#salem offers art

[woof-squiggles]

I CANT BELIEVE I NEVR POSTED THIS HERE

side note i actually drew the sketch for this BEFORE the ii18 finale 🙏 i drew it not thinking anything of it and THEN???

[woof-squiggles]

hehehdhgegf

[floating-goblin-art]

some more salem pics for enrichment :3

(last one i was trying to sleep off a headache and he wanted to. idk. supervise)

he is such a delight, never beating the aeon ghoul allegations. keep being you salem

[grimbothefool]

i think if you tried to make Salem eat pre-war food he would scream and cry and piss his pants

[dhwty-writes]

Sometimes you get goaded into drawing straight ship art for your lesbian pc

[wolfertinger666]

Salem is not an "uwu wholesome cinnamon roll trans boi" he is a sexy rabbit who seduces me with his tummy and I am in service to him by drawing art of him everyday as a peace offering and to spread his propaganda on to unsuspecting rabbit boy fuckers.

[northern-passage]

Interactive Fiction Community Raffle for Palestine!

Over 50 authors and artists from the Interactive Fiction community here on tumblr have come together to offer an array of prizes for a focused donation drive! We are aiming to raise as much money as possible for five families who are currently trying to evacuate Gaza. These fundraisers have been vetted by @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi (thank you for your hard work!)

RULES:

You MUST donate a minimum of €5/$5 USD to one of these five fundraisers to qualify for a ticket. These are the currencies the GFMs are in (3 in euro, 2 in USD). We chose this amount because it is the minimum GFM allows and we are hoping to encourage as many donations as possible. Please be mindful that GFM does not show the conversion rate if you're donating outside your currency.

Donating once to all five GFMs will get you five tickets. And for each extra 5 you donate, you will get an extra ticket. (ie donating 10 to one GFM gets you 2 tickets, 15 gets you 3, etc.)

There are two tiers we will be pulling prizes from: one tier for writing, and one tier for art. When you submit your proof of donation, you will be asked to specify which tier you want your ticket to go towards. If you are submitting for more than one ticket, you will specify the tiers for each ticket-- you can spread them out between both tiers or put them all towards one.

You will be required to share a receipt/proof of donation via uploading a picture through google forms. We will not be handling any money. You are donating directly to the GFMs, and then showing us proof that you have done so. Please include the GFM and the amount you've donated in the screenshot you upload. We are only taking donations starting from June 7th onward.

We plan to raffle off all possible prizes using a random generator. Once the drive concludes on the 21st, we'll take a few days to gather up & organize the tickets and draw names, and then we will be in touch with winners both on tumblr and via email.

You can find the full list of contributors and prizes here.

Please understand that these prizes are pulled blind and assigned at random. You cannot pick or choose which writer/IF or artist you get. It is completely randomized. You get what you get-- even if you aren't familiar with the writer or their game. Artists and authors also have the right to refuse your request at their discretion. Please be respectful and remember that our main goal and focus here is fundraising for these families.

Abdullah Mohammed and his family

Mohammed Bardaweel and his family

Bilal Salah's family

Suad and her family

Firas Salem and his family

We encourage you to share these families and their fundraisers here and elsewhere. We're hoping by focusing our efforts we can really make a big impact for all of them.

Ticket submission form:

[aces-and-angels]

baby salem by @lampyri* donate to salem's family follow: @wafans-blog vetted/verified: no. 260 on el-shab-hussein/nabulsi's sheet

did you know in gaza ~50,000 pregnant women are awaiting to give birth + ~5,500 due within the next 30 days? or despite the lack of functioning hospitals, ~180 babies are born every day? (source)

salem was only brought into this world a few weeks ago, and those weeks have been anything but easy. the scarcity of food left salem's mother, manal, malnourished throughout her pregnancy-- which led to salem being born anemic and very frail.

the constant trauma manal faces on a daily basis has made her unable to produce any breast milk. without access to formula, the family has resorted to extreme measures and feeds baby salem a slurry of cooked flour and water- an extremely dangerous diet for any newborn to be on.

a baby's cry is the first thing new mothers are blessed to hear. a sign of life that fills the room. salem doesn't cry. not anymore, at least. he's too weak to do so.

as the genocide continues- despite the iof's flagrant attempts to squash any chance of life- palestine lives.

whether or not it thrives is on us.

*= @lampyri is currently offering to draw headshots in exchange for $7+ donations to vetted/verified campaigns + organizations for palestine/sudan. i've received several works from kay in the past and have loved every single one. if you are interested in getting some art yourself- please do not hesitate to contact them!

[reashot]

Aurum The Dragonslayer. (1/2)

Several years after the defeat of Salem and two decades before Aurum met Jaune's younger self. Tells a story of how Aurum became known as the Dragonslayer.

First born of Jaune and Yang, two great heroes during the war against Salem. Born into this world weak and small, many did not expect him to survive childhood but to everyone's surprise he did not only survive past it but grew up to be bigger and stronger as time went on. Now in his sixteen years of age he towers over his peers and most adults. His skill with a sword surpasses many renowned warriors of his time.

And now embarking on a quest he can be seen walking into a seedy tavern out in the middle of nowhere in order to fulfill his quest. Aurum opens the wooden door of the bar to walk inside the tavern. The loud metallic stomp from his boots caused all eyes inside the bar to turn on him. To see what kind of fool that would dare to visit this den of ill repute.

And to their surprise and delight they indeed saw a fool. They saw a fool wearing full body armor from head to toe.

"Thine looking for a guide across the western mountain." Thus speak the armored fool.

The patrons however paid Aurum no mind and continued with their day drinking.

"Thy liege. King Ozcar has given thine a royal writ. That states any subjects of the kingdom must render aid when asked to by the recipient." He proudly exclaims his royal authority to a room full of drunken degenerates.

When Aurum mentioned the monarch Ozcar. Instead of bowing in reference to their superior. The patrons just ignored him even harder. For there's not a lot of love for the monarchy this far out in the wild.

At first he does not understand why these "fine" people did not try to help him. Aurum may be a master of the blade but reading the room is not one of his expertise. So if appealing to their sense of fealty did not work he would try to appeal to their avarice instead. "Of course Thine would not expect for thee to toil for free. Thine is willing to offer adequate reward if thou are willing to help thine out."

Their head starts to turn to the direction of the Knight after the mention of a reward.

"Thine needed a guide. For thine wishes to go to face the dragon Tiamat."

The tavern that was once as silent as the grave erupted at the mention of Tiamat.

"Are you insane!" The first shout rang.

"You can't kill Tiamat!" The second explained the absurdity of Aurum's statement.

"Get the F**k out of here!" The third one explains what the patrons wanted out of the Knight.

Then after that they just throw insults and slurs like questioning the sexuality of the Knight. When that was not enough the patrons started throwing things at Aurum From foods to beer bottles. Fortunately this is where having an armor actually comes in useful. He didn't even need to activate his Aura as the bottle simply broke upon contact.

"Art thou done with thy foolishness?" Aurum calmly states as all manners of debris clutter the floor near him and on his self.

"How much you paying?" One dissenting voice comes from the back corner of the room. The man sitting in the corner is a lot older than he is, probably the same age as his father. He also wore a suit of armor albeit tattered and dirty unlike Aurum's shiny golden armor. But Aurum notices that the man sitting is also a warrior like himself by the looks of it and he has probably been in a few fights himself.

Aurum walks towards the corner of the room to meet the person. "Two millions Lien. If thou accept thine request then thine will give thee half and the rest afterwards."

The amount that was offered caused an immediate shift in the atmosphere inside the tavern. "Two millions... Why so generous, sir knight?"

"Thine would not asketh thou to risk thy life on a pittance." Aurum simply stated.

"How very noble of you, sir knight. Very well we will depart immediately." The man grabbed his glass and immediately down the entire thing.

Some times later.

"So, sir knight I was wondering?" The guide subtly gesturing to the Knight behind him.

"Thou may ask thine a question." Aurum gives him permission.

"Thank you, sir knight. May I ask who I currently have the pleasure of conversing with? Because we were not properly introduced back there."

"Very well thy suppose thou deserve to know. Thine name is Aurum Arc. Son of Jaune Arc.

"You're Jaune's son?" The guide was surprised upon hearing Jaune's name.

"Thou knoweth my father?" Aurum's eyes widened.

"You have no idea... Still. He became a hero and he had a kid? Good for him I guess."

"What was thine father were like back then?" Aurum asked the guide again.

"... I'm sorry I can't."

"Prithee tell thine why not?"

"Because there's no use in telling someone who's about to die." The guide then loudly whistles.

Aurum immediately stands at the ready preparing for what comes next. At first he saw one person appearing from the bush, then two, three, four until finally there were twelve of them. All of them are more dirty and tattered than the last. Noticing that he is now surrounded he finally draws his sword while the rogues cackle in the background.

[amushroomnamedsalem]

looking for feedback on visual art/written piece about queerplatonic relationships

hello! my name is salem and i'm working on a year-long art project where i'm hoping to do a series of paintings highlighting asexual and aromantic experiences. i've finished my first painting and i was wondering if i could get some feedback on it!

this painting and the accompanying written piece was inspired by queerplatonic love and queerplatonic relationships. it's intention is to both offer representation and act as a way to introduce/normalize queerplatonic relationships to those who haven't heard of it before. i'd appreciate feedback in any form on it! and for those who have been in a qpr before, i'd really appreciate hearing about whether or not you feel that the painting and the written piece offer a realistic portrayal of queerplatonic love and relationships? if not, what should i change? (full disclosure i have not actually been in a queerplatonic or romantic relationship before, im basing most of this work off of anecdotal research i have done)

Queerplatonic relationship (Noun) 

A committed intimate relationship between significant others whose relationship is not romantic in nature

When people ask me to explain our relationship I’m never quite sure what to say. Best friend doesn’t encapsulate all of it. And so, in a world where romance is a metric for intimacy, our relationship is defined to others in “but”. I love you, but I’m not in love with you. We’re partners but not dating. Then they ask if that means we’re just friends and I don’t know how to tell them that there is nothing just about us. 

I want to move in with you. I want to bake bread together in the middle of the night when neither of us can sleep. I want to go on sunset drives and Ikea trips for furniture. I want to sit and do taxes together at the dining room table. I want to make you your favorite drink on your bad days and find plants you got me on mine. I want to plan our futures together. I trust you more than I trust myself and I’m never more myself than when I’m with you. We aren’t just friends and we aren’t in love, we just are. I love that, I love us, and I love you.

if you have any feedback please comment or dm me!

[ask-indigo-park-swapped]

WELCOME TO THE TETHERED ISLES!!!

[a cluster of floating islands drifting above a valley. ropes connect the isles together and keeps them bound to the world - recently cleared to explore, the isles are full of mystery and adventure!]

<RAMBLEY is now unavailable for asks.> <LLOYD is now unavailable for asks.> <SALEM is now unavailable for asks.> <THE SERPENT is now unavailable for asks.>

MOLLIE arrives to the main island of the TETHERED ISLES. She looks around the TETHERED OUTPOST, watching merchants and explorers milling about and interested in a new location to explore. She sees RAMBLEY nearby, assisting in supplying the new Outpost. She spots the TRADER in the crowd; the enigmatic merchant that usually stays in the Snow Line seems to have followed the excitement to the Isles. She spots RUTA in the crowd; an experienced and respected explorer that freely offers ominous but helpful advice.

Clutching her bag of supplies, Mollie is struck by indecision.

==>

also, because i think its funny, heres the original sketch for one that cool sidescroller esque art up there:

its literally just blobshsjdghsd

[woof-squiggles]

so SING ALONG, it's such a SILLY SONG !

THE CACKLING CAROUSEL / it spins and never STOPS !!

reference under cut!

[jamlessjj]

Hey team (I say as I make prolonged eye contact with my U2 mutuals) so while I was on a road trip a few weeks ago I chanced upon a record store that had an absolute treasure trove of old magazines and managed to find these gems. Would you all like me to post some scans of the articles and/or covers? Here is a list of what's pictured. If any of these strike your fancy, lemme know:

U2's Propaganda, Issue 15, Winter 1991/2: A special edition that focuses on the release and making of Achtung Baby. Its contents are very campy design-wise with a cool arts and crafts type of vibe. Lots of photos from the late 80s and early 90s, at least half of which I hadn't seen before. Contents include an Achtung Baby scrapbook, an article detailing the making of "The Fly" music video, and an article about the process behind designing the Achtung Baby album cover.

U2's Propaganda, Issue 16, Spring 1992: A pretty text-heavy issue with a well-rounded bunch of articles in terms of topics. The entire first half of the issue is dedicated to coverage of preparation for the Zoo TV tour, focuses on the band as well as artists and others involved in various aspects of the tour. This article's look is giving "graphic design is my passion" in the best way possible. There's also an interview with Brain Eno, an article on the spoof tribute band "The Joshua Trio," and a report on the Negativland thing that happened.

U2's Propaganda, Issue 17, Winter 1992/3: Its cover story, "Sixty Nine Things You May Not Have Known About Life in the Zoo," is a rapid-fire and visually immersive list of happenings from the Zoo TV tour. Big photos of the band and the staging, including some of Bono in the foregone but never forgotten red version of The Fly costume. This issue also focuses on fan content, with a mailbag section and some stuff about various fanzines.

Rolling Stone, Issue 761, May 29, 1997: Pop-era U2 on the cover, looking extra cool. The article is titled "The Wizards of Pop." I haven't read all the way through this article, but this is the premise we're given: "Who are those men behind the curtain? It's Bono! The Edge! Adam Clayton! Larry Mullen Jr.! On the eve of their supergiant '97 world tour, U2 reveal the heart inside their consumer-nightmare machine." A couple of neat photos, too.

Rolling Stone, Issue 986, November 3, 2005: Bono on the cover, and a suuuuuper long interview with him, like, including photos, this thing is about 16 pages long with a teeny tiny font size. I've only skimmed the text but the whole thing seems to have a relatively down-to-earth vibe, which the photographs compliment well. Pretty biographical, based on what I've seen it vaguely reminds me of Bono's Surrender. Found this quote while skimming and I like it a lot: "I've always had these melodies in my head. If I'm beside a piano, I put my finger on a key. I hear a rhyme."

Rolling Stone, Issue 1074, March 19, 2009: U2 on the cover, shot in a way that seems to call back to their cover on the aforementioned 1997 issue. Published around the release of No Line on the Horizon, this is definitely more of a journalism piece as far as I can tell, rather than an interview piece. I like how this article is laid out visually. Focuses on the process of creating and recording NLOTH, and includes some photos of the band working on the album. Also, eyeliner Bono. Dude absolutely dominates one of the pages.

Spin, Volume 4 Number 10, January 1989: A brooding and melancholic Bono on the cover. I enjoy the cover's visual and emotional drama, and its mythical quality definitely goes hand in hand with the corresponding article. After getting past three ads for a multitude of cigarette brands, including one with a pop-up fish holding up a supposedly irresistible offer for a pack of Salems, you'll find an article titled, "Hating U2," with the premise, "U2 set out to become the biggest band in the world. Now they're fighting to avoid being crushed by their own myth." The magazine's overall minimalistic look matches well with how U2 was publicly perceived at the time. Again, haven't read the article in depth, but I think it's the one I look forward to reading to most. Seems to deliver a considerate/compassionate and entertaining look at celebrity, and the tensions between fame and music making, all in relation to Rattle and Hum. Includes some photos that when viewed in the article's context, totally showcase a tension between the mythicism of celebrity and ordinary personhood. Three out of the four photos were new to me.

I'm sure digital versions exist for some of these articles already. I at least know you can find some past Rolling Stone articles and interviews online. But still, I think there's something to be said about the original physical versions with all the photos, design choices, and whatnot. As a younger person, I find these physical copies especially valuable, as they're like primary sources that allow me to better connect with a time I didn't get to live through personally.

I'll probably have lots more to say about each of these at some point in the future, but in the meantime, I'd be happy to post scans if anyone so desires!

[klonnieshippersclub]

if Bonnie had her own “Aunt Jenna” which Bennett witch would it be?

I've been inspired! You didn't ask for a fic concept but here it is.

Emily had always been watching her descendant. She looked after all her kin through the years. The older Salvatore was too caught up in his own self pity to truly honor their deal. It was unfortunate knowing that she was partially responsible for her descendant knowing a vampire's wrath. There were thousands of Bennetts. She couldn't just watch over Bonnie but the teen stole most of her attention with Sheila dying and tapping into her powers. Emily couldn't resist using the power of a hundred witches to resurrect herself along with Jeremy Gilbert. Bonnie needed guidance and Emily was happy to provide it.

To Bonnie, it was strange having Emily in her life. The elder Bennett was more like an older sister than a mother. Emily would agree that she lacked a lot of mothering experience. Sometimes at night she would cry that she missed her children and Bonnie would comfort her. Because of this closeness, Bonnie agrees to go with Emily to Salem to better her magical knowledge. Neither Bennett witch expected Klaus to show up with Stefan.

Klaus was very satisfied with having his best mate, Stefan, by his side but he still longed to create more of his kind. He believed the world needed more hybrids. All his attempts were unsuccessful. He knew he needed a witch. He made plans to steal away Bonnie from Mystic Falls but discovers that she is elsewhere with another Bennett. Two Bennett witches to replace Maddox and Greta? Perfect. In Salem, the Bennetts reject Klaus' offer and a fight ensues with Stefan compelled to assist Klaus.

Upon hearing Emily cry out in pain, Bonnie stops and agrees to go with Klaus. Emily was her family. She wouldn't allow Stefan to drain her dry. Unlike Damon and Elena who were going crazy trying to track Stefan, Emily had another plan. She needed reinforcements. She travels the country recruiting Bennett witches to rescue Bonnie. When they arrive to retrieve her, they find Bonnie in Klaus' lap and she doesn't want to be saved.

The romance between Klaus and Bonnie was not immediate. His seduction of her was slow, far slower than he would have liked. From the moment he saw her in Salem, Klaus knew that he wanted to taste Bonnie's blood, her skin, her lips more than anything. Despite being even younger than Greta, Bonnie was unimpressed by his charm. Their magic lessons were more productive as every brush of their hands caused Bonnie's heart to skip a beat. Between their shared love for art history and Klaus' whispers of worship, Bonnie fell hard for the hybrid. She just hoped Emily wouldn't be too mad.

[endofradio]

TRUE ECOLOGY — CHAPTER 2: SIGHTSEEING

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1

WARNINGS: n/a

NOTES: what would you do if you were salem and you were in a car with könig 🤨

SUMMARY: könig stops by salem’s suite for a bit of a chat. later that night, she returns after a nighttime walk, only for sabina to warn her about something. the next morning, könig takes salem on a car ride through the forest, which leads to an interesting discussion… and a proposed opportunity.

WORD COUNT: 2,650

TAGLIST: @trelaney @lokidoki9 @13th-floor-in-moonstone @spookyspecterino @fran-tau @kolcheksluver @actually-adambarrett @blackwolfstabs @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 @starryrevelations @samcrpnters (feel free to shoot me a message if you’d like to be added to my taglist!)

reblogs and comments are heavily appreciated. don’t be shy!

Salem stood by the window of her bedroom, gazing outside and taking in the bright and sunny view. She could hear birds chirping and found the scene relaxing. It was peaceful and mostly quiet, just the way she liked it.

She was then snapped out of her thoughts when she heard a knock on the door. Quickly, she turned around.

“Mom? Dad? Is that you? Come in.”

The door swung open, and König entered, still clad in his turtleneck and jacket from before. He adjusted his round-framed glasses and then spoke, offering a polite smile.

“Ah, not your parents. I hope you don’t mind.”

Salem was mildly surprised, but she wasn't complaining. “I wasn't expecting to see you here,” she said, crossing her arms. “How did you find me, anyway?”

König let out a lighthearted chuckle as he slowly stepped further into the room, his brown shoes quiet against the floor.

“Perhaps I have a sharpened sense of hearing.” He quipped with light sarcasm. “Did you forget I was...right there when you and Sabina were talking? I heard every word.”

Salem slowly nodded. “Ah… right.”

Something about König’s mannerisms gave her a sense of unease. The way he spoke was polite and gentle, but instead of making him seem approachable, it only made him intimidating. The way he walked and carried himself reminded Salem of a predator stalking its prey — his movements were slow and methodical. When König looked at her, he appeared to be studying her. Analyzing her. He was… mysterious.

Salem watched as König quietly wandered over to the window, his hands placed behind his back. He hummed quietly as he stared out the window, seemingly pondering. After a few moments, he turned his head to look at Salem, gently smiling again.

“Nature’s truly marvelous, don’t you think?”

Salem hummed in agreement. “Especially here.”

“Do you… have an eye for nature, perhaps?” König then asked. “I believe it’s a… quality trait.”

“Of course I do. I studied photography in college.”

König’s eyebrow was now raised in intrigue. “Ah, photography? Good choice, good choice indeed. Well, this place is perfect for you, then. I take it you’ve brought a camera with you?”

Salem nodded. “I plan on using it while I’m here. My camera’s like a… visual diary of sorts. Memories are important to me.”

“One day, you’ll have to show me some of the pictures that you’ve taken. I’m… intrigued.”

A smile started to tug at her lips. “Oh, of course. I’m… flattered that you’re interested.”

König chuckled. “Flattered?” He repeated. “Has nobody else seen your work?”

Salem’s smile then turned slightly sheepish, her eyes darting away from his for a moment, focusing on the floor instead.

“I don’t show my photos to a lot of people. When I do, they don’t really care.” She quietly explained. “College was the only time people seemed to care. My dad isn’t the most supportive of my passion for photography. He always says that… art won’t pay the bills.”

“Ah, but what does he know?” König then asked, stepping closer towards Salem. “You two are… different individuals… with different interests, after all.”

Salem nodded slowly, and for a few moments, they stood together in the room in silence, quietly observing the scenery outside the window. While standing there, König reached into the front pocket of his jacket, taking out a small, wooden instrument.

“What’s that?” Salem asked, tilting her head just a little.

Instead of answering her, König brought the instrument to his lips before carefully blowing into it, filling the room with a sharp, haunting sound. He held a note for just a few moments and then turned to look at Salem again, smiling.

“It’s a… wooden flute.” He answered. “Simple… yet lovely instrument. You can say that it’s… my way of talking to nature.”

Almost as if on cue, a particular type of bird call came from the distance — a shrieking call that was somewhat peculiar and alarming. Unfazed, König chuckled lightly.

“Such an ugly sound, isn’t it?” He asked. “That, my dear, is a shrike. Sometimes, they are referred to as… butcher birds.”

Salem’s brows furrowed in a slightly alarmed manner. “Sounds… morbid.” She commented.

“You’d be correct. They are… vicious little things. They appear small and innocent, yet they’ll impale their prey on thorns.”

König paused for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air before he spoke again.

“Sometimes, they’ll even kill other birds…”

He let out an amused chuckle at Salem’s expression of slight bewilderment. “Ah, but they aren’t monsters.” He continued. “Their… technique… it’s just a way of survival… adaptation.”

“You seem to know… quite a lot.”

König’s smile grew a little wider. “I have a background in it — ornithology. It’s the… study of birds.”

Salem slowly nodded. “Do you have a favorite kind of bird?” She then asked.

König hummed thoughtfully at her question. “I do, I do…” he quietly answered, before checking his watch. “I’ll tell you later, hm? Tomorrow, I can give you a little tour of the forest. We can chat then. Is that alright?”

Salem’s gaze curiously wandered over to König’s watch. “Mhm, that’s fine.” She replied. “You’ve got somewhere to be?”

The German man was silent for a few moments as if he was considering whether or not to answer Salem’s question. Eventually, he spoke.

“Indeed. I have to, let’s just say… pay somebody a little visit.”

“Ah.” Salem nodded. “Well… I hope it goes well.”

She watched as König turned around and made his way to the door. His hand hesitated momentarily before his fingers curled around the doorknob. He looked back at Salem, and their eyes met once again. Instead of speaking, he just flashed her a small smile before slowly opening the door and disappearing from the room.

When he was gone, Salem was standing alone in the room with much to think about.

“Hm… that should be good enough.”

After reviewing the photos she had taken, Salem repositioned her camera strap around her neck and drew in a deep breath of fresh air, taking in her surroundings. König was right, she thought. Resort Alpschatten truly was located amongst some gorgeous scenery. Sure enough, it proved to be useful for Salem’s pictures.

After turning around, she started heading back toward the resort. Maybe going into the forest alone wasn't a wise decision, but nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. It seemed relatively safe to Salem.

As Salem walked along the trail, she watched various bird species fly from tree to tree above her until she eventually caught sight of the resort. When she headed inside, she noticed that the lobby appeared to be mostly empty, with Sabina being the only other person there, seated at the reception desk.

“You know, you’re lucky you made it out alive.” She commented, raising an eyebrow at Salem. “What time is it?”

Confused as to why Sabina was asking the question, Salem glanced up at the clock. “Uh… almost ten o’clock?”

“Exactly.”

Salem narrowed her eyes. “What about it?”

Sabina leaned back in her chair, blowing a bubble of bubblegum. “Are you not aware of the rumors?” She asked, almost in a know-it-all tone of voice. “There’s a reason why this place closes at ten. Notice how the lobby is mostly desolate, except for us two?”

Salem slowly nodded. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well…” Sabina sighed, chewing the now-popped purple bubble. “Rumor has it that there’s a… serial killer who wanders around the forest at night. Some kind of woman who wears a trenchcoat and sunglasses.”

“That’s… strange.”

Sabina chuckled, leaning forward in her seat just a little. “Would you like to know what’s stranger?” She asked. “All the staff here acts like it’s just some kids playing a prank. I have enough reason to suspect that’s not the entire truth.”

Before Sabina could continue, a woman in a hospital gown suddenly entered the lobby, looking almost… dazed. Tired. Both Sabina and Salem turned to look at the sickly-looking woman as she hurriedly opened the refrigerator, grabbing a drink and guzzling it down as though she hadn’t drunk anything in days.

STORY CONTINUES BELOW THE GIF.

Sabina glanced back at Salem. “This is the kind of shit that happens at night.” She explained. “I’ve seen that woman before. Tried to ask her if she needed help, but… she wouldn’t answer me. I don’t think she can speak, actually.”

“She’s wearing a hospital gown.” Salem then observed. “What is she doing here?”

“There’s a hospital on the resort grounds,” Sabina answered. “I’m assuming she’s a patient.”

Salem slowly nodded, and then Sabina spoke up again.

“I’ve tried to convince König to allow me to not work night hours, but… he wouldn’t listen to me.”

The woman in the hospital gown finished the rest of the bottled drink, tossed it on the floor, and then left as quickly as she had entered.

“So, I’m just going to tell you this,” Sabina then said, her voice suddenly taking on more of a warning tone. “Whatever you do, don’t go outside late at night. Alone. I don’t know what’s going on around here, but I have a very bad feeling.”

“This serial killer… have you seen her before?” Salem then questioned, her tone a mixture of concern and skepticism.

Sabina shook her head. “No, I haven’t, but I’ve heard enough about her to believe she’s real.”

“What else have you heard about her?”

“Her way of killing her victims is… strange. They end up dying by choking on their vomit.”

“How does that happen? Does she… drug them? Poison them?”

Sabina shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that’s how her victims die.”

“That’s… odd.”

“Yeah, I know. Just… be careful, and you should be safe. I know the whole thing sounds ridiculous, but… better to be safe than sorry, right?”

Salem slowly nodded, not saying anything. Instead, she left the lobby, walking down to her suite. She tried to tell herself that Sabina was simply just believing some kind of urban legend, because that’s exactly what it sounded like.

Perhaps she’d have to investigate herself one of these nights and put her camera to good use.

The next morning, Salem was greeted by a gentle knock on her door. As she stood up, gently setting down the book she was reading, she remembered König’s words from yesterday.

That’s right. He said he’d give me a tour of the forest today.

When Salem went to open the door, König happened to be standing right there in the doorway, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Ah, good morning.” He spoke. “Slept well, I hope?”

Salem nodded. “Uh… yeah, I did.” She answered. “By the way, you… said that you’d give me a tour of the forest today. Is that why you’re here?”

König nodded. “Hm, you have a good memory.” He chuckled. “How about you follow me outside? I suggest bringing your camera.”

With those words, Salem grabbed her camera and followed him to the lobby. Once outside, they were greeted by the cacophonous sound of birds chirping and singing.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” König asked as he led Salem over to his car, opening the door for her. “The birds seem to agree.”

“It’s definitely beautiful.” Salem agreed as she climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Considering I’m not a morning person, that must say a lot, doesn’t it?”

König chuckled as he got inside the car. “Perhaps it’s because, until now, you’ve never experienced how truly beautiful a morning can be.”

As Salem sat down, the first thing that caught her eye was a small drawing of a bird. König’s car keys contained a similar drawing of what must’ve been the same bird as well.

“Is… that your favorite bird?” She asked, gesturing to the drawing in front of her.

König grinned at Salem’s question. “Smart girl. Do you… know it?”

Salem shook her head. “I don’t believe I’ve seen it before.”

STORY CONTINUES BELOW THE GIF.

“The common cuckoo.” König then explained, his gaze shifting from the drawing to Salem. “Common, but it’s behavior… isn’t. Its nature is… quite remarkable. Listen closely, and you might hear its call… right now.”

There was a moment of silence between the two, then suddenly, there was a faint “cuck-oo, cuck-oo.”

“Hear it?” König asked, his smile widening ever so slightly.

Salem nodded. “It sounds… familiar.”

“It’s a sound you’ve most likely heard before,” König said, before letting out a disappointed sigh as he stared off into the distance. “Humanity is a… terrible thing, truly, if you think about it. So many species have been destroyed… all because of humanity.”

He paused, allowing for his words to sink in.

“Am I… wrong?” He then asked.

Salem slowly shook her head. “No, you’re… right. I just wasn’t expecting such a… deep topic early in the morning.”

König hummed as his gaze switched to the steering wheel. “Some species need our help to survive and… reproduce.”

Then, he glanced back at Salem, his smile momentarily returning. “I’m a preservationist, you know.”

Salem watched as König twisted the ignition key, the engine coming to life. Then, he pulled out of the parking lot, making his way toward the forest.

The journey into the forest was fairly quiet at first, with the two sitting in the car in silence, Salem looking out the window as she watched rows of trees pass by.

“Tell me about your… photography.” König then spoke up, glancing at Salem for a brief moment. “What do you specifically like to capture? What’s your motivation?”

Salem continued to stare out the window, silently pondering the question. “I just… capture whatever I believe to be beautiful, whatever grabs my attention.” She then answered, before meeting König’s gaze momentarily. “I don’t follow a specific approach or anything. I just… do what works for me, depending on what I’m taking a picture of.”

König slowly nodded, humming in intrigue. “In your photos, is there a… common subject of sorts?”

Salem shrugged. “Not really. I’ve taken pictures of nature, cities, animals, people… pictures of… objects… sometimes I experiment with self-portraits.”

“Self-portraits, hm?” König quietly repeated. “You say you capture what you find to be beautiful. Does that mean that you… find yourself to be beautiful?”

At those words, Salem chuckled sheepishly. “It’s… not like that.” She explained. “Self-portraits are… something different for me. I mean, I suppose I’m trying to capture something with them, but it’s not beauty. Identity, maybe?”

“Fascinating.”

There was a pause before König spoke again.

“Ah, since you have your camera with you… I have a small request to make if that’s alright with you.”

Salem looked back at König, her interest now piqued. “Hm? What kind of request?”

“You mentioned you take pictures of people, correct?” He asked. “I’d be interested to see how you perceive me.”

“You… want me to take a picture of you?”

“Correct.”

The smallest of a smile formed on Salem’s face as she looked back out the car window. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

As König continued driving, Salem noticed what appeared to be a pink bungalow in the distance. Something about it seemed… eerie. It looked almost abandoned, and it didn’t help that it was located in a remote part of the forest, secluded from everything else.

“What’s that?” She quietly asked, watching as König stopped the car.

“Hm… that’s the Lover’s Nest, one of our many private bungalows here at the resort,” König replied. “It’s… quite popular amongst our couples, especially the newlyweds.”

Salem slowly nodded, narrowing her eyes. “It looks… abandoned.”

“It’s… much nicer on the inside, trust me. Otherwise, I highly doubt anybody would be using it.”

König looked around before opening the car door, stepping out into the forest, and gesturing for Salem to exit as well.

“Now, I think this would provide the perfect backdrop for a picture, don’t you think?”

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 28

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

9k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, suicide ideation, fighting and making up

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This is it, my dudes! The final chapter. No epilogue, because I don't think this story needs it. Thank you for all your comments, likes, and reblogs! Your support has kept me going. I'll post a masterlist directly.

28

Today’s volunteers had been abuzz with the news of Chief Jim Hopper’s miraculous return from the dead. The story was he’d uncovered a terrorist plot and worked with the government to thwart the radicals. Starcourt Mall had been the unfortunate backdrop of the confrontation.

It was also unfortunate a surviving radical had recognized Hopper. Since Hopper had been in danger, he’d been put in a protection program until the threat had been eliminated.

Rumor had it he’d been involved in defeating the rest of these radicals, who had something to do with Hawkins National Laboratory.

You didn’t bother to point out the specific government agency had been conveniently omitted. Same with the terrorist organization. Over sandwiches in the courtyard, Steve said Hawkins Lab had been closed for over a year when Starcourt’s fire occurred.

Nevertheless, while there had been casualties at Starcourt, they’d been few. Everyone considered Hopper a local hero.

A few volunteers discussed Eddie, too. They felt sorry for him and insisted they’d never believed those ugly rumors. Eddie was an orphan who’d been taken in by his uncle Wayne. Wasn’t that sad? Why, they’d known Wayne Munson for years! Wayne was an upright person. A veteran, too. There was no way he would’ve tolerated Devil-worship under his roof.

Those horrible classmates — bullies, really — must’ve targeted Eddie because he was different. Being different wasn’t a crime! Besides, Eddie had never hurt anyone. He performed at The Hideout with his little band all the time. One volunteer knew The Hideout’s owner, Cliff, who said Eddie was a good, if weird, kid.

You’d nodded and hummed in agreement while sorting donated home goods. There was no point in calling them hypocrites. Perhaps some of them weren’t. You wished you’d gone to that town hall meeting with your parents. Then you’d be able to pick out the liars.

On the way home in Steve’s car, Robin turned in the front seat to face you.

“You know, people want to be on the winning side. They like to think of themselves as smart enough to know who’s telling the truth.”

“But they were blinded by fear,” you said in agreement. “And looking for someone to blame.”

Steve said, “Like the pilgrims burning all the witches in Salem.”

You and Robin shared a look. He was close enough.

“Yup,” she said.

He appeared proud to have contributed to the conversation.

Robin rested her chin on her forearm.

“Eddie’s lucky you found him before anyone else.”

“Outside of the military, yeah, I guess.” You offered a bitter grin. “Who knows what they would’ve done to him if he’d survived Vecna.”

Though you don’t think he would have. Most likely, he would’ve dropped dead with the rest of the hivemind. If you hadn’t died from taking part of Vecna’s curse earlier, you might’ve shared that fate.

Steve said, “God, I’m so glad that fuckface’s dead.”

“Me too.”

“Me three,” Robin said with a grin.

Once at Steve’s, you three talked about dinner. Steve had pulled everything this morning to make a pan of baked ziti with roasted broccoli on the side. Robin made a disgusted face at the mention of a vegetable. You laughed at her scrunched nose and tongue poking out. Robin exclaimed eating broccoli was like eating green farts while Steve opened the front door.

Classical music played from the sunroom’s stereo system.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve said, projecting his voice as he tossed his keys into the bowl on the foyer table.

The music cut off, leaving a silence that felt as if you needed to pop your ears.

Robin kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket on an empty hanger in the closet. She reached for yours as Eddie jogged across the living room.

“Hey, good day?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he said to Steve, “I know this is a pain in the ass, but would you take me to my van? I want to do it before it gets dark. It’s on Coal Mill.”

“Dude, I gotta start dinner.”

Robin held up her hands when Eddie looked at her.

“No license. And the last time I tried to cook in that kitchen, I almost set everything on fire.”

Steve smirked.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah? Tell that to your smoke detector that wouldn’t shut up for fifteen minutes.”

You snorted to hide the pang at being Eddie’s last choice and shrugged your jacket back onto your shoulders.

“I guess that leaves me.”

With a pat to your pockets, confirming you had your wallet and keys, you left the house. Eddie bumbled out the front door a minute later, swinging on a navy sport coat that was a size too big. It clashed with his green track pants and untied blue sneakers.

You kept your comments to yourself as you unlocked your car and got behind the wheel. Eddie sat in the passenger seat as you started the engine. The stereo came to life. The Sisters of Mercy simmered through the speakers. You hit the power button, cutting them off.

Sounding amused, Eddie said, “I haven’t heard that in a while.”

“I was in the mood for them the other day.”

“You can turn it back on, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” You shifted the car into Drive. “How do I get to Coal Mill?”

“Uh, take a left. We’ll go the back way.”

You nodded and pulled onto the street. He tied his sneakers. At the first intersection, he directed you to go left. The evening sun’s golden light flickered between the trees. This far from the nexus, the woods appeared unaffected by the poisonous ash. You mentioned it. Eddie asked how downtown was faring.

You lifted a shoulder.

“It’s like a war zone and a natural disaster had a horrible, mangled baby.”

He laughed. “Vivid.”

“There’re construction crews all over, and the school gets dusty overnight. We have to cover everything with sheets before we leave. People sleep with masks on.”

“What a nightmare.”

You nodded as you passed the turnoff to Sattler’s Quarry.

After that, the road narrowed and twisted. Eddie navigated you through more intersections and over train tracks. You passed farmhouses with fields of growing corn and pastures for cattle. He had you take a road into the woods where squat houses sat close together.

The road dead-ended with Coal Mill Road T-ing into it. Behind the houses, sunlight reflected off rippling water. He advised you to park in the gravel at the side of the road; his van wasn’t far. You found a wide, flat section and stopped the car. The peaceful neighborhood didn’t seem the place to stash a van.

You then recognized the house reflected in the rearview mirror as the one from the broadcast identifying Eddie as a suspect. That had been a shitty day. Even for you.

Eddie opened the passenger door. You blinked out of the memory, unlatched your seatbelt, and got out of the car. He was quiet as you came to his side. His grim face had you reaching for his hand.

He stiffened at the touch.

You recoiled and looked away. Rather than the quiet hurt you expected, though you were hurt, this white-hot feeling spread through you. Your jaw locked and vision narrowed. Each inhale became deliberate. You wanted to claw at his pretty face.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

That pretty face became dismissive, and he stepped onto the road towards the woods.

Over his shoulder, he asked, “What do you mean, what’s my problem?”

“You’re…” You struggled to find a word as you followed, but the only one came. “Skittish. I don’t know.”

“I’m not skittish.”

A few yards down from your car, he separated two shrubs to reveal parallel tire ruts in the grass.

“You are!” You waved a hand at his back. “You are. You won’t sit next to me. You won’t touch me. Not that I expect you to be all over me, but you don’t reach for me.”

He stepped between the shrubs and held one back for you.

“I—”

“I take your hand, you flinch.” You tramped into the underbrush and onto a rut. “I sit next to you, you make sure there’s plenty of space between us. I make a move, and it’s always wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said, letting the shrub go.

“Really?”

He went to the other rut. You stopped to glare at him.

Did he not see the irony of maintaining four feet of distance?

“Really?”

“I…” He frowned, though he continued walking. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

“Eddie, you’ve had your dick in me.” You resumed walking. “And I’ve never pushed you away.”

In fact, you had only pushed him away when he’d been under Vecna’s control. When it was just the two of you, the thought never crossed your mind.

He sighed.

“I’ve needed space.”

“Then tell me that. I don’t want you to feel pressured.” That heat inside you vanished. “You’re not obligated to… to do anything.”

“No, it’s not that.” He stopped and glanced at you. “I haven’t felt like myself since…”

“Yeah.”

“No, not like— It’s like…” He sighed again, his face twisting up. “There’s this emptiness.”

What could you say to that? You wouldn’t diminish his experience by saying plenty of people felt that. His was different. It wasn’t anything one could ignore or fill. You remembered dissolving into silence, and how it had swallowed everything.

You said softly, “Like a hunger.”

He met your gaze. In the sepia light and dusty shade, his brown eyes appeared darker and more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them.

“I don’t want it to touch you.”

You shook your head.

“It’s not a stranger.”

He looked away, into the trees, chin quivering. The tip of his nose turned pink. You wanted to kiss it, kiss him, make it better somehow. You took a hesitant half-step to take his hand, at least, but he walked farther into the woods.

With a deep breath, you followed a couple paces behind. The ruts curved around a dead pine and disappeared behind a thicket. Eddie knelt at the far side of the pine to dig into the rust-colored needles. An old camouflage net covered his boxy van from roof to tires.

You pushed up your sleeves while circling the van.

As you came around, he said, “Look, I know you’re too smart to believe the shit Vecna said.” He pulled something from the needles. “But I want… I want you to hear it from me—”

“Eddie.” You shook your head again. “That’s—”

“No, let me get this out. Every shitty thing he said — I said — was a lie.” The metallic jingle of keys punctuated his statement. “I don’t believe any of it. I never thought it.”

While you didn’t doubt Eddie, there was a part of you that wondered if Vecna was right. You were privileged. Your parents could afford to send you to any college. They’d even set up a savings account for you. You didn’t have to worry about a part-time job. You had a car. You’d been protected from the banal cruelty in the world. You’d taken so much for granted over the years. On top of that, you were a witch.

He straightened and looked at you.

“I don’t know how to prove it. All I got is my word.”

“No, no, I believe you,” you said, holding up your hands.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“What?”

“You saved me, sweetheart.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Kinda feels like a blood debt.”

You grinned.

“Is that a real thing?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I don’t know, but, Eddie…” You drew closer to him. “You owe me nothing. You’ll never owe me.”

The keys rattled in his hand. His gaze darted away.

You continued, “I know what I did spooked you, but I did it because I love you. And it’s okay if you don’t…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence. It was hard to breathe or think or control the swelling sob in your chest. A tear rolled down your cheek, and you swiped it away.

Eddie’s head tilted in sympathy, lips thinning. He stepped near and offered his empty hand. It was the first time he’d done that in days.

Your vision prismed with fresh tears as you grasped his hand. The callused pads of his fingers scuffed against your skin. Your sob transformed into a long exhale.

“Vecna took you from me,” you said, and sniffed back the wet clog in your nose and wiped at your eyes. “I did it because you’re mine. Because he hurt us — hurt me.” You barked a laugh. “Now that I say it out loud, I hear how fucking selfish I am.”

You met his red-rimmed eyes. He shook his head like he couldn’t accept you were selfish. Regardless of his belief, you were, but you’d try not to be with him.

You whispered, “Even if we don’t stay together, you’ll never owe me. You’ll always be special to me.”

He tugged you near and put your palm on his sternum with his hand covering yours. His chest rose and fell because he’d pushed Vecna out, because you’d brought him back. That was something you’d never regret.

His voice was a hoarse whisper as he said, “I love you too, and you didn’t spook me. Don’t… don’t hide from me.”

As gently as you could, you said, “I’m not the one who’s been hiding.”

He stared at your stacked hands.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve been fucking up so goddamn bad.” He shook his head, his hair obscuring part of his face. “I hadn’t protected you. God, I actually hurt you. I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t even fucking graduate.”

If his last statement was an obstacle, you would’ve tripped over it.

He couldn’t graduate? That made no sense. Nothing was official yet, of course, but Dr. Owens hadn’t balked at the party’s insistence of all the seniors graduating. Had no one told him? Hadn’t it been mentioned in conversation?

“Wait,” you said, trying to remember if anyone had brought it up.

He watched you from under his bangs, eyes so fawn-like, a little furrow between his brows.

You said, “I thought Steve told you about the party’s demands.”

He angled his head.

“No…?”

“One was all the seniors graduating, regardless of standing.” You took hold of his coat’s lapel. “What did you have in O’Donnell’s?”

“A low D.”

“D’s passing.” You grinned. “You’re graduating, anyway, but you passed her class. That’s all you needed, right?”

His eyes went wide and lips parted as he nodded. You glanced at his full bottom lip while scraping your own between your teeth. You hadn’t kissed him in ages.

You stepped closer and slid your hand from his lapel.

“Congratulations,” you said before rising and pressing your lips to his.

He gasped. His lips dragged against yours. Then he jolted, pulling away.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why would you hurt me?”

His gaze slithered from your lips to your neck to the neckline of your shirt in an invisible touch.

“What if I lose control?”

You studied his worried face in the dimming light.

“Is it the emptiness?” you asked.

He nodded, casting his gaze to the side.

You remembered how predatory Eddie had looked with the MP’s blood on his chin. That hadn’t been Eddie. Not entirely. That had been the hivemind of bloodthirsty carnivores.

“Is it…” You didn’t know how to be tactful with this. “Do you want my blood?”

His tongue worked in his mouth, licking his canine, before he said, “I don’t know.”

You cradled his jaw over the scar and eased his head forward. His focus remained to the side.

“Please, look at me.”

His irises swung to meet yours. A flicker of sunlight illuminated them cinnamon sweet. His dark lashes fluttered as he blinked.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me,” you said. “But if you want to try—”

His posture went rigid as he shook his head. His hand pressed yours tighter to his chest.

“No.”

You pressed on.

“If you want to try my blood, I’ll let you.” You grazed the corner of his mouth with your thumb. “I’m not scared.”

He closed his eyes, mouth pinching and brows furrowing.

“Honey, don’t be scared.” You stroked his cheek to his clenched jaw. “It’s just me and you here.”

“Yeah, it’s just me and you.”

You sighed.

“What, you think you can kill me? You think I’d let you? You think I don’t know my limits?”

He opened his eyes, which blazed with anger and frustration and panic.

“What if I don’t know mine anymore, huh?”

Gritting your teeth, you said, “Then we’ll discover them together.”

With your hand on his chest, you pushed him towards the van. He bumbled backwards, dropping the keys. His back collided with a dull clunk. You slid your hand from his chest to the van, boxing him in, and pressed your front along his.

“Fucking trust me.”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

He nodded, throat bobbing with a swallow.

“Are you sure?”

Again, he nodded.

You closed the distance with a hand on his nape. He angled his head, lips moving counter to yours. The kiss stole your breath and thought. You ravaged, biting his bottom lip. His hands cupped your ass and drew you against him. He plundered, groaning as your tongues slid over each other.

Teeth scraped your lip, yet it didn’t frighten you. Let them break skin. You didn’t care.

Trembling hands snuck under your shirt. He pulled at your waist, making your back arch. You mewled into the kiss and plunged your fingers into his messy hair. His tentative palms skimmed up your back.

You shivered as your nipples pebbled.

You broke the kiss to whisper, “Touch me. It’s okay. I trust you.”

His eyes gleamed as he drew his swollen bottom lip between his teeth. He spread his feet and maneuvered you between his knees. The firm mound of his erection pressed into your belly. He trailed his hands down to your ass. His fingers met at the central seam of your jeans.

“You’re so hot here.”

“Because of you.”

He caught your lips in another kiss. You gripped his hair as the woods went fuzzy. His hands, more confident, skated up your ass, under your shirt, and up your sides. Cool air swept over your skin. You inhaled as he found the band of your unsexy bra. The earlier work at the school hardly warranted anything fancy.

Eddie didn’t seem to mind. A hungry noise came from his chest as he fondled the underside of your breasts through the bra. He sucked on your bottom lip, and the sensation flowed through you like water. Your nipples tightened further. Your cunt clenched.

“God, you’re so soft.”

You caressed the warm skin at his nape, saying, “I’ve missed you.”

Without waiting for a response, you kissed him. His fingers dragged across your breasts until he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and sides of his palms.

You gasped at the wicked frisson, angled your face up to catch your breath, and writhed. You pressed your hips to his, the thick seam of your jeans rasped between your legs. He rocked his erection against you. New heat zinged down to your toes.

Voice husky, he said, “Fuck, I missed you, too.”

He kissed the side of your neck. Each kiss became more open-mouthed. His tongue moved as if he tasted more than your skin. He pulled his sharp teeth across the big tendon in your neck, like he was teasing you both. The threat of a bite had your heart beating double-time and eyes rolling back.

He pinched your nipples harder, making your lower body squirm from the ache. You kept your chest and neck still as you waited to feel what he’d do. He groaned and mouthed his way to the artery under your jaw. He sucked hard at the skin there, mouth scalding. You gasped at the delicious pain.

“Jesus,” he said between pants against the sore spot.

As his saliva cooled on your skin, you swooped down to kiss him once more. His tongue slid over yours as his hands left your breasts. You held his head in place by the hair, losing yourself to the decadent back and forth.

He folded his arms around you when you held his smooth cheek. There was no panic here. There were no monsters. It was only you and him, sharing breath and touch.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

“Good.”

You stroked his cheekbone.

“That’s all that matters.”

“I didn’t… freak you out there?”

“By giving me a hickey?” You smiled with a chuckle. “No.” You brushed your lips against his. “I like wearing your mark.”

His cheeks pinked further. He made a happy sound and buried his face in your neck once more.

“Gonna give me another one, baby?”

Muffled against your skin, he said, “I might.”

Tightening your hold in his hair, you pulled his head back. He looked at you with hazy eyes. His red lips parted, breaths shallow.

“Gorgeous,” you said.

His gaze drifted to the side. He wanted to shy away, but you wouldn’t have it.

“You act like I haven’t seen you, but I have.” You traced the scar on his jaw. “And nothing’s changed for me.”

He met your eyes, his own bright with conviction.

“Me neither, I swear, milady.”

You smiled at the endearment you hadn’t heard in too long.

“Then no more hot-and-cold, good sir.”

He nodded as much as he could.

“I’m with you.”

“No half-assed crap, either. I mean it, Eddie,” you said, relinquishing your grip on his hair and lacing your fingers behind his neck.

His spine straightened as if coming to attention.

“Whole-ass-ing it from here on out.”

“Good, I like your ass.”

“I like yours, too.”

His eyes lit with mischief, reminding you of the Eddie you’d first met. The one who quoted the Scorpions during roll call, who always answered the phone, who howled during concerts.

A hand gripped the underside of your ass-cheek and gave it a squeeze. It put to mind him holding you against the cold wall behind The Hideout and fucking you with hungry desperation. You wanted that with him.

“Wanna go home and prove it?” you asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

He gave you a toothy grin.

“Absolutely.”

He didn’t release you, nor you him, despite the blue of the sky having faded to ginger and blushing violet. Rose-gold sunlight graced the tree tops. Once gentle shadows were now hard-edged and inky.

You liked the heat radiating from under his thin t-shirt and all the evidence he was alive. He’d survived. You had as well. He must’ve had a similar idea, because he surveyed you with loving eyes.

You swayed.

“Let’s go, Muffin Man.”

He groaned and let his head flop back.

“I swear to God, that’s adorable when we were high, but you cannot say that in front of our friends.”

“Not even—”

His head shot up.

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” you said with an exaggerated pout.

“Oh, well, please continue, sweet lady.”

“I was going to say, not even—” You imitated his dramatics as you said, “The Muffin of Demonic Charm!?”

He laughed. “I only like the ‘muff’ part of that.”

You backed away with a giggle, sticking out your tongue. His hands went to the sides of his head, pointer fingers out, and stuck his tongue out at you.

You said, “You won’t get any part of that out here.”

He fluttered the tip of his tongue.

“Tempting, but no.”

He spread the sport coat and posed like a centerfold to entice, hip canting to the side and his chest arched.

“Oh, if only I had a camera, baby.” You found the forgotten keys amongst the pine needles and dead leaves. “You’d make Goodwill a lot of money in their annual calendar,” you said and tossed the keys at him.

He straightened to catch them, juggling them to his chest.

“I’ll have you know—” He swept his empty hand down his body. “—all of this is House of Harrington.”

“How chic.”

“Very exclusive.” He pointed to the corner of the van for you to help gather the netting. “Not just anyone can say they’ve worn Steve Harrington’s tighty whities.”

You laughed and lifted the corner of the netting.

Together, you uncovered the van. Eddie gathered the netting and kicked it under the thicket before going to the passenger door to open it for you.

“I’ll drop you off at your car.”

You thanked him and climbed into the stuffy van. The scent of old smoke, warmed plastic, and upholstery seasoned with boy invaded your nose. You rolled the window down halfway after he closed the door.

With a glance at the vacant back, you thought of Corroded Coffin’s equipment there. You’d seen little of Jeff, Gareth, or Dougie at school. You hadn’t asked Eddie if they still played at The Hideout. You hadn’t asked him about a lot of things. There was so much you’d missed since New Year’s.

Eddie opened the driver-side door and hopped in. He made a face, then rolled down his window.

He turned all the air-system controls off, saying, “Cross your fingers she’ll cooperate.”

He shoved the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered and whined and chugged until something aligned, and it roared to life. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, throwing you a laugh.

You smiled back and fastened your seatbelt.

He shifted into Reverse and maneuvered away from the thicket. The tires spun in the layer of pine needles and budding grass before finding traction. The van lurched forward. You hung onto the seatbelt and prayed the van wouldn’t get stuck. It was too old for off-roading. He steered onto the ruts, tires kicking up dirt as they bit into the earth.

Your prayers were unnecessary or maybe something out there listened to you, because a minute later the van was on the pavement and next to your car.

“Your noble steed, milady.”

With a smirk, you said, “I thought that was you, stud.”

He leaned in, eyes sparking.

“I’m at your beck and call.”

You bent close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

“Get me home, sir, and I’ll show my appreciation for your fealty.”

His eyes darted to your lips.

“I can do that.”

Tilting your head as if to kiss him, you said, “I know you can,” and moved away to unfasten your seatbelt.

His head drooped.

He looked at you when you opened the door, expression amused.

You said, “Don’t go too fast, honey, wouldn’t want to get pulled over.”

“Depends on who’s doing the pulling over, sweetheart.”

You smiled, shaking your head at the cheesy line, and left the van. His attention stayed on you as you crossed to your car, like fingers trailing down your spine.

Once in the car, you made a U-turn and followed him to Steve’s. Eddie was something of a lead-foot, but you could keep up easily. He parked in front of the garage at Steve’s. You stopped next to him and locked up.

He met you at your trunk and offered his elbow.

“Not too fast for you?”

You snaked your arm around his bicep.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He hummed in agreement as he walked with you to the front door.

“Um, I know this is out of left field,” you said, “but I thought about the rest of the band. I hadn’t seen them at school, except in the hallways sometimes. Like, I don’t share any classes with Jeff or Dougie.”

“Last time I saw them was during the last Hellfire meeting.”

“Maybe you should call them? Now that your name’s cleared, it’s safe for all of you.”

“I don’t know…”

“They’re probably worried about you.” You squeezed his arm. “And unlike me, they can’t use magic to track down your ass.”

He bobbed his head once.

“I’ll call them tomorrow.”

“Good.”

You stopped him before he could make his way to the front door. He turned to you, gaze searching.

The blue hour painted him in shades of purple. Warm light from the porch sconces and nearby kitchen window caught in the waves of his hair. He was a fallen angel, halo stripped yet seraphic nature undeniable.

That felt like a line from someone more imaginative. You were no poet, though you wished you were.

Softly, he asked, “What is it?”

You shook off the thought and grinned.

“Nothing, I just… I just like you like this.”

He glanced at himself before giving you a wry look.

“In borrowed clothes with dirty hands?”

“No, butthead.” You jostled him by the arm. “I like you here — with me.”

That wry look disappeared. His eyes rounded, earnest and affectionate. He drew you in with a gentle hand on your nape and kissed you. His lips were tender on yours in silent relief, as though you’d surprised him. While he’d withdrawn after Vecna’s defeat, and you’d been uncertain about a future with him, you still loved him. That had never changed.

You threw yourself into the kiss, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Blood rushed through your veins. Your cheeks burned as the kiss deepened. His other hand clutched your hip to guide you against him.

It was easy to lose yourself with him. It was easy to love him, and he made it easy to let yourself be loved.

He cradled the back of your head like you were priceless. He held you like he couldn’t get close enough. The mark on your neck was a brand of sweet possession.

At an inevitable pause, you said, “Let’s go inside.”

“I can’t sit through dinner.” With a small shake of his head, he said, “I can’t wait.”

“Then we won’t. We’ll go straight to your room.”

“What about…?” He gave you a meaningful look. “Condoms?”

“I got it covered.”

“Sounds like I’ll be saying that later.”

You laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder. He looked pleased with himself and trotted to the front door. Hand on the doorknob, he glanced back to make sure you were behind him.

You whispered, “Wait,” and drew energy up your body. It had been so long since you’d obfuscated your presence to sneak around, you’d nearly forgotten it as an option. You laced your fingers with Eddie’s, including him in the silent bubble you created.

“Keep close and avoid making too much noise.”

He nodded before easing the door open.

A top-40s station played on the radio in the sunroom. Robin and Steve’s voices floated from the kitchen. They remained out of sight even after you gently shut the door.

You directed Eddie to the stairs and remained a tread behind him as you both climbed. Once on the second floor, you ushered him to his room. He left the door ajar and lights off. You padded to your room, pocketed the couple of condom packets you’d stolen days ago from Steve’s nightstand, and slunk to Eddie’s room.

He sat at the head of the bed, blanket hiding his lower half with his t-shirt covering the upper. You closed the door and locked it. By the meager light coming through the window, you found the nearest lamp and clicked it on.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, sure, fine, why?”

The sport coat and track pants draped across the armchair. The sneakers and socks lay jumbled by the bathroom door.

“Just asking.”

You crossed the room and set the condom packets on the nightstand at Eddie’s side. He remained motionless, hands hidden in the rumpled sheets. You perched at the edge of the bed while he stared at the condoms.

Something was off. He should be flirting or reaching for you. What had happened between kissing you, saying he couldn’t wait to be with you, and now? Most guys would be naked and panting like a dog for sex.

With a minute shrug, you said, “If you don’t want to…”

“No! No, I do. Trust me, I do.”

“But…?”

He exhaled.

“I don’t… You should know, I don’t look the same.”

“I’ve seen you in only a towel. I’m aware of what you look like.”

“That’s not up close and personal.”

“You think I’m going to run screaming from some scars?”

He said, “Look, baby, I’m a horror show under this,” and plucked at the t-shirt.

You let out an exasperated sound. “Are you trying to push me away? Again?”

“No—”

“Do you not want me?”

“Oh my god, I want you.” He scooted to you and cupped your face. “I’ve wanted you for weeks. Months!”

“Well, me too!” You held one of his wrists. “Anything you got under there is gonna work for me, okay?”

He scanned your face, gaze roaming from your eyes to your lips and back.

The protective blessing you’d placed in his handkerchief had failed you — and him. Your magic had been nothing compared to Vecna’s power. Eddie had pushed out the hivemind on his own. He was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for.

Through a constricted throat, you said, “Your blood soaked through your clothes.” Your eyes pricked with tears. “You di-died in front of me.”

Eddie leaned in, crushing your lips together. You forgot about tears and the feel of his blood thick between your fingers. He tilted your head. His lips, puffy and slick, glided across yours.

“I’m here,” he said, and kissed you again. “I’m right here.”

You kissed him in reply, letting your greed and relief guide you.

You shimmied your jacket off your shoulders. His hands went to your arms to help tug it off. You grinned into the kiss when the fabric caught on your forearms. He huffed, amused, before yanking at the sleeves. You shook your arms free and flung the jacket.

Planting a knee on the bed, you crowded him back onto the pillows. He put his hands at your waist and pulled you onto him. You straddled his hips, the linens bunching between you.

He hauled you up his body to tuck his face against your throat. He mouthed and bit at your neck, all hesitation thrown to the side. You encouraged him with a whimper and fingers gripping his hair. His soft lips left a fiery line as his hands grabbed your ass.

You arched your back. Your ribs pumped with every rapid breath.

“Wanna eat you alive,” he said. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

“Want you, too.”

Teeth scraped under your jaw, catching on the sore hickey there. You gasped, yet refused to shy away. Let him bite and draw blood. Let it hurt. You could heal yourself.

With a groan, he dug his teeth midway down your neck. The sting made your spine melt. His palms slid up your back, taking your shirt with them. Then he sucked, and you felt it between your legs.

You ground against him — as much as you could through the layers of fabric. You needed to feel his heat, taste his skin and scars. Because he was alive, and you were in his bed.

When he released your skin, sensation beyond pain, beyond heat, bloomed through your neck. It rang in your ears, fisted a groan from your lungs, stole your strength. He folded his rangy arms around you and grazed his lips over the spit-wet spot.

You closed your eyes with a hum.

He kissed you from jaw to cheek. He even kissed your chin. You curled to catch his lips in a languid kiss. It went aggressive in a handful of seconds. You couldn’t tell who set it in motion, but you’d follow it through with sucking on the tip of his tongue and biting his lip. He shivered and squirmed and held onto your waist.

You broke the kiss to leave him reeling.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He nodded, eyes half-closed.

“Then let me take care of what’s mine.”

Again, he nodded.

You directed Eddie’s hands to the pillow, letting your fingertips linger on the silky insides of his forearms. His t-shirt sleeves slipped up to expose scarring on his upper arms. You pressed your lips to the delicate scar tissue.

He inhaled sharply.

You whispered, “It’s okay.”

He closed his eyes with a brief nod.

You kissed the scar on his jaw and the faint one at the side of his neck. He angled his chin to expose himself. In reward, you kissed his lips. His muscles unspooled. You brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones.

“I got you.”

“I know.”

You wiggled down his torso and sat up. Oh-so slowly, you skimmed your hands under his t-shirt to his sides. The jagged edge of a bigger patch on his torso peeked from under the t-shirt’s hem. The uneven texture of the scars didn’t feel ugly or rough. They were interesting, and you wanted to see them.

He clapped his hands over yours.

You met his uneasy gaze and waited, keeping your expression open. While you could offer platitudes or compliments, they’d ring hollow. He knew how you felt and how you viewed him. It was only a matter of time for him to gain confidence — or at least trust you.

His hold relaxed, then gradually drifted away.

You followed the taper of his torso until you held his undulating ribs. With the t-shirt bunched at his pecs, you could assess the havoc the bats had wrought. Beyond the patch on his lower torso was a line of bites and healed sutures on his left. A wedge of pink scar tissue defaced the right side of his ribs. Between the larger patches were claw and teeth marks.

You traced them with a light touch before looking at his face. His teeth dug into his lip as his gaze jumped from between your bodies to the side to your face and back again.

“So, this is the horror show you promised?” you asked with a playful look.

He frowned, mouth opening.

Before he spoke, you asked, “Can you feel my touch?”

He wet his lips and nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

“You don’t—”

“No, I don’t whatever. I’m not grossed out.”

To prove your point, you bent to kiss the bite mark on his sternum. The satiny, pitted skin wasn’t disgusting. It was just skin — that smelled like him. You nudged the t-shirt higher to get at his left nipple. You teased it with your tongue, and he stilled. You pinched it between your teeth, and he arched against your lips. You soothed the tiny hurt with a kiss, and he gasped.

You inched the t-shirt higher until you propelled his arms up. He took over and snatched the t-shirt over his head. He dropped it beside the bed as you caressed his chest.

Only fragments of his demon-head and black-widow tattoos were visible around a darker scar. You followed the scar’s border with your fingers and pouted at the loss of the tattoos. Not because they were the most beautiful you’d ever seen, but because they’d been Eddie’s.

“You can have these redone.”

“Nah, I’d rather get a cover-up.”

You smiled before bending to pepper kisses on the scar.

“That’s going to be a big cover-up, honey.” You kissed your way from the scar to the dip of his throat. “Maybe I can hold your hand through it.”

He tilted his head back with a soft groan. You angled his chin to the side and sucked at the hot skin of his neck, giving him a faint hickey. You kissed your way up to his ear and sucked on the lobe.

With a near growl, he said, “God, I can’t—” and pulled you into a burning kiss.

You opened for him as he teased your tongue with his own. He kissed your hot cheeks and your forehead. His hands surged down your sides, then under your shirt. You straightened onto your knees and stripped off your shirt and bra. Your nipples puckered in the cooler air.

His hips jerked as his hands gripped your hips. He stared at your chest and licked his lips.

Instead of asking if he wanted to touch, because that seemed obvious, you bent and guided his hands to your breasts. You encouraged him to support them, squeeze them, while you watched his flushed face.

He circled your nipples with his thumbs, his touch graceful yet electrifying. A feeling like goosebumps trickled through your gut and had your thighs tensing. You curved into his caress in encouragement. Your underwear’s saturated cotton grazed your pussy, and you wished it was his cock.

Eddie held your ribs and rose to bury his face between your breasts. He mouthed at the valley between them and kissed the beginning swells. You held the back of his head. He sucked at one nipple, then the other. That goosebump feeling intensified until you were a quivering mess.

He undid your jeans, and your eyes popped open. He looked at you through his pretty lashes. There was a voracity in his dark gaze that said only you could slake his need — and you wanted to be the only one to do it, too.

“This okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Y-yeah.”

With no hesitation, his hand slithered between your stomach and underwear. It burned a line down the curve of your belly through your pubic hair. His middle and ring fingers glided between your wet folds. You gripped his shoulders, hard muscle moved under his skin.

The first long stroke to your clit had your nails digging into his skin and sucking air between your teeth. You couldn’t stop the tiny sound you made. He nibbled at your collarbone, teeth scraped your skin. You leaned your weight against him as your watery legs trembled. His free arm held you upright by the waist.

Rather than circle your clit, he kept stroking. The first wash of pleasure fueled you to move your hips counter to his fingers. His calluses pulled at the hood of your clit, then drove it down. He pressed harder, sparking a sensation deeper than your clit.

Your focus narrowed to your rising orgasm and the thought of his cock pumping deep inside your juicy cunt. You wanted to feel his strong hands restraining you, his sweat-slick skin on yours, and his lush mouth between your legs.

An animalistic keen left your throat at the jumble of images. Your heart hammered in your ears. You rode that knife-edge of climax. It was right there.

“C’mon, baby, fuck those fingers.”

You moaned, doing as he ordered, until ecstasy forced its way through you — so hard, so deep. The internal throb of it stole your strength as it went on and on. You crumbled, putting more of your weight on him. He held you without protest.

“Can feel it,” he said, petting your oversensitive clit.

You writhed in his arms and begged for something you couldn’t put words to. He kissed your throat as he lay still pressure on your clit. Your cunt pulsed strong enough that your hips moved of their own volition.

After a moment, he pulled his hand from your underwear and brought his fingers to his mouth. You sat on his thighs to watch him suck at his wet fingers. He hummed in satisfaction. Your cunt pulsed one last time, as though it hadn’t had enough.

Maybe it hadn’t.

He met your gaze and offered his flushed lips for a kiss. You cradled the back of his head and kissed him with unexpected fervor. You tasted the tang of your own come on his tongue. He held your face, sticky fingers on your cheek, and pushed into the kiss. You sucked your flavor off his bottom lip, pulling a moan from his chest.

“Take the rest off,” he said, falling onto his back.

“You too.”

He smirked.

“Not much more to go.”

You let your eyes track from his chest to the wrinkled lump of blanket covering his groin. Despite knowing, intimately, what was underneath, getting him naked continued to be a thrill.

“Good.”

He blushed, and his smirk softened.

You climbed off him to sit at the edge of the bed. You untied your Docs and wrenched them off. Your socks followed. Eddie kicked the blanket away. While he wiggled out of his briefs, you hooked your thumbs in your underwear and jeans, rising enough from the bed to slide them down your hips and off your legs.

You pivoted on a hip to find him reaching for a condom. His eyes went wide with a question. Or like you’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t. You bent a leg on the bed and plucked a condom from the pile before he could.

“You know,” you said, holding the condom like a cigarette between your fingers. “I think I need to get on the pill.” You got on all fours. “Or get an IUD, or something.”

Sounding on tenterhooks, he asked, “Why’s that?”

You crawled between his legs. He spread his thighs to make room for you.

“So I can have you raw.”

He let out a breath, cheeks reddening further, and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. A thick bead of precome pearled at its slit.

“Would you like that, honey?”

“Shit, you know I would.”

You gave him a playful wink before hunching to lick the tip of his cock. He groaned through a smile, squeezing his cock. You savored the salty taste of him.

You tapped at the back of his hand.

“Let go.”

“I swear, I’m gonna blow in, like, ten seconds flat.”

You sat on your calves with a self-satisfied shrug. He needed to feel as good as he’d made you feel. If that happened quickly, that was fine with you because—

“We got all night,” you said, and tore open the condom packet.

He still hadn’t released his hold.

“Eddie, honey, let go.”

“Just—” He swallowed. “Get it halfway down first.”

You pulled out the lubed condom and discarded the wrapper. He bit his lip, looking as though you were about to perform surgery on him. Keeping your touch light and at the minimum, you pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it over his shaft until it met his fingers.

He shuddered with eyes closed and a crease between his brows.

You said, “Let go.”

He exhaled and thumped his fists to the bed. You wasted no time in rolling the condom the rest of the way down. He panted and keened. His cock twitched in your hand, but you wiped your palms on the sheets before he could embarrass himself.

With a gentle shush, you caressed his hips and ran your thumbs in the shallow groove of muscle on either side. You kept at it until his breathing slowed and tense thighs relaxed.

You maneuvered your knees on either side of him and balanced yourself with a hand on his chest.

“Ready?”

When he nodded, you reached between your bodies to brace his erection. You were so ready, so wet, for this. Even the feeling of the condom didn’t turn you off. You found your hole and eased onto his thick cock, inch by slick inch.

Once you settled, you had to give yourself a moment. You sat with hands on your thighs while you adjusted to the fullness. He felt perfect and delicious. You looked at Eddie to see him watching you, bottom lip between his teeth and fingers digging into the mattress. Emotion filled his bright eyes.

You wanted to soothe him, but if you moved, it would set off a chain reaction he’d been trying to suppress.

“Don’t think.”

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Trying not to.”

If you didn’t take the initiative, he would torture himself for the rest of the evening. You rotated your pelvis. The simple movement made you gasp. It had been so long, and you were so eager for this with him. Under you, he choked on a desperate sound.

“I can’t wait to feel you without any barriers,” you said, rotating your pelvis again. “Feel you come deep inside me.”

He grabbed your hips to propel your movements.

“I’ll fill you up,” he said.

You planted your hands on his chest with a groan and rode him like he wanted you to. You rose only to sink down a second later, never letting him slip out. His hands glided up your sides. With a hum, you encouraged him to touch you — touch you anywhere, everywhere. You couldn’t get enough of his cock, of his nimble hands, of his body tight against yours.

Your need ramped to a boiling fever, some thrilling sickness. You bent to kiss him, sucking on his lip and tongue, as you rolled your hips in a frantic rhythm. Your skin slapped against his, but it wasn’t enough. You hid your face in his shoulder and whimpered when you found no relief.

His arms looped across your back, as if you’d try to escape. Like you could get away from this desire.

You stilled in time for him to roll to the side and on top of you. He pushed his cock deep. You mewled, your thighs stretched around his hips.

His gaze roved over your features.

“I’m gonna fill your sweet pussy.”

You nodded.

He said, “I’ll make you come.”

You closed your eyes as you imagined it. Hands all over you, gripping you, going between your legs, holding you steady as he worked your body. Your cunt clenched at the image.

“Because you’re mine, too.”

You nodded once more.

He adjusted his stance, knees dipping into the mattress. He grasped one of your shoulders as you held onto his arms with shaking hands.

“Look at me and tell me you love me.”

You stared into his eyes. It was all written out there for you to see: no denial, no hiding, and no more doubt.

“I love you.”

He caught your lips and kissed you so thoroughly you forgot anything beyond him. His hold tightened. His hips minutely rocked. His heavy cock kindled that heat hidden inside.

You moaned against his lips and pulled at him. He needed to move. You’d been wanting him for what felt like years. You’d both gone through hell, seen oblivion, and returned to each other’s side. You needed him to move — now.

He buried his face in your neck, lips against the marks he’d left. The rocking of his hips descended into grinding, then full-out thrusting. He fucked you hard. His cock dragged at the underside of your aching clit. The bed springs whined every time he bottomed out.

You couldn’t catch your breath as his thrusts became desperate. He yanked at your hair to bare your throat. His long hair — that smelled of your shampoo — veiled your humid face.

He kissed his marks and murmured something you couldn’t make out. You agreed anyway. He groaned in reply, driving you down while he thrust up. The sheets stuck to the sweat on your back. His hips snapped forward over and over, his cock ramming deep. You tried your best to move with him, but he was too fast.

Then you couldn’t move at all. Your belly quivered and your thighs tensed. His cock was too much. You strained against him, with him, until that fever broke. You shook in his arms. Your jaw clenched. Orgasm burned through you like a geyser. It sizzled up your spine. You couldn’t catch your breath. Hot tears trickled over your temples in rapturous agony.

Eddie fucked you through it, holding you tight. Your cunt throbbed and clamped around his pistoning length. He cursed in needy growls until he seized, breathless. His voice cracked. His thrusts slowed, yet remained fierce, as his cock pulsed with each thrust.

He stuttered a jumble of cut-off thoughts, all of them flattering and loving. You grinned and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging his sides with your thighs. He mouthed at your neck lazily.

After a tranquil moment, he kissed you, gentle yet demanding. You felt him — every bit of him. His lips tasted of salt. His hands sheltered and cradled. His gaze warmed you. You could only respond in kind. He melted as you smoothed his hair away from his flushed, glowing face.

He kissed you one more time before steadying the condom and slipping out of you.

You relaxed, allowing your tired limbs to sink to the bed. He rolled to the side and dropped the condom on the heap of his dirty clothes. You wrinkled your nose, but didn’t comment. He flopped beside you and pillowed his head on a bent arm. The heating system kicked on. Your sweat cooled as you contemplated getting out of bed. Instead, you tucked your feet between the folds of the blanket.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie said.

You hummed in acknowledgement and glanced at him.

“I was thinking, and you might not be into this, but you want to go to LA? With me?”

You stared at the ceiling.

Los Angeles: broken glass glittering in gutters, live music every night, fluttering neon, cars with their tops down, a bland apartment with a mattress on the floor, your feet warmed by sunshine as you read the newspaper’s entertainment section, Eddie writing songs at the kitchen table.

A smile spread across your face.

“Hell yeah.”