crown when he’s told that as king, he can have his marriage annulled and marry Jace instead. Peace terms are sent to Dragonstone, but like in the show canon, the Blacks are skeptical and try to win support from various lords. Jace is sent to the Vale and then the North, where she’s supposed to offer to marry Cregan in exchange for the North’s support.

Luce goes to Storm’s End and is very peeved about Aemond arranging a betrothal with a Baratheon girl. The two of them argue, Borros kicks them both out because they’re giving him a headache, and Vhagar smacks Arrax around in the courtyard. Aemond goes “fuck it,” kidnaps Luce, and brings her back to the Red Keep, where she becomes his personal headache for the next few months.

Aegon thinks it’s very unfair that Aemond has managed to nab Luce, and he’s also quite upset when he learns Jace is supposed to marry Cregan. To make things fair, Aegon and Aemond plot a way to kidnap Jace when she leaves the Vale before she can go North. So Jace ends up at the Red Keep too, and Luce tells her “hey Aegon is still really into you, maybe you should take advantage of this” and Jace says “fine but if I have to figure out how to seduce somebody then so do you.”

No real battles happen because Aegon and Aemond are too distracted at the Red Keep to actually get on their dragons and fight people. Daeron is traveling with the Hightower army from Oldtown when Joff finds him and is like “hi, I’m kidnapping you to make things fair,” and Daeron is like “great, just what I always wanted.” So now everybody has to sit down and actually talk about things nicely. World peace ensues. The end.

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 5k

Part 54/54

"We deserve a soft epilogue, my love." - Nikka Ursula

Masterlist

The sense of weightlessness was abruptly replaced with a soft, yet heavy pressure against her chest, causing her body to sag into the cushioned ground beneath her. Her throat was aflame and dry, as if she had swallowed a bonfire, and a lingering headache pulsed behind her closed lids. Slowly but surely, sensation returned to her once-limp limbs, still weak and brittle, but whole and alive. 

A terse stillness settled around her as if the entire room was holding its breath in anticipation. Gwen’s mind, still muddled from slumber, struggled to make sense of it all. She’d just been with Lucy, they’d talked for… she had no idea for how long, and then she’d been here. Her body refused to obey her commands to open her eyes, but she could sense a change in the atmosphere. The scent of lavender and sandalwood permeated the space, calming yet also unsettling. Something was different, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

“Did it work?” 

Gwen's heart fluttered in her chest as she heard that voice, so familiar and beautiful and wavering with nerves. The tension that had been coiling inside her dissipated like a gentle stream, flowing away with each word that poured out of his mouth. It was like a river calming after a storm, the sound soothing and comforting to Gwen's soul.

Nothing else mattered as long as Alistair was with her. 

“Give her a moment. It will take a while to wake up out of a deep sleep like that.” A different voice spoke this time, but it had also been present when she’d last been conscious. 

“Anders.” His name was used as a warning. 

“Don’t give me that,” the mage snipped. “Try holding her hand and talking to her, I don’t know. You just have to give her time, Your Majesty.” 

“It’s been far too long.” Alistair's hand slipped into hers, his grip firm and warm, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Her absence had made him grouchy and Gwen could feel the rigidity radiating from his body. She desperately willed her eyelids to open so she could see the familiar pout that always accompanied his grumpiness. "I swear, if I have to wait much longer, I might just start talking to myself. Would anyone like to hear about the time I ran into the dining hall in nothing but my knickers during my Templar training?"

“Alistair, be patient.” A soothing, velvety voice pierced through the restlessness. Gwen had bid farewell to Leliana with a heavy heart, thinking it would be their final meeting. She should have known better than to doubt the Spymaster's unwavering determination to keep her word. “Gwen is strong and horribly stubborn, but she needs a moment to gather her strength.”

“I swear it’ll work. It has to. Look at her! She’s already looking like a gloomy ghost instead of a full-on wraith.” Darcy’s voice pitched light and teasing in an attempt at his aloof brand of humour.

Alistair sighed, his thumb brushing over the back of her bony hand. “It has to. I can’t… I need her to recover.”

Footsteps padded across the floor, and Leliana moved closer. “She will wake up, Alistair. She knows how much you care, she wants to come back to you.”

“Have a little faith,” Darcy’s voice was closer now. “We tested the cure as much as we could, and Gwen’s a fighter. If anyone can pull through, it’s her.” 

His confidence was touching, if only her body would listen to her commands. 

“I know.” The bed sunk as Alistair sat beside her and she wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to hold him and pepper kisses across his face until there wasn’t an inch of skin her lips hadn’t touched.

Come on, she urged her body, please, for the Maker’s sake just fucking work!

“I just—“ Alistair’s words were cut short by a sharp gasp, his hand spasming in hers as he felt her finally, finally, move. It was a seemingly insignificant twitch, so much effort for so little movement, but it was enough to get his attention. 

His fingers brushed gently against her shallow cheeks, his breath ghosting over her skin. The soft touch of his fingertips was the trail of a shooting star, a wish made in earnest, begging to come true. He seemed to trace every contour of her face like a map he had memorized in his youth, knowing every hill and valley by heart. “Gwen?” he asked, his voice full of longing and uncertainty. “Was that… did you mean to do that?”

“See, what did I tell you? All in good time,” Anders said cheerily. 

Gwen wanted to open her eyes, to see Alistair, Darcy, Leliana, even Anders - anyone who could prove to her that she was alive, that she had somehow made it. 

Gwen felt the bed sink again as another weight joined her on the other side. “Gwennie? If you’re keeping your eyes closed so you don’t have to subject yourself to Alistair’s ugly mug, may I present to you a better option? I promise I have aged like a fine wine, or at least that’s what Zevran tells me.”

Her lips twitched at the corners, a laugh stuck within the confines of her throat. Alistair ignored his friend in favour of pulling her limp hand to his chest, cradling it with a delicacy that concerned her. Was she truly so fragile, or was he simply being over-cautious? 

“She moved again! Darcy, did you see that? Tell some more jokes at my expense.” 

Unable to contain the joy flitting about her chest, Gwen’s face cracked into a fleeting, weak smile. It only lasted for a second, but she had managed it, enervated as she was.

“I’m not sure that’s necessary.” Darcy chuckled. “Gwennie, if you want me to keep making fun of Alistair, give him a good kick and I’ll know you mean it.”

“A kick, seriously? Isn’t that a little ambitious?” 

“I believe in her.”

Gwen's patience was wearing thin from this constant bickering, and with one last surge of willpower and strength, she willed her heavy eyelids to lift open. The room materialized before her gradually, the darkness giving way to hazy shapes that became clearer with each passing moment. She first noticed the rough, uneven texture of the stone walls surrounding her, cool and unforgiving. Candles sat unlit along the edge of the room, and as her vision sharpened, she turned to see a familiar figure sitting beside her, their silhouette illuminated by a dim light shining in through the balcony doors.

Alistair was both achingly familiar and startlingly different. The strong line of his jaw - once rounded with youth that he’d shed during the beginning of his reign - the warm brown of his eyes remained unchanged from her memories. But his hair, once a soft sandy blond, now showed streaks of silver at the temples. Faint lines creased the corners of his eyes, marking years of laughter and sorrow endured over time. And there, just above the bridge of his nose, a thin white scar cut across his skin - long since healed, but new to her.

Time had passed - far more than she had ever imagined. The man before her was both the Alistair she knew and a stranger, a living embodiment of all the years they had been apart. She searched his face, seeking traces of the boyish charm and ready humour remembered so well.

Alistair's smile was a red rose given in courtship to a blushing maiden, it was sunshine breaking through the clouds, it was a wolf’s tooth necklace made by hand and gifted with love. It lit up his whole face, making his eyes sparkle and the weariness fall from his features like rain in a silent forest.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered with a reverence that had her wanting to laugh and cry and kiss him until she couldn’t breathe anything but his name. 

Her lips parted, trembling as she tried to form the words that her heart ached to say. She longed to tell him how much she loved him, how every moment without him had felt like a lifetime, and how bitterly she regretted ever leaving his side. But her throat was parched and raw from neglect, the words choking in her throat like dust had invaded her insides. All she could manage was a weak, ragged cough that made her wince with discomfort. Her eyes pleaded with him to understand the depth of her emotions, even if her voice failed her.

"Shh,” he shushed her, “I know, Gwen. You don't try to speak yet, you don’t have to say anything right now." Alistair soothed, gently caressing her cheek with his calloused fingers. "Anders, can you get her some water?"

But she wanted to speak, to tell him how much she loved him, ask him all her questions - how was she alive, what was this cure, how long had it been? 

“You should listen to him, for once,” Darcy said, pulling her gaze to him.

Gwen turned her head slowly to the side, her neck stiff from lack of use. There sat Darcy, flashing her a familiar, teasing smirk. The years had been kind to him, his once impish features now matured and refined. His jawline had filled out, becoming chiselled and defined, and strands of silver were starting to appear in his thick black curls, evidence of the passing time. But it was his eyes that held her gaze the most - they still sparkled with mischievousness, like they had always done.

"Don't worry, Gwennie. I know it's a shock seeing this old man sitting beside you," Darcy said, gesturing at himself with an almost seductive shimmy of his body. "Just remember, I'm still devilishly handsome."

A fragile huff of laughter escaped Gwen's lips, but it was quickly stifled by a sharp pain in her throat.

Alistair shot Darcy a reproachful glare, though his eyes shone with amusement. "Give her time to adjust before you start putting ideas in her head." He turned back to Gwen, “And I think we’d need nothing short of a miracle to get her to listen to me.”

Gwen scowled at him and he laughed. “Oh, how I missed that scathing look.”

“Move aside, dear Darcy. My heart is eager to greet Gwen once more, just as yours is. I have missed her too, you know.” Leliana’s radiant face swam into view. Gwen's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of her dear friend Leliana. Though her once vibrant red hair was now streaked with silver, framing her face in a mature, elegant style, Gwen could still recognize the glimmer in her bright blue eyes. There was a gentleness about Leliana that seemed only to have grown over the years, her smile lines reflecting a life filled with both joy and hardship.

With a bump of her shapely hip, she forced Darcy back, much to his vocal protests. "It is good to see you awake, my friend," Leliana said, ignoring Darcy, her voice as melodic as Gwen remembered. She reached out and clasped Gwen's hand warmly between her own.

Gwen tried to speak, but could only manage a hoarse rasp. Leliana's brow furrowed in concern as she studied Gwen intently.

"Your voice will return in time," she reassured. "For now, know that you are safe here among those who love you."

Gwen nodded weakly, squeezing Leliana's hand in gratitude. She had never been one for many words anyhow, perhaps it was for the best.

Darcy cleared his throat, patting Alistair on the shoulder and giving Gwen a smirk that had her bracing for his crassness. “It truly is wonderful to see you awake again, Gwennie. I missed your surliness and quiet brooding more than I care to admit. But don’t think I’ve forgiven you for trying to die on me. You betrayed a direct order, which I must say, is rather rude.” He pushed himself off the bed, dusting off his leather pants, Leliana releasing her hand and standing with him. “Zevran is somewhere in this castle, probably pilfering something he isn’t supposed to, but he’ll want to know how you’re doing and I suppose I should tell him the good news. Plus, I’d be a pretty poor friend if I didn’t give you some private time to catch up with your over-eager lover.”

At Darcy’s wink, Alistair’s face flushed a light pink that spread to his ears. Time may pass, but their friendship never changed. 

“But not too much catching up,” Anders cut in, placing a cup of water on the bedside table. “I will not have you doing any vigorous activities with my patient. King or not, I take my healing very seriously.”

Alistair spluttered, his blush deepening to a lovely crimson as he stumbled to find the right words. It was entirely un-king-like, but it made her laugh, raspy and whisper quiet. It felt good, she felt good. 

His eyes darted back to meet hers, glimmering with a softness and adoration that made her heart skip a beat. She could feel his gaze on her like a gentle caress, a bandage over an open wound, and felt like home.

As her heart raced with thoughts of Alistair, she barely noticed Darcy's swift movement as he linked his arm through Anders' and led the mage out of the room. Leliana followed close behind, a sly grin playing on her lips as she shut the door behind them. The sound of their footsteps echoed down the hall, blending with the muted chirps of birds outside the windows. Streaks of sun rays poured in through the tall windows, but none of it mattered when Alistair was the only thing she ever cared to look at again.

With trembling fingers, he reached up to caress her cheek as if she was made of fragile glass, afraid to break her with even the slightest touch. His intense gaze roamed over every inch of her face as though he was drinking her in like a man who’d stumbled upon a desert oasis. As if he feared that if he didn't capture her essence in his mind, she would disappear like a fleeting dream.

Gwen cleared her throat, and once again tried to speak, but her voice was strained and raspy from disuse. She tried to form words, but her parched throat refused to cooperate, only producing weak, unintelligible noises.

“Stop that,” Alistair admonished, a frown marring his face. “You’re only going to hurt yourself. You don’t need to say anything, you heard the healer, give it time.”

Gwen's eyes traced the streaks of grey that had leeched the youthful colour from the sides of his once reddish-blonde hair. Gwen figured she’d already given it enough time. Incapable of speech, she chose instead to do the only sophisticated thing she could think of pulled her lips back, baring her sharp teeth in a silent snarl.

Alistair huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Dear, even as little more than a ragdoll you are very intimidating,” he said placatingly and she narrowed her eyes at him. He paid her no mind, instead, reaching for the cup of water that sat at her bedside. Gwen's body was weak and frail, but his touch was gentle as he helped her tilt her head up, cradling her skull with the utmost care. Slowly, he poured the cool liquid into her mouth, watching as she drank in small, careful sips.

As the drops touched her tongue, Gwen felt like she had been transported to paradise. The coldness woke up every one of her senses, reviving her tired body and giving her new life. Alistair's eyes were fixed on hers, ready to take away the cup if she drank too quickly. But Gwen was mindful, taking small sips and pausing to catch her breath.

When she finished, Alistair set the cup back down on the bedside table and eased her back onto the soft pillows. As she settled in, Gwen cleared her throat again and was pleased to find it less scratchy and irritated. Her tongue could now move freely in her mouth without feeling strained or cracked. 

“Al—“ She tried again, but cut herself off with a cough, irritably huffing at Alistair’s concerned and fluttering hands as he tried to figure out how to stop it. But there was no thick, black blood choking her lungs, no Calling ringing in her head, her joints didn’t ache - she was free. 

With a voice like a jar of angry bees, she whispered his name, “Alistair.” The sound was both pained and joyous, but it was worth it to see the way his face lit up in response. His eyes danced with happiness, mirroring the fluttering butterflies in her stomach.

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he returned his hand to her cheek, his thumb swiping across the curve of her cheekbone. His fingers rested just above the hole in her cheek, but he didn’t appear to think anything of it.

“Gwen.” Her name rolled off his tongue with equal ardour, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. There were so many things she wanted to say, wanted to ask, but when he smiled so softly at her, gazing at her with deep and boundless devotion, there was only one thing that came to mind. 

“I love you, Alistair.” 

Bowing forward, his warm breath brushed against her forehead as he placed it gently against hers. The corners of his mouth lifted in an airy chuckle that sent a tingly sensation through her body. “That’s what you so desperately needed to say that you’d risk damaging your throat? I already know, and Maker’s Breath, do I love you too.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, breathing in his scent as it surrounded her - the earthy aroma of worn leather mixed with pine needles and musk. It was so familiar, yet different too. The pine was sharper, the leather richer. It was the scent of time passed and experiences lived.

Beneath it all, she could still detect the subtle hint of the polish he used on his armour that always seemed to cling to him - even now that he had servants to perform such duties. It brought her back to quiet nights around a campfire, his arm draped over her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth and security as they shared stories and laughter. Those memories felt like another lifetime, a distant dream that she longed to hold onto forever. But dreams had a way of vanishing in the wake of reality.

“I… wanted you to know.” 

He sighed, his other hand coming up to caress her other cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

Gwen would leave that decision up to him, right now she had far more pressing concerns. With tremendous effort, she managed to place a shaking hand on his chest, silently asking him to give her some space. She longed for his touch, his lips on hers, to feel his weight pressing down on her against the bed, but first, she needed this. 

Worry etched deep lines into his brow as he complied, slowly moving back just enough that she could see him entirely. Good, she thought to herself, she didn’t want to let go of him yet, or ever if she was being honest. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the slight stubble on his chin, the warmth of his hand in hers - she wanted to hold on to every detail, memorize them and keep them close to her heart. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked as she dropped her hand, no longer having the strength to keep it there. “Should I fetch Anders?”

Gwen shook her head. No, she didn’t need a healer. 

“How long?” The question hung in the air between them, heavy and pressing like a mountain had rent the room in two.

Alistair sucked his lips between his teeth, exhaling sharply through flared nostrils. He watched her with his gorgeous brown eyes, unsure how to soften the blow, like a sad puppy, even in his aged state. 

“How long?” She repeated, fear fluttering in her throat. His eyes wrinkled at the corners, his crow's feet prominent. She knew it had been a long time, but she needed to know exactly how long. 

“Eight years.”

A sudden rush of air escaped her lungs, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of her body. The overwhelming weight of time pressed down on her, like a boulder crushing her bones into a fine powder. Eight years… Almost another decade had gone by, leaving Alistair old and grey, broken-hearted as he waited for her. Again. 

Tears came unbidden to her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as her bottom lip wobbled. With a patience she still did not understand, he simply smiled softly, brushing the tears away as they reached his fingers. 

“Don’t fret, my love. I’m still as spry as I always was, if not slightly wider around the midsection. All those fine cheeses have finally caught up to me.” He grinned at her, lopsided and boyish and it made the years shed from his face like peeling away a worn mask. All she could see was that twenty-year-old man she’d fallen madly in love with. Who she had left behind in some misguided attempt to keep him safe.

“I’ve made you wait so long.” Her voice shook, tears clogging up her still scratchy throat. Eighteen years since she’d left him, and yet he still looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars. It was as if time had frozen for him, his love never wavering. For the life of her, she could not figure out what she had done to deserve it. 

With a tender touch that only made the flood of tears blur her vision even more, Alistair's unwavering gaze held hers as he whispered, “I would have waited an eternity for just one more second with you.”

A primal, gut-wrenching sob forced its way from deep within her chest, escaping her lips in a strangled noise. She fought to inhale, wheezing and gasping for air. The weight of his words hit her like a Warhammer, shattering any remaining pieces of her heart. She felt it splinter and crack, the pain shooting through her body like lightning. Guilt surged over her, inescapable in its force.

“Eighteen years, Alistair. I wasted eighteen years.” How did he not understand? Why did he look at her like that was not an unforgivable, egregious act?

He pressed a featherlight kiss to her forehead, his lips trailing along her pale skin. “You may not have been with me, or awake, for all of those long years, but I cherished every single one as I got to love you. I would never consider loving you a waste.”

Again, more words that tore at her heart.

“Stop saying kind things to me,” she pleaded, yet even as she spoke, her hand reached for his hip, grabbing onto the fabric of his tunic, unwilling to let go. 

“I refuse,” he stated simply. “I missed you, you were here but you… were also not. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. Every day we didn’t have a cure was torture and I… can’t bear the thought of spending another day without you, without being able to shower you with every ounce of love I have to give." His eyes shone with unshed tears as he continued, "And trust me, I've built up a lot over these years."

Before she could offer a rebuttal, before any protest could be voiced, he closed the gap between them, kissing her with all the desperate need of a man who’d waited for another decade to kiss the woman he loved. 

Before she could even think of a response, he closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a burst of pent-up passion. His hands cradled her face gently but with an urgency that conveyed years of longing and desire. Every touch of his lips sent sparks coursing through her body, igniting a fire that had been smouldering as she slept. In that embrace, she could feel everything he had ever wanted to tell her but couldn't find the words for.

Gwen's entire body melted into Alistair's kiss, the familiar press of his lips igniting a tidal wave of need within her. She clung to him with an almost desperate fervour, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his tunic as she anchored herself against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Relief, joy, sorrow, guilt - but above all else, love - surged through her, years' worth of pent-up feelings now bursting forth. It was as though she could feel every single second they had been apart and every moment they had longed for each other, all at once. And in that one perfect kiss, their love was reignited with a ferocity that shook Gwen to her core.

The absence of him had created a deep, gnawing ache within her, one that threatened to split her chest in two. All the moments they could have had if she hadn't been locked away in her own mind, all the tender caresses and passionate embraces lost to the mists of time. Alistair's touch was at once foreign and familiar, his hands gentle yet desperate as they cradled her face, her back, reminding her body of the pleasure it had forgotten.

With a soft gasp, she broke the kiss, vision blurry beneath her tears. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I should have fought harder, been stronger." The confession spilled from her lips, raw and pained.

Alistair silenced her protests with another searing kiss. "No apologies," he murmured against her mouth. "No regrets. Not when I finally have you back." His thumb traced her cheekbone tenderly even as his body pressed flush against hers. "Every moment we have now is a gift. All I care about is loving you, here and now."

His steadfast devotion, his complete forgiveness, threatened to undo her. She blinked back tears, smiling up at him with wonder. "I don't deserve you," she breathed.

"You do, but even if you didn’t, you’d be stuck with me anyway. I’m much too difficult to get rid of." Alistair teased gently, eyes glinting.

Gwen let out a soft, watery laugh, her heart swelling with affection. Even after all this time, he could make her feel like the most important woman in the world. "I suppose I'll manage," she quipped, feeling completely at ease with him by her side.

She pulled him towards her with a force that was both gentle and irresistible, drawing him into another long, slow kiss. They had a decade or two to make up for, but time and distance dissolved as they embraced in a perfect moment of reunion.

“You do know you’ll have to put up with my terrible jokes forever now, right?” Alistair's lips curved into a grin against her own.

Forever with Alistair seemed almost too good to be true. And yet, she would do as Lucy asked. She would let herself be happy. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

For almost twenty years, King Alistair had reigned with stability and prosperity. The horrors of the Blight were now a distant memory, replaced by the flourishing kingdom of Ferelden under his wise and just rule. His reign had been marked by unwavering peace, abundant prosperity, and a strong sense of unity among the people, though there had been a few bumps in the road along the way.

Under Alistair's steadfast leadership, the kingdom flourished. The once-scarred trade routes were reopened, bustling with carts filled with exotic goods and travellers bearing stories from distant lands. These new ideas and resources breathed fresh life into the kingdom, improving the lives of its people. As the tainted blood was washed away from the land, fertile fields sprung up in its place, bursting with crops and sustaining a thriving agricultural community.

But above all else, it was Alistair's innate compassion and unwavering sense of justice that endeared him to his people.

He treated every citizen, from the lowliest beggar to the wealthiest noble, with equal amounts of respect and fairness. And while he ruled with a firm hand when necessary, he always strove for diplomacy before violence.

As the years passed and Alistair's reign continued, one thing remained constant - his unwavering love for Gwen. To many, she was an enigma, a veiled woman who seemingly materialized out of thin air to become Alistair's mistress. But those who were privy to their relationship could see the depth and intensity of their love in every interaction. They moved with a synchronized grace, their gazes locked in a silent understanding that spoke volumes about their unbreakable bond. It was a love that transcended kingdoms and titles, a rare and enduring connection that stood the test of time.

Whispers and rumours had spread like wildfire throughout the years, each one weaving a different tale about her true identity. Some claimed she was an Elven mage, skilled in the ancient magic of her Dalish clan. Others insisted she was an Orlesian noblewoman, seeking refuge at court to escape a troubled past. But regardless of the stories that swirled around her, few dared to question her presence after seeing the pure joy and contentment she brought to their king's heart.

She may never be able to marry him, but after so long wasting time apart, she did not care if the Maker blessed their union. Their love was only for them, she did not need more.

No matter how much she wished to change the past, it could never be undone. But despite all the obstacles and challenges they faced, Gwen and Alistair had built a future together. Come what may, their love would sustain them. As they strolled through the blooming gardens, the air was fragrant with the scent of lilacs and freshly cut grass. The sun cast golden rays through the leaves, dancing upon their skin as a gentle breeze whispered secrets of love and hope. She tucked her arm comfortably in his, smiling up at the man who held her heart, and knew she was finally home.

A/N: 54 chapters and a lot of angst later, they finally get their happy ending <3 It only took about eighteen years… but hey, I was originally going to make it twenty!

Thank you so so so much for reading and commenting on my silly little fic of these silly - and often times ridiculous - characters. I have had so much fun, but I am going to miss them terribly :') HOWEVER, I plan on writing another little epilogue-type thing soon, so let me know what lingering questions you still have and I will try to address them! I would love to hear what you thought of their ending :) It should be posted sometime next week!

I also have two other dragon age fics planned - One I mentioned in a previous chapter is an OC(Ashvalla)xCullen, and the other is a different OC(Lily)xAlistair, but set in Inquisition times with a Warden Alistair. Ashvalla's will be likely a similar length to this one, but the Alistair one will be shorter, closer to fifteen to twenty chapters. I'll be posting Ashvalla's story next before going back to writing Alistair. So it'll look like Ashvalla's story starting sometime before three new year, and LilyxAlistair around the middle of next year unless I cave and miss that sweetheart too much! Though I will always miss writing for Gwen (and Darcy!), so more to come soon!

I don't know how to end my last author's note, other than to thank my readers for making this all possible, and I hope you enjoyed their adventures as much as I did!

[sixofpomegranates]

☠︎ Scared, Princess? ☠︎

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Popular!Fem!Reader

Word count: 20K (Yeah, idk either.)

Summary: The Princess of Hawkins High and I hate each other, always have, but I think there is more to her... Is the Princess actually just another bullied kid who found a disguise out of her misery?

A/N: Listen, I had this joke with a Furby I really wanted to use. I tried it with a care bear and other toys to have it for the ’80s, but it wasn't nearly as funny. So: pretend turbines already exist, or make it modern!au or just ignore logistics and enjoy the joke.

CW: Fluff, Comfort, Angst, Smut 18+ | Enemies to Lovers | No use of y/n | Mentions of Past Bullying/Suicidal Thoughts/Pressure to have Sex/Loss of Virginity/Fake Friends (Reader), Neglectful Parents (Reader/Eddie), Alcohol Consumption/House Party, Fast Food Consumption, Popular Kids Being Jerks, False Accusation of SA/Incest (Eddie), !Reader being lifted up! – Smut ~ Penetrative Sex (Creampie, Unprotected, Rough, Semi-Public, Mirror Sex), mild Fear Play, Fingering, Oral (M&F), Thigh Riding, Hair Pulling, Cockwarming, Praise/Degradation, Breathplay, Spanking, mild Dom/Sub undertones, Aftercare

☠︎ The Freak's POV ☠︎

The Princess of Hawkins High. The flawless little cheerleader ranking in the social hierarchy of high school right under all sides loved Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen.

I love to tease her, push her buttons, and make her face turn into the cute little frown wherever I can. Her nose twitches when she gets angry; I wonder if she knows...

I wouldn't say I hate her, but I certainly feel irritated by her.

Always surrounded by the most popular jerks, the princess seems to constantly seek their approval. She has done so ever since her first day of school in this hell hole a year ago.

She – in fact – might be nothing other than a little puppy expecting treats for being a good girl—a preppy little puppy whose happy little smiles sometimes even tempt me to pat her.

But the little puppy is also a giant bitch at times. She snaps at me and hisses; she attacks before getting attacked. Coming too close to her would probably have me lose a finger... Maybe even my whole hand.

At the very least, she doesn't bully anyone, even though she has been a quiet bystander multiple times when her friends are busy ruining the lives of others.

She seems uncomfortable whenever she is caught in one of those situations, but she chose those friends and tolerates their shitty behavior. So, she is definitely not earning brownie points for it.

Not in my book. No... She deserves the shit I give her; the headaches brewing together storms behind does pretty eyes. I refuse to respect those who lack any respect for others.

As every day this week, there is a commotion outside the Hellfire Club's room... The prop room of the Theater Club.

A play is getting prepared, and therefore the Hellfire Club has to constantly deal with the door opening and closing. Students rush in and grab parts of my carefully arranged dungeon. They talk, they shove, they interrupt.

How is somebody supposed to defeat a clan of crazed cultists when there is that much reality intruding our fantasy?

As the door opens once more, I snap my head in its direction, roaring, "For fucks sake, can't you see that we are busy?"

The princess looks at me, dressed in this unforgiving little cheerleading uniform and a white cardigan. She holds a clipboard angled at her hip, her eyes wide at my angry outburst.

Taking a deep breath, she smiles, "I'm sorry, but as you know: This is the prop room of the Theatre Club. Having the theatre kids come in here and get their props is within their rights."

"This has been going on for a week now," I say, annoyed. "You could just get your shit when we're not in the middle of a campaign."

"Well, I am responsible for the set design and had cheerleading practice until now. So excuse me that I don't care for how convenient it is for you, Munson."

Now that she is mentioning it, she does look like she jumped around to annoying music for the last hours, her hair not perfect, the baby hairs sticking a little to her temples and forehead...

She is silent for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek; then, a devilish grin paints her glossy lips. "You could always just get a real room for your club."

I refuse to look at her any longer. Meanwhile, she's busy telling some smitten boys to carry out one of our tables.

"You know Higgins won't give me one," I mutter under my breath.

I hate it, but plenty of people know that I had to grovel at the principal's feet to ever even have Hellfire considered a real club. We don't get to request. The smartest thing to do is be as quiet as possible before Higgins shuts it down, scared I am sacrificing cats, or goats, or some shit...

The princess hums, uncaring, stepping next to me, "Well, sucks. I need the throne."

Her pink pen points with its end at my chair – my throne. I make myself extra heavy and chuckle, "Absolutely not."

An irritated look spreads on her face. "Get lost, freak; I need it for the play."

"Already gave you my answer," I smile as ill-humored as possible, then focus back on my sheepies, hoping to rekindle the excitement there was before we were interrupted. "Henderson, your turn. The cruel right hand of— Hey! Hey, stop that!"

The annoying princess is shoving her entire weight against my throne, thinking she can tip it enough for me to get out of it. She seems not to realize that I rather faceplant and take the chair with me than give her what she wants.

"Get out of the throne."

I give her a temperate shove that is already enough to make her stumble backwards. I swiftly check if she is okay, then grin at her face. "You can have it and all the other shit your selfish little heart desires when we are done with our campaign."

"But I need it now! I can't wait for your fantasy shit to be done; I have a curfew!"

I shrug, the desperate whine in her voice barely hitting me. "Though luck, princess."

"I'm going to tell on you," she warns me, the little angry vein on her forehead finally showing up.

"Good luck with that."

"I waited for my chance to design this set all year; I won't have you ruin this for me just because of your constant need to be a dick."

"And I won't have you ruin a perfectly good campaign that took me months to prepare just because you think you're entitled to special treatment."

"Eddie," she says again after some more props have been carried out of the room. "I need the throne for King Lear. You can have it back after the play is over."

"Yeah, nah. I'm sitting too comfortably. Like I said, come back when we're done here."

A frustrated groan leaves her throat, and I chuckle, "No need to lose your mind, Ophelia."

"Ophelia is from Hamlet, you uncultured idiot. You, of all people, should know the difference."

"Why? Because I am, too, a king that is losing his mind?"

"No, but because you are repeating Ms. O'Donall's English class for the third time now."

Okay. Ouch. Bitch?

"Eddie, maybe we should just—" I ignore Handerson's call for peace. I am not going to be the first one to back down.

"What's got your panties in a twist today, princess? Did Jason switch back to railing Chrissy again? Is that why you need to bitch at us? Can't handle that you'll always be just his side piece?"

"You're an asshole."

"And you're not intimidating without your shitty friends."

She sighs. "I need to be home by nine. Please get out of the—"

"Why? Is your daddy finally coming to visit you? Would really be a first since your family abandoned you here."

We all know that she lives with her aunt, a woman that is never home. It's the basis of her coolness. She has money, a place all to herself, and nobody can restrict the number of parties she visits.

"Well, at least mine's not doing 15, leaving me to live in a shitty trailer with my hermit uncle."

Jumping up from my chair, I growl, "Be careful what you say, bitch!"

I can take every blow towards me, but Wayne – the only father figure I've ever known – is off limits.

Although she trembles, she lifts her chin at me and snarls, "What are you gonna do, trailer trash? Beat me like your dad beat your mom?"

Without thinking, I close the distance between us, making her yelp and back against the wall. I would never hurt her... Hurt anybody... But I can live with the fact that she's scared that I might.

Being marked as an insane freak is an opportunity to set boundaries. Bullied kids develop all sorts of defense mechanisms and grasp possibilities like these. My defense is playing crazy, an unpredictable freak.

The Princess of Hawkins High looks at me with big eyes. She's barely breathing, shaking like a leaf as I tower over her. But as we both just stare and don't move, our expressions soften, and the wind is gone from our sails.

The air has calmed way too quickly, and the way she looks at me reminds me too much of myself when I'm pretending to be big and scary, although I actually just want to make it out of high school alive, with the least amount of trauma possible.

Jeff's hand on my shoulder suddenly pulls me back, far away from her. For a moment, I could swear she took an instinctive step following me.

Dustin hands her the clipboard that – sometime during our staring – must be slipped through her fingers. He apologizes countless times on my behalf, promising her the throne as soon as possible.

She nods, seeming as lost of a fighting spirit as I am, and then leaves.

"Shit, seriously. It's always the two of you. That'll end in a murder one day," Jeff sighs, patting my shoulder before sitting down.

"Not cool, man," Gareth lectures me. "If she tells Higgins about this, we're in trouble."

I wave him off, sitting back down on my chair. I actually don't feel like playing D&D anymore.

The Princess of Hawkins High... Is she another bullied kid who found a disguise out of her misery?

*****

Not thirty minutes later, I carry the throne into the cafeteria that doubles as the performance hall with the large stage across the entrance.

Nobody's here; the lights are suspiciously dimmed. For a moment, I believe that everybody has already left. Then I notice her sitting on the stage floor, tracing something onto cardboard.

The Princess of Hawkins High kneels there on all fours, butt in the air, completely unaware of my presence. Her headphones on her head and the cardboard beneath her seem to have her resign in another dimension.

My mouth becomes dry, and I lick my lips. This stupid cheerleading uniform has no right to hug her body like that. The heat in my face wanders downstairs when I think just about how good she looks in this position.

I fucking hate Jason Carver.

He plays hot and cold with her, using her and throwing her away to be with cute, innocent Chrissy over and over again.

For a year now, both girls act like it doesn't hurt them. And while I believe that this could be very true for blissfully oblivious Chrissy, the princess accepted her treatment, keeping her title and social status rather than her dignity.

It would be a lot easier for me to hate the Princess of Hawkins High if she weren't so pretty. I truly gather a great amount of self-hatred for this shit. Out of all the people, I want the cheerleader with bully friends, the one that lets Jason Carver – of all guys – use her like a cheap toy because his friends are hers and dictate her social status.

Sitting up and stretching a little, her eyes meet mine, and she yelps, making me scream in reply.

A small heart attack is truly one way to get rid of an uncalled-for boner.

Turning off her walkman, she takes off her headphones. "What do you want?" she asks with enough hostility to freeze hell.

"Brought you the chair," I answer, pointing at the obviously in front of me placed furniture piece.

She mumbles a slight "oh," and walks down the stairs next to the stage.

"Where do you want it?" I ask, lifting the heavy piece of wood.

She points at the corner next to her, and I oblige. My arrival seems to have reminded her of the "curfew" she said she has.

Closing the stage's curtains and the door to its stairs, she grabs her bag and walks outside. I follow her silently. The club has agreed to postpone our campaign.

Outside, she checks her watch, cusses as she knows that past nine, there are no buses, and starts walking.

I call her name, making her turn around.

"Hey, I can drive you," I offer.

I don't like her, but Uncle Wayne has taught me well enough not to let a young girl walk home alone at night.

"So I end up dead in a ditch?" she snarls.

I roll my eyes. "You're going to walk home on the side of the street. I don't need to drive you to have that being the end result."

She shakes her head, walking away. "No thanks."

"My uncle says it's not safe for women, especially not pretty women. The world is full of sickos and perverts."

She turns around again. "That coming from the town's freak is not as impactful as you think it is."

I sigh, throwing my head back for a moment, then say, "Stop being stubborn and get in my van. Nobody has to know I drove you."

"Why would you even care?"

"Because I am the last person to have been with you. I really don't wanna be a murder suspect accused of killing 'the pretty cheerleader with a bright future.'"

"I'd rather walk. Thanks, though." She offers me a smile and then walks away.

Fine.

Fine. Who cares?

Not me!

I hop in my van and drive out of the school's parking lot. I don't need to be nice to her. Let her end up in a ditch—none of my business.

On the other hand, though... I really don't want that to happen. Not only because I'd be suspect number one but also because...

It just doesn't feel right. I'm a freak and asshole for show, but I am a nice guy—not like Jason's bizarre version of nice guy that only ever ends with girls in the back of his car. Wayne would kill me if he knew I let a girl put herself in unnecessary danger, and I wouldn't be able to sleep well tonight, not knowing if she ever got home safe.

I groan, smacking my wheel, annoyed, and turning the van. I drive back to down the street and halt next to the princess.

Rolling down the window, I say, "Get in. C'mon, don't make me beg."

She shakes her head again. "Leave me alone, Munson." Then she puts on her headphones and keeps walking.

Jesus Christ, why is this woman so stubborn?

I turn the car again and, at the slowest tempo possible, drive behind her.

She turns around and looks at me, weirded out.

I shrug at her. "What? You didn't want to get in?!" I exclaim although she doesn't hear me.

Shaking her head again, she continues her way home.

I hit my wheel again, hating that Wayne raised me well. Life would be so much easier if I'd actually be an asshole.

"Oh, Eddie, thank you so much for making sure I get home safe," I mock the princess's voice.

"You're very welcome. But I am just doing the bare minimum," I answer as myself.

"Yes, but it's so sweet of you. Tiny dick Carver would never do this for me."

I chuckle, "I know he wouldn't. And I know it's small; I haven't skipped PE in a while and—" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm fucking losing my mind here..."

An imaginary conversation with the princess, that's how far gone I am. Unbelievable. She wouldn't even stop to check if I were okay should I drive into a tree right next to her. And yet here I am, actually driving at snail's speed behind her to watch out for her.

Ten minutes into this shit, she turns around again. Shaking her head like I am the unreasonable here.

"You could just get into the fucking van!"

Of course, she keeps walking and leaves me to mutter annoyed bullshit to myself.

As we reach her house, she promptly stops, looking for something in the driveway. From behind, I see her shoulders sag.

Wiping around in her face, she turns around for a second, teary eyes glistening in my headlights.

Did... Did she actually expect somebody to be home?

Just as I try to gather the courage to get out of the van, she walks inside her big, lonely house, turning the lights on.

The Princess of Hawkins High. For so many, she is an inspiration, a clear view of what you could be if you'd only were perfect enough, had enough friends, would be loved enough...

But I think I know better. The Princess of Hawkins High is all alone.

*****

♛ The Princess's POV ♛

The Freak of Hawkins High still stands outside my home with his van as I walk into the kitchen and rewind the answering machine.

Aunt Tess had promised to be home today. I'd waited for nothing other all day than to finally hug her again. Especially since she hasn't been home for over three weeks now.

I press play and listen to the calls I missed during my day at school.

"Hey, girly," the voice of my aunt rings in my ears. "So sorry, but I won't make it to Hawkins any time soon. The deal in Japan is a bigger project than I anticipated, and — Just gonna be honest, I forgot to tell you a couple of days ago. I promise I'll be home next month, and I'm gonna make it up to you with a ton of gifts from here, okay? If you need anything, just call, okay? Great, love you."

"Hey, me again, honey. I forgot to tell you, I just put some more money in your account, and there is so much on it; I am starting to feel like you forgot how to shop? How bout you splurge a little? Make me feel less bad for not being home. Okay. Gotta go, bye."

My heart sinks, and I would start crying if I hadn't already in the driveway... When I saw that, once again, nobody's there.

I get a glass of water and gulp it down to ignore the way my throat closes up. For a second, I think I hear shuffling in the bushes outside the kitchen window but am distracted by my mom's voice coming from the recorder.

I haven't heard her say my name in a while, so my entire focus goes back to the little electronic on the kitchen counter.

"Hi, sweety. How are you doing? Your dad and I miss you terribly. We're currently in Paris, and I just know you would love it here. Work has been crazy and... Look, baby, that's why I called. I know we promised we'd pick you up and travel through Italy in July, but the firm is expanding so rapidly at the moment, and July will have us in Greece and Turkey, and maybe even China... Thing is, we'll have to cancel that trip, love. I know you were excited about it, but I can't see a way we would manage to push you between our other arrangements. How about I'll send you some extra money, and you'll have a girl's trip with Tess? My treat... Yes? Yes, I just need— Okay. Okay, sweety? I've got to go back to work. We'll talk soon, okay? Love you."

I press my lips together for a moment, then throw my glass against the wall across from me. I watch it shatter and fall to the floor.

Who cares? Not like anybody except me is going to notice that it's missing. I hate how loud I am sobbing by now, but can't seem to stop myself. I'd been really excited to spend time with my parents. I haven't seen them for months, even the last call was weeks ago.

I walk into the living room and drop onto the couch, curling into a ball. It's not like my family doesn't love me. I get everything I wish for, but I'd like to have a hug, maybe even a family dinner, instead of a bunch of cold money.

I tried to spend it all, but no matter what I buy, it doesn't help me when I feel alone, falling asleep on the couch, watching movies so that I hear people talk in this house. Being lonely sucks, and I am pathetic.

I don't know how much time passes, but after some squeaking wheels burn rubber outside my house, somebody rings the bell.

My heart thumps in my chest. I'm way too scared since watching Maniac last night. Why am I constantly doing this? I know I get paranoid when watching horror movies.

It doesn't help that I don't know if the freak's still outside. I am so not going to open the door for him. I do not intend to die tonight... Although I am not sure if he would actually do something like that.

Like, he scares me, but I don't feel like I am in danger when he's around. I actually appreciated that he drove me home—kind of.

It rings again, and this time, I get up. I walk to the door and look outside to see Amy, Jessica, and Chrissy standing there.

I didn't intend to have people over, but okay. I open the door, putting on my brave girl face.

"Hi," I greet them.

They look me up and down, each one of them dressed like they belong on the runway or in a music video, anywhere but my home, actually.

"Are you okay?" Chrissy asks quickly, hand rushing to my arm.

I nod. "Yeah. Yes, just my mom and aunt canceling on me again."

Chrissy quickly hugs me as the other two walk in.

Jessica looks around. "You sure there wasn't anything else?"

I shake my head. "No. Like I said—"

"The freak was outside your house," Amy interrupts me. "Creeping through the window."

My face heats up with the terror of what he might've witnessed, what he will use as ammunition against me at our next quarrel.

He has seen me cry; I didn't hide it well enough when disappointment hit me in the driveway. Maybe he wanted to check on me?

No. That isn't Eddie. He probably just been nosey or wanted to prank me by scaring the shit out of me because I stole his throne.

"I— Well, we... He kind of followed me home after I left school," I say, noticing how bad that sounds.

Amy's eyes widen. "Then it's good we threw some rocks at him and told him to fuck off."

"I didn't," Chrissy interferes. "I think that's mean."

"Yeah, but that's just because you wanna fuck him and see if he's living up to his title," Jessica snorts, walking into the kitchen and muttering something about the broken glass.

We follow her as we always do, Amy still going on about how a couple of girls had taken Eddie for "a test ride" before.

"You guys know how I feel about premarital sex," Chrissy squeaks, red as a tomato.

Jessica cackles, "Yeah, that's why Jason has to rail your friends instead."

We're all silent for a second. Shame floods over me like a bucket of cold water. The rumors and badmouthing will haunt me for a long time, but not as much as the guilt I feel toward Chrissy.

Jason can be very convincing, and I am apparently pretty dumb. I know he's not going to leave my friend any time soon, that I am just "his side piece," like Eddie said, but I always let myself be talked into sleeping with him...

I don't think I would even wanna date him. I just don't want to get on Jason's bad side, don't wanna lose my friends, as they were his first before mine and will stay his when the question arises.

Chrissy always forgives him, saying that he can't help himself and just is insecure and uncertain about their love, but actually, he's an asshole. And I am probably no bit better.

"Jason loves me," Chrissy insists, looking at me for support, although she knows he fucks me when he's bored of sharing a milkshake with two straws and "going steady" by holding hands.

I nod, not wanting to pop her bubble of ignorance. Guys like him never change.

"Anyway," Amy claps her hands, sitting down on the barstool. "Get ready. We'll wait."

"What?" I ask, confused. "Ready for what?"

"Tammy Thompson's party?" Jessica frowns. "God, how can you forget a party like that? We talked all of last week about it."

"Sorry. I forgot."

"You gotta be really stupid to forget this. Like, I knew you're not bright, but this..."

"Doesn't matter, right?" Chrissy de-escalates the moment, grabbing a broom and cleaning away the shards on the floor. "Just go get ready, kay?"

I hurry upstairs before Jessica can go on about me being stupid. She enjoys that I should've graduated a year before them... In another school, another life. It makes her feel superior.

I take a quick shower, do what's necessary to my hair, and apply makeup. When I walk into my bedroom, I hear gossiping downstairs and try to ignore it, too scared that it might be about me.

I put on a summer dress and matching shoes and head downstairs.

Amy and Jessica are currently listening to the voicemail left by my mom. Chrissy stands next to them, looking uncomfortable.

They are laughing, and I hate that it doesn't surprise me. I hate that I know this invasion of my privacy and the mocking are a price I am willing to pay to continue being their friend.

Looking at me, they stop their laughs and turn off the tape. They compliment my clothes and call me pretty like they didn't just revel in how pitiful I am.

And I thank them and compliment them back because that's what I do; that's how I continue to belong.

*****

I hate parties. They are nothing like in the movies. My friends don't drink or dance with me, giggle with me about nonsense...

No, we sit here on the couches with a couple of basketball players (unless they get up to help each other chug an entire can of beer or do a keg stand) and talk shit about people we don't really know.

Oh my God, have you seen this girl's perm? Kill me now.

Is she colorblind, or why did she think that color combo was a good idea?

Look at that nerd. Who invites losers like that? Why did he even show up? As if anyone wants his ass here.

"Fuck, there's the freak again," Amy's voice makes my head shoot up from my red plastic cup filled with... I guess beer and some sweet soda, but what do I know?

And true, there he stands. A can of beer in his hand, talking to Steve Harrington, a lazy smile on his face as he nudges the girl next to Harrington... Robin. That's her name. She's a girl from the marching band. She's nice.

I didn't know they were friends.

"How the mighty have fallen," Patrick says. "Back in the day, Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, King of Hawkins High, would've never been seen with the dealing freak."

I keep staring until Eddie looks in our direction, his brown eyes meeting mine. He's so pretty when he smiles and isn't frowning at me. I promptly focus back on the cup in my hands.

Jessica, who seems to have seen it, grins. "Now don't be scared," she tells me, looking at our jock friends and telling them, "The freak followed her home today and was staring through her window when we came to pick her up."

Disgusted outcries leave the guys in our group, and in an instant, Jason reaches over Chrissy, resting his hand way too high on my thigh.

"Are you okay?" he asks, squeezing the meat of my thigh. "You should start letting me drive you home for safety. You never know what's going on in that creep's sick mind."

I move my thigh a little, but Jason's hand doesn't leave me. Instead, his fingers start playing with the hem of my dress.

"I'm okay," I mumble, clearing my throat before repeating myself and sitting up more straight. While doing so, I act as though I have to correct the placement of my dress's skirt, shoving Jason's hand away.

As uncomfortable as I am around Eddie, at least he wouldn't expect me to "make him happy" in the back of his van with him for driving me home.

I know it's a big assumption, especially since I am terrified of the freak, but if that were his only motive today, he would've driven home and not followed behind me to make sure I was okay.

"You know what you should do?" Jessica says, delighted. "You should confront Munson about the stalking. Throw your beer into his face. A little embarrassment would probably humble that loser."

Amy nods. "Yeah, put him back in his place."

I shake my head—no chance I would do something like that. It's unnecessary drama, and I don't even like confrontation. It makes me shake and shiver.

"Come on," Chance laughs. "Don't be a sourpuss. We like you better when you're a sweet one."

He and Andy high-five each other, then turn to me. "Ideally, you could also throw in something about him being his uncle's bitch."

I scrunch up my face in disgust. "I am not doing that," I hiss. "That's disgusting."

Andy shrugs. "I'm just stating the obvious. None of those freaks can pull any, and Eddie looks like a pussy anyway."

"You're sick," I tell him, biting back the urge to vomit and hate myself for hanging around with people like this. People who get a thrill out of pushing others with obscene rumors and made-up bullshit.

Amy shrugs at me. "C'mon, now you're overreacting. We're just saying that because it'll hurt him. It's like when we were ten and told everyone his mommy's a hooker."

I shake my head, putting my drink on the coffee table. "That's so wrong."

"Why would it be wrong?" Jessica asks me. "It's his own fault for choosing to be such a loser."

It's your own fault for being such a loser.

I struggle to breathe as I suppress all the memories of coming home and bawling my eyes out. Of bloody, scraped-up knees from being pushed. Of my mother telling my dad I should just start fighting back so I'd be left alone.

Starting somewhere new doesn't erase the scars of the past.

Fighting back has never worked. It only made things worse. To conform oneself is the only way to survive.

I stand up promptly, ignoring the ongoing conversation.

"Where are you going?" Chrissy asks sweetly, holding hands with her boyfriend.

"Gonna get a new drink. That one's stale," I tell her with a fake smile and hurry outside.

The yard is thankfully empty for most parts. Some couples are making out while a couple of guys play beer pong, but nobody bothers to even look at me as I grab a cold beer from the cooling box filled with ice.

I press a hand, cold from the ice, against my neck to ease the tension.

Why am I doing this to myself?

It constantly keeps getting more challenging to look in the mirror, given the company I keep. But I don't know if I will survive starting right back where I started a year ago.

I wanna take a sip of my beer, but surprise, surprise, it's still closed, the cap laughing at me. I look around for a bottle opener, but it wouldn't be my luck if I would find one.

Suddenly the bottle is taken from my hands, and I look up to Eddie, who, without trouble, removes the cap with the plastic bottom of his lighter.

I stare at him in amazement. That was so cool. I have no idea how he did that without breaking something, but it's so impressive. And useful.

He hands me the bottle back. "Thank you," I say quickly, taking a sip.

Eddie stands there for a while, and I lean down, fishing a second beer out of the cooler and handing it to him. That's probably the only reason he's still here.

He takes it which a surprised expression, muttering, "Thanks."

Then he opens the beer again with his lighter and chuckles at my staring. "I can open these with my teeth—now that would really blow your mind. But last time, I chipped a tooth and had to promise my uncle I'd stop doing it."

"It's really cool," I mumble, mentally preparing for another blow from him.

But he just grabs another beer and hands it to me. I take it confused, and once he holds his lighter in my direction, I know what's going on.

I quickly shake my head. "I– No. I– I can't do that."

He cocks his head. "Why not? I'll show you."

"What- What if I break something?"

"Yeah, because nobody in the history of house parties has ever broken something—especially not beer bottles or a lighter."

He tries handing me the lighter again. "C'mon, princess. If something breaks, I'll take the blame."

I put my beer aside. I grab the lighter and look at Eddie, in each hand one of the needed items.

"Hold the bottle by its neck," he tells me, demonstrating the tight grip on his bottle.

I mimic him, and he nods. "Now, keep your thumb there and fit the edge of the lighter underneath the cap."

I do as he tells me. "And now?"

"Use your fingers as leverage and push the lighter up."

I have to try twice; Eddie encourages me. "A little harder, princess."

And then: Pop. The cap opens.

I opened the beer. With a lighter. This is by far the coolest thing I've ever done. I didn't even break something.

I look at Eddie, pure excitement painting my face.

"That's so cool," I tell him, showing him the opened beer.

He chuckles, grabbing a fresh plastic cup and filling the beer inside. "Good to know you're easy to impress."

"That was not easy," I tell him, and he hands me the red cup.

Giving me two more closed beers, he refuses to take his lighter back. "Go show your new trick to your friends."

"But that's your lighter."

He shrugs. "Got plenty more where that one came from."

I nod, putting it in my bra for safekeeping.

As he quirks his brow, eyes for a second gliding over my cleavage, I explain, "I don't have pockets."

Taking a sip from his beer, he looks away for a moment, nodding. "Well, uhm, maybe we'll see each other later? Like, when you get another beer, maybe?"

My heartbeat rises to a threatening level again. I nod, embarrassed, terrified, giddy, excited. "Y–Yeah, sure, maybe."

I head inside, walking back to my friends, who are all invested in something Jessica tells them.

As I come close enough to hear, it feels like my heart is getting pierced by a harpoon.

Nothing changes. No matter how hard you try, things will always stay the same.

"And after her aunt calls her mommy, telling her they don't even want to see her during summer break. Well, and we come to pick her up, and she cries like she just found out Santa and the Easter Bunny don't exist. It would be sad if it wouldn't be so fucking funny."

The group laughs, except for Chrissy. "Guys, that's mean. She was really upset about it."

"Yeah, because she's a baby. Come on, Chris," Jessica nudges her. "It's not like she's one of us anyway; we just chill with her because she buys expensive shit for us, and nobody's ever home."

"And because she's a good fuck," Andy adds, punching Jason's arm, "A fuck you still have to share, dickhead."

I don't know why I was stupid enough to think they would like me at least a little.

I don't know why I am surprised to find out they were just nice to me for the money.

I intentionally had made myself the selfless, sweet person. I bought them drinks and snacks; I hosted sleepovers and borrowed them money; I bought them the best birthday presents they could've wished for...

I wanted to make it seem to them like loving me was effortless.

"I like her. She's lovely," Chrissy defends me because she genuinely has a heart of gold.

Amy nods. "Yeah, and that's why she fucks your boyfriend."

The group cracks up. Jessica directing the direction of the conversation again. "She has no personality. Seriously, a piece of cardboard has more character. Have you seen her room? It's like a hotel room. So creepy. Total Carrie White behavior."

Taking a deep breath, I don't cry. I can't give them a luck to see me cry. I walk in on their conversation, put the closed beer bottles on the table, and look at them.

Their conversation halted the moment they saw me. Now they look almost a little afraid.

Jessica hums my name, her voice oozing with fake friendliness. "What have you got there?"

"A– Uhm... I," I stammer, then clear my throat.

Just pretend you didn't hear them. Gaslight yourself into blissful obliviousness like Chrissy.

"A trick," I say, wanting to reach for the lighter hidden in my bra.

But I stop.

For a moment, the grip on my filled-to-the-brim cup tightens, and I let my impulsive thoughts win. I walk up to Jessica; she and Amy are sharing the armchair.

"Are we gonna see some girl-on-girl action, ladies?" Patrick whistles; the rest of the jocks are just as enthusiastic about the idea.

She looks up at me, grinning like I am genuinely her friend, and blowing me a flirty kiss.

In a matter of seconds, I dump the cup's contents over Jessica, drowning her fake facade in beer.

She yelps, looking up at me, absolutely furious. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I hand her the empty red cup, saying, "Sorry, my inner Carrie White came through."

The boys who formally were cheering about a wet t-shirt contest are now quiet as well. They know I heard them and have taken offense to it.

We all stare at each other for a few seconds; Amy uses paper tissues to help Jessica soak up the beer. Jessica bitches because of her makeup and dress... Not like I bought it for her anyways.

"We were just joking," Chance says.

"Yeah, let's forget about it. We all drank and thought it was fun," Jason says, hand reaching for my waist as he tries to pull me on his lap. "Come here, baby."

I take a step back, shaking my head. Then I rush upstairs and lock myself in the first bathroom I can find.

Well, not lock...

A couple of seconds after I isolated myself from the party, Eddie enters.

I am washing my hands and trying to calm down, taking deep breaths, so I don't burst into tears or have a panic attack when I fully notice him.

"You okay?" he asks, warm brown eyes scanning me.

I nod, grabbing a neon green, fluffy hand towel to dry my hands. "Peachy."

He continues staring, and I lose my nerves. "What are you doing here?"

"Wanted to check on you."

"Well, you did. I'm okay. Now get out."

It intimidates me to be in such a small room all alone with Eddie. He is terrifying. Terrifyingly loud, terrifyingly handsome, terrifyingly honest.

"What your friends did wasn't okay. They shouldn't have said those things," he tells me calmly, not getting intimidated by my tries to get rid of him.

Good to know that he heard everything. It makes me wonder how many other guests overheard how pathetic I am.

"Well, thank you for stating the obvious. Now get lost," I bark.

"Maybe you should stay away from them. You're only getting used by them, just like Jason's only using you."

I feel tears well up in my eyes as I hiss, "That's none of your fucking business, freak."

Eddie coos my name in the softest way I have ever heard, taking a step closer. "You could do so much better than running after a jock who's only using you for the sex his girlfriend doesn't give him."

Laughing spitefully, I snarl, "Better? Like who? You? Sorry, but the last time I checked, the only pussy you're getting is a quick pity fuck or girls trying to figure out if you're also a freak in bed or if we all just call you that because you're a weird, pathetic loser."

His eyebrows knit together. "Hey, don't be a bitch to me just because you chose to have shitty friends."

"As if your friends are any better."

"They are," he growls at me. "They might not make me seem cool and desirable, but at least they don't talk about me like a little piggy bank or a fucktoy they get to share."

Impulsive thoughts take over again, and I slap Eddie across the face.

I have precisely a second to fear the consequences; then he grabs me by the shoulder and pins me against the cold tile wall.

He manhandled me so roughly that it takes me a second before I can breathe normally again. His arms are now pressed against the wall of each side of me, and I feel fear creeping up on me again.

"What have they done to you that makes you think you constantly have to attack before being attacked, huh?"

I look away from Eddie, hoping he doesn't see my lips shiver or my body tremble. But he grabs my face with his right hand and forces me to look at him.

He seems angry and annoyed, but not necessarily at me. His eyes still lay comforting on my features.

"You can't possibly enjoy being used as Jason's cumdump and having to watch him go back to his perfect girlfriend — the one he actually wants — when he's done with you."

"As if you would treat me any different, freak," I bite out, hoping to hit him right in his hypocritical ego.

For a second, he just looks at me; then his hand no longer grabs my face; instead, his knuckles delicately brush over my cheek.

"You're talking to a guy who fell in love with the first girl using him for her little test ride and needed almost a year to figure out what was going on. Why these pretty girls gave me hopes, seemed like they liked me, let me wine and dine them, but once we had sex, they didn't talk to me again... Pretending I didn't exist.

"I wouldn't treat you like Jason for many, many reasons. I am not an asshole like him; I can't turn off the fact I need to have feelings for the person I fuck; Or that I hate how much I would like you to look at me like you look at that idiot...

"But most importantly, I know exactly how it feels to get used—be a little pawn in the cool kids' game. I'd never project that pain on somebody else just to make myself feel better."

I feel seen, understood, and called out for my past behavior.

Looking away while others were treated by my "friends" like I'd been by my bullies all my life wasn't okay. I knew that. But I had just wanted to be the target no longer.

He thinks I look at Jason with love... God, the freak's a little stupid.

"You don't want me to look at you like I look at Jason," I tell him, avoiding his eyes.

He tilts his head so he can follow my gaze. "Is that so?"

I nod. "I look at Jason like he's somebody who told me he's in love with me and would break up with Chrissy so that I'd lose my virginity to him. And since then, I sleep with him because he calls the shots, and my friends are actually his friends..."

Eddie clenches his jaw. "You're right. Don't want you looking at me like that."

He's so close to me I can smell the cologne on his skin and the cigarettes on his breath. He's terrifyingly handsome.

"I'd rather have you continue to hate me then."

"I don't hate you," I whisper. He's too close to be any louder.

"But you don't like me either," he says, frowning.

"I'm scared of you," I admit, face piping hot with shame. "Y-You see right through me and call people out on their bullshit. I'm scared you'll do that with me, and I won't be able to look in the mirror again."

He doesn't say anything, so I continue to babble like a pretty-dressed fool.

"You're hauntingly pretty. I– I am really scared of what you make me feel because I want to run away from you without a chance to escape."

Eddie smirks during all of that, looking like a wild animal lying in wait for the kill.

His body shifts, now so close I could never escape, even if I'd try. His left leg moves between my thighs while the hand from my cheek now dances around my throat, ending any need for a necklace.

I look up at him. As he applies the tiniest bit of pressure to my throat, I whimper. I feel like I should run, my body tells me to flee. I tremble badly, eyes already teary as I feel myself become excited. I quickly look away.

I am excited. I am aroused, wet. Eddie does this to me with his presence. My fear of him arouses me.

My fear and the thought that he wouldn't actually hurt me... But very well could.

It feels so wrong that I whimper again, hips bucking and my sensitive clit rubbing against his thigh. I whimper again, that level of arousal unknown to me.

I look up at him again. He'd never looked away; he had studied my behavior, the rollercoaster of emotions I am currently going through.

My hands run up and down his chest, fumbling with his jeans vest, leather jacket, and the soft shirt beneath. There is no question I'd claw myself into his skin if he'd try to move away.

I buck my hips again, now shamelessly using the friction.

His head dips lower again, his warm breath spreading on my skin. "Scared, princess?" he asks.

I nod, lust drunken. "Terrified."

Then he kisses me, smiles just seconds before our lips collide.

I moan into the kiss, Eddie not needing any more confirmation that I am enjoying this.

His hands grab my hips, starting to control the way I am rocking on his thigh. His hips start rocking into me, and I can feel his clothed erection pressing against me.

My hands wander into his messy curls, his lips leaving my mouth and moving down to my neck. I moan loudly as he begins to suck at the delicate skin of my throat.

The suction hurts, causing electric shocks to strike straight between my legs. Eddie's mouth releases me with a pop, his warm, wet tongue licking over the angry spot apologetically.

He pecks my lips, a boyish grin on his lips. "Your beautiful," he tells me, pupils so blown I believe his eyes to me nothing but black marbles.

I whimper in reply, my entire focus lying on the tightening inside me and how good the harsh material of his ripped jeans feels against my clothed pussy.

Suddenly he removes his legs from me, holding my hips in place so I can't follow him.

Annoyed noises leave my mouth, but he just smiles at me. "I know, sweetheart, but you're making a mess on my leg. We can't have that, now, can we?"

I quickly shake my head; the bathroom just lit enough to have me see the wet patch I left on his thigh. Reason tells me I should be embarrassed, but Eddie looks at me so proudly I can only think of chasing the high it gives me.

A hand leaves my hips, and Eddie uses it to palm his bulge, seeming to hope it'll relieve him of some pressure.

Our eyes meet, and he grins, "Wanna show me how much of a slut you can be? How good you can behave?"

I quickly nod, following the push of his hand, and sink to my knees. I quickly run my hands over his thighs while he unbuckles his belt and opens his jeans.

I try to reach for his boxers, already licking my lips, but Eddie swats my hand away, the slap burning on my skin.

"Don't be a greedy whore," he warns me.

I quickly nod, eyes unable to stay directed at Eddie's face as he finally untucks himself. His thick cock is painted with rough veins, the pink, leaking tip making me want to forget any formerly given commands.

"Now, what did I say?" he warns me, hand reaching into my hair and making a makeshift ponytail out of it.

"You've done that before?" he asks, and I shake my head. "We don't have to."

I look up at him, pleading, "Please. Want to."

A low chuckle leaves him. "Now that's just pathetic, baby." Still, he uses his grip on my hair to pull me nearer his pulsing cock.

As my lips barely touch him, he coos, "Don't be shy; give it a kiss."

I do as he says, kissing his tip and coating my lips with his salty precum. He looks so pleased as I lick my lips; I instantly kiss his cock again.

"Good girl," he whispers, guiding me to take him into my mouth. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you, princess."

At the same moment, he tucks harsher on my hair, the feeling making me moan onto his cock. "Not any more than you want me to, at least," he chuckles, seemingly having hurt me unintentionally.

As I am comfortable with this new position, have gotten the hang of it, I try taking him deeper. He's long; I don't expect to be able and take all of him; he doesn't seem to expect it either.

But I give it my best. Eddie's hand is guiding my bopping head, grunts and praises leaving him. I almost choke, only the breathing through my nose hindering me from gagging, but I take all of him, the curly, dark pubic hair at his base, tickling my nose.

Our eyes meet as I hold him in the back of my throat, and a guttural moan escapes him. His fist hits the tile wall behind me, the loud sound making me jump and pull away from his cock.

We stare at each other for a second, a string of saliva still connecting us. Then we grin like misbehaving children.

Eddie takes a step back and pulls me to my feet. Gripping my hair again, he yanks my head back, exposing my throat. His tongue darts out, licking a broad strip up to my lips, following where the string of spit had landed.

He doesn't kiss me; instead, he smiles at me, leaving me waiting for something that never comes.

Spinning me around, Eddie holds my back pressed against his chest while he shoves the soap and small towels from the counter space into the sink. Then he pushes my upper body onto the now empty counter, my hot cheek resting against the cold marble.

I can feel him push up the skirt of my dress, Eddie's coarse hands groping my ass, and then slapping me harshly. I yelp a little, feeling him lean over to check my expression, and then do it again.

I clench my thighs together, not knowing when I will finally feel relief. Another smack comes down, this time on my other cheek. I whimper, hoping for the spanking to be over soon. Not because I don't enjoy it but because I am too riled up to wait any longer.

Thankfully, Eddie seems to have heard my silent prayer. He pulls down my panties, letting them drop to my ankles. I hear the chain on his jeans jingle and then the familiar sound of a condom wrapper.

I reach behind me, grabbing Eddie's hand. He leans forward, smiling at me. "It'll just take a moment, sweetheart. Safety first."

He tries, but I don't release his wrist. "I'm on birth control. Just– Just please let me feel you."

Eddie takes a deep breath, then nods. "Are you sure?" I nod so fast I fear dislocating something.

Standing behind me, I feel him glide his cock through my fold a couple of times, coating himself with my arousal. Then he bottoms out in me with one solid thrust.

I moan loudly, pressing my forehead against the marble counter as he stretches me out in ways I thought impossible.

Eddie shortly rests his body on mine, face pressed against my shoulder. His right hand rests next to my head; the left one runs up my thigh and waist. He solely lifts himself from me enough to reach under me and grope my tits.

He growls quietly and kisses my shoulder before he pushes himself up again. His hands glide down my back and come to a hold on my hips.

Eddie pulls me into him several times, experimental thrust having me breathless. Then he sets into a harsh and unforgiving pace.

I am so wet, the room is filled with the most obscene squelches I have ever heard. The high-pitched, already fucked-out moans leaving me surely don't make anything better.

Then, Eddie's hand tangles itself in my hair again. He pulls me up on my hands and forces me to look into the mirror.

"Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby. Watch yourself getting fucked by the freak," he tells me with a hint of resentment.

Watch the man you demonized for so long show you the gates of heaven.

I look at myself, hair a mess, lips puffy, pupils blown. I moan, every thrust coaxing another sound out of me while I feel Eddie so deep in me it makes my eyes try to roll back.

But I focus, I do as he demands, and I watch us. Watch Eddie. How his head falls back as he moans, how his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, how his hand reaches underneath me, between my legs and starts rubbing my clit.

My insides tighten again; the coil inside me seconds from snapping. My head drops, and I accept the stinging pain that comes with it.

I already pulse around his cock when he stops playing with my clit.

He let's go of my hair as well, the hand now wrapping around my throat and pulling me up. Eddie leans down a little, ensuring I am pressed against his chest.

He's looking over my shoulder. I follow his gaze. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

"Look at that, princess. Fucking terrorized me for a year, running around and being a little bitch, and now you're so desperate for me, you didn't even let me put on a condom."

I whimper, not able to find words.

Eddie chuckles. "No, no. Don't be ashamed. It's good to know that all that was needed to have this raging bitch become a little puppy was to fuck her pussy raw until she sees stars."

"Eddie..."

He leans closer to my ear, never breaking eye contact. "Yeah, that's right, baby. Let the whole house know how badly you want the freak to come in your little pussy."

I'm on the brink of my orgasm when he says, "Fucking look at me when you come. I deserve to be the only thought in your dumb little head when you come on my cock."

And instead of keeping my eyes on his reflection, I turn my face to my right, looking straight at him.

The mirror had been a type of protection; it had kept us from looking directly at each other. We were supposed to hate each other, and maybe we would change our minds when our eyes meet. But I look at him, and all I can think of is how I don't want this moment to end.

He didn't think I'd look directly at him; the look on his face as our eyes collide tells me that... And it tells so much more.

Eddie dips his head lower, the hand from my throat now holding us up while the other cups my cheek.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, kissing me roughly as we melt into each other.

We are moaning into the kiss, my right hand flying up and holding onto his neck, the other trying to dig itself into the marble beneath its palm.

As I come, my knees buckle, and I go limp. Sex has never felt this good, and my body seems wholly to agree, the orgasm almost knocking me out.

Eddie's hand leaves my cheek so his arm can wrap around my waist and hold me up while he keeps thrusting into me. He finally fills me with his hot cum. Forehead pressed against my side, a husky moan leaving his lips.

Carefully, he lowers me onto the counter, my cheek resting on the marble top. We're both panting, and I don't feel like I am fully back on earth again.

Eddie brushes my hair out of my sweaty face, half his weight resting on top of me. He lazily kisses my cheek a couple of times, only stopping when a smile tucks on my lips.

As he stands up, ready to pull out, I grab his hand. He instantly stills in his movements. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

I shake my head. "Please. Not yet."

He signed, looking around a little. Then he pulls me up against his chest. With his arm around my waist, he lifts me up, walks over to the closed (and ugly decorated) toilet, and sits down.

Still inside me, his arm spreads my legs apart, hooking them over his own, so I can comfortably sit in his lap.

I am on full display, and I don't know if Eddie locked the door, but I don't care. Because his arm is still around my waist while the other lazily strokes over my naked thigh.

He leaves kisses up and down my neck and shoulder and presses his forehead against my temple. I am wholly satisfied. And the big scary metalhead seems to be too.

"You know," he suddenly speaks into the silence. "Whoever thought that fluffy toilet seat covers are a good idea is a psycho. Feels like I'm sitting on a fucking Furby."

There is a second of silence, then we both burst into laughter, making Eddie add, "The worst part it that that pervert seems to like it, given the way he tickles my balls."

"Jesus, Eddie," I laugh, holding my stomach.

As our laughter finally ceases, he presses another kiss on my shoulder. "Hey, how- how about we ditch this party and go eat a burger instead? My treat."

My heart races again, and I seriously start to question if I know the difference between excitement and fear, but at the same time, I am astounded.

He wants to spend time with me. We just had sex, he'd gotten what he wanted, and he still stayed around.

Jason had never stayed. He took what he wanted and then left.

The pain in my chest and the tears I refuse to cry let me feel just how fucked up the last year has been.

"I– My friends are..." I stammer. I don't know how to collectively call that bunch of bullies and explain how afraid I am to go downstairs again.

Eddie, however, seems to misunderstand my stammering. "Yeah, don't worry. Was a stupid idea anyways." He stands up, making sure I stand on my feet and then pulls out. "I'll go down first; just wait a couple of minutes, then you can join your friends again."

I lean against the marble counter. "Eddie, I didn't–"

He grabs one of the neon-colored hand towels and soaks it in water. While cleaning himself, he sneers, "No worries, princess. Won't tell anyone you took a test ride on the freak."

He's hurt, having built up a wall so promptly that I feel like he believes he never had a chance with me anyway. And now, he hates himself the for having gotten his hopes up.

Eddie tucks himself away, rinsing the towel with some more water before stepping next to me and kneeling down. I whimper and look at the ceiling as he pushes my dress up and begins to clean the mess between my legs.

Given the way I just let him fuck me and then sat there spread out for the world to see with him still inside me, I actually have no right to be this embarrassed right now.

"That's a nice ceiling," I blurt out to distract myself. "The only thing not neon colored or fluffy in this bathroom."

Eddie huff's a small laugh against my thigh but stays quiet as he cleans me of our mixed cum running down the inside of my thigh.

I press the back of my hand against my face, eyes squeezed shut, and just continue my mortified blabbering.

"I'd like to go eat something with you. It's just that I don't think I'll survive the humiliation of going downstairs and facing my friends after I just bathed Jessica in my beer. I am not good at confrontations, and if you don't know a way to get me out of this house by climbing out of a window or something, I believe I have to stay here until the party's over."

I interrupt myself with a whimper as Eddie brushes over my sensitive clit, then grab his hand to avoid him doing that again and look down at him.

I am met with a boyish grin on his pressed-together lips as he tries not to laugh at my short-circuiting brain. He throws the towel into the sink, and while standing up, he pulls my panties back into position.

"Want me to create a distraction? I could lay a fire... Or start a fight with Jason, restoring your honor?"

I giggle, and he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss on my lips.

"Or – if you like it extreme – we could kill two birds with one stone and set Jason on fire."

"You are crazy."

He nods. "The craziest."

"Maybe don't commit murder and get prison time just when I'm about to go out with you."

He chuckles, pecking my lips again. "Yeah, sounds counterproductive."

Eddie spins me around, back pressed against his chest and arms slung around me. I look at our reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my makeup smudged, but Eddie (whose chin is comfortably resting on my shoulder) looks at me like I hung the stars in the night sky for him.

"I look like a mess," I mumbled.

He quickly snaps, "Shut up. You're beautiful."

I lean my head against his when somebody tries to open the door. We quickly jump apart, my anxiety rising as I say, "Occupied."

"Hey, we were looking for you," Amy says through the door.

"I'm fine. Just go away, please."

Eddie's hand brushes over my hair, and we smile at each other for a moment.

I don't need to be afraid.

I don't need to... I still am, though.

"Don't be a bitch and come out so we can talk," Jessica hisses, and I wonder if she's still soaked with beer or only reeks like a distillery.

I'd be oddly satisfied with both.

"There's nothing to talk about. You guys used me and are shitty friends." I look at Eddie, a proud smile on my lips.

I am standing up for myself. I don't need to be their punching bag.

"Everyone uses everyone. That's how life works," Jessica says.

Amy agrees, "You actually should be thankful that we let you to hang out with us; it's not like anybody else would ever want that."

"Yeah," Jessica goes in for the final blow, "If not for your lack of personality and annoying sob stories, then for being the basketball team's mattress. Everybody else would throw you to the curb for being a whore."

That's when Eddie unlocks the door and swings it open, towering over the two girls, growling, "You better fucking take that back."

The two girls look at him, absolutely terrified for a moment, so I step in front of Eddie. My hands are resting against the doorframe as though I could keep Eddie in and protect him from the hate we are about to receive.

"Are you kidding me?" Jessica asks, and I feel my stomach tie itself into knots.

"I– I am..."

"You seriously let the freak fuck you?" Jessica asks, this time so loud I am certain at least some of the other party guests are hearing her.

I nod a little, everything feeling numb as I am back in the position I was in a year ago. I am prey about to be devoured by monsters.

Jessica storms off, her heels loud on the hardwood floor. I look back at Eddie, who looks at me, brows knitted together. I just know he can sense the aura of panic and anxiety surrounding me.

Amy still stands there, looking at me, my disheveled appearance, and then at Eddie. As her gaze meets mine against, she says, "You didn't want it, right?"

I frown. "What?"

She repeats herself calmly. "You didn't want to have sex with Eddie. He forced you."

I feel the metalhead behind me tense up.

Shaking my head, I stammer, "No, we– I–"

But Amy interrupts me. "It's not your fault. That monster just preyed on you all day and attacked the second you were alone. We're on your side; I promise we still love you. Babe, we all know you would never let the freak touch you."

I spiral down the option I have just been given.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Lie and tell me you were raped.

Lie so we can all pretend that nothing else happened today.

None of your actions will have consequences.

Eddie is an easy scapegoat. Nobody will bet an eye if I wrongly accuse him of assault.

Lie to save your life while ruining Eddie's.

Lie, and we will lie for you.

This goes beyond bullying. It is downright evil and disgusting... And for a moment, I think about it. Think about the get-out-of-prison card I have just been handed.

This is how far some people will go to keep their social status.

Being one of the cool kids is not worth this.

Jessica returns, all our friends with her. She has a big grin on her face, ready to shred me into pieces. This time with audience.

Jason is the first to speak, pushing past Chrissy and taking in the scene before him. The picture of Eddie and I. The mental image of us having sex.

"What happened?" he asks.

Amy is quick to cut off Jessica, nodding first at her and then at me. "Eddie raped her. Right?"

Jason's eyes are on Eddie, fury there that is solely his own righteousness. The rest of the group starts to explode into rage, throwing every possible insult at Eddie.

Jason takes a step towards us, and I make sure not to let him get to Eddie. "He didn't do anything," I say loud enough to make them shut up.

Chrissy pushes past our friends and takes my hand. "But Amy just said–"

I nod, barking, "Yes, because Amy is very sick in her head."

I make sure to look at every single one of my former friends (excluding close-to-tears Chrissy) while saying, "You are awful people. So easy to jump on the bandwagon and ruin somebody's life only because it fits your bully agenda. I am pretty sure that not a single one of you likes the others. You guys are just hanging out because you very well know that you're horrible, and none of you could ever make a single real friend."

They are silent and confused, look at each other and then at me. This felt good. No wonder Eddie is constantly calling people out.

"And you know what?" I ask them, feeling a second wind of courage as I look at Jason. "I just had amazing sex with Eddie. Better than I ever had with your pathetic ass. Also lasted about three times longer. Being fast isn't always a good thing, Jason.

"I hope that one of these days Chrissy finally realizes that she can do so much better than a guy whoring around for his ego, just being with her because she'll make a nice and quiet housewife that'll do his laundry while he bangs Amy and Jessica and has Andy's mom go down on him every Tuesday since her divorce."

All eyes are on me... Well, not really.

Patrick's are on Jason as he had known Patrick was chasing after Jessica for years now.

Andy will probably pass out, vomit, or both at any moment.

Jessica and Amy look at each other and wonder how I knew they, too, fuck Jason while making me out to be the devil for having done it.

Good old Jason is very talkative during sex but sadly very inconsistent with names and the amount of details he gives about other sexual encounters.

And poor Chrissy's are on her boyfriend. It hurts now, but frankly, I think it's better she finds out what kind of man he is now than in ten years when they're married with kids.

Jason, red-faced, takes an angry step toward me, his hand twitching as he raises it. I instantly yelp, "Touch me, and I'll sue your ass so badly you can kiss your scholarship and bright future goodbye."

The jock lowers his hand and looks at his "friends," but I cut into the meat of their lies way too deep.

It's then Eddie wraps an arm around my waist and shuffles us out of the bathroom. I'm not mad at him, as he almost uses me as a human shield to deflect anything that could come from the jocks—it's for the better; they won't hurt me.

As there are a couple of steps between us, Eddie grabs my hand, and we rush down the stairs. It's early quiet. I hadn't noticed that the music was out before. At the middle of the stairs, we see multiple party guests scattered around the living room, staring at us.

Had Jessica planned on letting everyone hear how she and the rest of the bullies chewed me to pieces?

Eddie and I exchange a look and then walk down the stairs like we weren't just about to run off.

"It's not a party when there's no fight, am I right?" Eddie chuckles loudly into the room, looking at Steve Harrington, "Dude? My stuff?"

Steve hands him his lunchbox. "You two okay?"

Eddie beams at Steve, wrapping an arm around me and lifting me a little. "Have you heard her?" he asks proudly. "My girl devoured those jocks."

"Think everyone heard her. You guys should probably take off."

He sets me down on my feet again, and Steve turns to the rest of the party. "Okay, people, now that the entertainment is over, who is ready to party? I think we should make use of that sweet pool outside!"

The former King of Hawkins High has the people wrapped around his finger as he turns the music up and encourages them to follow him outside, quickly waving us goodbye.

Taking my hand in his, Eddie walks to his van with me. Grabbing his keys, he grins, "You wanna get in, or am I walking you to Benny's?" I punch his chest and let him open and close the door for me.

Putting my seatbelt on, I finally feel my adrenaline drop. That situation was terrifying. It's a miracle I didn't start to cry in front of them; the tears are sure as hell coming now.

"Oh my God," I whisper as Eddie gets in. "I can't believe I did that."

His hand moves up to my thigh. "Hey, sweetheart. Everything's okay."

I shake my head. "I just obliterated all the friendships I had."

Eddie is silent for a moment, then sighs. "Okay, you know what you're gonna do? I'll drive you straight home, and you call your friends tomorrow and tell them you were drunk and did some uppers with me."

He pats my thigh before removing his hand. "Trust me, the way their friendships work, they'll never talk about tonight anyway. You'll have a perfect excuse for going off on them, and everything will be as it was."

I look at Eddie, surprised. He doesn't protest. He even helps me come up with an airtight excuse. But I honestly don't think I want them back as friends.

I watch his jaw clench as he stares straight forward. "I– I don't want..."

"It's cool, princess. Not like I expected anything to change between us," he tells me quickly, pained laughter leaving his lips.

I nod. Of course, he didn't. "Oh, okay." I wipe away the tear running down my cheek.

Stupid, stupid. I won't cry because Eddie Munson and I just had a meaningless hookup. I'm not gonna cry because he hasn't just magically fallen in love with me.

Eddie turns the key, and the van comes to life. Loud metal music nearly bursts my eardrums, and we both yelp in shock. He quickly turns it down and looks at me, apologizing, but I am already laughing.

He joins my giggles, hand flying back to rest on my thigh. I quickly wrap my hands around it, making sure he can't move away again.

It takes a moment to collect ourselves and even longer as we just look at the other. He's so pretty.

God, I really don't want to be his enemy again.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, making him tilt his head. "I was a giant bitch to you the entire year. The things I said weren't okay, and the names I called you weren't either."

He looks at me, then checks his watch. "It's a little early for a Christmas miracle, sweetheart."

I nod. Fair, I deserve that. I have made myself as unappealing and lovable to him as possible.

"I was a bitch to you, and you didn't deserve it, Eddie."

He shakes his head. "You weren't a bitch... At least not a big one. A little bitch. But I guess that came with the company you keep. Adapting to avoid being an outcast again has its downsides."

My eyes widen. "H– How...?"

How does he know?

How does he know?

Eddie shrugs. "Instinct. You seem a lot like you're attacking before I can say something. You never really bully but are willing to look away when your friends do it because you wanna stay on their good side. Everything about you, when you're with them, is fake. And when we're alone, you are a completely different person."

He chuckles. "When we're alone, you're a cute little thing that doesn't bitch around or wants to fight me for a chair. You're even scared of me... Like, I know I can seem scary, but come on. I would never hurt you. I'm all bark, no bite. But somebody who's been bullied a ton – know that one first hand – never really counts on it to be over. So we keep our guard up."

"I'm not afraid of you because I think you would hurt me. You call people out on their bullshit, and apparently, you see right through mine... I always feared that one day you be too spot on in front of Jessica and the others, and they learn that I am actually just a loser who befriended them so that I wouldn't be their target."

I wipe the back of my hand over my now-wet cheeks; the other hand still holding Eddie in place. "I am actually a really, really awful person. Just like fucking Jessica. I'm a total hypocrite."

"Hey, don't say that," Eddie coos, but I shake my head

"It's true. I befriended the worst bullies in Hawkins High and sucked up to them so they'd like me, although that's exactly the type of people that made my life so miserable that my parent sent me to live here, thinking bullies don't exist in go-fuck-yourself Hawkins.

"I am pathetic. A fucking joke. I- I literally just got my schedules on my first day here, took a look at what the cool kids were wearing, and then skipped classes to buy clothes that would make me fit in. What kind of loser does that?"

Eddie squeezes my thigh. "A loser that thinks fitting in is the only way for them to survive."

"That's stupid," I bite. "I would've survived even if I hadn't done that."

"Can you promise that? Can you really say that you would've survived if everything would've been like in your old school? If you would've gotten bullied again even after leaving your entire life behind—including your parents? Or would you have hurt yourself?"

I look away from Eddie, tears still running down my cheeks. I wouldn't have survived. I wouldn't have been able to handle all this pain again. Every single day up to moving here had been hell. I'd come home from school and cry for hours.

My parents weren't home enough, so they hadn't even noticed when I started skipping classes just not to be in school; I stayed at home and stopped taking care of myself. I'd been a dead girl walking when they finally decided things needed to change.

"See?" the metalhead next to me says, knuckles coming up to brush my cheek. "Even if it wasn't right, you did it because you thought you had no other option. You just tried to survive with the least amount of damage possible."

"Stop being so understanding," I sob. "Makes me feel even worse."

He nods. "Sure... Okay, then, how dare you, woman? How dare you attack my sweet innocent quirk of rubbing truths into people's faces without them asking for it?"

I giggle, almost choking on my tears. "You're such a dork."

He forcefully has to remove his hand from my thigh so he can cup my face in his large hands, thumbs wiping away my tears.

As he gives me a kiss on the nose, I say, "I don't wanna be their friend again. Wanna..." I stop myself before I can say something stupid like, "I want to stay with you."

"I– I think I have a proposition I'd like to make, princess," Eddie says. "I don't know if you knew, but eight toxic friends are actually the exact trade-in price to get a top-of-the-notch metalhead freak like me. It's even enough to treat yourself to the he-might-even-ask-you-out-if-you-promise-not-to-run-away-screaming bonus."

He removes his hands and gives me room to think. "Now, why would you want that?" I ask, not understanding how he could literally hate himself that much.

Eddie shrugs. "Believe it or not, there are people that actually like you. Also, you chose me today. You were given a one-way out ticket that would've put me in prison right next to my dad, but you chose to protect me instead."

"Everyone would've done that."

"Absolutely not," he shakes his head. "You saw how badly they wanted you to say I assaulted you. Every single one of them would've loved to throw me under the bus like that. So much so that I stopped hooking up with girls because my uncle always feared that could happen.

"One pretty, innocent girl regretting having fucked the freak, looking for a cop-out, is all it would take. There are maybe ten people that would come to my defense in all of Hawkins. The rest would say they knew I would do something like that, that I always was creepy, dangerous, and that it has to do with the satanic music I listen to.

"Maybe you made some bad decisions, but you're a good person, sweetheart. And because you chose me, knowing that it would slaughter your social status, I am more than ready to choose you and keep doing it."

I nod, but before I can answer, he pulls out of the driveway, drives down the road, and adds with a grin, "I also think you're a straight ten, so... I'd be stupid not to at least try to talk you into dating me. Like, she takes my side, she's pretty, laughs at my jokes... My Uncle would say you're a once-in-a-lifetime chance for a loser like me."

"Okay, I–"

Eddie interrupts me, pretending he's deep in thought. "I will, however, have to find a way to explain to the boys how I managed to pull someone like you... Ideally, without the fact that I fuck like a god—there are some little shrimp in Hellfire, so we'll have to keep it PG, baby."

"Eddie?" I giggle, but he continues.

"I will also have to make you the Princess of Hellfire Club. Because I don't think we can keep your former title... But don't worry about that. I have good connections to the King of Hellfire. I'm just gonna roll him a joint and explain to him how cute my girl can be when she isn't trying to design the set of 'Hamlet'—"

"King Lear," I interrupt him.

He nods, a mischievous grin on his lips. "Right. The one with Ophelia."

"I am going to beat you," I warn him, making him giggle because, apparently, he does know the difference and just loves to annoy me.

"Better be nice," he warns jokingly. "I'll have a lot of persuading to do since you stole the King's throne. Won't be easy. He was very pissed about it."

I let him ramble on, not a single doubt in my mind that he is too giddy to actually let me answer. But when my ears pick up on a familiar tune on the cassette that is playing, I quickly turn the volume up.

"Uh, 'Sweet Leave'!"

Eddie looks at me for a second, then back on the road. I have rendered him speechless.

"Sorry," I tell him promptly. "I– That was rude. I shouldn't have touched the radio without asking."

He shakes his head. "No. No, it's fine... I– That's Black Sabbath."

I nod. "Yeah, I know. I like them. My aunt took me to a concert of there's when we were in London in '81. Her ex-husband was really into rock and metal. They had a nasty divorce in which she got all of his vinyls and cassettes because he cheated on her, and she wanted to hit him where it hurt. Most of the stuff is also signed. It's all up in the attic somewhere. I can show you should you want to come over someday–"

Now, hello over-sharing. What the hell was that? I can't remember the last time I rambled that much.

"Sorry," I quickly say, but Eddie's hand moves to my thigh, a pearly white smile on his face.

"No, please, keep going." I look at him, unsure if he's only saying it to be nice, but he insists. "Seriously. Wanna hear more."

"Okay... Uhm, they divorced the spring before I moved here, and my aunt still had the tickets she had bought for his birthday, so she took me to the Monsters of Rock Festival, with ZZ Top, Marillion, Bon Jovi, Ratt, Metallica... It was so cool."

I laugh at the memory. "They only had very big shirts left at the merch booth, so I got a giant one. I actually still sleep in it when nobody comes over."

"Why?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "I... I hide all my stuff in the basement. My old stuff. Like I said, I really wanted to fit in when I moved here and thought that maybe I was the problem."

"That's why Jessica said you have no personality?"

I nod. "I never decorated my bedroom. There are some polaroids, a scented candle, and my stuffed bear but all in all, it's still the guest bedroom I moved into. Didn't want to give anyone ammunition to bully me."

I hate how pitiful I sound, so vulnerable it scares the shit out of me, but Eddie squeezes my thigh. "But that right now is who you are? Like, listening to that kind of music and being into festivals and concerts?"

"I– I don't know if that's who I am. I definitely like it, but it's not all there is to me," I say. "I like aspects of every music genre, I like traveling, I like horror movies, but also am a sucker for romance novels... Especially the tacky ones with the bare-chested guys on the covers. I also never — not once — was able to keep a plant alive. I just forget they exist and stop taking care of them.

And apparently, I like talking way too much, way too fast. But I never really wanted to talk to somebody that much so it's a good possibility that I just need to get used to liking somebody that much."

Eddie chuckles, teasingly chirping, "Oh, so you like me, huh?" I nod, and he says, "Normally I am the one talking too much, but honestly? I think I like hearing your voice more than my own, so even if you don't stop with those cute little info dumps... I think I'm good."

I giggle, ears heating up and jaw hurting from my smiling. "Now what's that smile for, baby?" he asks, grinning too.

"I don't know. You just... You make me feel..." Giddy? Comfortable? Calm? Excited?

"Horny?" Eddie asks, pulling into the parking lot of Benny's.

"No. I mean, yes, but not right now," I stammer. "I think the feeling right now is happy. You make me happy."

Eddie kills off the engine and looks at me as though I told him he just won the lottery. "Happy, huh?" he breathes, and I nod.

Removing his hand from my thigh, he harshly grabs the stirring wheel with both hands. "I– Uhm. Wow. Okay," he stutters, street lights showing his pink cheeks. "I didn't think– I... That feels really weird. Like somebody opened a shook-up can of soda in my chest. All fizzy and bubbly and that kind of shit."

I frown a little while trying to decode what he just said. "I think normal people call that feeling butterflies," I say. "Like, when your heart starts beating so fast it feels like it's jumping out of your chest."

Eddie nods. "Yeah. That's the feeling." He starts laughing, "Shit. Never had that one before."

"I think I had it for Jason... In the beginning, I mean."

Eddie looks at me like a kicked dog, and I instantly regret having mentioned Jason. Why did I even do that?

Just as I want to apologize for ruining the moment, he says, "He really did you dirty, huh?"

"It's kind of my own fault," I mumble. "I should've known that real life isn't like a shitty teen romance, where the new girl captures the heart of the most beloved jock in school.

I'm so stupid. I had known him for maybe two weeks and actually believed him when he said I was special and that he was in love with me. Let him sweet talk me into having my first time in the backseat of his car, although I wasn't even ready... And the next day, he was still with Chrissy, and he never said 'I love you' again."

Eddie's doe eyes stare at me, glassy with a hint of pain. "I won't do that to you," he promises. "I know that's a very basic promise, but I won't hurt you."

I just nod, staring at my hands in my lap. Don't they all say that? He reaches for my chin and makes me look at him.

"Hey, I'm serious," Eddie insists. "I almost started crying, and my heart did that butterfly soda thing because you said I make you happy. If something good makes me have that strong of a reaction, hurting you will probably kill me."

I shake my head, being too vulnerable for my own liking. "Butterfly Soda is a cute pop band name."

Eddie chuckles at my sentence, then asks, "Can I kiss you?"

I nod, and he brings our lips together so gently, so chaste, I melt into him without hesitation. He could hurt me but trusting that he won't shoots a thrill up and down my spine.

He pulls away, grinning.

"What?"

His smile grows wider. "I bagged the hot cheerleader. And it's not even like I didn't have the hots for you before, but now knowing that you like the same music as me and are also a little bit of a freak..." He snorts a laughter. "Jason's a fucking idiot, and I'm such a lucky bastard."

I, too, laugh a little, making Eddie kiss me again. Then he says, "Okay, princess. What kind of burger do you want? I'm gonna get the food and then drive us home."

"To my place?"

"If you're okay with it?"

I quickly nod. "Yeah, totally. I- Uhm, I want a cheeseburger with bacon. No tomato, I won't eat it if there's a tomato in it. Like, seriously."

"Tomato in burger equals death. Got it. Fries and a milkshake?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Let me guess, strawberry?"

I gasp, appalled. "How dare you?"

"Chocolate?" he guesses again.

"Vanilla. Vanilla and nothing else in the world. Strawberry. Do I look like a strawberry girl to you?"

Eddie giggles, "Well, to be fair, you also didn't look like an insane person to me a few minutes ago."

"Let me guess, Munson, you like chocolate?"

He nods, "And strawberry and vanilla. Can't do wrong with me. It's a milkshake; I drink it. But I only dip my fries into chocolate shakes."

I blink at him. "You dip your fries into your milkshake."

"Yeah, the sweet and the salty balance each other out."

"You have a real nerve calling me an insane person," I laugh, reaching into my bra and handing him my credit card. "Here, your disgusting eating habits on me."

Eddie's smile vanishes, and he shakes his head. "Nah, keep it, sweetheart. Told you it's on me."

"It's okay. I have too much money anyway. My aunt is actually getting worried if I don't start spending it," I assure him, but he shakes his curly head again.

"Sweet thing, even if I'd accept you paying for it, they won't let me pay with a card that has somebody else name on it."

"But I'm giving you my okay. Chrissy used it too one time, and nobody cared."

Eddie frowns, and he stares out the windscreen for a moment. "It's not your card that is the problem. It's me. You won't find any place in Hawkins that will let a Munson pay with somebody else's credit card. My old man made sure of that."

"Oh," I mumble, watching how his face is drowning in shame. I'd known his dad was in prison and had used it for ammunition in fights before but, honestly, hadn't thought that the town was treading Eddie as if he was solely his father's son. Doomed to repeat his mistakes.

"Yeah. They'd probably call the cops without thinking twice, and that would end our cute little date in a heartbeat."

"Kay," I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. "I'm going in with you." Eddie looks at me, confused. "If I'm in there with you, they know you didn't steal my card."

"You know that means you're going to be seen with me, right?"

"You gave a whole speech about how I'm now your girl and what we're going to tell your friends."

He shrugs. "Well, yeah. Mostly because I like hearing myself talk and think I have banger jokes, but... I don't know. Am not as confident as I thought I was."

"Want me to tell you that I don't mind being seen with you?" I offer, making Eddie grin.

"I mean, you could hold my hand when we go inside. That's something couples do. Maybe I'll lay my arm over your shoulders and kiss your cheek too."

"Yeah, we can totally do that," I agree. Before pulling down the visit and looking at the mirror. "I need to fix my makeup, though."

"Say no more," Eddie smiles, pulling the still-damp neon green hand towel from his pocket.

"You stole Tammy Thompson's towel?" I ask.

He nods proudly. "It's our towel now, baby. Not like she wouldn't have thrown it away, given that we used it to clean ourselves after fucking in her bathroom."

Grabbing a clean corner of the towel, he spits on it before bringing it to my face and cleaning away the dark streaks of makeup on my cheeks.

"I should be more grossed out by this than I am," I tell Eddie, making him laugh.

"Nah, you enjoy having my spit on your face."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because you're a freak. My freak, to be exact."

Eddie leans back, checking if he removed all of the mascara, then nods, happy with his work. He presses a kiss to my lip and then gets out of the van, running over to my side and opening the door for me.

*****

"Please tell me that's a joke!" I squeal, sitting next to Eddie on the floor of my living room.

He shakes his head, dipping another fry in his chocolate milkshake. "Nah, honest earned money."

"You ate a worm for ten dollars," I exclaim, making him chuckle.

"Yeah, because I was twelve and stupid. Today I would charge at least twenty bucks to eat one," he tells me proudly.

"How about I give you fifty, and you promise to never eat a worm again?"

"Deal, sweetheart." Grabbing my hand, Eddie shakes it eagerly, a boyish smirk on his lips. "See? Eating worms is already bringing in profits."

The Freak of Hawkins High has me laughing at all his stupid jokes, makes my heart flutter at every pet name he gives me, and the thought of him ever leaving makes me sad.

Maybe somewhere down the line of tonight's disastrous events, I have lost my mind. Maybe there was a rift in reality, and I ended up in a parallel universe... But somehow, I feel like myself again. Although she is a girl I bearly know at the moment, she feels familiar.

Somehow Eddie has found his way in the middle of all my chaos. He stands in the eye of a hurricane I created by trying to be the social butterfly I never was supposed to be.

The more time he spends with me, the more I feel grounded. I start feeling real again. I am not a butterfly. Maybe I am a raven, a rabbit, or a fox... Or maybe I am a girl that likes to use silly metaphors because they sound poetic. Who knows?

Cleaning up after our royal feast of burgers, fries, and milkshakes, I wash our plates. Eddie standing behind me and nipping at my neck. His teeth graze my skin, softly biting it.

Laying the clean plates aside, I lean back against his chest and sigh. He replies with a cocky chuckle.

"Can I ask you something, possibly very dirty?"

"Anything," I sough as my face heats up, and I try looking at him, but he holds me too securely, kissing my cheek and then my temple.

"I know we now established that you're positively afraid of me and know I am not going to hurt you... But when we were at the neon bathroom of horrors, I recall you saying you want to run away from me without a chance to escape."

I nod. "I– I know I said that, but that's not a question."

Eddie squeezes my waist, making sure to tickle me. "Oh, I'm sorry for trying to ease you into the conversation."

I giggle, and he stops as I try to move away. Sitting me on the kitchen island behind him, he steps between my legs, bringing his face close to mine. "Did you mean it?"

I quickly shrug, making him lecture me, "No, baby. Use your words. Work with me here."

"I know it's weird," I finally say, embarrassment burning my face. "I– I don't feel it with anybody but you, but it's really confusing."

Eddie's brows knit together. "Does it turn you on when you're scared of me, sweetheart?"

I nod, breath stacking as his hands glide up my naked thighs. "Want me to hunt you down like prey?"

I whimper, making his ego swell. "Maybe we could drive out to lovers lake sometime, and I chase you through the woods... Would you like that, princess?"

I nod eagerly. God, I should not feel myself becoming this wet when thinking of him like that.

As he raises his eyebrows, I remember to use my words. "Yes. Would like that very much."

Taking my jaw in his hand, he brings out lips together, grinning and whispering, "Kinky little thing," before kissing me so gently I could melt on the spot.

As he pulls away, he kisses the tip of my nose, then asks, "Want to show me your bedroom?"

"Are you going to stay?" I ask naively.

Although I am fully aware of my bedroom showing ending with him inside me, my heart yearns for a closeness I didn't think I was able to allow.

Eddie's warm eyes look at me, surprised and enamored. Almost as though I turned down hands full of diamonds just to hold a small rock, he'd handed me.

"Good luck trying to get rid of me," he laughs, pulling me off the kitchen island and setting me on my feet.

I grab his hand and pull him upstairs, turning off the lights downstairs as I do so. If I have my way, we're not coming down again until morning.

As we enter my room, Eddie looks around. He is underwhelmed. Massively underwhelmed. I can see it hidden under his pitiful attempt of keeping up a neutral face.

"Is it that bad?" I ask. "Did I ruin the mood?"

Eddie quickly shakes his head. He pulls me to his chest, kissing the top of my head. "Of course not, baby... I just understand now what Jessica meant by cardboard personality. It's really like a hotel room."

I look at the white, empty walls, the basic sheets, and the almost empty bedside tables with solely lamps and alarm on it. "Didn't want to risk having something I like and then get made fun of for it," I admit.

"Gonna make sure you'll never have to do that again, okay? You're too perfect to make you hide," Eddie tells me without any judgment in his voice, so sincere it feels like an oath.

He pulls himself away to look at the teddy bear sitting on my desk. "Now, who's that guy?"

I quickly grab his hand before he can touch my bear. "That's Frank. Please don't touch him. He's starting to fall apart. Have him since I was a child."

Eddie grins at the one-eyed bear, who's missing an ear. He points out the safety pin keeping the filling in his head, "Frank's short for Frankenstein?"

I shake my head. "They promise me for three years now that they'll help me patch him up."

"They?" Eddie asks before nodding. "Oh. They. Family's really leaving you hanging, huh?"

"They're– They just work a lot."

"You should still be their number one priority. You're their child." He runs a hand through his hair, trying not to talk himself into a frenzy. "Shit. When I started living with Wayne, he quit his job as a trucker and started working at the plant, doing night shifts so he could be home with me during the day."

"They make sure I'm cared for, though. I have tons of money. Can buy whatever I want," I defend my parents and aunt.

Eddie sighs, annoyance in his words. "Not everything can be fixed with money. Somebody should've been there to tell you that after you changed schools."

"Are you mad at me?" I ask, worried about the change in his demeanor.

His expression quickly turns soft. "No, no, no, princess." Cupping my cheeks, he says, "I just hate how you had to fend for yourself. After trauma, a kid needs somebody to trust and feel safe with, somebody who shows them they're there for them. You can't just give them money and a fresh start in a new town and think shit doesn't catch up with them. Your parents should've known better."

"Was your uncle that person for you?"

Eddie nods, sitting down on my bed with me. "Mom and Dad were really bad for each other. Saw a lot of nasty, toxic shit happen between them," he sighs, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dad always had a foot in prison, and every time my mom would say we were not going back to him, yet we always did.

"After she got sick and eventually died, Dad didn't sell his stuff anymore but took it. The crimes got worse, his patience as thin as a knife's edge. My mom wasn't there anymore to cash in the beatings, so I got my ass handed to me a couple of times because I was too hyperactive and tested my luck.

"CPS got involved after Dad once again stole a car and that time robbed a diner, shooting the waitress, and I ended up with my dad's older brother. Wayne's cool, though. Took me a while to understand that you can get in trouble, and it ends with a stern talk and not with losing a tooth.

"Man's as linear as they come. Has never even gotten a speeding ticket. Would've probably ended like my dad, wouldn't it have been for him."

I swallow harshly. "Now I feel like a real piece shit for picking at your family when we'd fight."

Eddie shrugs. "Not like I didn't rub it in your face that you're being neglected."

"I'm sorry."

He presses his lips together. "I'm sorry, too."

I turn on the lamp on the bedside table, get up, and turn off the big light. My bedroom is now sparsely lit by warm yellow light. It seems cozier like this.

Walking back to Eddie, I climb in his lap, him not wasting a second to let his hands roam my body. We kiss, Eddie, pulling me into him by the waist, hips grinding up against me.

It feels like hours pass; the chance is high that that is actually the case. We sit in the middle of my queen-sized bed. Layer by layer, we have shed our clothes until we sat fully naked in from of each other.

Our legs are partially tangled, and there is nothing we hide from each other. I am the most vulnerable I've ever been. But I feel safe.

We still kiss, hands gliding over the smooth skin, exploring. Eddie's fingers glide in and out of me, while I moan into the kisses, returning the favor. We take breaks to collect our breath, using that time to admire the naked person before us.

The next set of kisses has Eddie back me against the pillows. My hands have captured his face to ensure he has to come with me.

He takes place between my legs as if we'd never meant to be together in any other way than this. As though we never had been at war with each other and ourselves while ensuring the other would succumb to madness.

Pulling his fingers out, he moves them to my lips, watching nearly enchanted as I take them into my mouth and clean them from my own wetness.

As he enters me, it feels like everything else, every growing pain of character, every touch by somebody other, and every spite-filled encounter washes away.

Eddie's movement is nothing more than pure lust and a sign of how long we've waited for the other. Our bodies pressed closely together, fingers, nails, and teeth digging into delicate skin like holding on to our sole lifeline.

The past and, with it, Jason, Jessica, and everyone else is nothing more than part of the tedious prologue before Eddie and I.

The night is filled with promises, whispers of sweet nothingness, and the call of each other's names. Only once we're wholly exhausted, have taken and given everything we can, can we bring ourselves to stop.

Our sweat-covered bodies are still tightly wrapped around each other. A kiss or two still stolen with the greatest efforts to ignore every sore muscle and the burning of our raw, scarlet lips.

Brushing wet hair out of my face, Eddie lies next to me, his fingers dancing over my face. The storms feel like they have surrendered to the fact that this is meant to be.

We're no longer fighting it and letting the other in. The Freak and the Princess of Hawkins High... We never stood a chance anyway.

*****

Opening my eyes the next morning, there is a total of forty-five blissful seconds. Birds are singing, a soft breeze is blowing over my skin from the window Eddie must be opened, and the sun is shining.

Then I roll over, and my hand touches the cold pillow next to mine. I sit up, look around, and notice the lack of clothes on the floor.

Not only that, Frank the teddy bear is gone too.

My heart is beating fast.

A voice in my head laughs at me, while another tells me I've been played. Last night and this morning, make sure to leave me with an unsettling whiplash I try to ignore.

I get up, quickly throwing over my dress from last night, and walk down the stairs.

Maybe I am freaking out over nothing.

"Eddie?" I call through the house but am met with no answer. "Eddie?"

He's not in the kitchen, the living room, or the garden. There is no message on a notepad or a missed call. I call and call until my voice cannot hide the reality of things.

I am alone.

I walk back upstairs, tears running down my face as I change the sheets, close the window, and take a steaming hot shower. I need to get every memory of him off my body.

He left.

He fucked me and left.

Eddie fucking played me. He let me let my guard down and stabbed me in the back.

I shouldn't even be surprised. I've been nothing but a bitch to him all year. He saw a chance to get back at me and took it.

After my shower, I put on my baggy festival shirt and panties and put on a horror movie while I cry my eyes out on the couch.

I cry over the loss of my teddy bear. I cry over how real last night felt. I cry over the fact that I have effectively burned every bridge and am on my own... Just like I always was.

I gave Eddie so much of myself, thinking he would be different, not like Jason. But men are all the same, apparently.

*****

☠︎ The Freak's POV ☠︎

Sneaking in through the ridiculously loud squeaking door, I kick off my shoes. The hardwood floors seem like they are worth more than both my kidneys on the black market, so I don't want to risk anything, even though the princess told me not to worry last night.

I put the plastic bags I carry with me in the kitchen and catch a glimpse of my girl lying on the couch. The loud credits of a slasher on tv seem to have canceled out my arrival.

I walk in, smiling at her. The second she looks up, my smile falls.

"Hey, sweetheart, baby, are you okay?" I ask worriedly, closing the distance between us and falling onto my knees before her.

Did her former friends call? Another heartbreak by her family?

She takes a shakey breath, whimpering, "What are you doing here?"

I look over my shoulder toward the kitchen and back at her. Her eyes are red, her cheeks wet. How long did she sit here and cry? "I– I was out. Was up before you and got us some breakfast."

"You left," she whispers.

"Only for a little."

"I– I thought..."

As her voice dies, my eyes become wide. The princess had thought I wouldn't return.

"Shit. Baby, no, no, no. I was just out getting some stuff. I left you a note." She shakes her head, but I insist. "I did."

I pull her up from the couch, dragging her upstairs. I did not tiptoe around this morning and search for sticky notes and a pen like an idiot for this to be the outcome. For her to be upset.

Entering her bedroom, I walk straight to the nightstand on her side of the bed.

Okay.

Fair.

No note.

The princess still stands there at the door, looking like she has been absolutely miserable since she woke up—which is no surprise if she thought I ran off after promising her the world last night.

She showered and wears this shirt that would make a better dress. Lilac-colored ones replace the sheets from last night, and the severity of what she went through hits me like a brick.

The princess thought I used her and left.

Just like Jason fucking Carver.

The bane of my existence.

God, I hate that guy.

I turn to the nightstand again. I know I placed the note there. I'd stuck it on her alarm so she'd see it. I drop to the floor, looking under the bed.

Nothing.

But there, almost completely behind the nightstand, shines the neon pink traitor. Wind must've yanked that piece of shit up and thrown it behind it.

I quickly get up and hand it to her. The princess takes a second to read:

"Out to get breakfast and take Frankenstein on a ride. Gonna be back in a heartbeat. — E. ♡"

As she looks up at me, her beautiful eyes fill with tears again. "I thought you wouldn't come back."

I rub the back of my neck. "Didn't mean to upset you, princess. Next time I'll put it somewhere better, kay? Promise."

A tear runs down her face, and I am quick to cup her cheek and wipe it away. Her fingers wrap around my wrist while she nuzzled her cheek into my palm.

My heart flutters and my chest feels fuzzy (that whole butterfly-soda condition really feels more like a medical emergency than anything else). She's the most gorgeous when she lets me see her vulnerable side.

"You kidnapped my bear," she finally whispers, and I chuckle, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

"No bearnapping took place, baby. We just went on a little shopping trip."

"Told you he could fall apart at any moment..." she huffs.

I wrap an arm around her, and we make our way down to the kitchen. Opening one of the plastic bags, I hand her her stuffed friends.

She sits down on a barstool by the kitchen island and carefully pats his head. "Thought you took him as a souvenir."

We're seriously doing something wrong if women think that low of us.

I should beat the shit out of Jason.

I look at her, obviously fake annoyance on my face. "Now, what was so hard to understand when I told you you're now stuck with me?"

She shrugs, and I dislike that I understand her uncertainty. It will potentially take a while of me being the most annoying, clingy piece of shit until she gets it. But okay. I'm good at being annoying and clingy. I'm totally up for the challenge.

"Why did you take him with you?"

I grin, flipping over the plastic bag—an array of needles, threats, filling, and fabric tumbles onto the counter.

"We're fixing Frankenstein," I announce, opening the little paper bag with the replacement eye and showing it to the princess.

"Really?" she asks in disbelief. "But– I can't sew."

I spin slowly, pointing out my battle vest's patches. "Lucky for you, I am a God at it."

"And you know what to do?"

I nod. "The lady at the store helped, and we picked out a matching fabric, threat, and eye. She's also the reason I didn't get the demon-looking cat eye. She said she thinks my girlfriend could get scared should I put it on her teddy bear."

"Girlfriend," the princess whispers, the softest smile on her lips.

"Of course. You traded your shitty friends in for me, remember?" She nods, making me sigh in relief. "Good. Amazing, actually. Because your boyfriend also got you these!"

I pull a couple of posters out of the second bag, unrolling them to present them to her royal highness. "Black Sabbath, Metallica, and – of course – Corroded Coffin."

She giggles, grabbing the Corroded Coffin one and looking at mine and the guys' hand-drawn masterpiece. "So I'm hanging my boyfriend's band on my bedroom wall?"

"Hey," I tell at her jokingly. "If my girl isn't supporting me, then who is?"

She nods. "You're right. Gonna be a good rockstar girlfriend."

"An extremely hot one, too," I say, wrapping an arm around her waist again. "We're gonna be the bi-awakening for a lot of people, sweetheart."

"Sounds good." The princess leans forwards, capturing my lips with hers, and I feel my knees buckle.

No matter how cool I pretend to be, she makes me fucking melt. And now that she doesn't bite anymore, I can finally indulge myself in her.

Wrapping her legs around my waist, I set Frankenstein on the counter and carry my girl upstairs.

Throwing her onto the freshly made bed with which she tried to erase the memory of us, I crawl on top of her while taking off my jacket and shirt and throwing them aside.

I kiss her softly, feeling her hands glide over the massive searches she marked me with last night. They burn like hell, but each ounce of pain feels good. The princess marked her territory.

"You wanna paint your walls before we put the posters up?" I ask her. "Or would you rather get some wallpaper?"

She looks around for a moment then her stunning eyes meet mine. "You know how to put up wallpaper?"

I shrug. "I mean... It'll probably look like shit, but sure. If you want it, I'll figure out how to do it."

I have an unbelievable, lovesick audacity that makes me believe I could do anything her precious heart longs for. Fuck, having her like me is an ego boost that will probably go to my head.

No. Nope. It's already there.

The way she grins up at me, fingers cradling my face... I am fucking invincible and apparently really good in the sack.

"Didn't you say you got breakfast?"

Way to bring me down to earth.

I frown for a second, thinking of where I put the waffles, eggs, bacon, and pancakes I got at a nearby diner.

"I- Uhh..." Yeah, I have no idea. "Either it's still in the van, or I left it at the diner."

The princess starts laughing, throwing her head back into the sheets. I use that moment to gently bite her neck, licking over the bite mark with my tongue.

"In my defense, I was busy thinking about the bear and if I can pull off making a little Hellfire shirt for him," I speak against her skin.

My girl lets out a sigh. "But what will the King of Hellfire say when he finds out you're making them for non-members?"

"Frankenstein is an honorary member," I inform her, sitting back on my legs and pulling her onto my lap. "His human is the King's woman. The Princess of Hellfire."

"Shouldn't I be the Queen then?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

I lick my lips, pulling her face closer. "Don't get greedy, princess. Being the Queen is something that you earn."

Her lips split into a smile. "And how do I earn it?"

I place a kiss on her right cheek. "By being kind." Another on her left cheek. "By being yourself." And I place the final one on her lips. "And by staying with me for at least a month. Gonna crown you Queen as my one-month anniversary present."

"Sounds like a cop-out, so you don't have to buy me something," the princess teases.

I gasp, appalled, and push her off my lap. "You're gonna regret that one, princess." She looks at me with big eyes. "Gonna give you a 10-second headstart. Better make sure I don't get you."

While slowly standing up and moving towards the door, she grins. "What happens when you caught me?"

I slowly stand up as well. "Then I'll eat you alive, princess. Make sure you really regret being an ungrateful little slut."

Her breath hitches, and she squeals as I make a sudden move in her direction. We grin at each other, both our eyes darkening with lust, then she bolts out of her room and down the stairs.

I chase after her multiple times feeling her shirt or skin on my fingertips. She is laughing, screaming, and squirming as I finally grab her.

Placing her on the dinner table, I force her back against the cold wood while I step between her legs. "Now I got you, sweetheart," I chuckle deeply. "No point in running anymore."

I take a step back and spread her legs further for me. Kneeling between them, I bite the inside of her thigh, while I make my way to her center.

The fighting spirit has already left her. My girl whimpers as I pull her innocent little panties aside and am met with her arousal glistening in the daylight. I lick my lips before I dive in, her hands quick to grasp for my hair as she moans loudly.

*****

The Queen of Hellfire.

The Freak's girlfriend.

For many, she used to be Hawkins High's Princess, somebody they aspired to be. They don't understand what happened, why she gave up her title, and now plays with the terrifying King of Hellfire.

They don't get how he managed to get the Queen's family to approve of him, like him, so far so that they even wanted to pay for his college education. How he gratefully declined (of course) and instead got them to pay for the first of many Corroded Coffin albums.

He didn't even need to ask. He brought the Queen's smile back on her face and that is worth the world for her family.

Not that anyone in Hawkins ever understands anything. Like, how the ex-cheerleader became best friends with a bunch of nerds, Robin from band, Steve Harrington, and future star journalist Nancy Wheeler.

But as the Queen of Hellfire learned, it doesn't fucking matter what others think as long as she is happy and has the King on his knees for her, worshipping her divine form.

She's fucking mine. Forever.

Suck it, Carver.

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[justicerikai]

Charisma House - Superhuman Sharehouse Story “Charisma” - #63 Barometric Pressure

Please read alongside listening to the drama track on Youtube.

TL note:

Just some medical context about headaches caused by barometric pressure (weather changes), for those unfamiliar with it.

Terra: The weather’s all over the place today. Wonder if it’ll storm

Rikai: Seems that there’ll be quite a big dip in barometric pressure from what I can hear

Terra: Right

Iori: Oof it hurts…

Sarukawa: What’s up Io, head hurtin’ again?

Iori: Yeah…

Iori: I can’t stand days where the pressure’s low, my head gets all fuzzy

Rikai: There are people who go through that from time to time

Iori: Is everyone good?

Sarukawa & Terra: Not at all!

Iori: Well, I’m sure you two couldn’t care less about this kind of issue

Sarukawa & Terra: Why!?

Iori: I just know

(Amahiko groans from pain)

Rikai: Amahiko-san? What’s wrong?

Amahiko: Oof it hurts…

Iori: Eh? Are you also not feeling well?

Amahiko: Yes. Days like these are unbearable…

Sarukawa: I dun’ get it, why does low pressure make ya head hurt

Amahiko: Ah, actually I don’t have a headache

Rikai: Eh? That’s not where it hurts?

Amahiko: Yes

Terra: Then where does it hurt?

Amahiko: My dick.

Iori, Sarukawa, Rikai, Terra: Eh?

Amahiko: ….

Iori, Sarukawa, Rikai, Terra: …..

Amahiko: Oooof, it hurts….

Iori, Sarukawa, Rikai, Terra: Eh? Hah? Huh? Eh? Huh? Eh? Eh? Hah?

Terra: Where did it hurt again?

Amahiko: My dick.

Iori, Sarukawa, Rikai, Terra: How?

Amahiko: When the pressure suddenly changes as it did today, my dick ends up hurting.

Iori, Sarukawa, Rikai, Terra: How???

Amahiko: And when the seasons change or there’s a sudden temperature difference, my dick will end up hurting again.

Iori, Sarukawa, Rikai, Terra: How???

Amahiko: It’s especially the worst during a typhoon, I’d be writhing in hellish pain as if my dick is about to get torn off

Iori, Sarukawa, Rikai, Terra: HOW THE FUCK!!!!!

Amahiko: Each person has their unique physical traits, as you know. Even when telling the doctors about it they wouldn’t listen to me. There’s no medicine that works well against it either.

Amahiko: And my libido that I take pride in ends up dropping to zero.

Amahiko: How shameful for someone known as the minister of sexy affairs.

Amahiko: My condolences but I cannot fool around with you all today. Please let me be on my own.

-

Rikai: Amazing, as one would expect the minister of sexy affairs experiences pain in all kinds of different places.

Iori: Why are you impressed by that, I don’t understand any of it

Sarukawa: He’s just an idiot

(Everyone starts leaving)

Fumiya: Are you guys fine with leaving things be

Everyone: !?

Rikai: Fumiya-san?

Sarukawa: Where did you show up from

Fumiya: Amahiko most likely dealt with this pain all by himself for his entire life

Fumiya: No one that would understand him, being treated as if he’s some defective human being.

Fumiya: Left all alone, not a single soul by his side

Fumiya: Is not reaching out to someone like that really the right decision

Iori: Fumiya-san…

Terra: Fumiya-kun…!

Sarukawa: Yeah, this is probs where we gotta step in

Sarukawa: ‘Cuz why the hell we’re livin’ together for if it ain’t for this

Rikai: Everyone! Let’s all go to save Amahiko-san!

Ohse: As you wish

Iori: C’mon, everyone!

Everyone: Yeah!

-

(Everyone barging in and yelling out Amahiko’s name)

Amahiko: !?

Amahiko: Wh-what is it???

Iori: Lose the shorts! Show us your nether region!

Amahiko: Excuse me?

(Everyone climbing on Amahiko to strip him)

Amahiko: Please stop, I’m doing fine- I said to please back off.

Fumiya: Get naked and show us

Amahiko: I refuse, why do I have to show you all to begin with

Rikai: Do you want me to disinfect it?

Amahiko: Stop

Iori: Wanna try pouring boiling water on it?

Amahiko: Absolutely not!

Ohse: Please show us. I’ll make a sketch.

Amahiko: Why are you drawing it!

Terra: CUT IT OFF CUT IT OFF!

Sarukawa: CUT IT OFF CUT IT OFF!

(Everyone keeps scrambling to undress Amahiko)

Amahiko: Wait- This is bad- Hold on- Hey, don’t touch it!

Amahiko: No it hurts- I keep telling you it hurts a LOT!

Amahiko: Geez!

Amahiko: This is something only I can understand!

Amahiko: Please leave me alone!

Amahiko: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[skloomdumpster]

Riventrix cute and fluffy headcannons?!

Beatrix is keen of nicknames, as canon has already explored with kitten, little storm, water biscuit, etc. Riven learns this and GOES TO TOWN. She's kitten, love, darling, honey [HONEY], bee, bea, baby, babe, dollface, minx, etc. Some of them she fights, some of them she gets red and dumb about and Riven is sooo smug, like hell yeah, kink unlocked babygirl

Yeah baby girl is the one she hisses at him for using and then he uses it in bed once and she cums in under 10 secs and it's a whole lot of him cackling and her trying to taser him

Riven loooves praise and Bea is a bitch, so she withholds it even when she knows he's deserving and he's all "Bea, uh? It was pretty good, right? Right?" "I guess" "oh you fucking loved it."

Beatrix loves fashion, so fixing up his clothes, getting on her tip toes to fix his hair and grinning at him. He gets all perfect to her standards and then she covers his face in red lipstick kisses and now he has to spend 10 minutes more wiping it clean, thanks Bee.

Oh yeah, both are so pda its terrible. Only situation where Beatrix tells him to behave is around Andreas, otherwise they're making a point of touching each other at all times.

Beatrix gets pressure headaches when storms build and Riven is really good at cuddles

Riven expects Beatrix to know how to cook, given her background, but turns out Andreas is an even bigger overbearing parent and Beatrix does not know how to do anything beyond frying an egg, dad did all the cooking. He's so delighted by one upping her in this. She tries to level the ground (read, tries to force Andreas to teach her), but Bea just plain sucks

Since Bea's purpose in life is making Sky miserable, she stays over a lot even when he's in the room, because "she's not a prude and Sky can leave if he wants to" and ofc Sky is a bitch who does not leave, cueing Riven basically being used as warfare where Sky refuses to leave him alone and Beatrix refuses to stop cuddling him to upset her brother. He's fine with that.

Riven gets nightmares because of his stellar childhood and Beatrix (who actually did have a good chidhood, lmao the irony) comforts him after the dreams, secretly plots the murder of his father. Riven knows she'd actually go through with that and he keeps her away from his fam.

[adoseoftrees]

Wailindo

The only Manwe’s Maia that left with Melkor

Fucking prideful

Probably the most powerful air Maia

Completely fascinated by Melkor’s plan for his new kingdom and chose to follow out of his own free will

A spy of Melkor at Manwe’s place.

Tevinde HATED him. He was the one outed her to Melkor and caused her to be shredded. When she regenerated she told Manwe of Melkor’s deeds and Wailindo’s treason but he escaped

Served Melkor until the the end of Battle of the Powers

Good at words, good at song, made scary wind, power hungry, Utumno PR team

Then at the end of the war Melkor arranged his secret lovers to shred each other. He tried to reach them but he was late

Surrendered to Valar but stayed silent when Tevinde yelled at him to denounce Melkor

Still thought a lot of Melkor’s ideas were right and made some compelling arguments

He got exiled to the south corner of Aman with some other Melkor's Maiar

(Ice Maiar in the North: Yes we need those traitors and murderers to be a world away to feel safe.)

Led the former-Melkor's Maiar to shape the land in the way they desired, brought many of Melkor's idea into reality

Made sad songs about the Fall of Melkor and his Maiar

That one who made break-up songs about his two exes

The songs were popular

Befriended some very cautious Maiar

Befriended some incautious Teleri elves

Wailindo was a name he made up when introducing himself to the elves

The propaganda master

As if he was some innocent pretty song bird dancing in the wind instead of a giant flying terror that created storm with his wings

Always appeared so innocent so friendly so harmless so sad

Tevinde: He was NOT the victim of this story He was NOT sorry for his crimes he was just sorry they FAILED He was a coward I wish I shredded him before he could utter his surrender speech

Many Ainur suspected his affiliation.

He did not know the answer for that too.

He was still angry about Melkor setting up his exes' death.

And he probably started to grow affection for the elves

Of course he did not tell them he used to capture baby elves for Melkor to make orcs

(Later, Ainur watching Maglor: We definitely saw this behavior before)

----------

When Melkor was released Wailindo never sought the Vala out

Then Melkor killed the Trees

He did not care a lot about the light but he felt sad for the Yavanna's Maiar who gifted his land albatrosses and penguins

Some Maiar in the south discussed about whether to follow Melkor or not

He stopped them. He was good at convincing people. And threatening people.

"If any of you try to leave I will shred you. I don't think the Valar would care for that right now; maybe they'll even gift me more islands or even some of those white bears as a reward?"

Also. Already have a piece of land to do whatever he wanted. He was the boss here why should he go away to compete for power with Mairon the little shit.

Was annoyed when he learned his little elf friends were killed by Noldor. Nobody came to visit him because they were dead and the ships were destroyed

Was responsible for fucking up a lot of ships that tried to take a different path southward to avoid Osse.

Okay he did not kill any of the elves he was trying to be a good Maia and avoid troubles and make a nice little home for his exes if they ever regenerate

He just kept the sailors in his house and forced them to listen to his songs. For most of them the experience was terrifying. For some weird ones they actually found his songs nice. (Despite Valarin causing headache)

Mostly avoided getting involved in the war. It was not like anyone would ask for his help. The Ainur were not sure which side he would help under pressure and would like to not find it out.

Got his exes back some time in second age. They were NOT happy with the way he portray them in that popular song and the stupid Quenya name he assigned them without their consent

Lived together happily ever after (probably undeservingly) and made the south corner of Aman very uninhabitable for elves

(Much more ice, one more giant active volcano, a lot more wind storms)

Yavanna's Maiar LOVED the place. They made a lot of new birds and beasts to roam the area undisturbed.