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tightjeansjavi · 2 years ago

Text

Tongue Tied

Joel Miller x f!reader

NSFW 🔞

A/N: I came up with this idea at work 😵‍💫 this one specifically is for @chaotic-mystery you’re welcome bby! This can be read as a stand-alone piece or a blurb/one-shot for ‘Burning in a Hopeless Dream’

Summary: a game of spin the bottle ends exactly how you imagine it to; you and Joel, a headboard banging, and tongues tied.

~word count : 4.2k~

Warnings: possessive! joel, jealous! joel, a lil feral and horny! joel, established relationship, swearing, tension, mentions of alcohol, smut, filth, consent, teasing, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap that willy) oral (f receiving) a huge fucking praise kink, nicknames, cock warming, like just a whole lot of filth. Y’all get the warnings. (+18) minors dni !

Songs used:

“Small Talk” by Niall Horan

“Tonight you are Mine” by The Technicolors

“Dirty Love” by Mt. Joy

“Talk” by Hozier

It was Joel’s brilliant idea to throw you a ‘we’re so glad the knife didn’t go too deep!’ Party.

For some context, just two months ago, you were stabbed by one of Robert’s henchmen. You nearly bled out on Joel and Tess’s kitchen table. Joel was at your side the entire time you were recovering and now that you fully healed, what better way to celebrate than with a little dark humor, real fucking booze, and good company.

Tess had brought her friend Bea over and you already had your sneaking suspicion that they were an item already. Or, at the very least, they were 1000% fucking. Joel was a little slow with these sorts of things but you knew in time, he would figure it out. Regardless, you were happy for Tess and your friendship was seemingly coming full circle. Hell had certainly freezed over at that point. You, and Tess? Friends? Who would have ever thought that was even fucking possible. I guess you almost bleeding to death on the kitchen table was enough for her to finally end the quarrel between you two.

“Where in the hell did you manage to find some real fucking whiskey Tess?”

You were sitting across Joel’s lap on the couch. His arm was loosely wrapped around your waist, his fingers lightly holding onto the side of your hip where the soft skin there met your thigh. He always had to be touching you somehow. Being affectionate was something that Joel really never understood, nor cared for, but you changed his view on it. Now? He couldn’t get enough of you, or your skin on his. He was painfully addicted, royally and utterly fucked, because of you.

You felt him lightly tap his fingers against the sliver of skin exposed under your t-shirt as he took a sip from his own glass.

“Would you believe me if I told you those Fedra fucks somehow have their own stash of top-shelf booze?”

You brought the rim of the glass to your lips, taking a small sip and you could feel Joel staring at you. Not in a weird, or creepy way. He was admiring you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Makes me hate them just a little bit more than I already do. Seriously though, what did you have to do to get this stuff?”

Tess laughed and took a sip from her own glass as she leaned back against the wall. “A handjob and a real quick one at that. Dude lasted all of 30 seconds. It was pretty pathetic but hey, I wanted to make sure you could taste some of the real fucking stuff for once. You earned it.”

Joel let out a weird noise, covering it with a chuckle over the rim of his glass. He had lightly squeezed your hip.

You weren’t even phased by Tess’s answer in the slightest.

“30 fucking seconds? Now that is honestly really pathetic. I appreciate you putting yourself through that bullshit. This stuff is definitely better than the other crap we’ve been drinking. So thank you again.” You raised your glass in her direction, a small grin on your lips.

Tess mirrored your actions, raising her glass in your direction before taking a sip.

“Just don’t expect me to put myself through that ever again, alright?”

You giggled, leaning back against Joel’s broad chest, shaking your head.

“Oh god, No! I will never expect you to put yourself through that again!”

It was Tess’s idea for everyone to play a friendly game of spin the bottle. As soon as she suggested it, Joel was grumbling about how it was a stupid game for teenagers and that he would not be participating in those kinds of shenanigans.

“Tess. I ain’t playin’ a silly little girls game. That shit is for teenagers. Do I look like a fuckin’ teenager to you?”

“No, but you’re fucking acting like one right now, Texas. Besides, if you get lucky enough, you’ll get to kiss your girl. C’mon, just one round.”

“I ain’t gotta get lucky enough to kiss her. Can kiss her whenever I want.” He gruffly spoke.

You gave him a light jab to his side with your elbow, turning around in his lap and gave him a warning look.

“Keep acting like that and you’re never gonna get to kiss me again cowboy.”

Joel narrowed his eyes at you challengingly. His eyebrow quirked up in your direction as he leaned in close enough for you to taste the warm whiskey on his breath.

“You wanna fuckin’ bet on that one sugar?” He went to brush his thumb against your plush, lower lip when you had given his chest a light shove, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Shuddup. You and I both know you’re not gonna win this one, honey. So get up from this fuckin couch and play this game with us. Or, you’re sleeping alone tonight.”

Joel grumbled something under his breath as he stared at you for a minute longer. He was trying to gauge if you were bullshitting him but by the way you stared right back, he knew you were dead serious.

“Fuckin’ gonna get you back for this sweetheart. You’ll see.”

You reached over and gave his cheek a light, affectionate pat, brushing your thumb against the coarse hair on his beard.

“Mhm. I’m sure you will, cowboy.”

Tess and Bea were already sat on the floor across from each other, an old empty beer bottle between them.

“Jesus fuck. You guys just gonna continue to eye fuck eachother or are we gonna play the game? Just one round, and then we’ll get out of your hair so you guys can rip each other's clothes off.” Tess said with a grin.

Your cheeks heated up at the slightest, from Tess’s crudeness, and the warm whiskey flowing through your veins.

You stood up from the couch, turning to look back at your lover, who was staring right back at you.

“C’mon Joel. Don’t make me ask you again.”

When he rolled his eyes in response, you wasted no time to grab his hand, yanking him up from the couch in one swift movement.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ woman. Alright, alright. I’m up.” He begrudgingly took a seat across from you on the worn carpet.

“We all know the rules, right? I mean..they’re fairly simple anyway.”

“Yeah, Tess. Just fuckin’ get on with it already.” Joel grumbled.

Tess turned to you and pushed the bottle in your direction.

“Think you get the first honors of spinning. Only fair after what you went through.”

You held your hand against your chest in mock shock as Tess gave you the first spin.

“Really? Wow, Tess. I think I’m going to document this moment forever.” You jokingly said.

“Oh, shut up. You’re lucky I actually have learned how to tolerate you. Now go on, spin.”

“I’m so loved.” You said with a giggle before grasping the bottle between your fingers, glancing at the three of them before you spun The bottle.

It spinned a few times before slowly coming to a stop. The opened end of the bottle was pointed directly at Tess.

You glanced at Joel for a moment. His brows were furrowed in slightly as he observed where the bottle was pointing. He was unashamedly looking forward to this, and you could tell just by the way he took his time with bringing the rim of his glass to his lips. His eyes were locked on yours, a smirk appearing.

“Well, you gonna kiss her baby doll?”

You could tell Tess was a little hesitant as she looked at you. You on the other hand? You were already scooting towards her. The liquor was giving you a bit of confidence boost as you reached for her face, gently holding her cheeks in your warm palms.

“You good with this?” You asked, while stroking your thumbs against her soft skin gently.

Tess had given you a slight nod of consent before you leaned in, just lightly brushing your lips against hers, your eyes fluttering shut as you pulled her in close. You teased her for a moment before fully pressing your lips against hers.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Tess kissed you back as she reached up, threading her fingers through your hair.

The kiss lasted all of 30 seconds as you bit down on her lower lip, tugging it out with your teeth before gently releasing it.

Tess had given you one last peck before she pulled back, grabbing what was left of her glass and tossed it down her throat.

“Fuck, I see why you like her so much Miller. She’s a damn fuckin good kisser.”

Joel was looking right at you as he spoke, nodding his head.

“Mhm. She damn well is. Don’t go gettin’ any ideas about stealin’ my girl Tess. She’s all mine, and I don’t take kindly to sharin’.”

You were used to Joel’s possessive nature by now. You lived through it. For some reason, hearing him say ‘my girl’ did something to you. You were absolutely counting down the minutes till Tess and Bea would leave so that you could have Joel all to yourself.

A few more rounds were played, much to Joel’s disapproval. You had ended up kissing Tess a couple more times and when you had slid into her lap at one point, Joel had enough. You could tell he was jealous just by the clench of his jaw, the furrow of his brows and the way he clutched the whiskey glass in his fist. You were afraid if he held it any tighter, the glass would surely break.

Whoops.

Tess and Bea got the memo pretty quick and had left after you crawled out her lap, an innocent look stricken across your pretty face.

“Did ya enjoy yourself sweetheart?” Joel was absentmindedly spinning the bottle now, his gaze falling on you.

“Mhm. Best, ‘we’re so glad the knife didn’t go deeper’ party ever.”

“Mmm. Thought so. You really liked kissin’ on Tess like that huh? You gonna save any of that for me?”

You were leaned back on your elbows as you looked over at him, an eyebrow raised in a suggestive manner.

“You jealous or something cowboy? You looked to be enjoying yourself as well. How about you take a final spin? See if you get lucky tonight.”

“Mmm. I ain’t got nothin’ to be jealous about when I know I get you at the end of the night.”

He spun the bottle once and watched it land facing you. You could both feel the air getting thick with tension. The chemistry was absolutely sizzling, sending all the warning signs that it was about to explode.

“Guess you are getting lucky tonight.”

Joel didn’t even have a moment to respond before you were in his lap, straddling his hips. The tension had shattered when he immediately grasped your hips between his rough, calloused palms. He bunched the thin fabric of your t-shirt up so he could finally touch your warm skin, he felt the goosebumps rising already.

“C’mon pretty girl. Kiss me already, please. You gonna make me beg ya?” He drawled.

You loved having Joel beneath you like this and at your mercy. You loved the way he looked up at you with his deep, puppy dog brown eyes. His lips were held in a slight pout as you brushed your thumb across his lower lip, watching as he nibbled on the tip of your finger.

God, submissive Joel was so fucking sexy.

You leaned down, grabbing his face in your hands before you finally kissed him, slotting your lips together as you held control of the situation. You knew it would only for a short moment before he’d take over. He lowly mumbled against your lips, your tongues tangled, teeth clashing.

“How do you want me tonight baby? You want it sweet? Rough? Filthy?”

He slid his hands up the expanse of your back, his fingers splayed out against your skin.

“All of the above, cowboy. I fucking want it all.”

He flipped you over onto your back with ease, yanking you down so you were underneath him. He was gripping your chin between his fingers, while his thumb brushed against your lower lip. Now you were looking up at him, anticipating his next move, while you wrapped your lips around the tip of his thumb, eyelashes fluttering. The sight of you beneath him, looking so needy, so pretty for him, had his cock twitching in his jeans.

“Look at you baby. You look so fuckin pretty for me honey. Fuck. Don’t look at me with those eyes. Y’know what those things do to me? Fuckin’ got me meltin’ like putty.” His Texas accent was thick, warm, deep, and it settled deliciously between your legs. You were aching for him already.

“Joel. Baby, please. C’mon.”

“Shh. I know, pretty girl. Gonna treat you real good, okay? You know I will. I got you, you got me. Now wrap your legs ‘round me. Ain’t gonna fuck you on the floor. Next time, Kay sugar? Want you on the bed.”

Joel didn’t have to ask you twice as you wrapped your thighs around his hips while he lifted you up into his arms with ease, grasping you by the outside of your thighs.

He managed to reattach his lips to yours while he carried you down the hall, using his hip to push open your shared bedroom. You only had a moment to breathe when he had tossed you onto the mattress. Your lips were swollen, and your face flushed as you watched him pull his shirt over his head with one hand.

It easily was one of the sexiest things a man could do. Even more sexy because Joel Miller was your man. Your fellow, your guy.

You let out a soft, heart clenching giggle as he crawled on top of you, peppering your face with warm kisses. His beard lightly scraped at your skin but you didn’t mind. You fucking loved it.

“Fuckin’ damn near lost my mind when you kissed Tess like that. Fuckin’ filthy of you to climb in her lap. What would have happened if I wasn’t in the room? Hmm sweet girl? Bet you woulda kept goin’.”

His kisses moved from your face to your jaw, and down your neck. He was sucking greedily at your tender flesh. His teeth, lips and tongue worked in a steady flow as he left his marks upon you. He loved the way you would grip his hair, and scrape your nails against his scalp. The feeling had his eyes rolling back into his skull.

“Joel..” you whimpered out his name as he continued to mark you up.

“Yeah, baby? Is it too much? Want me to stop?” He mumbled against your skin. His fingers were pushing your shirt back up, exposing more of your skin. His fingertips lightly brushed against your navel.

“Don’t stop, please. I need more. Joel, baby give me more.”

“Needy little thing for me, huh? Don’t want me to take my time with ya? Mmm..I think you can be a little patient, right sweet girl?”

“Touch me or so help me god—“

His fingers were at the waistband of your jeans, he had popped the button open and was now toying with the zipper.

He loved holding you over the edge like this.

“What’re gonna do about it if I don’t give you what you want, honey? C’mon. Be a good girl for me.”

You let out a frustrated huff, a whine slipping past your throat because you were that fucking desperate for his touch. You absolutely craved it.

“Joel, please. Want you, want your fingers, your tongue. Want it all, please. Please just fucking touch me.”

He chuckled while he slowly dragged your zipper down, slipping his fingers between the waistband of your jeans and your panties.

“Mmm. Well, since you said please…”

He brushed his fingers against your clit, watching as your pretty lips fell open and he drank it all in.

“Take your shirt off for me, sugar. Play with your pretty tits while I play with your pussy, Kay? Fuckin’ wet for me already. Absolutely drippin.’ That for me, or Tess?”

“Both.” You deadpanned as you wasted no time to lift your shirt above your head, tossing it to the side.

Joel couldn’t help but lean down and wrap his lips around one of your peaked buds as he sank his teeth against the sensitive skin, causing your body to jolt up slightly.

He had used his free hand, that wasn’t teasing you, to push your jeans down your legs. He yanked them down past your ankles, along with your panties.

All it took was for him to tap your thigh lightly and you were spreading your legs for him as if on command.

Damn him.

“Absolutely fuckin filthy. Look at you baby. Drippin’ for me, and Tess.”

He was teasing your slick folds, watching your face the entire time, with intensity. He watched your mouth go slack when he had slowly slipped in two of his fingers, pumping them slowly. He loved the way your eyes rolled back when he curled them against the soft, spongy texture of your walls.

Your moans filled the small room deliciously. He couldn’t wait to have you screaming so loud, the neighbors and patrolling FEDRA fucks would be able to hear you from outside.

“Feels good, huh baby? I gotta have a taste. Will you let me, sweet girl? Will you let me have a taste of your pretty little pussy?”

You grabbed his face, roughly pulling him down to you by his chin. You kissed him hard, tasting the smooth whiskey on his tongue, knocking the air out of your lungs and his. “Have a taste, cowboy.”

You pulled away from the searing kiss, your fingers still wrapped around his soft curls as you guided his head down, with zero hesitation.

“Fuckin’ don’t have to ask me twice.” He gruffly responded as he dragged his lips down your navel, scooting himself lower, on his knees. He used his free hand to yank you closer to him, holding his hand down against your stomach firmly with his arm wrapped around you, locking you in place.

He wasted no time to press a kiss to your aching cunt, dragging his tongue across your clit as he continued to curl his fingers. The combination was mind-numbing.

He had you moaning his name as if it was a fucking prayer. Each swipe of his tongue, each time he hit that spot that had you seeing stars, your moans would rise an octave. All for him. Your fellow, your guy.

“Sound so fuckin pretty for me baby. So fuckin pretty.” He mumbled against you, his mouth full of your pussy.

“F-f—fuck Joel. I’m—fuck. So good baby. So fuckin good.”

“Don’t come for me yet honey. Not yet, I know, sweet girl. Don’t give in.”

His beard was slightly scraping against your inner thighs, he shook his head back and forth, causing his nose to bump against your aching clit and your thighs to close in around his head. He surely had deep scratches along his scalp from how hard you were digging your nails into him.

“J—Joel! Fuck—stop! Stop! I can’t—baby I can’t hold on much longer!

His tongue was fiercely lapping at you now, your thighs squeezing, trembling around his head. You never thought the overwhelming euphoria would end till he lifting his mouth from you. His beard, and lips were coated in your arousal. His pupils darkened as he looked up at you.

Your other hand was toying with your breasts, pinching the sensitive nubs between your fingers as you panted, catching your breath as you looked down at your lover.

“Can I have a taste, please?” You breathed out.

He slipped his fingers out, they were coated in your arousal as he sat up on his knees, bringing them down to your lips, smearing them with your cum before he slipped them in. He watched as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, dragging your tongue across the ridges, your eyes fiercely locked on his.

“So fuckin’ pretty for me. You like the way you taste baby? You taste so fuckin’ sweet darlin’.”

He slipped his fingers out slowly, replacing them with his lips as he kissed you hard. Slipping his tongue past your lips with ease. There was something so erotic about you and him tasting your cum together.

You hear the sound of his belt clanking, his jeans dragging down his legs as he rid himself of his clothes, tossing them onto the floor with yours.

You were already pulling him in as close as possible when you felt his tip pressing against the side of your thigh, while his other hand was firmly wrapped around the headboard.

“Gonna scream for me darlin.’? Gonna let the neighbors fuckin’ know you’re mine?” He had detached his lips from yours, momentarily. His forehead gently resting against yours as he dragged his tip against your slick folds, letting out a low hiss.

“Loud enough that they’re gonna think I’m getting murdered, cowboy.”

“Mmm. That’s exactly what I fuckin like to hear. You ready baby? I got you, you got me.”

Joel always knew how to get your heart skipping a beat, and the butterflies in your stomach flapping. Even when you were fucking.

“I got you, you got me.” You let out a soft sigh when he slowly pressed into you, you loved the way he filled you up to the brim, each time. He stretched you deliciously. Nothing about Joel Miller was small, and you fucking loved it.

“Fuckin’ hell. So tight for me. So fuckin tight. Goddamn. Don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to being buried inside this pretty pussy. Grippin’ me so well. So good for me baby.” Joel praised you as he sank into your warmth.

His pubic bone was nudging yours. That’s how deep he was enveloped inside you.

Just where he always wanted to be.

“S’okay? Feelin’ good honey?’ He pressed a kiss to your jaw, nipping lightly at your chin as he dipped his head down.

You nodded, glancing down at where your bodies were connected while you brought your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through the back of his hair.

“S’good baby.”

He let out a breath of air as he drew his hips back before thrusting them forward, he repeated this motion a few more times, listening to the sound his hips would make when they smacked against your skin.

You brought your leg around his hip, digging the heel of your foot into his ass, pushing him in deeper as he started to pick up the pace, his jaw going slack as you clenched around him.

The headboard was smacking against the wall, the shitty mattress squeaking beneath the weight of his thrusts.

The room was thick in the stench of sex, and two lovers in the middle of it all.

Joel’s groans entwined with your moans as he rammed into you. His fingers were holding onto your hip so tightly, you surely would have bruises in the morning.

“That’s it baby doll. Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. Always so good for me baby. Fuckin’ can stay buried in you all fuckin’ night. Drunk off this pretty little pussy. Drunk off you darlin’.” His words came out jagged, in between groans as he dipped his head down to capture your lips once more.

Your tongues tied, teeth clashing, senses on overdrive.

This is where you always wanted to be.

His thrusts grew sloppy, uncoordinated as he came close to hitting his high. In the midst of his peaking orgasm, Joel was always attentive to make sure you got there before him. So it came as no surprise when he had released your hip from his harsh grip, and brought his hand down between where your bodies were connected and rubbed his thumb against your clit.

“That’s it, pretty girl. So fuckin close. You gonna cum for me honey? C’mon, I’ve got you. You’re safe. C’mon baby, let go!”

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you came around him, clenching around his thick cock as your thighs quivered, and shook. He came shortly after you, his body shuttering as his orgasm rippled through him. He groaned out your name, his own personal prayer as he came undone, collapsing into your arms in a sweaty heap.

You both laughed as you came to your senses. Your fingers were gently playing with his sweaty hair, his cheek was pressed against your chest, his eyes blissfully closed. He refused to move, even as he went soft inside of you, his cum dripping down your thighs. You both felt safe here in each other's arms.

“That’s the last time you’re gonna say no to playing spin the bottle with me, right?” You whispered, your eyes closed as you rested your chin against the top of his sweat soaked head.

He hummed, bringing his arms around you, holding you close. “Mmm. Never gonna say no to you again baby. Never again.”

He was too tired to move, you were spent as well, so it came natural for him to fall asleep inside of you. Notched together, bodies entwined, right where you both always wanted to be.

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queenimmadolla · 8 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort.

Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door.

“Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it.

Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you.

Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

“Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

“Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

“So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

Interesting.

“No brains?”

Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.”

Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

Why you? What did he want with you?

You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

“What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you.

It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

“That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans.

While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals.

You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive.

“UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm.

With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

“Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering.

Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

“So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up.

Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

“Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

“Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

You’d made him cry.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate.

“MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall.

You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

“There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

“SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

“Are you laughing at me?”

He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

“Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers.

“Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

“You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you.

You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

“You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

“Uunngh.”

You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

“That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

“UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

“What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

“They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

He just blinked, almost owlishly.

Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

“The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

“Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact.

“Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

“You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

“You tryna knock me dead, too?”

When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound.

With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

“Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror.

“Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

“Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound.

“Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

“I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

“WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name.

“I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

“I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

“You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger��with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

“Me?! I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

“The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

“Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

“Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

“Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

“Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

“I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

“She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

“Daddy…”

“Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!”

You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself.

“Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward.

Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

“She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

“No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.

You’d have a loving parent.

You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do.

Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it.

The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life.

Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

“I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

“Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

“We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

“Dang—anything else?”

“Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside.

Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

You were wrong.

The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous.

You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

“Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

“You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors.

You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance.

He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering.

Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore.

You found him.

Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

He understood the sentiment all too well.

Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead.

And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

I wish I was with you.

You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave.

Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple.

No sign of his uncle.

It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded.

Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct.

He knew where to go after.

Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all.

Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him.

He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests.

So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be.

The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you.

He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery.

FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze.

It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left.

Eddie heard a scoff.

“How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself.

Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around.

The fuck was she doing in here?

It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through.

Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings.

She was invading your privacy.

If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling.

He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either.

Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse.

If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip.

Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made.

Bitch.

Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day.

See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of. Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

“Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned.

He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

“Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

“Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure.

“Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

“I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her.

Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

Served the hag right.

With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream.

That one was for you.

Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision.

While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did.

You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive.

Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

“You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

Oh, god. Just play it cool.

“Just some tampons and some chips.”

Leave. Walk out. Save face.

“No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk.

You were going for it.

“Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

“I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve.

You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

“Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

“I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

“That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

“And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

“I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

“Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.”

Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

“You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

“And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off.

She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

“She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV.

You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life.

“Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed.

At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you.

You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

But it was yours.

When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs.

You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

“Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

“Uuungh?”

You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

“I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

“Unngh.” He grunted in thanks.

As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

“Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

“He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling.

“You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions.

“There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population.

“Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand.

“What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

“I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

“MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

“Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

Laura.

“SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

And for once, she scared you.

“Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

Stepmother from hell, indeed.

“Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured.

You took a small step back. She took one forward.

“I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick.

“Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

“ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction.

“Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

“Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

“Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life.

Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

“I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed.

“No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

“It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

THUNK.

Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red.

Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet.

You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

“Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

“Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs.

Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it.

After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it.

“Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you.

He shook his head.

“Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work.

Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head.

“Mm-mm.”

You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice.

He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even.

It felt…like you mattered to someone.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs.

“At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.”

He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way.

“Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

“Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand.

“What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb.

Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger.

“Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you.

Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle.

A lightning bolt.

Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

And then it hit you. Lightning.

“OH.”

Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

“But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it.

It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure.

You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual.

The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

“Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

“Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

No reaction.

“EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

“Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!”

You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad.

The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

Well, you’d already started.

“I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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trashogram · 9 months ago

Text

He Chose You (Pt. 3)

Lucifer/Reader - Lucifer decides that you are the perfect person to be his baby mama.

Rated E, but the smut has been delayed due to personal matters. I apologize! Still not for kiddos though.

“Hello there!”

Teeth.

This man in your apartment —

‘He was a duck. A fucking duck and now he’s a man. Oh my fucking god what the fucking fuck.’

— had shark teeth.

If you’d had better control of your faculties — if you were capable of doing anything more than staring airily with mouth agape — you would’ve screamed bloody murder.

Instead, you sat there, unable to move and quickly succumbing to a sensation you could only described as detachment.

His pointy smile gleamed despite the darkness. His whole person appeared to glow, in fact, giving you a clear view of his demonic approximation of a man in what could only be described as circus attire.

You stared.

There was silence. The expression on his face fell slowly, showman’s smile melting until it barely lingered on his pallid face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get loud, heh.” The man-creature adopted an inside voice. “Hello.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I mean we’ve met before, obviously, but it’s nice to be able to meet you as me a-and you as you!”

The blond cleared his throat. Enthusiasm in full force as he pulled a cane out of behind his back and spread his arms out wide.

“Allow me to introduce myself! I am Lucifer Morningstar! King of Hell… and I am at your service, my lady.”

Lucifer bowed until his strangely nose-less face just about touched the floor.

“… King of Hell…?” Your voice came out steadier than you thought it would. “You’re… Satan?”

“Ah-ha, ha, that’s a common misconception. Satan is actually a friend of mine!” Lucifer sprung up, pleased as punch to hear you finally speak. “People have called me a ton of different names; that’s what happens when you’ve been around for like, ever. It all gets jumbled and lost in translation. Like that game! Telephone!”

“Wait, no.” He snapped his fingers together a few times. “Is that…? No that’s not it. It’s, it’s, ah shit.”

“No, you’re right.” You replied mildly. ”It’s Telephone.”

Lucifer’s eyes lit up like firecrackers. He moved closer to you, step by step, while excitement squared his shoulders.

“So, are you taking me to hell now?” Your flippant question stopped him dead.

“Wait, what?” His shock snapped into nervous laughter.

Your eyes rolled up to the ceiling contemplatively. “I didn’t think I was special enough to be brought down by the Devil himself.”

“No! No, no, no, no, no!” Lucifer waved his arms frantically. “I’m not! You’re not! I would never!”

“I’m flattered. You didn’t have to come all this way, you know.”

“Hell is for sinners not — not for you!” The very real panic on his face was amusing to some part of your hindbrain as you stared back at him airily. “You’re - you don’t deserve to go to Hell. Ever!”

“… Why?”

Lucifer’s shoulders shook, eyes still bugging out of his skull before he took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Well, because! Because you-uuu are a good person. Good people go to…” He inhaled deeply and exhaled shakily. “H-heaven.”

You humored him with a smile, a kernel of pity lodged in your heart. It made sense that the Devil would hesitate before even naming Heaven.

“No,” You course-corrected gently. “Why are you here?”

“Oh! Okay, yeah that. Great question! Thank you for asking!” The man-thing cartoonishly wiped at his brow, a silent ‘phew’ following. “I just wanted to, um…”

Black gloves gesture wildly like Lucifer was fishing for words out of the air.

“Ahh, I guess? The short answer is that I just wanted to meet you.” He smiled sheepishly.

Your face felt numb, but you imagined that he could make out the want to raise your eyebrow questioningly from the blazé energy you were exuding.

“See, actually, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself for days. You were moving in and I saw you and I wanted to say hello because you looked… ”

Fang-like teeth bit into his lower lip as Lucifer eyes darted to your form. That sheepish look had morphed into a mortified one when he could no longer make eye contact with you.

“You looked like a ve-ery nice, helpful person and I thought to myself ‘gee, I don’t get to talk to a lot of nice, helpful people often — being as I am the ruler of Hell, and that’s not the nicest place around, right? Hah — so why not stop by and see if this person would be willing to talk to me?’”

The cane in his gloved hands tapped against one palm impatiently, a shiny red apple glinting at the top.

“Well, I, I mean that’s what I wanted to do when you first got here…” He trailed off with uncertainty.

“But I just… I just kept fucking it up!” Lucifer knocked a fist against his face as if to say ‘stupid! stupid!’. “Every time I come up to knock on your door, I start thinking about all the ways it could go wrong and then I’d start getting antsy and I didn’t wanna freak you out!”

The Devil raked a hand through his platinum-blond hair.

“I was just so afraid you’d run away screaming.” He sighed. “Which, while I thought that would be the worst case scenario, made a little more sense than right now with you taking this whole thing exceptionally well.”

“Hmm,” You hummed, turning his words over in your mind. “Well I can’t run away, but I’m definitely screaming internally, if that’s helpful?”

Lucifer had the nerve to pout at your deadpan statement.

“Maybe whatever you gave me at dinner caused a bad reaction?” You suggested.

“Oh no. Well, maybe. I mean — I didn’t give that stuff to you. This was their idea.”

A bit of feeling was returning to your nose, and you could feel it scrunch up in confusion. “Your friends wanted to drug me?”

“My frie — Hah! Oh no, sweetie those aren’t my friends! Well, I mean they’ve let me crash at their place when I’m up topside, but that’s all part of our little agreement.”

“Your agreement to-oo provide them with joy and laughter in their golden years as a pet duck?”

Lucifer guffawed loudly. “Oho! You are — that was funny! Hah, funny, kind, pretty, you’re the whole shebang aren’t ya?! — I knew picking you was the right move!”

‘Picking me?’ That got you to tilt your head with some effort, mouth opening to ask just that.

“Aha no, actually.” Lucifer cut you off. “That’s the other thing I was going to mention. I wasn’t gonna bring it up until a little while later, after we got to know each other.”

Before you knew it, Lucifer had scuttled to your side and was sitting on the edge of the couch beside you, propping up the side of his head on one arm against the back.

“Now’s as good a time as any.” You replied serenely. If you could shrug, you would’ve.

Lucifer frowned while patterns into the couch cushion. “I wish I knew why you’re so darn agreeable. I mean, I love it! Makes this so much easier. But it’s also a little… weird.”

You shifted to better face the Prince of Darkness, feeling a tingling sensation along one side. “I find it’s best to go with the flow during dreams. When I question things, they’re more likely to change into nightmares.”

“Wh… what?” Your companion flinched back like you’d smacked him in the face. “You think this is a dream?”

“What else could it be?” Came your nonchalant response. “It’s either that or a hallucination from the drugs. I wouldn’t know, I don’t usually partake. But I’m pretty sure I fell asleep after my neighbors brought me back to my room, so I’m leaning toward that.”

The devil remained silent, that earlier expression of mortification making a comeback, as well as a slow-growing horror that made the unusually red spots on his cheeks drain down to pink.

“No, no I’m not… I’m not a dream! This is real! I’m real!” Lucifer lurched forward suddenly, hands hovering centimeters from your lifeless arm.

He swallowed thickly, making a decision in real time to peel off his glove and reach out to you with alabaster fingers.

“See?” He asked softly, brushed against your shoulder down to your forearm with cautious claws.

The nerve endings in your body had been waking up throughout your conversation with Not-Satan, but felt unusually sharp as his nails grazed your flesh. Lucifer’s hand was smoother than smooth, and cold like a glass window in winter. It was as if he were made of porcelain, solid yet fragile.

And yet you felt a burgeoning warmth when he took hold of your hand. There was a faint heat coming from beneath his skin; a candle still burning somewhere beneath layers and layers of ice.

You shivered violently, body and mind syncing as you both rejected and sought that impossible sensation.

Lucifer, meanwhile, was staring at your hand in his, fingers entwined. He marveled at the image, hope blossoming from within, after an eternity of being grounded.

Just to touch you, to be near you and bask in your body heat and the presence of your soul did wonders.

“This is no dream. This is really happening.” He repeated softly.

———————— Tag List:

@crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader

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iouinotes · 10 months ago

Text

Show-off | Mike Ross

pairing: Mike Ross x female!reader

show: Suits

genre: smut word count: 2,9k

summary: you and your co-worker Mike dont get along very well. But when you have something that he needs, suddenly everything is different.

a/n: Just watched the first two episodes of "Suits" and something about Mike is really attractive-

Working in a well-known office as a lawyer has it's advantages. Such as being respected by business people or being able to afford a lot of things, you spend all your evenings analyzing documents rather than meeting actual people.

Nevertheless, sometimes there are also negative factors. For example, my co-worker Mike, who really believes, that he is with his ridiculously skinny tie and sarcastic humor better than the others. Or right now, better than me.

"God, I cant believe you. Can you behave for once?" I use my fingers to push my hair back in frustration, noticing how my head starts to hurt. Its 10 pm and I'm currently trying to stay calm, though because of one man in particular, my nerves seem to be getting thinner within seconds. Valuable time is wasted that I could spend somewhere else instead of with him.

"Now it's my fault, that you don't have the documents with you? Sorry, I can't help you being organized in your own workplace." His voice irritates me. Everything about him is so frustrating.

"I told you, I didnt get the message! How am I supposed to know, that you need something, when you don't tell me anything about it? Maybe you should stop being so childish and ask me in the first place, instead of running to Rachel!" If our job had nothing to do with justice and we werent literally standing in a law company right now, I would kill him. And then I wouldn't hesitate to go to court and say it was self-defense, because I didnt want to hear any of his miserable excuses anymore.

"So what do you think, I should do? I need these documents for tomorrow. Please, I know you don't like me, but it is really urgent." Why does he has such blue eyes? The look he is going me is even more irritating than his voice.

I sign, exhibit my laptop and try to put the pens back, that are laying all over my desk.

"Okay, fine. As I said, the documents are at home, so-" I don´t even get to finish my sentence.

"Great, so I'll meet you there. And I wont even tell anyone, if your place is a mess." His eyes wander over my messy desk, and even If I don´t like to admit it, it's a bad habit of mine. But, he shouldn't make any assumptions about the neatness in my apartment.

"I hope you loose the documents on your way home." At my words, he grins smugly.

"Well, then I could lie and say you didnt found them anymore and I hadnt had the chance to go through them." He leans towards me.

"I'll run you over with my car." He raises his eyebrows at my threat.

"You sure should do something that makes you smile more often. Is that even something you know how to do?" I show him my middle finger and turn to left my office. When I close the door, I hear the laughter in his voice.

"The next storm should be named after you as quickly as you left the room." He follows after me.

"Can you shut up for once? Oh, I forgot. You don´t last one second being silent. Thats a shame, the world could finally heal." His hand rests on his heart, his features fake a hurt expression.

"Ouch. You really don´t like me that much, huh?" His eyes try to search mine.

"You get on my nerves on purpose every fucking day. Should I thank you for that?" I turn my head to look at him.

"Yes, you should. Your life would be so boring without me." He grins at me again from the side, that typical grimace that is always adorn on his face.

"You wish." When I tell him my address, he raises his eyebrows, but before he can make an unfavorable comment, I get into my car.

Darkness surrounds me and when I see him going away, I lower my head to the steering wheel. He really is the best at confusing my emotions.

~~~~~

I turn off the lights of my car and get out of it, so I can finally make my way to my flat. Its not something special, I mean I have a living room, which is quite big and connected to the kitchen, a bedroom and a bath. But I am very lucky, because I have a small balcony, from which I can watch the stars at night. But I usually only do that when I can't sleep.

So, when I enter my apartment, I let my eyes wander over the manageable mess, I put some clothes back in the closet and the dishes in the washing machine. The place almost looks decent, when I hear the doorbell.

As I open the door, I'm nervous for some reason. I let him in and turn to my office drawers, looking for the document.

"Nice place. You live here alone?" His fingers trace my bookshelf, I see him reading the titles.

"No, my wife is still at work." When I look at him dead serious, I see him laugh in surprise.

"So, you do have humor. I thought, you were one of those exceptions that wouldn't be able to do that." He means it as a joke, but something in my chest hurts.

When I reply with a monotonous voice, I see his eyebrows pull together. "I live here alone. That's what you wanted to hear?" I'm getting more frustrated again with every second he's around me.

"No- I didnt mean it that way. I'm sorry. My intentions were good, I promise." When I look at him for a moment, I see his honest expression.

It would be so easier for me to hate him, if I didnt know, he was a good human. Well, most of the time.

We are silent for a moment, but when I hear his footsteps, I tense up.

"What are you doing?" He's now standing right next to me.

"Helping you. You seem a little, tense?" I glare at him for a moment and he raises his hands in defense.

"Just pointed out the obvious. But dont worry. You still look lovely." I stop in my movements at his words.

"Thats such shock for you?" His voice shows surprise and a certain curiosity.

"Only that you say it." I look into his eyes.

"Well, you may think I'm dumb, but I'm not blind."

He just called me beautiful, sort of. It´s confusing me.

When I finally find the documents, I hold my hand out to him.

"I don´t think you are dumb. I think you're annoying. And a show-off. I don´t like that." His eyes follow me.

"What do you like then?" His question surprises me. He slowly takes the documents out of my hand, his finger gently brushing mine.

"I don´t think that is any of your business." I try to clear my voice. His touch makes me shiver.

"Come on, tell me. Would that be so bad?" His whole presence is making me nervous and I feel my hands start to shake.

At work, I can always hide behind a mask, pretend that nothing he does affects me. I can act like I truly hate him, even though I catch myself looking at him, from time to time. Especially when he shows off his intelligence without realizing it, impresses his clients and -I would never admit it- me too. It's a certain charm about him, the way he always knows how to answer, while being mischievous and clever about it.

But now, that he's in my apartment and so close to me, it's suddenly different. And I don't know how to react to him being nice.

"I look for someone who isnt afraid of commitment. Someone who is honest and kind, but who also challenges me. I want to feel safe, so I can put my trust not only in myself."

He nods and is quiet for a moment, I begin to feel stupid for telling him all of that, when he responds.

"I get that. Someone whose shoulder you can lean on when things get too much. Someone who meets your needs, who wants to be in your life. For longer than a one-night stand." He smiles at me and I see for the first time, why I possibly could like him.

"Also, statistics show higher rates of being robbed or kidnapped, when you have one-night stands." This remark almost makes me laugh, even though it's frightening.

"Well, who would even notice, if I would disappear? Probably only my clients, because they need me." I lower my head, being completely honest with him for the first time.

"I would notice."

When I look at him, he takes a step towards me. His fingers gently slide over my shoulder and brush my hair aside, the touch makes a warm feeling bloom in my chest.

"I couldn't annoy you anymore. My life would be pretty boring without you. And it's not so bad to be able to look at such a pretty face every day, even if it always looks at me annoyed, like all the time." I quietly laugh at that, feeling surprisingly good because of his compliment.

We look at each other, now being really close. My eyes travel to his lips and I don´t even know how it happens, but suddenly he is all over me. His lips on mine, his hands on my waist, lifting me up to sit me on the desk. I moan softly when his hands tangle in my hair and he pushes himself closer to me, so that he's standing between my legs. One of his hands gently wraps around my neck and I feel my loud pulse.

My hands move too, stroking his back and holding him closer to me by his tie. As he pulls his lips away from me, he lifts my chin with his finger. Now, looking down at me with widen pupils. I hold his eye contact, forgetting all about my issues with him, when he speaks to me with a deep voice (which I suddenly don´t think sounds irritating anymore).

"Be angry at me tomorrow and mine for tonight. I bet, all your frustration from work and your thin nerves can catch a break, what do you say?"

Not much. Because I pull him towards me by his tie and kiss him again. I don't want to stop at all anymore. He returns the kiss with the same enthusiasm and his hands find their way to my waist again to lift me up again. When he crosses the living room with quick steps and lays me down on the sofa, I already feel out of breath and clearly turned on.

His kisses become more intense, his lips move from my mouth to my neck, leaving marks there. But it feels too good to make him stop.

"I will gladly hear your excuses, when someone asks you about your hickeys tomorrow. Because you will be all flustered, when you think again about this moment. Where you are ready to be fucked by your colleague, who you despise so much." I whimper as he pushes up my dress and his hands pull my tights down to my knees. The cold air hits my skin, but I don't really notice it, because his lips are on my neck again and his fingers connect first with my stomach and then further down. I hold my breath as his lips touch my ear and his fingers stroke my folds.

"So wet for me. Didnt think, I would turn you on this much." I kiss him to shut him up.

"You are-" I moan, when he finally puts a finger in me. "-so annoying." He laughs at me.

"Am I? But you seem to like it." I feel myself getting wetter, his fingers feel so good as they move gently but firmly inside me. One of his hands moves to push my dress further up and somehow, he manages to pull it over my head. Now, I'm lying in front of him in just a bra, his hands slowly find their way over my body and to my back, which I lift slightly so that he can open the clasp.

When I lie naked in front of him and he massages my breasts, his lips touch mine and his fingers stimulate me, I feel like I'm in heaven.

He breaks apart, so he can look at me and I draw my eyebrows together, when his fingers increase in speed. My mouth opens and the sounds that escape me echo in the apartment.

"I'm- god, I think I am going to come-" at that he starts to tease me, going slower but a lot deeper. My eyes almost roll back as he hits a certain spot inside me.

"That feels good? What do you say, when you want something?" You stupid idiot.

"You stupid-" I begin to say as his lips graze my nipple and his finger scissor and stretch me out further.

"One word, darling. Say it." And because I feel this knot inside me (and maybe this side of him turns me on, like a lot), I finally open my mouth to please him.

"Please, Mike. I-I need to-" My sentence is cut off as his fingers speed up and I moan loudly.

"Thats a good girl, you can be so good to me, if I make you." His lips search mine as I finally come. My breathing is heavy and when I come down from my high and look at his face, I see the satisfied expression.

"You are done-" I can't maintain my strict facial expression and suddenly have to start smiling. His eyes widen in surprise and I raise my eyebrows, still smiling softly.

"What?" I quietly laugh at his expression.

"Nothing, its just- I have never seen you smiling so happy." I roll my eyes gently. As I look at him closer now, I see the bulge in his pants and the loosened tie. As I lean forward, his eyes shift to my body.

"You still are fully clothed. A bit unfair, don't you think?" I watch him swallow and my hands move to his chest to slowly unbutton his shirt. As I also remove the tie and slip the shirt from his shoulders, I sit myself on his lap. Rocking my hips forward and seeing his eyes close. His hands move to my hips and begin to control the movements, my eyes close too and my head leans into the crook of his neck as the movements become faster.

Sighs and heavy breaths leave his lips and once again, one of his hands moves to grab my breasts, lightly grazing the nipples.

I look at him, noticing his swollen lips and his flushed cheeks. His hair is a mess and his forehead is furrowed, but he tries his best to pull himself together.

I groan as I look at him and suddenly think back to todays afternoon, when he was on a phone call and I heard how he listed one reciting fact after another, without any difficulty.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"N-nothing" I'm definitely too embarrassed to admit how much his intelligence and the way he seems to know everything, turns me on.

One of his hands moves to my entrance and teases me by just circling around it. When I try to push myself down, he pulls his fingers away.

"You tell me, whats going on in that pretty head of yours and you'll get me." My body feels so hot, I can't think properly anymore.

"You where on a phone call today and you just- you listed without any effort every single point that will help you win the case. You just said it like- it's nothing."

When his fingers dig into me again, I bite my lips. I try to control my moans and not pay attention to the fact, that I just gave him every opportunity to make him be more complacent than his usual self.

His fingers pump into me and I feel slightly overstimulated. But I wouldnt want to stop now.

"You get off by the thought of me, saying memorized facts? Who would have thought that my intelligence would turn you on so much." God, his ego probably doesn't fit in this apartment anymore.

"Don't think too highly of yourself, you still annoy me." Now I'm really just trying to get myself out of the situation. I lean towards him, so he can't say anything anymore and pull on his blonde hair to distract him.

Moans escape my lips and when I notice that his noises are also getting louder, I pull away from him. He looks at me confused.

"I want you inside me." Thats all I say, but he quickly complies with my request. I slide off his lap and wait for him to take off his pants and boxers until he's finally on top of me again. His fingers find my bottom lip and while maintaining eye contact, I open my mouth so he can insert a finger. My tongue brushes against his and after a few moments of him pressing on my tongue, he lets his fingers move back to the spot that needs him the most.

He stretches me for a few minutes until he finally guides his cock to my hole and slowly penetrates me. My eyes close and I hear his breath in my ear as he pushes further.

"You are so tight- good thing finally someone fucks you." I nod without thinking and hear his laughter in my ear.

"You think so too, huh. Would you let anyone fuck you then?" My stomach tenses, I feel the pleasure growing again and every movement of him. This feels so good-

I try to shake my head, but I'm too lost in the sensations to pay much attention to his words.

"No? But I thought, you hate me. Why would you let me fuck you, if you don´t even like me?" His thrusts become faster and more uncontrolled, I feel him getting closer to his own high.

"I-" I try to stutter "d-don´t hate you." I feel myself getting closer and reach into his hair, pulling at the roots and feeling his lips on my shoulder. His thrusts become more powerful and as he moves his hand and massages my clitoris, suddenly everything goes white in front of my eyes and I come.

I feel every inch inside of me, feel his fingers brush over the visible bulge in my stomach and think to myself: god I feel so full

When he comes too, I moan so loudly that it's impossible that my neighbors didn't hear me. His hand finds its way around my chin, he slides a finger into my mouth and I feel my vagina tighten because of it.

He hisses and his thrusts slow down until he finally pulls out of me, trying not to fall on top of me. As I give him some space next to me, he falls halfway on me, but pulls me on top of him in the next second and I can hear his strong heartbeat. With his outstretched hand he pulls the blanket over me, that had fallen to the floor.

We both try to catch our breath and as the minutes pass, only the wind outside is heard. He is the first to break the silence.

"So, you don't hate me?" I lift my head from his naked chest to look at him.

"Only sometimes." He shakes his head and smiles, gently stroking my back.

The evening went by quickly, we ordered a pizza and ate it (clothed) on the terrace. We were going over his documents for tomorrow, I blushed at the thought that this was the real reason he came here, but he just hugged me from behind after we finished and continued watching the stars.

It's not really clear what this evening means for us, but I don´t want to get into that, not yet. Because I'm not sure what it means anyway.

Because now, I have to get used to the fact that his voice no longer irritates me, that his jokes no longer annoy me and that he as a person, is actually not as bad as I imagined.

"Who thought, I was the one to get you relax."

But he is still a show-off.

#suits tv #mike ross #netflix #tv shows #x reader #fictional characters #smut #enemies to lovers #hate fuck

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

Note

Maybe Ghost Konig and any other cod characters you write for with an s/o who’s very insecure about their stretch marks? Thank you very much

MW2 w/ an S/O who is Insecure about their Stretch Marks

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, No Pronouns used for Reader except for 'You', Implications of Smut, Knife Play, Insecurity, Anxiety/Upset, Minor Implications/Spoilers about Ghost’s Past, Mention of a Strap-On, Brief Mention of Murder/Killing, Angst, Fluff, Possessiveness, Protectiveness, etc.

Ghost:

Has absolutely zero clue as to why you're insecure about your stretch marks.

Genuinely never even thought of them before now, even though he’s seen them many a time.

However, when you expressed concerns over the way you looked - the way you felt - because of these marks, he set about trying to make you feel better immediately.

He’s not the most emotionally mature person; having to grow up as quickly as he did at such an early age definitely stunted his emotional growth, making it difficult for him to feel and express emotions clearly.

But for you, he’ll try his best.

He starts nuzzling into your thighs and stomach more often outside of sex; just tender moments between the two of you, with him showcasing how much he loves you and your body.

He’d try words of affirmation, saying how he thought you looked “Positively spiffing” (he was using the term humorously but meant every word) in your outfit.

Whenever you cracked a smile, he’d feel triumph bloom like solid gold in his chest, casting him in a glow of pride.

Eventually, he’d showcase to you the parts of himself he would never show another soul.

One evening, Simon had his hoodie off, his back and chest fully exposed to you. And all the scars that seared across them. You tracked your finger along them, creeping from one gash to another. All the while, Simon rhymed them off to you: when, where and how he’d gotten them.

You traced one on his shoulder blade. The warm glow of the room belying the horrific means through which the scar was attained.

“Paris, terrorist attack, twenty-ten.”

“I never heard of an attack in Paris then,” you said, tone questioning.

Simon cast a lopsided smile over his shoulder at you. You caught it.

“That’s the point.”

He turned to face you fully, placing a hand on your waist, beginning to hike your shirt up. You placed your hands over his, shaking your head, a wide-eyed expression overtaking you.

“No, Simon,” you said quietly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. His head tilted.

“Why not?” He said. “Have I done something to upset you?”

At that, your eyes snapped up and found his, dark and gleaming. You shook your head, vehement in your judgement.

“No, God no! Simon, it’s not you, it’s-”

“Don’t say it’s you - don’t you dare say it.”

The authority in his tone made you ache in places you didn’t want to think about right now. You shifted.

“But…it is me, Simon.” You felt your eyes and throat sting with tears. “It’s always me.”

“Love–” Simon’s movements were stutterish as he took your chin in his hand and inched your face up to meet his. You tried resisting, but he wasn’t going to let this rest. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

There lay a desperation in his voice you’d never heard before, and neither had Simon. You sniffed, and, your eyes shimmering with tears, you looked up at him. Only sincerity painted his features, no trace of condemnation or judgement hanging upon a single point. You swallowed.

“It’s just that…I appreciate what you’re doing for me - believe me, I do ! - but…”

“...But…?”

“But your scars mean something; you got them through protecting people, fighting for them - caring for what matters most–” You choked on a sob, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. “And mine are just…” it burned your tongue to say it, “there.”

Simon went quiet for a moment.

“(Y/N)...” His voice was a rumble of thunder, the cleansing storm rising over the tainted hill. He took your hands in his, abandoning your shirt. He rubbed reassurances into your hands, tracing the veins, the valleys of muscle and the alleys of life which pumped through them. His eyes seemed to turn down at the ends, round, doe-like.

“Your marks are not ‘just there’.” He wiped a stream of tears indenting the heather face of your cheek, and his hand remained there, collecting those which followed. “They are evidence of how you’ve lived, how you’ve survived,”

His hand dropped to your chin, bringing your face up to his once more, shining his moonbeams upon you.

“They show how you’ve grown. How you’ve lived and enjoyed a life you made for yourself. Your marks succeed where mine have failed; yours scream life, while mine whisper death - a life loved, and lives taken.”

Your mouth fell open. You were aghast, unable to conjure anything in your vocabulary that was either expansive or emotive enough to convey all that you felt. Your chest broke out into warmth, the dawn of a new perspective shining upon you as Simon did now.

Before you could form a sentence - as blubbering and elementary as it would be - Simon pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. It was warm, all-encompassing, musical and low in the ringing silence of your desolate ocean.

He parted, cautiously, lips peeling from yours as if you were attached there, and looked upon you. Your cheeks were beginning to sting with the salt of your tears, vaguely chemical against your skin. You clambered into Simon’s arms, wounded and healing, and encompassed as much of him in your arms as you could.

“Your scars are beautiful, Simon,” you whispered into his chest. “No matter what you think - no matter what you say - I’ll always find them so.” You nuzzled into his neck. “I’ll always find them you.”

You heard Simon sniff, felt his chest rise with the sudden influx of air - emotion. You didn’t look up. You allowed him emotional anonymity.

“And I’ll always love your marks, (Y/N),” his voice strained, whispering and wisping. “I’ll always love them on you–” he pressed a strong, permanent kiss to your head, “--I’ll always love you.”

The evening consumed you, whisking you from the mortal coil to that of the metaphysical, that which was hidden to all but you and Simon, where you joined once again, physical bodies bound in a tight embrace, slumbering, dreaming.

König:

You actually came to König, sliding into his lap as he read a book, unable to keep what was eating you alive a secret any longer.

“Maus?” he said, putting Pride and Prejudice down and turning his full attention to you. “Is something the matter?”

You kept your head down and nuzzled into his chest, hoping his shirt would soak the tears staining your cheeks.

König tried to crane his neck down to see your face, but you hid it further into the cotton of his jumper.

König sighed, then began rubbing your back with a large hand.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it,” he said softly, gently. “No matter what.”

Maye thirty minutes passed, maybe it was only five, and König remained quiet for the duration, occasionally squeezing you and pressing a kiss to your head.

“I hate them,” you muttered, voice muffled by König’s chest.

Immediately, his back was up, like a cat’s. If he had the ears, they’d have been pricked.

“What?” he said, voice hard and thin, like a spear. You jumped in his lap and he sank back down, patting your head, a silent apology for his outburst.

His voice sounded as if it were spread thin, trying to conceal something far bigger than itself.

“Who has upset you so, maus?” He was careful with his words, trying to keep the extent of his bubbling anger at bay.

Finally, you looked up into his large, soft gaze. His eyes widened.

Your face was red in places, a map of countries in a continent called Sorrow.

Your eyes glistened, and König’s breath caught in his throat.

Before he could ask what was wrong, you shuffled off his lap and stood before him. You lifted your top and held it in your limp hand.

König’s eyes moved across your body as if searching for an injury, and when he turned up nothing, he looked you in the eyes.

“Maus, my lovely– I don’t understand,” König said as he shifted to the edge of the sofa, ready to jump up at your command.

You sighed deeply. “Don’t you see?” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Don’t you see them, König?”

“See what?” His tone was becoming gradually frantic.

You huffed. “My marks, König! My– ugly– disgusting–”

“Hey, hey–” he slid off the sofa and enveloped you in his arms, holding you close to him, “--they are not ugly! Just– listen to me, maus–

“How do you deal with them?” you said, quiet as your namesake. Exasperated. “Your scars, Köni…how do you live with them?” Your voice croaked with tears, and the lump in your throat grew, bobbed up and down. It burned, reminded you of why you were here to begin with.

König thought for a moment, going quiet, his arms still wrapped around you. His hand squeezed your shoulder, fingers pressing soft, repetitive circles into your skin, a cycle of comfort. His warmth - his scent of pine - filled your senses, held you as he did now.

“There was a time,” he said, finally, his voice a whisper, “not too long ago, when… they made me hate myself, hate what I’d become.” He took your chin between his fingers and inched your face to meet his. He smiled, eyes crinkling. “But then I met you, and you told me how pretty you thought they were; ‘like tattoos,’ you said.” The memory tickled your mind and you couldn’t help but smile at the image of you sat on König’s chest, trailing a light finger just below his scars, afraid to touch them - their history - for fear it would hurt your dear König. He urged you to feel them, to make himself entirely transparent to you.

“And that’s how I have grown to like - to love - them. Because your opinion means more to me than mine does.”

The stinging sensation in your eyes strengthened, and you couldn’t help but let a tear slip. Though, not of your own despair, but of your love for König, and his apparent adoration for you. König could tell your tears were not of sorrow, and he pressed a slow, light kiss to your lips.

“Unless you’re planning on leaving me for another man, I suggest you only listen to me from now on.” His smile made his cheeks round and full, his eyes turn into half moons.

“And what makes you sure I could leave you for someone else?” you said, speculatively, jokingly. Inquisitively. König gave an honest chuckle, taking your face between his hands and squishing your cheeks.

“With a body like that, you could have any man you wanted.” His tone was light yet held a hidden weight, a seriousness, perhaps an insecurity, he didn’t want to address. “I’m just glad you chose me.”

He punctuated his claim with another kiss, deeper, hotter this time.

Soap:

You were turned over in bed beside Soap, who, despite your best efforts to conceal yourself, heard your soft chokes of tears.

His initial, instinctive reaction had been to envelop you in his kisses, slip his arms around your waist and pull you flush against him, to implore you to tell him what had made you so upset.

But, as he lay on his side of the bed, listening to your silken sobs into your pillow, he felt his chest break out into weighted feeling of dread, tree roots digging through the skin and into his very being, tinging his blood with a most negative sensation of blackened lightning.

Empathy, one might call it. He was feeling what you felt.

He couldn’t take it, your tears, your despair, and so he turned, gently, onto his other side and faced your back.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you flinched.

“Oh!” you said, patting your face with your sleeve. “Sorry, Johnny– I didn’t mean to wake you,”

Your voice was deceivingly light, airy - a front to throw Soap off your scent.

Soap didn’t bother with the formalities. His only priority now was you.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he said. He pulled your shoulder back, willing you to at least look at him.

You didn’t move.

You refused to.

“Nothing, love,” you said, hushed beneath the tension in the room.

You turned, offering only a peak of your facial silhouette, sacrificing it to the sliver of moonlight peeking through the blinds.

It was wet, despite your best efforts to conceal any evidence of your upset.

Soap restrained a sigh and watched you try to burrow your way back into your pillow before he started asking any more questions. Without warning, he forced you to look at him, pulling you so you lay on your back. He sank down on top of you, knees bolted to your sides - one of which sat dangerously close to the edge of the bed, threatening to slip off at any moment.

His gaze was direct and impenetrable as he searched your eyes, hands pinning your wrists beside your head. His strength was unrelenting, unmoving. He wasn’t going to let you off easy on this.

“Now, then,” he said, voice low and dyed an erotic tone of resolution with his accent. “Are ye gonna tell me what’s upset you, or am I gonna have to force it out of ye?”

You knew he was joking, and you shared the knowledge that this was his way of trying to make you feel secure - that you could trust him. But of course, you already knew that.

You gaze drifted down to where yours and Soap’s thighs met, and the weight that had been pressing on you for weeks jumped down onto your chest again, urging a fresh set of tears to emerge. You looked away, off to the side, hoping you could hide the dried streaks your tears had left behind.

“Hey, Sweetie, look at me– look at me.” Soap’s voice grew stern, and, when you refused to cooperate, he took your chin between his fingers and made you look at him, grip decidedly firm yet gentle.

“Angel, baby–” his eyes pleaded with you for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore and burst into tears, trying to keep your sobs quiet. Soap remained atop you, caressing the side of your face. Your tears were thick, almost viscous with all that had caused them, as if they, too, bore the weight of what plagued you.

“My marks,” you said, your voice merely a sound rather than a sentence. Soap’s head tilted as he looked down at you.

“What was that?” he said, unsure as to whether he’d heard you correctly. You sniffed, fortified your voice.

“My marks,” you repeated, clearer now.

Soap looked at you as if you were speaking another language, and you mistook his silence for perhaps the oncomings of a laugh. Or worse yet, agreement.

Soap scoffed alright, but he didn’t laugh. Instead he rearranged so he sat further down your body. He lifted your shirt, which you tried to pull down. He growled and practically tore it off you. And you let him. He stared down at your abdomen, your thighs, and sighed deeply.

“Why on earth are you worried about your stretch marks?” he said, absolute and firm, as if it were the most obvious question in the world. You almost wanted to shrug and apologise for wasting his time, but you remained quiet.

“These marks,” he began, lowering his face to your stomach, “are part of you. You know what that means?” His gaze flickered from your abdomen to your face. When you shook your head, Soap gave a huff of a laugh, his breath hot and circling against your skin.

“It means that they’re not the burden you think they are; they’re not unsightly, or ugly, or anything else you can think to call them. They’re beautiful because they are you.”

Your tears were still welling, and Soap pressed a soft kiss to your stomach. Then another. Then another. He linked a chain of kisses, inching further down your body, reaching the band of your underwear. He looked up at you beneath heavy lids. He dipped his tongue beneath the band, making you jolt. He laughed.

“I mustn’t have been doing a good job of showing you how beautiful you are,” he said, lowly. His hands slid to your hips, hooking his fingers over the edge of your underwear and tugging them down.

“It’s time I changed that.”

Price:

He’d picked up on your off mood every day this week, but he’d wanted you to come to him when you were ready, rather than him chase you up about something you didn’t necessarily want to talk about.

You never cracked, though. Not even once.

You’d kept your thoughts to yourself, yet your body betrayed you.

Whenever Price had initiated something in the bedroom, you’d shied away, putting your hands against his chest and giving a weak, watery smile.

“Maybe another night?” you’d say, and Price respected your wishes.

But, he was growing agitated.

It wasn’t his sexual frustration which urged him to act, but his frustration at himself for not being able to tell what was troubling you.

He was your protector; it was his duty, his pleasure to look out for you in any way you needed him.

And he felt like he was failing.

Eventually, he asked you outright what had gotten you so upset, and when you reluctantly told him it was your stretch marks, Price sat there. Flabbergasted.

“That’s it?” He couldn’t help himself saying. But when he saw how much the topic meant to you after you gave him a stormy look, he changed his tune.

Consoled you well into the night, holding you, burying kisses into your skin, drawing lines against your marks, saying how he found them beautiful because they were “Part of you.”

Never lets you go a day without feeling appreciated - more so than he did prior to this discovery.

“You know, Darling,” Price began, laying in bed with you in his arms, “I can’t remember what my life was like before you came.”

You looked up at him. He nuzzled the tip of his nose against your hair.

“And I can’t imagine what it would be like without you in it.” The smile in his voice was more than a mere tone, but a feeling, deep and sincere, the epitome of love itself.

Your face broke out into a grin, beams shining through the clouded sky. “Oh?” you said, bringing your thigh over his middle. You slid on top of him, knees either side of his waist. You planted your hands on his chest, rubbing slowly. His chest rumbled, the beginnings of a purr. His eyes gleamed, his lips curled up beneath his moustache, pinched as raised theatre curtains

“How about I show you how much you mean to me?” Your request was more foreshadowing than anything else, but, in a plot twist, John gripped you by your thighs and rolled so that he was now on top of you, your wrists pinned beside your head.

He brought his face down beside your head. “Last I checked, that was my job,” he rasped, his beard scratching the side of your face. He slid a hand down to the hem of your night shirt, raising it over your stomach. “And I don’t plan on retiring.”

Alejandro:

Is on the offensive immediately.

Thinks somebody’s said something to you that made you upset.

“Who was it, mi amor? Who do I have to kill?”

It would take all your strength to keep him from storming out the house and popping a cap in the first person he suspected as being the perpetrator.

You’d have to explain to him that nobody’s said anything to hurt your feelings, and that your insecurity about your stretch marks has been with you since you were young.

“It’s just the way I am, Love,” you’d say, casting a diluted smile Alejandro’s way. “‘Ts just the way things are.”

This shocks Alejandro; sends him into a catatonic state, even.

Not once had he even considered your stretch marks a point of insecurity: not for you, or him.

In fact, he thought they were cool, and whenever he’d show you his scars, he’d smile. “Now we’re matching!” He’d say.

After you’d expressed your insecurities about your marks, he’d never let you go a day where he’d remind you you’re beautiful (though, that isn’t saying much; there isn’t a day that goes by where he doesn’t make you feel worthy and loved. He just tries even harder).

Man’s a body worshiper if ever I saw one (and I have seen many).

When you’re laying down together and he has his head on your thighs, he’ll randomly turn around and start kissing your marks.

Only does this in private, and with good reason.

Definitely the type to use tongue, even if it’s on the surface of your skin.

Will not let you leave until he’s convinced you’re feeling better about yourself.

Tells you that his mission in life is to “Make you realise how beautiful you are in everyone else’s eyes, even if you don’t see it yourself.”

You can definitely use the insecurity card to request - ahem - ‘snuggle time’ with Alejandro.

If you say to him in your whiny voice: “Baaabe, I’m not feeling too good about myself today,” he’ll be on you like a rash.

You may think you’ve got one over on him, but don’t be fooled.

He knows what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you.

After all, why would he ever pass up the opportunity to show the person he loves most in all the world how beautiful they are?

“There will never be a day where I will not worship you, mi corazón,” he panted, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your thighs. “You are my god - my religion.”

His eyes gleamed as he looked up at you from between your legs. “My life.”

You screwed your eyes shut and whined when he licked a stripe against your underwear, catching you where you needed him most.

“Alejandro,” you whispered, his name a prayer on your lips. “Please,”

“Say it.” He slid a hand over your stomach, feeling your skin, your marks, beneath his warmth. “Say what you want me to do and I’ll give it to you.” There was no hint of a lie in his words, only the inescapable truth of his undying love for you and everything your body had to offer.

Between glistening eyes and an open mouth, you let him in. “You.”

Alejandro left many bruises and bites on you that night, all borne out of love. And, afterwards, as he looked upon your sleeping form, all he could think was of how ethereal you looked, and how lucky he was to have managed to find someone like you.

Valeria:

She simply won’t hear of it.

She’s quite an aggressive woman, and she expresses her love and adoration likewise.

Therefore, when you end up confiding in her that there is even a single part of yourself you’re insecure about, she flips her lid.

Not at you, of course. At who or whatever has made you feel this way.

She throws her hands up and curses in Spanish, saying how only she’s “allowed to make you feel that way.”

And she means it.

She won’t let you feel bad unless she wants you to (and even then it’s because you’ve whined and moaned for it).

Trust that she’s watching you like a hawk 24/7 after that.

If she finds you looking at your marks with anything less than adoration, she’ll drag you into the bedroom and force you to say you do, otherwise she’s not relenting with that ten inch strap-on.

She’s sensitive, however.

When she can tell that a quick therapy session isn’t going to change your mind, she’ll just sit with you and listen, make you a drink and hold you when you cry.

She’ll come up with the idea to name them - so they “feel like friends rather than enemies,”

Places warm, soft kisses along your marks, christening them with her love when you’ve decided on a name.

If you name one after her, she’ll be honoured.

“Now I’ll be with you forever,” she’ll say, wrapping her arms around your waist. “On you forever, I should say.”

Valeria dragged you into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. One of her men guarded the other side, frightening off other club-goers.

Valeria’s eyes were heavy, dark and all-consuming with a feral rage that only occurred under rare circumstances, those being her jealousy. She gave you little time to protest as she hiked you up onto the counter, the tap digging into your back.

“I’ll murder him,” she said, voice rasping with drink and the need to mark you - to take you. “I’ll kill them all - all those bastards that looked at you.”

“Valeria, please,” you gasped when she cut the lining of your jeans open, making the button pop and recede into a dark, grimy corner of the tiled room. Valeria brought the knife to your throat, her voice snarling and serious as death.

“I am the only one who can look at you.” The tip of her knife began its slow descent to the collar of your shirt, which she separated from your body with a long, ripping tear. Now, chest exposed, you yelped. Valeria forced your legs apart and crouched between them. Her knife sat at the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re mine,” she promised. “And if I need to mark you myself–” she trailed the tip of her weapon along the marks on your hips, “–then so be it.”

Gaz:

Will look at you like you’ve just asked him to recite Pi.

What???

What do you mean you don’t think your stretch marks look good?

Gaz thinks they look perfect!

He can’t imagine you without them; he’s genuinely emotionally attached to them.

You should’ve guessed as much when you felt him tracing them as you lay in bed.

Fr though, Gaz understands why you feel insecure, but he doesn’t understand why, if that makes sense.

He knows certain things get to you, thus making it plausible that you would become upset with something you found on your person, but he doesn’t understand why you’re insecure.

He can feel himself getting angry whenever he hears you talking - or even thinking - bad about yourself.

He’s not mad at you! Not at all.

He’s simply aggravated by the fact that something or someone has made it so you can’t see yourself the way he sees you.

To cheer you up, he’ll start relaying extremely specific compliments to you.

“I’d love you if you were a two foot tall worm with a receding hairline.”

“Uuuh…thank you?”

Though, if he found those didn’t work or, God forbid, made you feel worse-

“So you’re saying that you only find my personality attractive and not my body.”

– He’ll find another way of lifting your spirits.

“I would commit arson if you ever tried to get rid of your stretch marks.”

“...Why?”

“Because I love them and they’re my friends 🥺.”

Btw he’s fr about that - he sees your stretch marks as individual, sentient beings.

And he begins to tell you the backstories he’s made up for them.

And you can’t help but get attached to them, too.

“Hold on, why does Antonio get to be seen today and not Felicity?” you asked, holding the sleeveless vest to your torso. Gaz returned, throwing a pile of yet more sleeveless shirts, vests and other variants onto the bed.

“Because I haven’t seen Antonio all week and I’m starting to think you’re playing favourites.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Poor guy’s probably suffocating under all those jumpers you wear!”

“Oh?” You raised and eyebrow, looking at Gaz in the mirror. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Gaz threw you a devilish smile, the corners of his lips pointing up like horns, sharp and curled. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding the vest against you.

“Put the vest on and you won’t have to find out.” He pressed a constellation of kisses to your shoulder, up the connecting junction of your neck and shoulder, until he reached your jaw. “Unless you want to.”

Graves:

When you initially told him, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Genuinely thought money would make all your problems go away.

He threw a wad of rolled-up George Washingtons at you and told you to “Buy something nice - do yourself up pretty.”

Obviously, not the best thing to say to somebody who’s insecure.

And when you didn’t talk to him for days afterwards, he realised where he’d gone wrong.

You wanted reassurance, not a solution.

See, he’s so used to using money to make his problems disappear that he thought it’d be a quick fix for you, too.

Pokes his head round the bedroom door like heeeyyy~ before taking a seat beside you on the bed.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t realise you just wanted to talk rather than have me fix the problem.”

His wording’s still very off, but he’s working on it with gentle guidance from you.

He genuinely never realised your stretch marks were an insecurity for you, though, hencewhy he’s not so good at the whole ‘reassurance’ thing.

He learns quickly, though.

It starts off with small gestures; putting a hand over your marks, looking at them fondly, telling you how gorgeous you were every single day.

And, eventually, when you’re being more…intimate, he’ll refuse to let you cover yourself up (unless you really want to, ofc).

Trying to hide your marks? Not for long - Phillip’s got a PHD in cloth tearing, and you’re his first job.

“I don’t remember telling you you could do that.”

Aggressive love. Full-on laving his tongue over your marks.

“Just markin’ what’s mine, Angel.”

Doesn’t give you even a second to feel insecure anymore.

Encourages you to wear clothing that reveals your marks if he thinks it’ll make you feel better.

Again, won’t force you to; if you don’t like revealing clothing overall, he’ll make sure to find other ways of empowering you.

Gets very territorial whenever he catches someone staring at you because he firmly believes that, 100% of the time, it’s because they’re checking you out.

Will glower at them with his eyes until they look away, cowering.

And all the while he’s looking at you, thinking God damn, I can’t believe I managed to pull you <3

“Love, why did you stare at that man in the bar earlier?” You asked, not looking up from your book. In the dim light of the bedroom, you saw Phillip’s head turn, looking at you. In your periphery, you saw his cheeks lift. He crept closer.

“Ain’t it natural for a man to want to protect what’s his?” His voice carried with it a weight you recognised as rhetorical. You put your book down on the bedside table and resisted a knowing smile.

“I don’t know,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is it?”

A sly smile crossed Graves’ face, and, in an instant, he was on top of you, his weight definite and promising of something. He wrangled your arms, pinning them above your head. And you only smiled up at him as he beamed down at you.

“Oh, I think you know it is.” His eyes gave no way to humour or jest, possessing within their oyster shell colour a pearl of the rarest, most valuable material: love.

Graves leaned down, and, biting the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss beneath it, whispered.

“And you know how much I hate sharin’.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

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wordsarelife · 10 months ago

Text

harry potter masterlist

fluff (f), angst (a), suggestive (s), platonic (p), wound (w), humor (c)

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❛ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ❜

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𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 (20.6k)

this love (0.5k) — mattheo finally asks you to be his girlfriend (f, s)

willow (0.8k) — mattheo has a brilliant date idea.. not (s)

the game (3.5k) — after a night with you mattheo can’t get you out of his head, sadly you don’t like him like that (s, a, f)

merry christmas (1.2k) — two times you surprised mattheo with a cute ‘tradition’ and the one time he surprised you (f)

christmas love (2.3k) — it was no secret that mattheo riddle annoyed the hell out of you, but you did grow concerned when you suddenly didn’t mind it anymore (f, s)

winter wonderland (0.5k) — you drag mattheo outside to build a snowman with you (f)

white christmas (0.5k) — mattheo is sad and you cheer him up (f,a)

starlight (2.1k) — mattheo had been liking you for years and when you loose your cat, it's finally his time to prove how good of a boyfriend he would be (f)

gorgeous (3k) — being in love with your best friend might be a bad idea, but drowning your sorrows in alcohol might be your worst one yet (s,f)

endgame (3.7k) — mattheo is absolutely in love with you, but now it seems like he spent a bit too long not telling you that (s,f,c)

we are never ever getting back together (0.6k) — you’re a swiftie, mattheo isn’t (f,c)

you’re not sorry (1.4k)— you and mattheo run into each other years after your relationship has ended (p,f,a)

miss americana and the heartbreak prince (0.5k) — headcanons about mattheo dating a foreign exchange student from america (f)

august () — is he really yours when there is someone who could love him better? (a,f)

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𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐭 (30.6k)

i‘m only me when i’m with you (0.3k) — you steal theo‘s clothes and he finds out about it (f)

you are in love (1.4k) — after a lovely visit with umbridge, theo must prove that the words carved into your skin are the opposite of the truth (a,f,w)

call it what you want (0.7k) — in a school full of people treating them like celebrities, y/n and theo try to keep their relationship private (f)

-> there will be more following the couple -> feel free to request

we wish you a merry christmas (0.6k) — theo meets your family for the first time during christmas (f)

a nonsense christmas (0.8k) — you and theo are only friends.. right? (f,s)

jingle bells (0.8k) — you and theo bake gingerbread cookies for christmas (f)

karma (2.8k) — karma is the way you wear his jersey, making sure his teams will lose the game (s,f,w)

forever winter (1.9k) — theo pulls away from you and you’re worried about his well being (f,a)

so high school (3.8k) — he knows how to ball, you know aristotle and your friends know you’re a perfect match (f,c)

superman (2.7k) — theo won’t leave you alone after you broke your leg, you’re not sure you appreciate it that much (f,c)

bigger than the whole sky (1.6k) — you get bad news and theo is conflicted about it being his fault (a,f)

long story short (2.3k) — you survived a violent person before, knowing well enough that you wouldn’t ever tolerate going through that again (a,w,f)

the black dog (4.4k) — the war awakes something in theo you hadn't thought was even there. you battle with your feelings of heartbreak, while you try to forget his everlasting presence in your life. (a,w)

twenty-two (1k) — you try to make theo a swiftie (and succeed). (f,c)

mine (5.5k) — theo’s and your relationship throughout the years (f,a,w,c)

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𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 (5.2k)

it’s the most wonderful time of the year (0.5k) — draco and you spent the best christmas together (f,a)

timeless (3k) — draco malfoy wouldn’t have thought to come across you in a dark magic shop or how eager he would be to marry you (f,a)

anti-hero (1.7k) — you hate that you’re so emotional about everything, but draco secretly loves you for it (f,a)

style () — draco and you come always back to each other, until you can’t bare to keep it a secret any longer (f,a,s)

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groups (2.2k)

feliz navidad (0.6k) — the reader, who is obsessed with christmas wants to do something her friends aren't particularly happy about (f,p) //slytherin!group x reader

what christmas means to me (1.2k) — when you don't turn up for breakfast one morning, your friends go on a scavenger hunt to find you (f,p,a) //slytherin group x reader

happy xmas (0.4k) — you spend christmas in hogwarts, with your best friends (f,p) //marauders x reader

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series

don't blame me — theo nott x fem!reader

-> theo is the lead singer of the band cursed legacy and also the one who you hate most in the world. easy enough right? things only get complicated when theo puts out a rude song about you, the band starts to rise to fame and one single accident might ruin everything they worked for so hard. eventually theo is forced to ask for your help, but you wouldn’t be you if you would say yes without a very important rule: theo can’t play his most famous song: the one he wrote about you.

wordcount: 8 parts (32k)

no body no crime — theo nott x fem!potter!reader

-> hogwarts murder mystery (coming soon !)

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44 works

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mister-tom-a-dildo-lover · 29 days ago

Note

Tomarry set in a Soul Eater au like you mentioned before and with Tom saying to Harry "You are my Meister and mine alone!" Congrats on 4000 followers!

Oof!

Fandom: HP Ship: Tomarry AU: Soul Eater AU TAGS: Meisters, Soul Resonance, Drama, Angst, Dark Humor, Violence, Exposure Therapy?.

~.O.~

It was said that Tom Riddle Jr.'s mother was a witch. That was why he was such an unruly and unpleasant demon weapon that no one could get along with.

After all, why else would his powers allow him to control other people like they were puppets? Who else but a witch would have such a twisted ability?

He insisted she was a regular mortal. That she died giving birth to him on the doorstep of an orphanage in London, England. That the matron had said the only name she'd given was his, and she asked that he be called Tom Riddle, for his father.

When he'd been granted a position at Death Weapon Meister Academy back when he was twelve, he'd been decently well-liked... until he wasn't. No one had done anything malicious as far as they were aware, but he got angry one day and used his powers on the students in his class.

They weren't allowed to talk about what happened, but none of those students could ever see him without panicking afterward.

Eventually, some of the older students who weren't scared of his frigid demeanor and nasty words decided they were going to look into him to get him expelled if it was the last thing they did. Based on the bare information on his school records, they found his father and his father's family. And by extension, found his mother's family as they all lived near the same village.

There was no actual proof that Merope Gaunt of the impoverished Gaunt family was a witch, this was true, but Merope was not a common name. And it was an alternate name, used by one of the most popular witches in history. Periboea Gorgon. Or, better known as twin sister to Medusa Gorgon, younger sister of Arachne Gorgon, and older sister to Shaula Gorgon. Often mistakenly called Medusa because of their similar looks(sans the different hair colors, of course) and interests, even down to the myriads of snakes they kept company with.

Why else would a mortal woman living in a snake-infested thicket on the outskirts of a quaint English village, share a name with one of the most twisted witches in history?

Why else would Tom Riddle's father leave the woman he married, claiming he was 'bewitched' and forced to move away from home and unwillingly sire a child with her?

Why else would Tom Riddle turn into an urumi, which bore a pretty standard handle and hilt but stretched into seven incredibly long and sharp metal ropes that were barbed and bore fanged serpent-heads at the tips? If they managed to touch his victim, he could enforce his control over them and make them do whatever he wanted. The blades were black and pitch and glowed an ominous red when in use.

And the worst part about it, was that Lord Death wasn't even overly concerned!

Sure, he was the Great Old One and was probably the most powerful being in existence... but surely, he could understand why people could not stand Riddle?!

Honestly, the actual worst part of all of it was the fact that whether any of them liked it or not, each person would have to be teamed up with Tom Riddle at least once in class, just to see if there was any kind of a compatible soul wavelength between them. Now, common sense would dictate that so many people being absolutely terrified of him would make it completely impossible for anyone to match wavelengths with him, let alone hope for a Soul Resonance, but Lord Death kept insisting.

Every single meister who attempted to match wavelengths with Riddle ended up harmed.

There was absolutely no proof that he had done anything deliberately, but that did not mean that anyone trusted him.

Perhaps, he was destined to forever be a student who never left the building, never went on missions, and would never become a Death Scythe. And perhaps that was for the best.

~.O.~

Tom Riddle glared at the newest meister Death had decided to foist onto him, annoyed that he had to be pulled from class for this sham.

Another failure waiting to happen. Four years of this and one would think Death would just accept that Tom couldn't match wavelengths with others.

The other teen didn't look particularly worth much. Nothing about his appearance inspired any kind of hope for skills he might possess.

Thick black hair that twisted and turned in every direction. Thick wired frames that enlarged his bright green eyes significantly. Baggy clothing that looked to be several sizes too large almost drowned out by a black robe that was left open. An inflamed, red scar that stretched across the gaunt skin of his brow, reminiscent of lightning. It was deeply set into the flesh though, so it didn't appear to be newly acquired.

"This is Harry Potter. He recently... had an accident with his human relatives. He's just learning that his parents were a weapon and meister duo who left him with his mother's older sister before going on a dangerous mission they were unfortunately unable to return from. I believe you'd be the perfect weapon partner for him," Death said, bereft of his usual silliness, thank goodness.

Tom had no patience for the little act Death liked using. He didn't care about how it was to make the children less afraid; it was ridiculous. It was bad enough that Death himself chose to alter his own appearance to put humans at ease, but then to act like a fool on top of it all... Hell no.

Harry Potter gave a short wave before offering his hand... To check if their soul wavelengths were compatible...

Never should anyone assume that Tom Riddle liked to touch other people.

With great regret, and the anticipation of Harry Potter coming to harm in some way, Tom Riddle took his smaller, clammy hand, and proceeded to feel...

Their wavelengths were greatly different, with Tom's full of sharp edges, rushing up and down jaggedly, refusing to keep a steady pace or rhythm. Potter's though... was like a placid pool. It didn't even mentally manifest in the typical wavelength feeling. Even the most relaxed people would still experience regular shifts in their wavelengths, but Potter's was a flatline of nothing.

If he wasn't able to feel his heartbeat and see his chest move, Tom might have thought he'd joined hands with a corpse.

"Harry, no masking," Lord Death softly ordered.

All at once, that flat line spiked to peaks even Tom's reach couldn't fathom, before instantly compressing in on itself and molding right to every single edge of Tom's wavelength. With ease, Harry Potter had changed his own wavelength to match Tom's exactly, almost cloaking it in a sense. Replicating it perhaps. Their wavelengths were now so tightly pressed together that it was impossible to tell where Tom's began and Harry's ended.

If there was a graph to show Harry and Tom's soul wavelengths, Harry's green would be superimposed over Tom's red in a perfect blend.

To be able to just change his own wavelength so easily... "Why did you bring him to me if he can match anyone?" Tom demanded, still not letting go and refusing to let his eyes leave those bright green, yet somehow dull ones. "I doubt he'll want for a weapon partner."

Death sighed. "Harry's relatives and neighbors were very much like Mrs. Cole and the other orphans were for you... He has similar issues that no one else in the school could hope to understand, and it wouldn't be healthy for him to partner with someone not emotionally compatible. Just because he could match anyone's wavelength doesn't mean he should."

Put the traumatized kids together, huh?

Hope they heal each other or some nonsense?

Curious, Tom allowed himself to change shape into his weapon form. He could feel Potter's firm grasp around the handle of his standard weapon shape, and wondered if he even knew what Tom was supposed to be.

One thing about Tom that really scared people... was his ability to control the minds of others. When used against others, he could control them, but when being used by others, he could also control them. A meister's mind was not safe from him be they 'friend' or 'foe'. He could easily exert influence over pretty much anyone but Death himself.

And yet... Harry's mind had no response to his prodding. His skills, which had thus far earned him people's fear and avoidance, did nothing. As if Harry's mind simply wasn't there at all.

"Harry, you're masking again," Death told him again.

Instantly, the empty darkness was filled with vibrant sensations from all angles, and Tom was allowed to drown in it for only a second, before Harry's entire being seemingly wrapped around him, and his soul wavelength merged with Tom's. The feeling of the beginning stages of Soul Resonance, hit him hard because it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Hot and cold and vibrating at a frequency he was beginning to hear.

Tom latched on and used his own wavelength to add to what Hary produced, then sent it back along their tenuous connection.

They passed the energy back and forth, amplifying it with each loop, until Tom's entire form began to glow, and the seven metal whips of his usual form, straightened into a single, bone white shaft of what appeared to be... a scythe. A scythe made of sharpened bones and an abnormally long, human vertebrae serving as the snath.

During his first ever Soul Resonance, Tom Riddle had discovered that he was one of the demon weapons capable of changing between forms. A skill only possible in those who had ancestry connected to a witch's influence.

He had seven blades, each growing longer and shaper the higher they got, until the one at the very top curled upward ominously.

Despite being in weapon form, Tom could still perceive the world around him. Everything was in crystal clear focus, and even Potter's clammy hands couldn't ruin the experience. Not with that insane power linking them together and making him lightheaded and needy.

Their soul wavelengths peaked together, and Potter swung Tom in a complex pattern, sending bright green and red bolts of energy, arcing through the air of Death's office, piercing a hole through the ceiling in the far distance. Of all the shapes Tom would expect an attack from a magical scythe to take... lightning bolts weren't among them.

But perhaps it made sense in a way. Neither of them could be considered conventional, not with recent revelations being taken into account. Harry Potter being able to just instantly get on Tom's level wasn't even the most shocking thing.

He felt giddy in a way he hadn't since the time he'd transformed for the first time. This was his meister. Death had brought them together willingly, and now Tom would never let him go.

"You are my meister and mine alone," he told the other teen. "We're going to be partners for a very long time."

And Harry Potter simply shrugged and nodded. That was okay. Tom certainly had the time to win him over now that they'd be partnered up and moved into the same flat together to better get to know each other.

Everything in Harry Potter's life was about to revolve around Tom Riddle, and he couldn't wait to get started.

~.O.~

A/N: This has a lot of potential.

Reminiscing about Soul Eater makes me want to re-watch the anime.

#tomarry #fanfiction #watermelonsmellinfellon

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lees-chaotic-brain · 3 months ago

Text

rating things my classmates said/did after my dad died! (feat. class 1-a)

cw: mentions of death obviously, you're a member of class 1-a, crack, hurt/comfort, reader is religiously ambiguous, implied depression ig, some angst but mostly crack

note: guys i swear it's okay to laugh at this! i did!! some may say it's too soon but humor is how i cope and i missed writing so when this little idea invaded my brain while i was rewatching bhna (it's my comfort show) i couldn't resist

blog navigation | bhna masterlist

ochako: “if you believe in heaven i would offer to use my quirk on you so you could float up to heaven and visit your dad but i doubt they'd let you in anyways”

9/10

low key made me giggle

iida overheard and was horrified.

izuku: “i'm so sorry for your loss. if you ever need to talk i’m here. i know it’s not the same at all but my dad wasn’t around while i was growing up so i can kinda understand. not that i’m saying you have to talk to me because of that or that i understand or that we should make a dead/missing dad club oh my god i need to stop talking i’m so sorry i’ll leave you alone now bye please tell me if you need anything!” *scurries away*

11/10

sweet cinnamon roll 🥹

we should fs make a dead/missing dads club

todoroki: “i’m so sorry for your loss. if i could make my father trade places with yours i would do it in a heartbeat. unrelated, i heard you and midoriya are starting a dead/missing dads club. may i join? mine is dead to me.”

8/10

right idea i guess 😭😭

it was going so well during the first sentence too…

ps ofc you can join our club

bakugou: stormed into my room and violently ripped me from my depression burrito and dragged me downstairs to force feed me a warm home cooked meal bc he knew i hadn’t left my bed or eaten in the last 24 hours

6/10

i always knew you cared abt me us blasty 🥹🥰

the food was delicious but plz be more gentle abt it next time king 🙏

mineta: “yo your mom is a total milf.”

numbers don’t go low enough to express my feelings towards this one

like at my father’s funeral?? the AUDACITY

jirou: spent hours searching for a very specific song my dad sang to me when i was little and actually found it bc she found m crying bc i couldn’t find it and i wanted to hear it again

♾️/10

i actually love you so much

you have no idea how much this meant to me ❤️

aoyama: stuffed cheese into my mouth while i was crying in my depression burrito

-3/10

wtf man that was actually more traumatizing

it wasn’t even parmesan or brie

tokoyami: went on a long spiel about how we are all destined for the Great Darkness then abruptly ended by saying he was sorry for my father’s early departure and disappearing back into his room

7/10

i think you were trying to make me feel better so i appreciate the effort. i am a little confused tho

kiri: ask me if i wanted a hug. when i started crying he started tearing up too then gave me one of the best bear hugs i’ve ever gotten

20/10

super manly dude. i really needed it at the moment and appreciated it ❤️

gonna end this here. i had a few more but i felt like these were the best ones. not tagging anyone since this is like a personal self comfort one lol

THAT DOESN’T MEAN I DON’T WANT YOU GUYS TO LAUGH OR TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. TRUST IT WILL MAKE ME FEEL BETTER

#lee's brain writes #bhna x reader #bhna x reader fanfic #bhna crack fic #tw death #humor is how i cope deal with it #class 1-A x reader #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #midoriya izuku #ochako uraraka #yuga aoyama #tokoyami fukimage #todoroki shouto #kyoka jiro #hurt/comfort #angst #parental death #bhna x gn! reader

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jasonsknight3 · 4 months ago

Text

Alright, it is time for chapter two! Enjoy!

⚠️warning⚠️ violence, mentions of gore, gun, and drugs.

The longest night

Chapter two

Fear Begins Now

Ever since you lost Jason it felt like a piece of you was missing. In its place was a deep hole that was filled back up with loneliness, sadness, and emptiness. Sure, you picked yourself back up but you have never loved another since Jason. You tried but. O filled that void. That loss. However, picking yourself up doesn’t mean that you are completely healed. In fact, you weren’t. You knew that. Sometimes you still have nightmares about that film. The film Joker sent Batman.

Your presence wasn’t known to Alfred, Batman, or Nightwing. All of them watched the film. Jason was so…broken, dead eyes, empty. He was empty. His body, broken and hurt. Misshapen, pieces missing, cuts, burns. A horrid sight. He was tied to a chair with barbed wire. Joker's voice came through the video. “Have you got something to tell the nice man Jason?” Joker questioned. Jason’s voice was rough and barely audible. “My name…is Jason Todd.” He said without looking at the camera recording him. Joker walked into the camera view and circled around Jason. “And who do ya hate?” Joker asked with an edge of humor in his voice as if trying to not laugh at a cruel joke. “Batman.” Jason answered quietly. “Excellent, of course you do.” Joker turned back to the camera, his face taking up most of it. “Here that Bats? Kidd not yours anymore. He’s mine. Mine to do with as I wish.” Joker walked away from the camera screen and spoke in a “hey I just got an idea” kind of way. “Hey, I never asked, what’s the big secret?” Joker curled around Jason leaning down to him. “Who is the big bad Bats name?” He cooed. “Tell me?” Joker walked away standing a little bit away from Jason. “Of course sir, it’s…” before Jason could even say a word Joker pulled out his ace of spades. His 15-3 revolver and shot Jason knocking him over. Seeing that you screamed in pain. It felt as if you had been shot too. Except there was no freedom of death. The bullet leaving you with pain, loss, and suffering. Bruce had you dragged out of the room by nightwing. Everyone mourned, everyone except Bruce. He never openly cried and you didn’t forgive him for that.

Currently you work at a business office as a “coffee girl” is what they call you. However, you really just work the front desk answering calls, organizing documents, and running errands. Surprisingly, you made good money but were treated poorly. Your second job was a bit more secretive. You still stayed in the loop with Batman and the rest of the crew. Often you walk the streets dressed in dark clothes and eavesdrop on criminals. Most of the time you find a nice spot to sit. Listen. When you listen you hear plans. Hear information on criminal activity. Your second job was slipping information to the vigilantes.

Standing on the rooftop the night sky was cloudy tonight as usual. The air smelled of rain to come. Rain would feel nice on a night like this. “Hey little birdie.” The sudden sound of Nightwing’s voice scared a small yelp out of you before you punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that Dick!” He just laughed, “Ow, you didn’t have to hit me.” Sick rubbed his shoulder with a smile. Dick changed as he grew older and more mature. He grew up becoming a Boy Scout. A happy go lucky kind of guy. Sometimes it was nice and refreshing. Even better, sometimes his attitude was infectious in the moment. Let g out a small laugh and your body relaxes. “So, got any info for me little birdie?” He asked, leaning on the roof railing. “Yea actually, heard about some possible two-face activity. Harley Quinn may be coming back. Her heavy mourning stage is over….” The words catch in your throat. “Joker's death.” The name left a foul taste in your mouth. “I think she’s going to make a comeback.” You say quietly. Dick nodded “Okay, got any specific information on the Two-face activity?” He inquired. “Bank heists in old Gotham. Other than those two it’s been quiet. The bad kind that makes your stomach twist.” You explained finally leaning against the railing as well. “Thanks for the info.” He paused “How are you (y/n)?” The question threw you off. “Huh?” Was all you said as your eyebrows knit together. Dick frowned “well, I just know that…” Dick but his lip trying to find a way to word it. Even though you knew exactly what was coming. “His death anniversary is tomorrow.”

The words made your body feel heavy all of the sudden. Science says that women have heart strings. Those heart strings can break when really hurt. Could lead to early death even from not properly being able to pump blood. You know for a fact the day he died one heartstring broke, but every year when his anniversary comes back around it feels like another heart string begins to break. Hurts but doesn’t break. “I…” you start your sentence if you couldn't finish it before the tears start slipping down your cheeks. Dick pulled you to him so fast and wrapped his arms around you tight. “It will get easier.” Dick cooed. “I know.” You reply. You say those words but you didn’t honestly believe them. Not now anyway.

Eventually he let go and smiled at you to which you retired the smile. “Well, thanks for the information. You’ve always been a good help. Just as he wasn’t about to leave he turned back to face you on his heel. “And little birdie, tomorrow's Halloween, please, please, please, stay inside. Tonight and tomorrow night are some of the most dangerous nights of the year. When you go home stay safe, don’t be out tonight. Okay?” Before you could speak a loud screeching sound echoed throughout the whole city. All the screens began showing a scene, Paula’s dinner. I adore people screaming and tearing each other apart. A real blood bath, a scary sight to see. Even gunshots echo through the scene. “What is this? What’s happening?” You asked Dick. “I don’t know, I’m calling B.” As Dick walked off and began talking to Batman there screens all changed to a familiar face. “Scarecrow….” You breathe. He began to speak, his voice refined and calm. “This demonstration used just 5 ounces of my latest toxin.” That was only 5 ounces used? That small amount just caused over ten deaths. You picked up on the conversation Dick was having. “Only one survivor? What are we doing? What’s the plan B?” The scarecrow spoke once more. “Tomorrow, this will seem like child’s play.” That made your heart sink to your feet. “Gotham, this is your only warning.” Was the last thing scarecrow said before the recording cut out and played again. You look over at Nightwing who was off the call with Batman. “Dick?” He approached you, true uncertainty in his eyes.

“They are evacuating the city.”

Close up of scarecrow

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justmymindandstuff · 5 months ago

Text

Dragons and Roses Part 2 - Aegon II x Y/N Tyrell (Reader)

Summary: You are Helaena's childhood friend, your job at court is it to entertain the princess and be a friend to her. Your life is actually quite pleasant, and even her brother is no longer so unbearable for you. You would even call Aegon your friend. But everything changes and you slowly realize that your idyllic life in the Reed Keep isn't so idyllic after all. Everything you've been holding on to and belives in begins to crumble. (Part 2/ 4)

Words: 18.846

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical misogyny, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, angst, family problems, Viserys I is an ass and a bad father,

and as always english is not my native language// no beta reader so all mistakes are mine // GIF not mine.

A/N: Actually, the story should go in a completely different direction. The plan was to have a short enemys to lovers without a big subplot. That did not work. Because Part 2 is was geting too long and I still have ideas, there will be a Part 3. Anyways have fun :)

You can also read this on AO3

Part 1// series-masterlist

masterlist

The next few weeks are, to your surprise, more pleasant than you could have imagined. The weather is beautiful, the sun is shining and the temperatures are mild. You spend a lot of time with Helaena outside, picnicking, reading or sitting in the shadows under the trees and listening to musicians.

But this morning you spent with Aegon. He tried to convince you to visit Sunfyre but you refused to visit the monsters in the Dragonpit. He had laughed briefly about your fear, but then he accepted your decision. Aegon is really trying to be a friend. He's nice to you and his sister, holds back his drinking and fornication, doesn't make any more bitchy comments, and you've discovered that underneath his arrogant facade is an intelligent, witty young man. Even if it took you a while to get used to his humor.

Now you walk back to Helaena's chambers. You open the door but than stop in surprise. You expected to find her alone, but it's not just the Queen who's here, it's Grand Maester Orwyle too. Helaena sits on her bed.

"Your Grace. " you say and sink into a curtsy befor the Queen.

“Lady Y/N good to have you here. ” says the Queen after she makes a hand gesture so you can stand up again. Worried you look over to Helaena, but she smiles to your relief. She waves you over to her, quickly you go to her and sit down next to her on the soft bed, she turns to you and you reach for her hand.

"Are you all right?" She told you a few days ago that she was feeling sick and you also notice that she wasn´t fit the last few days. A bit more tired then usually.

“Yes. The master says I’m pregnant. ” Surprised, you look at her and then you manage to force a smile on your face.

“How beautiful. ” You don't even know if you're serious. Your first thought is about the bruises on her body. But then you try to remember that Aegon is trying to do better.

“Yes, really good news. An heir to the throne. ” says Master Orwyle. You raise your eyebrows, Princess Rhaenyra has enough male heirs, it is unlikely that Aegon and his children will inherit the Iron Throne. But then the memory of the princes appears before your inner eye, with their dark eyes and hair, you remember all the rumours about the descent of the boys.

"Send for the King and Prince Aegon. " Says the Queen as she send a maid on her way.

“Are you happy?” you ask Helaena.

“I hope everything will be okay,” she answers evasively, but she smiles.

“My medical advice will be bed rest in the near future, especially in the early stages of pregnancy. ” says Master Orwyle, more to the Queen than to Helaena. You look outside and you can hardly suppress a sigh. You probably won't be able to enjoy the nice weather anymore. But maybe you could finally finish reading the Dornish fairy tales, the thick book has been untouched on the table for days now.

The doors of the chambers are opened and Aegon enters, his cheeks still a little red from the sun outside. “I was just on my way to Sunfyre. ”He says to his mother and sounds a bit like a child who has been forbidden to play his favorite game.

“There is something more important than your dragon. ” answer the Queen.

"And what?"

“You will find out as soon as your father gets here.”

Aegon just rolls his eyes. “What does he want? Wait it doesn’t matter, I don´t care. ” Queen Alicent sighs at his tone and shakes her head disapprovingly. Aegon looks around for a moment, then grabs the wine on the table and falls on the chair. He just seems to notice the presence of the Maester and he looks to his sister in bed. “Did something happen? Are you sick?” his voice no longer sounds so bored, but also hardly worried. You give him an angry look, but he only smiles at you for a moment.

"Aegon. . . " begins the Queen with suppressed anger in her voice, but she is interrupted when the door opens again and the King and Lord Hightower, the King's Hand, enter.

“What’s going on?” Helaena’s grandfather asks, even he sounds more concerned than Aegon.

“Good news. ” answer the Queen and look at Helaena with a smile. Aegon is also a bit curious.

“I am pregnant. ” answer Helaena now and smiles at her father, you can see in her eyes that she wants a positive reaction from him. The King nods and a slight smile appears on his face.

"Good. That’s good news. " He says, and then pats Aegon firmly on the shoulder. “Well done, my boy. ” Aegon twists his face and twitches away from his father. All the colour is gone from his face and his hand is cramped around his cup of wine. The King nods to Helaena once more, then he leaves the chambers again, the King's hand follows him on his foot. You see tears rising into Helena's eyes, but she blinks them bravely away. You squeeze her hand a little tighter.

“Can I go?” Aegon asks his mother.

“Yes.“ the Queen sounds tired. Aegon gets up and almost runs from the room. You want to run after him to complain about his behavior, but you know Helaena needs you right now, so you stay seated next to her on the bed.

"Is Father happy?"

The Queen takes a few deep breaths and blinks away tears, then she comes to you and sits on Helaena's other side. She, too, reaches for her hand.

“Of course. He’s overjoyed.” She says it with a forced smile. You can see in her face that she's fighting but she manages to keep that smile on her face. For her daughter.

The maester says goodbye after a moment and promises that his assistant will bring a tea for Helaena, which strengthens mother and son. How does he know that the child will become a son? The Queen talks a little more about her pregnancies and that everything was very simple and went well, while she strokes Helaena's hair. You sit in silence with both of them and just listen. You know little about pregnancies, only the horror stories about bleeding, dying mothers who are left in childbed while fathers celebrate the birth of their sons and heirs. But of course you don't say anything. Helaena is a princess, she will get the best medical care. But even that couldn't save the king's first wife, is it true that he had her cut open to save the prince? A prince who lived only a few hours. You don't want to think about a long-dead Queen and focus on Helaena and the Queen's words about how beautiful it is to be a mother and how happy Helaena will be when she holds her child in her arms. It is getting late and at some point the Queen calls for the maids for Helaena. You rise from the soft bed, your back hurts a little because you have been sitting for so long, yet you stretch your back and smooth the skirt of your dress.

“Are you staying here tonight?” Helaena suddenly asks you. The memories of your childhood come up, countless times you slept in Helena's bed. One night she'd whispered in the dark that her dreams were scaring her, but when you're with her, she knows nothing bad can happen. You were so young then. Maybe 8 or 9. Helaena didn't understand her dreams then, probably she still doesn't. But after her marriage to Aegon, he threw you out of her room one night, drunk, and from then on, your sleepovers became less frequent until they stopped. You look at the Queen, she nods and smiles at you.

“Yes, of course. ” you then answer Helaena.

You toss restlessly on the soft mattress. Somehow you can't find sleep, repeatedly you startle from short half-sleep phases. But you don't know why, your thoughts revolve around nothing in particular. You just have a bad feeling, even if you don't understand why. You hear the door open and when it quietly closes again you sit straight in bed. Helaena next to you turns to the other side, but she continues to sleep. You try to look through the curtains in front of her bed, a candle is lit and a figure appears. Quickly you jump out of bed, all your muscles are tense and you breathe to call for the guards, but then you recognize Aegon.

“What are you doing here?” he twitches in fright, his hand twitches to his side, probably to pull a Dagger or something like this, but then he recognizes you. He falls on one of the chairs at the table. You approach him and are glad that the candle gives little light, because as your bare feet step from the carpet onto the cold stone floor, you realize that you are only wearing your nightgown. You notice how the blush shoots in your cheeks but Aegon doesn't seem to notice your outfit or your shame.

“I didn’t expect you here. Aemond, maybe not you. ” he whispers as you sit at the table next to him. Now that you're close to him, you can smell the beer and the wine and the sweat hanging from his clothes. He had most likely spent the night in Flea Bottom.

“What do you mean? Why Aemond?” you say, pulling your eyebrows together, which makes Aegon laugh. He's really drunk.

“It was a joke, little rose.” he says and looks over the table at you.

“Why are you making such jokes?” the night had not been very relaxing for you until now, and his presence here confuses you. Did he want to claim his marital rights? Helaena says he only does that when he's drunk. Aegon shrugs his shoulders, the darkness makes it hard to see his facial expressions.

“Maybe it’s because sometimes I wish Mother had married them. Maybe she’d be happier then.” his words hang between you and you don't know what to say. The silence almost becomes unpleasant, but then Aegon turns his head to the bed. “How is she?”

“Why the sudden worry?” you can still remember his lack of interest in the afternoon.

“I’m always worried about her, she’s my sister.” then he looks up to you and puts a finger on his lips. “But pssh little Rose, I don’t want anyone to know. I have a reputation to lose. ”

You roll your eyes at what he says. “She’s fine, she’s worried if everything will be fine. But your mother says its normal to worry and everything will be alright.”

Aegon nods and you are silent for a moment, then he gets up with a swing. Surprised by his sudden movement and the elegance in it, even though he's obviously had too much to drink, you look up to him.

“Sleep well, little Rose.”

“I am not a little rose. ” you answer, but he just laughs softly again. “Good night, little prince.” Then you answer to annoy him a little, but immediately you regret it. Maybe you got too brave in front of him. Immediately, fear of his anger rises up in you. But Aegon only laughs quietly again and then sneaks out of the room. You sigh, blow out the candle in front of you and go back to bed. Maybe you can get some sleep before the sun comes up again.

To celebrate the pregnancy, the King organizes a large hunting party. For whatever reason, neither Helaena nor Aegon are interested in hunting. The King doesn't seem to care. So a few days later, you're sitting next to Helaena in the stuffy carriage on the way to the Kingswood. The curtains in front of the windows are closed so that the sun does not shine inside and you count the minutes until you can leave the stuffy vehicle again. Even Helaena next to you is in a bad mood.

“I wish we could have stayed at the Red Keep. ” she say and play with the fringes of the pillow next to her. “Whether I’m sitting in my rooms or in a tent. Mother didn’t even allow me to bring Dreamfyre. ”

“You are not allowed to ride your dragon until the baby is born. ” you repeat the Queen's words. Helaena rolls her eyes.

“Aegon and Aemond also come on Sunfyre and Vhagar. ”

“You know very well that this is counterproductive, the two dragons are going to scare away all the venison. It’s not going to be a successful hunt. ”

Helaena just shrugs her shoulders. The carriage stumbles and you get out. There are already many gathered, you recognize the usual small and large houses of Westeros. For the royale hunt a small camp was set up in the Kingswood, there are tents everywhere, and a large campfire is set up in the middle.

You don't really want to spend the next two days in the woods, but it´s not like you have a choice. A loud roar catches your attention, you look up and in the next moment you see two dragons falling from the sky, Vaghar is obviously much bigger than Sunfyre, but as the two approach the ground in orbit, the sun reflects on the golden dragon's scales and even if you are afraid you can't help but marvel at the dragon's beauty. Everyone says Sunfyre is the most beautiful of the Tagaryen dragons. You can't understand the beauty of these monsters, but the way the dragon moves gracefully through the air and lands almost lightly in the middle of the camp, you have to admit that you are impressed. When Vaghar lands a moment later, the whole earth trembles. Aegon slips from his saddle and Aemond lands a moment later next to his brother. The people around start clapping as the princes walk through the camp to the royal family's tent.

"Come on. " Helanea says, together you follow her brothers. When you arrive at the tent entrance, Aemond holds the cloth, which forms the entrance, to the side and you can enter. Aegon waves directly to one of the servants, who brings him a cup of wine.

“Is it wise to drink before hunting?” you ask.

He's just smiling at you.“Of course, otherwise I can’t stand all this. What a waste of time. ” You want to contradict him, but he's right. This is supposed to be a feast for Helaena and Aegon, but neither of them wants to be here. Still, you answer him.

“The King means well, he wants to make you happy and celebrate your child. ”

“He doesn’t give a shit about us. ”

"Aegon, be quiet. " hiss Aemond next to you and give his brother an angry look.

"Isn't it the truth?"

“No truth for the public.” the two princes exchange a glance and Aegon nods, then he turns back to his wine. “Come on, Lady Y/N, we’ll get you something to drink. ” Aemond holds his arm for you, and you take it. He pulls you away from the others through the tent to the edge. You notice the looks of the Lord and Lady present on you, of course you also have a prince on your arm. Aemond is a lot taller than you, but he shortens his strides so you can walk comfortably next to him.

“Is Helaena all right?” he asks, as you stand next to the buffet of cakes, fruit, sweets, nuts and other pastries, as well as Dornish wine and other drinks. Aemond grabs a sweet tea from Essos, which you like to drink, and hands you a cup.

"Yes, but why don't you ask her yourself?"

“Mother says I sould not interfere much in this pregnancy. ”

“What do you mean?”

“Not important.” he answers you with an unmoved face. Is there anything that can upset Ameond?

“You don’t mean no truth for the public?” you repeat his words, even if you’re not so sure what it means. Maybe you should ask Aegon, after all, you're friends now, and you've already talked about not lying to your friends. Aegon calls it Tyrell Lessons, but you think that's sound ridiculous.

“No lie for the public. ” what Aemond tells you confuses you even more. You miss the time when your only connection to this family was Helaena and her strange dreams and riddles that may or may not predict the future.

The day drags on with boring conversations and too much sweet cake. The Queen does her best to entertain the ladies of the court, but the highlight of the day is when the hunting party sets off and returns. Seeing Aegon and Aemond on horses is a bit strange, especially with Aemond you can see that he usually rides a giant monster and not a small horse. Helaena sits bravely next to the Queen, you know she hates all the attention, but there's nothing you can do to help her except sit on the edge and give her a cheerful smile every now and then. The ladies of the court are so busy with their gossip that they don't even realize how meaningless it all really is. Maybe it's important to them, but you can´t bring yourself to care. Why does it matter which lord cheats on his wife with whom? You don't see the point. Some of the ladies are trying to get out of the Queen if Aemond has already chosen a bride.

“This is my son’s decision. ” she answers them in a diplomatic tone. Some of the older ladies tell Helaena about their pregnancies and births, but it's more of horror stories about pain and blood, so nothing that really helps her. But something bothers you about all this, every now and then the word heir comes up. Aegon is not his father's heir. He's the firstborn son, yes. But he is not the heir, so neither will his child inherit the Iron Throne. Jacaerys is his mother's heir, he will inherit the throne, not the unborn child in Helena's womb. It seems like all these ladies have forgotten. The day drags on, you have become sick from all the little cakes you have eaten, and when a horn sounds, announcing the return of the King's hunting party, you must suppress a sigh of relief. The King arrives at the head of the caravan riding back to camp. His sons next to him, while Aemond wears an unmoving face, you can tell by Aegon's face that he's in a terrible mood. His feet hardly touch the ground, as he calls a servant for a cup of wine. The men are slowly dispersed throughout the camp, the prey is sheared and prepared for the big feast in the evening. You stay at Helaenas side and sip your cup of wine.

“Finally, this horror is over. ” she whispers relieved. "Did you not like the attention of the ladies, Sister?" Ameond sounds a little amused, or at least what comes close to amused. He has walked to you so quietly, you didn´t hear him.

“Of course not. ” answers Helaena her brother. “How did you like the hunt?”

“Just as good as you like your day. ”

For a moment you hope for a quiet evening, but the King demands music, wine and dancing and so much of the camp turns into a drunken brawl. At least Aegon will have fun today. You sigh, but you don't say anything, and you try to stay in the background.

But Aemond doesn't seem to support your plan. “My Lady Tyrell will you accompany me for a few steps?”

“Of course. “ you're saying because you can't say no, Ameond holds his arm for you and you take him agaon. You walk side by side along the edge of the camp. Again, he shortens his steps so that you can walk beside him without any problems.

“You don’t really like these feasts. ” it is not a question, rather a statement. Actually, you are always looking forward to the feasts at court, you love to dance and be among people. But this hunt is not what it seems to be. The King claims it's to celebrate Helaena and Aegon, and their child. But this is all for the King alone. He wanted this hunt. Not Helaena or Aegon. So it all has a bitter aftertaste.

“Neither do you. ”

Aemond nods. “It’s exhausting. ”

“Yes.” your conversation is stalled because you don't know what to say to him. “How is the bridal show going?” you ask after the silence between you has become uncomfortable. It was the first thing that came to your mind.

Aemond laughs briefly and then shakes his head slightly. “I’m grateful for what you’re doing for Aegon. ” he won't answer your question and just changes the subject to his brother.

“What do you mean?” you ask confusedly.

“You’re a friend to him, that’s good for him. He’s not as restless as he used to be. I just wanted to say thank you. ” Aemond stops, behind you are hundreds of people drinking, talking and dancing to music. The prince kisses the back of your hand and nods lightly. “Thank you Y/N,” he says again, then turns away and goes to the others.

You take a deep breath, the air is filled with smoke and noise. There's a strange feeling inside you. Yes, Aegon has changed in recent weeks. Yes Project Friendship seems to work quite well. He's leaving Helaena alone, he's not being mean to you anymore, and according to Aemond, he seems to be feeling better. But it can't all be because you spend time with him now and then, can it? Would he go right back to his old ways if you didn't have time for him? You're feeling pressured, but the volume around you makes it hard for you to think in peace. You turn your back on the camp and walk a few steps into the Kingswood. As soon as the trees behind you are a little denser again, it will be quiet and you can breathe in the fresh air.

You still don’t fully understand the reason for his sudden behavioral reflection, even though you’re now sure that he’s not just pretending to want to change, but that he really wants to change. And you can help him with that. But do you really want to take full responsibility for Aegon's mood? Oh, no. It's not your job. Will he be cruel again if you fight? Your temples begin to throb with all this questions, and at the thought of going back to camp, an unpleasant feeling spreads in your stomach.

You just need a little rest and then you can rejoin the partying society to play the perfect lady. You continue to walk through the forest until you come to a small clearing. The light of the moon is no longer blocked from the treetops. The scene in front of you is almost romantic, but you have no head for it now. Talking to Aemond was confusing and you're tired of the whole day of pretending. Maybe you should talk to Aegon about your concerns? But how do you start such a conversation? A voice pulls you out of your mind.

“Your father keeps telling that you’re going to be the new princess, little Lady Tyrell. ” You turn to the side and recognize Lord Tristan Lannister. A son of Lord Tyland's cousin, or something like this, maybe a son from a Aunt? It doesn´t really matter. He speaks in a cold voice and comes over the small clearing where you stand. You freeze in your movement. Why is he lying? What does he even mean? What did your father say?

“Pardon me, I don’t know what you’re talking about. ” you answer honestly and want to move back to the hunting camp, but Tristan gets in your way.

“Yes, you innocent little Rose, what a good game you are playing. To pretend to be the princess friend in order to get close to her brother. My father is terribly angry you must know. For years he has maintained good relations with the King, brought my sister to court a year early only for a boring rose to snatch away her position? I don’t think so!”

“I really don’t know what you mean. Now leave me alone!” you hissed angrily, but the Lannister doesn’t back down from you, you know they tried to get Lord Jason or his twin brother engaged to Princess Rhaenyra, but that was years ago. Apparently they have now tried to suggest Lady Ellisan as a potential bride for Aemond, but what do you have to do with it?

"I'm not going to stand by and watch my family's efforts go down in the sand yet again, and I'm sure the Prince won't find any favour in a Lady with a disfigured face.” and with that, he grabs your arm. You reach out to punch him in the face, but he intercepts your hand and painfully twists your wrist. But suddenly he falters in his movement and his eyes become wide, you notice hot air in your back and the smell of sulfur is in the air.

“Is there a problem here?” Aegon's voice sounds cold as ice, but you've never been so glad to hear it.

The grip around your arm has loosened, and you manage to tear yourself loose and turn around. Aegon is right behind you, and behind him, still half hidden in the shadow of the trees, Sunyfre. The gold of his eyes shimmer in the dark, and with every breath he takes you can see golden flames in his throat. He's ready to spit fire any second. Aegon steps forward, grabs your arm, more carefully than you would have expected from him, and pushes you behind him, but he won't let go of your arm. You see the tension in his shoulders, and as you walked past him you saw the anger in his look, now you are glad that he is standing with his back to you, because his voice is just so full of hate that you shiver.

You try to focus on Tristan's words, but you can't. You feel the heat of the dragon breath far too much in your neck, you feel the heat it radiates through your body, and panicked anxiety rises in you. Aegon says something in high Valyrian and in that brief moment you resent the fact that you never even learned it in the first place. Helaena had offered to teach you words a few times, and you could have attended her classes too, But you didn't want to have anything to do with that strange language. Sunfyre suddenly roars up loudly a sound which sounds similar to a growl, only much more threatening.

"What's going on here?" suddenly the King came, kicked out of the forest, with two royal guards and the Queen at his side. The king is leaning on his walking stick, but his whole body is trembling with anger, and that doesn't make him seem as frail as usual, almost like the authority figure he's supposed to be. The Lannister boy turns to the side and you recognize the hint of a smile.

“The prince threatened me with his dragon! He was angry because I shot a deer in the morning, which he missed. He wanted revenge. Your Grace, please help me. ” He's such a good and convincing liar, you probably would have believed him yourself if you hadn't been there.

“How dare you Aegon!” the King yells at his son. "Don't worry Lord Tristan he'll leave you alone in the future. Go back to your father, I'll take care of it. " The Lannister almost runs from the meadow, and the Queen sends her sworn shield Ser Cristion after him.

“That’s not true at all.” Aegon says now, still angry, but the King does not listen to him.

“How can you frighten the poor boy, because of something as small as a hunt?” Sunfyre makes another angry roar and you twitch in horror as the golden monster stands up to its full size.

“Aegon, get your dragon under control. ”calls the Queen, but he does not respond and only watches Sunfyre gnashing his teeth and making a step on the King. He's on the same level as you two, you're getting close to Aegon, so he's between you and the dragon. There's something in Aegon's eyes that you can't figure out, but it scares you. Would the dragon spit fire without Aegon's command? The Queen opens her mouth, but Aegon is faster. “I have him under control.” then another Valyrian word and Sunfyr retreats behind Aegon.

“We don’t control the dragons! It’s not a pet. I thought I raised you better, but maybe you’re not up to the responsibility. ”

Aegon's eyes sparkle pure anger. “You didn’t raise me at all! You don’t care about me at all. ” after he yells, it's so quiet in the clearing that you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. The King shakes his head and turns around without a word and leaves the clearing, just like the Queen and the guards.

You want to follow them, but Sunfyre bumps his head to the side so that you look straight into his eyes, startled you back, sheer panic rises up. And you reach for Aegon's arm in terror, you know your grip is way too strong and he's probably hurting.

“Aegon!” your voice trembles with fear and you must suppress a sob.

“It’s okay. I told him to protect you. ” says Aegon and then add something in high Valyrian. The dragon turns its head to him and Aegon gently strokes over the golden scales on his nose. Sunfyre expels hot air through its nostrils. You can look into the dragon's eyes from here and you're surprised how much intelligence is behind it. You didn't even realize you raised your hand, but before you touch the golden scales, you twitch back.

“You can touch him. ”

“I don’t want to. ” You say and take a step back. “Thank you, Aegon. For helping me. ” Aegon nods and when you want to leave the clearing this time Sunfyre allows it.

You're surprised when you step back into the hunting camp, all the people drinking and laughing and talking like nothing happened. Because no one noticed. The sudden volume around you makes your temples pound again and the light of the fire burns in your eyes. You take a deep breath, but the air here isn't so fresh anymore.

It smells of horses, fire, wine, meat and people. Right now everything is just too much for you, you just want to be alone. You turn towards your tent, but your father stands in your way.

Your father, who's obviously so drunk, he's talking all over the place that you are going to be the new princess of the realm. It's your father's fault! His stupid plans got you in the situation with the Lannisters. But why? And what is he planning anyway? Isn't it enough that he dragged you away from your family when you were barely old enough to speak? That he took you away from your mother? You'd never have a real relationship with her, you've been separated for too long. And it's all his fault!

An irrational rage rises in you, and for a split second, you want Aegon to burn him with Sunyre. But then you shake your head, the thoughts are not the truth, it's just the stress of the evening that makes you think like that. But if there wasn't some truth to it, where did these thoughts, this anger, come from? You have to suppress a sigh and blink a few times, the anger flies away as quickly as it came and remains an unimaginable numbness. You want to just disappear, but where? You have no answer except to just get away from everyone.

“Is everything all right, kid?”

“Yes, Father. ” You're lying, but you can't smile. Your father doesn't seem to notice, as drunk as he is.

“Good. ”

“I’m tired. Good night. ”

“Good night, my child. ” he strokes your hair and then turns to some men in Hightower green. You enter your family's tent and finally it's dark, but not completely quiet yet. You breathe deeply, your hair smells a little of sulfur and dragon, you would like to let yourself sink into a hot tub. You know there's hundreds of people out there, but you're still feeling unbelievably alone right now. The tent opens again and you turn around and expect your father to stand behind you, but it's Helaena. She doesn't say a word, but spreads her arms and you fall into her embrace. Out of nowhere, tears come into your eyes and you start to cry, your friend strokes your back and sways you lightly back and forth like a little child.

Your mood after the Royal hunt had only relaxed outwardly, you try to forget the memory of that evening as best you can, but you find that you feel more and more left alone. The contact with your family in Highgarden was always bad, but somehow you can't even answer your mother's letters anymore. You don't care what she thinks anymore. You notice how everything inside of you is reluctant to write a nice answer, as she expects from you. Although at first you were sad that Helaena now has to spend most of her time in her rooms, you are now at the point where you enjoy the dark room and the peace and quiet there. There, no one expects anything from you and you can sit on the comfortable sofa all day long, read or even just stare at the flames of the fire. You and Helaena have talked a lot about why you were suddenly so angry at your father, where that sudden hatred came from, but you haven't found a real solution. Helaena is not a real expert on paternal affection, but at least she still had her mother. The only thing she's convinced of is that fathers always want what's best for their children. Aemond had sent you a short letter apologizing for the incident with Lord Tristan Lannister and promising to take care of the matter, even if you don't know what that means. Nor why he's apologizing to you. He had nothing to do with it.

You sit next to Helaena on the soft sofa in her rooms and read some Dornish fairy tales. The fire next to you rattles quietly, the curtains are closed because the Master said so. But you know the sun is shining outside, but you still don't want to go out. You want to sit here in these dark rooms and forget about the world outside. But the world has not forgotten you. The door opens without knocking, and Aegon comes in without being asked in. You look up from the book and even Helaena turns completely to the door

“Aegon.” she says surprised and puts aside her handiwork.

“Sister.” He says, but then turn to yourself. "I've been looking for you."

“I was here. ” you answer. Aegon looks around the darkened rooms and then draws his eyebrows together.

“I thought we were going for a walk. The weather is nice. ”

“I’ll stay here. ” you say. Helaena looks back and forth between you, and then she starts talking.

“No, please Y/N enjoy the sun you don’t have to be locked in here with me. It’s boring here and if I have to be inside, you can enjoy the sun for both of us.”

“I’m not locked. . ” you start, but Aegon just interrupts you.

“You see, even my sister sees it that way. Come on. ” His voice is no contradiction and he holds his arm to you, but you ignore him and look to Helaena. She's smiling at you.

“For me?” and she won. You sigh and nod. Then you walk past Aegon without paying attention to his arm and leave Helaena's chambers for the first time in days. The Prince follows you quickly and it doesn't take long and you walk side by side through the beautiful gardens of the Reed Keep. The sun is burning on your skin but it's feels good.

“You shouldn’t lock yourself up with Helaena. ” Aegon starts after a moment, his gaze is attentive to you and you are uncomfortable. Why can't he just drink wine and fuck whores and leave you alone? Just like the last few years. But no, you had to feel sorry for the lonely prince. You regret your decision for a moment, but then you think back to Helena's bruises, the fear you've always had around Aegon, the night before he attacked you, the screaming in the guard, the desperate queen crying over her son's behavior, and you're glad that this person isn't the same person standing before you.

“I don’t lock myself in, I spend time with her. ”

"You're hiding. "

“That’s not true. ” you answer and stop, you folds your arms in front of youf chest and looks at him furiously. You feel like a defiant toddler anyway, so you can act like one.

“But you do. You hide with Helaena in the dark, and let her fill your head with her stupid riddles. ” insists Aegon, with that arrogant and at the same time bored tone that annoys you so terribly. Maybe the lonely, cruel prince isn't gone yet. But you didn't expect a 360-degree turn of character in a few months.

“You don’t have to be interested. ” you hiss at him, you notice a couple of people turning to you, and immediately you notice the blushes shooting in your cheeks. "Leave me alone. " You say, you didn't notice how loud your voice got.

Aegon's jaw is tightening, and you know he's pissed. Now he'd be yelling at you, you'd be arguing, and your friendship experiment has failed. But Aegon reacts completely differently, he sighs and steps towards you. He raises his hands defensively.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry. I just don’t want you to sink in a hole. ”

“I’m not sinking into a hole.” you give up your tense posture and breathe in the fresh air. “I should better go back inside. ”

“To sneak up with my crazy sister again. ” You roll your eyes and get mad at him again.

"Why are you so mean and dismissive of Helaena?" you ask now, you make sure you don't scream again. Why does he always have to call Helaena crazy? She's not! "I still remember a time when it was different. " You add that.

They're pale memories, memories of your childhood. A childhood where you grew up with Aegon, Aemond and Helaena, and you were somehow happy in a strange way.

"When we were kids?" Aegon asks, he holds his arm back to you, but you don't take it, you just walk next to him. There's no longer two steps between you, but that's okay with you. You nod at his question.

"Before my mother married me to my sister. Without my will. "

"It wasn't Helaena's will either. "

"I know. But it's been different since then. You said honesty is important with friends, so I want to be honest. I know my Tyrell lessons. “ He smiles at you from the side and you have to roll your eyes, but still you have to smile lightly. “But I haven’t told anyone yet."

"I won't talk to anyone about it. " you promise.

"After mum decided that I should marry Helaena, it was strange for me. I couldn't quite understand what it meant. And then at some point I realised what marriage meant. You know how my family is, so it wasn't quite as strange for me as it might have been for outsiders, but it was still strange. After all, she is my sister. I couldn't relate to her the way I did when we were kids. Not with the knowledge. So I started to ignore her. Then we got married. And you know how that marriage goes.” he laughs briefly, even though there's nothing funny about the situation.

Even though you resisted for a long time, even though you actually wanted to hate Aegon and for a while you did, you feel sorry for him. Over the years, you have turned Aegon into an enemy in your mind. Helaena's enemy and therefore your enemy. Even though he tried to mend his ways, you couldn't really forgive him for the way he treated Helaena all this time. But after his words, you realise that Aegon has no choice either. Yes, Helena probably doesn't deserve Aegon. But Aegon doesn't deserve all the suffering his family has put him through either. And if you're honest, you haven´t even try to understand him the whole time, you just hated him. Because that was easier for you. Black and white is easier than grey.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure it's not easy for you either."

"Thanks. But there’s no reason to make things any harder for Helaena.” You are surprised by this admission, or was it more of a statement? "I know we have a duty. As Tagaryans, as monarchs, as part of this family. But I can't share the bed with her sober. I've tried, honestly. But I can't, so I drink and bring it quickly behind me. I don't want to hurt her at all. She is my sister and I love her as my sister. But at the same time it makes me so angry that she is also my wife and that I have to share the bed with her. I can hardly look at her face anymore because I'm so ashamed.”

A single tear runs down his cheek, Aegon quickly wipes it away, but you saw it. You don't know what to say, you can't find the right words. Are there even right words for something like this? So you reach for his hand and squeeze it lightly, you want to show him that he is not alone with his feelings.

“Thanks for telling me that.”

Aegon looks at you in surprise and then smiles slightly. “It feels good to have talked about it.” he squeezes your hand ever so slightly. Then he sighs. “Well, luckily the problem has been solved for now.”

"Are you happy?"

He snorts. “Do you want an honest answer?”

"Of course."

“I have no idea what I´m feeling,” he says after a moment. You nod, not knowing what to say again. "I'm not happy, but Its not like that I don't care either. I don't know." He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t want to think about it.”

You actually want to say something more, but you bite your lip. You want Aegon to respect your boundaries, so you have to respect his too.

“Alright.” You say and stop again. You close your eyes and hold your face in the sun, maybe it wasn't good for you to sit in the dark for several days.

After a moment you continue to walk in silence and as you start moving again you realize that you are still holding Aegon's hand, your fingers intertwined together, completely unconsciously. Surprised by this you release your hand from his, you feel his gaze on you, but you don't turn around to look him in the face. You just keep walking and he walks beside you in silence. The beautiful weather not only drove you two out of the Red Keep, but countless others as well. You notice how they keep giving you looks. But you don't care, you now understand that it doesn't matter what you do.

People would talk about you anyway, judge you and assume things about you. Your father used to tell you that you had to behave perfectly at court and that you couldn't make any mistakes. And you've lived your whole life based on it. You tried to be perfect. And what did it bring you? Insinuations, lies, and the clarity that this world is unfair.

For a split second you consider reaching for Aegon's hand again, knowing there will be talking, but you quickly change your mind. A comfortable silence spreads between you. You try not to think about anything and concentrate on the beautiful gardens, trying to get the faint memory of Highgarden back in your mind at the same time, but you were so young when you were taken away that it's hard for you.

You stand on one of the bushes and scratch over the open flower. From somewhere you hear a familiar melody playing and you close your eyes. You breathe the warm summer air and for a moment you are tempted to imagine what your life would have been like if you hadn't been brought to court. How different it would have been if you had grown up in Highgarden. Aegon's hand on your back takes you away from your thoughts, the touch is slightly, and when you open your eyes again and turn to him, he has already take one step back and you're not sure if you just imagined his touch.

"Do you feel better?“ he asks. You're shaking your head.

"No. But I'm gonna figure it out. I just feel lonely.” you answer honestly.

"You are not." he says, trying to bring a smile to his lips. Then he is quiet, maybe he doesn't know what else to say. Aegon turns in the direction from which the melody of the harbour comes. "The Knights of the Rose." he says after a moment and you are surprised that he knows the song. "Mother used to sing it for me to sleep."

You almost forgot that the Queen is from Old Town. The big city in the Reach shares the same culture as Highgarden

“My Nursemaid did this too.” when you came to King's Landing, she accompanied you. But she was old and left you shortly after your first moonblood."You are now grown up, my child. You don't need me anymore." You're shaking your head to shake away your thoughts about the past. "I want to go back." you say after a moment. This time Aegon doesn´t contradict and accompany you on your way back to Helana's rooms.

"I will go looking for Aemond," he says when you reach the interior of the castle, the alleys are cool on your sun-heated skin. "If you allow My Lady Tyrell, my brother and me will attend dinner with you and my Lady sitster today?“

You laugh at his formal tone for a moment, and then you sneeze.

“Helaena would be happy.”

"And you?“

"I´m too.” You answer honestly and give Aegon a smile.

The summer is moving forward and a tournament is being prepared for the King's Nameday in a few weeks. To your surprise, Princess Rhaenyra has arrived with her children and her uncle-husband Daemon.

The Red Keep is now even more full than usual and the usual chaos is increased again. In Helaena's rooms, fortunately, you don't get so much of it. But you're not the only one who uses her rooms as a secret retreat to hide from the royal court. The princes do the same. Aegon curses Rhaenyra and her annoying sons most of the time. Aemond calls them bastards and Helaena and you sit in silent. In the meantime, you can already see a small rounding of her belly. The princess react to the news of the pregnancy with a smile and "My congratulations sweet sister." After that she continued to ignore Helaena and her other siblings. But it's not like Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond behave differently. Most of the time they get away from the princess, her husband and their sons.

Dinner now takes place regularly in Helaena's rooms. You feel comfortable with the siblings, even if you don't really belong to them, they won't show you. You feel like you four have a little secret bond. It's a nice feeling to be part of it. Every time Aemond enters his sister's room, he pulls away the heavy curtains from the windows and lets the light of the evening sun in.

"The Masters have said that the sun is not good for Heleana."

"Nonsense. Everywhere, healthy children are born, even though their mothers are still working on the fields.”

"Fuck the masters." Aegon accepts his brother and helps himself with the wine. So you stop complaning after the second day. Maybe they're both right.

You sit at the table next to Helaena. The servants have already brought dinner, and you're giving yourself some wine from one of the pots. The princes sat opposite you and you started eating.

"You flew today, right?“ Helaena turns to her brothers, you know she misses her dragon, even though she does not fly often.

"Yes Vaghar has graciously hanged Sunfryre."

"She's three times as big as him." Aegon immediately defends his dragon.

“I won anyway. Usually, he's a little bit nimble."

Aegon turns his eyes. "He wasn´t in the right headspace."

"What do you mean?“ Helaena asks anxiously.

"I don't know. I just feel that he's restless. Something's wrong."

"You feel it?" you ask now confused. What does that mean?

"Yes," says Aegon as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"We have a kind of bond with our dragons." Aemond starts explaining and he sounds like the Septa who taught you. "A connection. We can feel when something is not right, they can feel if something is wrong with us. They will find us wherever we are.”

You look at them in surprise, to be honest, you've never paying attention to the monsters they're riding on, your fear is too buf. But a bond between rider and dragons? You didn't expect that.

"The Dragonkeeper say Aegon and Sunfrey's bond is the strongest they've seen in years." say Helaena, surprised you look at Aegon and notice that his ears become slightly red. You hide a smile by taking a sip of wine.

"Enough of dragons." Aegon ends the topic.

"The dragon dances over the fire of the river." says Helaena suddenly in a serious tone.

Aemond looks at her confused, while Aegon rolls his eyes. "Please, sister, no riddels."

"Let her." you say quickly, but Helaena retreats and begins to play with the small wooden figures of dragons, beetles and spiders on the table.

Angry, you turn to Aegon. "You made her angry." Helaena needs a lot of rest right now because of her pregnancy and you know it's difficult for her when no one listens and understands her.

"I didn't. It makes no sense at all what she says, rivers are not made of fire and dragons do not dance!“

“But...” Aegon doesn't let you say anything, but turns his eyes and gives a sigh of himself.

"It is enough if Helaena has only her riddels in her head, not you too."

Angry at his ignorance, you loudly drop your fork into your plate and sparkle it. "If you just listen to her, you could help find out what the mysteries mean." Aegon just starts laughing. No cheerful laughter, no, he's laughing at you, directly in your face. Anger rises in you, you breathe deep to calm down.

Aemond puts his cup loudly on the table and throws a angry look at you and Aegon. "Helaena shouldn't be upset." He says in a strict tone.

"Aegon upsets her."

"Your bickering upsets her." answers Aegon. God, you want to wipe his arrogant smile off his face! Why does he make you so angry again? And so fast.

"Stop laughing." You are suddenly screaming, surprised by your outburst of anger Helaena and Aemond tremble together. Aegon stops laughing and looks at you surprised. You bite your lip and look to the ground ashamed. "I'm sorry." You say quickly. You shouldn't have screamed

“Y/N.” Aegon's voice is quiet now and you look up again to look at him. “I’m sorry, too. I will listen to Helaena from now on.” Aegon turns to his sister. "I'm sorry I upset you."

Helaena is still playing with the wooden figures, but she's looking at you and her brother. Then she smiles shy. "It's okay. Sometimes I don't even understand what I'm saying. Really Y/N. You don't have to fight for me all the time."

Yes you have to! That's your job. You're her best friend. You have to protect her. But you don´t want to upset her again, so you keep quiet.

You finish your meal in unpleasant silence.

Afte Aegon ccompany you back to your cambers, you would have preferred to go alone, but he insisted. You are silent as you walk through the hallway."

"Are we still friends?" Aegon suddenly breaks the silence.

You are surprised by the uncertainty in his voice and you look at him from the side.

"Of course." you say quickly.

Aegon is nods. "Good. I was just af..." he interrupts himself. "Good."

You're coming to your door.

"Sleep well, Aegon." You tell him and open your door. Aegon looks past you into your room, he's never been in your room before, so you can understand his curiosity.

"Sleep well little Rose."

"Little Prince." you say, courtsey and laugh at his turning eyes before you go into your rooms. You give up calling your maid and getting yourself ready for bed. You have a bad conscience because you've become so angry at dinner, but you're upset when Aegon is so arrogant. And if he ignores Helaena. You don't really feel like somebody's interested in her riddles. But she sees the future. Or? Nobody believes that, so why are you so sure? What do you know about Tagaryen magic? You put the thought aside and lie down in your soft bed.

The masters threw you out of the princess's chambers for a examination, but before you even got close to your rooms, Aegon caught you to play a round of cards with him in the garden. So you sit in one of the pavilions and have servants bring you wine and cakes. After your second cup, you put your hand on your cup when the servant wants to refill. It's pretty early in the day and you don’t want to spend the rest of the day drunk.

"You're boring." Aegon laugs and wins the next round of your game.

"That's not true!" you say.

"Of course, you always behave like a perfect lady. Always stay behind the walls of the Red Keeps and do what your father tells you. When was the last time you were in Kings Landing?"

His words make you a little angry. You don't always do what your father tells you to do, you just listen to your father, even if it hurts you. You're his daughter, you have to listen to him, and he always wants the best for you. That's what Helaena said, fathers always want the best for you.

"It's dangerous there." You answer Aegon's question, you've been out of town for a long time, not without guards.

"No! It's exciting. Come with me to the city for one night. Have a little fun. And don't worry, I'll keep you safe.”

There's a strange feeling under your skin, and even if you know it's dangerous and you'll regret it, the offer is too tempting in a strangely way.

"But only one night." you agree.

Aegon laughs triumphantly at you. "Perfect. I'll send you a message with our meeting point and the way." he says, pushes the cards together and stands up swinging.

"I know the way."

Aegon laughs. "Little Rose, you can't just walk through the Red Keep in the middle of the night and walk out through the gates. But don't worry, there are plenty of other ways out of here."

"Other ways?"

"Secret passages, they're built in order to escape safely in the event of an attack."

You're surprised and surprised that Aegon knows these secrets. You didn't know that the place you've lived in for almost your whole life is full of secret passages.

"See you tonight," he says with an grin, and letting you sit alone in the garden, how impolently.

"My Lady. A gift from the prince." A servant handed you a beautifully carved wooden box. You don't open it because you know it's the message with the directions.

"Thank you. Have a nice day." The servant is apparently surprised that you don't send the gift back as usual, but he leaves your rooms right away.

You put the wooden box on the table and you open it, not only comes out a directions, with a secret passage that begins a corridor in front of your rooms and ends outside the Red Keep, but also clothes, men's clothing. You take them in your hand and you get a familiar smell, Aegon. He sent you his clothes, probably so you could slip out better. A strange mixture of excitement and uncertainty is rising up in you. It's stupid to sneak out. It's dangerous. It is absolutely inappropriate. But then you remember your father's behavior. You deserve to behave inappropriately! At least for one night. Then you'll be the perfect lady again, but you deserved a night of freedom. So you get dressed in the evening and get on your way through the secret passages. You follow the directions and when you get scared you might have lost the right way you step around a corner and stand in front of an old door. To your surprise, it's easy to open. The next moment you step out into the dark night, the air is cool but not uncomfortable.

"Finally." you shake together as Aegon appears next to you. He does not wear his usual, decorated dresses, but dark pants and a simple shirt, yet still of high quality and made of expensive fabrics.

"I was already afraid I was going to get lost and die in these tunnels," you answered him. Aegon laughs.

"Don't worry, little Rose, I would've been looking for you." He's whining at you."Ready?" he laughs. It's probably not half as exciting for him as it is for you. He must have spent thousands of nights in the city to celebrate and visit brothels. You hope he won't take you to a brothel. You decide to trust him. Trust is important in friendship. You nod and follow Aegon down a narrow staircase on the edge of the Keep.

The city summons in a strange way, everywhere were people on the streets, they promoted goods from stands, wine, meat, bread, sweets. Somewhere music plays, there is a theater in a small square, lights are all over the narrow streets.

You could look around for hours and still not have seen everything. You've never been to Kings Landing at night and not near Flew Bottom. Aegon turns to one of the market stands and comes back in the next moment with two cups full of dark beer. Carefully you take a swallow and have to suppress a cough at the bitter taste.

"It is always like this?” you ask surprised.

"No. The smallfolk are celebrating the Night of the Smith today.”

"What?" you ask confused. The feast of the Smith would take place at the end of the week and it is not actually a feast. “The Smith is honored by practicing one day in restraint, water instead of wine, bread instead of cake.” you remember your lessons on the Seven.

Aegon takes a sip of his beer.. "It's good that I don't believe in the Seven. Restraint is not my thing. And the smallfolk celebrate differently than we do, do you really think they need a day by practicing restraint when they don't have enough money for food every second day?“

You swallow once, you know you're privileged, but you don't think about it often. Actually, never. You, outside of your maids and servants, don't come into contact with the smallfolk. "You're right." You say and you're ashamed of your stupidity.

Aegon laughs again and then touches your hand slightly. "Come little Rose, there's no reason to let the mood go down."

"I am not a little rose." you complain as you follow him down the crowded streets.It seems that none of the people had any concerns. People talk, dance, laugh and drink. And all this on the open road.

"Yes you are." Aegon laughs and drinks his cup empty. Then he noods at your cup, which is almost full. You're quick to take a couple of sips too. Aegon smiles at you, an honest smile that he rarely shows.

"Come." He's holding your hand out and you take it. Excitement creeps under your fingertips, where your skin touche his. Aegon close his hand around yours and draws you along the street. The city is noisy and full, but you feel good. When you come to a small place, you finally see where the music comes from. A group of musicians are playing on the edge of the square and the people are dancing and drinking. It is not the dance steps that you dance at court, everyone simply moves to the music as it pleases him. Children rotate quickly in a circle, couples weigh each other tightly wrapped back and forth. A few young girls are guided by men through simple steps with quick turns.

"A dance?" asks Aegon from the side. You drink your cup empty with and nord.The prince pulls you between the dancing people, his hand is on your back, while his other still holds yours. You move to the music, you weigh easily back and forth. It takes a moment, but then you find your rhythm with each other, with the music, with the people around you. A faster song is played, Aegon makes you turn around yourself several times and when you get slightly dizzy and as you stagger to the side his hand is there to supports you and draws you backt to him so that you do not lose balance. You giggle stupidly, moving to music, and when you're taken by a group of young girls and when your are laughing together in a circle, you feel freer than ever in your life. Here and now, no one expects you to dance the perfect dance steps or to be a perfect lady. Nobody knows you here and it feels good. You dance with the strange girls for a while, and then you dance with Aegon again. At some point, you move on through the streets, you drink a lot of beer and taste sweet fruits and drink a juice that strangely burns in your throat and causes you to cough.

"Little Rose, this is not the wine you drink at Red Keep, be careful." Aegon laughs, takes the cup out of your hand and drinks it for you empty. He doesn't even grimaces.

You rolled your eyes and grinned at him. “I thought we would have fun today little prince.” You say challengingly. Aegon laughs and you laugh out loud too. You don't even care that a few people are looking at you strangely. You don't think and grab Aegon's hand to pull him further down the street. You want to see everything before this evening is over.

The sun rises over the city as you approach the Red Keep again. Your hand is still in Aegon's, it feels good. Aegon leads you past the high wall to a small door, it's not the same path you took on the way outside, but you follow him without hesitation into the dark hallways behind the door. The air here is musty and when the door closes behind you it is dark all around you. You squeeze Aegon's hand a little tighter just to make sure you don't lose him. The beer and wine you drank gave your head a light cloud, but you're fine. You walk through the dark hallway.

Aegon opens a door and you come through another hallway. It's a little brighter here, light comes from small openings in the wall from above. However, the ground is muddier and after a few steps you slip. Surprised, Aegon also slips slightly to the side and your back hits the wall, but you manage to catch you. Aegon is now standing directly in front of you.

This situation would scare you a few month ago, but not now. Not just because you drank a little too much, but because you really trust Aegon. He raises his hand and carefully pushes a strand of hair out of your face. His eyes move from yours to your lips and then back to your eyes.

“Did you have fun?” he asks and he is so close to you that you can feel his breath on your skin.

“Yes.” You answer honestly. "And you?"

"Yes. You are a better company than the one I have usually."

You laugh. "Thank you I take it as a compliment to be a better conversation partner than your whores."

Aegon also laughs quietly, he comes half a step closer to you. He's so close to you now that you can feel the warmth of his body. A nervous tingling form under your skin. You have to swallow, looking nervously to the side, because you can't stand his gaze. The alcohol in your blood makes it difficult for you to think, and Aegon's smell surrounding you confuses you. Aegon's hand lies on your cheek and he gently turns your head, so you have to look at him. He bends a little, then stops again. You can feel your heart thundering in your chest and the blood pulsates through your ears.

"May I kiss you?" His voice is hardly a whisper, so quietly he speaks. A hot shiver is passing through your body. You want his lips on yours, this sudden recognition makes you shake. But it's wrong. You can't want him. You shouldn't want him.

"Friends don't kiss eachother." you get out breathless. His proximity is confusing, and you almost don't notice how to prevent yourself a little, you want to yield to the desire. You want to kiss him. In the next second, reality breaks over you. That's wrong! Aegon is your friend. You're drunk. That's wrong. "We can't." you say in a firm voice, you are surprised by yourself, but you turn your head a little to the side and push him a bit away from you. He allows it, steps a step back, but he does not stumble.

"Come. I'll bring you back, you have to go to your rooms before anyone notices you've disappeared."

Confused, you stand at the wall for a moment, hot shame rises in you. This moment was absolutely inappropriate, even though nothing happened. You take a deep breath and you realize that Aegon is already gone. You're afraid he left you here in the secret hallway, but you can hear his voice just a few steps away from you.

“Y/N?”

"Yes," you answer him, your voice sounds strange in your ears. Aegon holds his hand back for you, and you take it. He leads you through the dark hallways until you come out again in the hallway near your rooms. Just a corner and you'll be safe back in your rooms without being caught. You're a little proud of yourself that you actually succeeded in slipping out of the Red Keep. You're turning around the corner and froze. Your father is standing in front of your door, he must have been about to knock. Gods, why is he here so early? Your father turns around when he hears footsteps and when he recognizes you, still in men's clothes, with messy hair, his eyes darken.

"Y/N!" his voice trembles of anger and your heart is shaking. Damn it, you're in a lot of trouble now. Your father comes to you and you know that if he comes a little closer, he'll smell the alcohol in your breath. "Where do you come from? And what do you look like?"

"Father I can..." you start, but you are interrupted by Aegon, who suddenly appears behind you and places his hand on your back as he stands very close to you. God, what's he doing?

"Lord Tyrell," he says, and he sounds much more drunk than he did a few minutes ago. "It's nice to see you. Don't worry about Lady Y/N. I just wanted to escort your beautiful daughter safely to her rooms."

"My prince." your father sounds insecure. You've never heard his voice like that before.

Aegon puts slight pressure on your back so you move and go to your cambers.

"My Lady Tyrell. I wish you a pleasant morning," he says, kissing your hand and winks to you. On his lips lies the smile of a little boy who had successfully stolen chocolate from the kitchen.

"My Prince." You curtsy and go to your room. You breathe deeply and exhale. Even though you've been awake all night, you feel euphoric rather than tired. You wait another 10 minutes for your father to come after you and preach to you, but he doesn´t come. So you call your maid and let you take a bath. You try to review what happened all night, but your thoughts are always hanging at that moment in the dark secret passage. A few more inches and you'd have kissed. You can feel your cheeks getting red again. Gods. What are you doing? Aegon is your friend! He's your best friend's husband! And you almost kissed him. You have to make a distance between you two. Not emotionally, no, but physically. This must never happen again.

Your father come to your rooms in the afternoon. "Sit down, my child." He says you're swallowing and falling on the chair. Nervously, you start playing with your sleeves. Now the sermon would come. "I'm proud of you."

Your gaze hurries up at his words and you know that your confusion is written in your face. You expected everything from screaming, or threats, to an instruction to go back to Highgarden, but not that. "Pardon me?“

"I'm proud of you. You wrapped both princes around your finger. Very well done.“ You are sure you don't. You want to answer your father, but he just keeps talking. "But you have to concentrate on one, my child. There's been talk. When it comes to marriage, your virtue must be exalted above any doubt. Prince Aegon is already married, so please concentrate on Prince Aemond. You'll be a princess, that's better than a prince's mistress. Isn't that wonderful?"

What? What wedding? What's he talking about? None of this is wonderful. "But Father I don´t want Aemond... I… I don´t want to marry the prince."

Your father looks angry at you now. "What are you talking about? You will be a princess."

"I don't want to be a princess," you insist.

"Don't talk nonsense. Your marriage to Aemond will give our family a lot of influence. That's a good thing. Do what I tell you, my child." he kisses your hair and then leaves your rooms without a word. Confused, you stay sitting and staring at the closed door. That was a joke, wasn't it? You don't really understand what this conversation was supposed to be about. You leave your rooms to go for a little walk to get your head free. You know you don't want to marry Aemond. But your father expects that from you. But can you really live a life with a man you don't love and do not want to marry just to make your father happy? No. But what are you supposed to do? Can you do anything at all?

You are ripped out of your mind when you hear your name. You turn around, Aegon comes to you. Immediately shame rises up in you, but Aegon has a smile on his face.

"And was your father with you?" When he arrives by you, he holds his arm out for you. You hesitate a second but then take his arm. Aegon turns you in the opposite direction, so you go towards the gardens. Forgotten is your intention to not come close to him physically anymore.

"Yes, I thought he would get angry, but he wasn't. He says he's proud of me because I wrapped two princes around my finger." When you repeat your father's words, you feel bad. Aegon starts to laugh quietly and shakes his head. You actually thought he was gonna get angry.

"What else did he say?“ he asks and acts like a curious boy.

"That I should concentrate on Aemond, because it is better to be a princess than a prince's mistress."

This time Aegon laughs loudly. "Why? Isn't it enough for him that I like you and put a little prince bastard in your belly? I am insulted."

There was this direct kind again that made you so angry not so long ago, but now you have to laugh.

"That's not funny at all," you say anyway. "What does he think I'm doing all day? I didn't wrap anyone around the finger. Not you, and not Aemond. Why isn't he angry? He even supports that. What does he imagine?“ the words just come out of your mouth. Aegon stops, so you have too. And suddenly you realize that your father told you the first time he was proud of you. Because he thinks you've seduced two men.

Tears rise in your eyes at this thought. Aegon looks confused about your sudden change of mood. He gently raises his hand, but before it touches your cheek, he stops.

"Can I?“he asks quietly and you nod. He wipes a hair out of your face and then leaves his hand on your cheek. "He wants to make you a princess. He wants power and influence and that's what he wants through you.“

You're swallowing. "Why?" you ask, and it sounds desperate and sad. A strange mixture of anger, sadness and confusion rises up inside you and you don't know how to deal with all of that. You don't know what to do. Listen to your father? Seduce Aemond and become a princess? But you don't want that! You don't want that in any case!

"Because it's always so," replies Aegon. His voice sounds emotionless, as if he were quoting facts from a book. "Who do you think brought my mother into my father's bed? Otto Hightower, her father."

"Are all fathers like that?"

"I don't know, my father barely speaks more than three sentences a week with me. If at all. Or he's yelling at me." Aegon shakes his shoulders, hatred flashes in his eyes, but the short glimmer disappears immediately when he looks at you.

You sighs when you realize what kind of place you're actually living in. This place was full of liars, and men all pursuing their own goals. They all want more wealth and power and influence on the king.

"I don't want to be a princess." you say quietly. You don't want anything like that. You don't want to be Aemond's wife, you do not want to live in the Reed Keep. You don't want to be a figure in your father's game of more power. You just want your peace. You want to sit in the sun, eat cakes and listen to Helaena talking about beetles.

"You don't have to," said Aegon with compassion.

"But my father. I can hardly tell him that I will do nothing."

"Then don't tell him." Aegon shrugged his shoulders. "Lie to him, I always do this with my mother.“

"You know she knows you're lying to her?“

"Of course."

"It hurts her."

"I know. But no matter what I do or not do, she is disappointed in me anyway.”

"That's not true." you're trying to get him up, but Aegon just shakes his head.

"Let us stay with you and your father." you turn your eyes at his words, but he keeps talking. "As I see it, you have two options. First, you stick to Aemond and get him to marry you. I'm honest, if you asked him, he'd choose you. He would be a good husband to you, would do his duty." with his words, everything in you is drawn together. You don't want to associate your marriage with the words duty, even if it's a hypothetical marriage to the prince."Or option two, you give a fuck about what your father says to you and just have fun in your life and lie to him. So what are you going to do little Rose?”

"He could send me away." the thought of leaving Helaena alone makes you ill.

"Helaena would never allow that."

You have to laugh a little about the confident in his voice. Your reality is so different, even though you live in the same place.

“She would not be able to do anything if my father decides I have to leave.”

"She's a princess, she can order you to stay."

"The king would have to agree, she is just a princess."

Aegon becomes aware of the scope of your words. "Then I insist that you stay. I am a prince, your father can do nothing against me."

His words make you smile. "So which option do you choose, one or two?“ asks Aegon now again in a better mood.

"Two," you answer, and you feel like you're doing something forbidden, even if you are only thinking about lying to your father. Aegon laughs at your words like a boy whom sweets are allowed.

"Very well, little Rose, let's have fun."

"I know your definition of fun, but I don't think I have that much pleasure in wine, whores and gambling." you answer as a joke, but Aegon's gaze is darkened.

"Do you really think that's the only things that interests me?“

"No!" you say quickly, even if you are not sure what his interests are. You know he likes history, even though he hates reading books. You know he loves his dragon. You know his favorite Wine is a red one from Dorne. He has a preference for long nights and likes to dance, even if he doesn´t do it often. "I'm sorry. What do you want to do?“

"We can go to Sunfyre," he suggests.

"No." you say quickly, you would prefer bordels and wine.

"You've lived here for years and you're still afraid of dragons."

"They are monsters."

"Sunfyre is not a monster."

"Sunfyre may not, but dragons. They are dangerous, unpredictable, wild and uncontrollable.” on Aegon's face appears a smile and his eyes flash short, then he bites himself on the lip. You're putting your head wrong. "What?“

"Nothing."

You're pulling your eyebrows together. "Tell me what you think."

Now the prince laughs and shakes his head. “No way. You're a lady." You look at him confused.

"What?“

"Come little Rose. A walk by the water will do us good, it's almost fun." he then says and nods towards the walls that separate the Red Keep from the sea. He holds his arm back and you take it without hesitation. You don't talk about the moment in the hallway. But that's okay for you. You even prefere it like this, so you don´t die out of embarrasment.

When you fall into bed early in the evening completely exhausted you breathe out relieved, you were not awake for so long. You close your eyes and you fall asleep in almost the same second. That night you dream of Aegon. You dream that you gave him this kiss. You let him kiss you and let him go further than an unmarried lady should allow.

You're sitting in Helaena's rooms, you've removed the curtains, it's raining all day and dark clouds are drawing over the sky. The fire burns in the fireplace and releases a pleasant heat. You read to Helaena in a quiet voice. A book about folklore from the north, there are stories about the others, Direwolves, Mammots, Giants and other magical animals that no longer exist.

"I have to go to Dreamfyre." Helaena interrupts you so suddenly at an exciting place that you flinch. You look up and only now notice that your friend probably hasn't listened to you in a long time.

“Now?” you ask surprised. "Why?" it rains in streams outside and you sit here in the warm and dry cambers, why leaving?

"I have to," she answers you, even if that doesn't answer your question at all. "Please Y/N, come with me." Of course you go with her.Does it have anything to do with the bond between dragon and rider? A short time later you sit in a carriage, on your way to the Dragonpit. The rain rushes to the roof of the wagon, the drumming of the drops makes you nervous, and Helaena's sudden restlessness doesn't help either. She grabs your hand for a moment, but then immediately releases it and looks out the window of the cart.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes. I have to go to Dreamfyre.”

"We're there in a minute."

Your journey don´t take long, and you and Helaena quickly run to the entrance, so that you do not get completely wet. When the heavy door falls behind you, you take a deep breath. You winkel your nose at the stink. Helaena turns directly to the dragonkeeper, the two turning to the center, where a ramp leads down. But you keep standing still on the wall, being in the Dragonpit is actually a lot too close to the dragons. Why couldn't you stay at the Red Keep? Helaena and the dragonkeeper disappear from your search field and you remain alone in the big hall.

A hiss catches your attention and at the next moment Sunfyre comes through one of the entrances into the Dragonpit, where are the Dragonkeeper? Why can he run around freely?

“What are you doing here?” you flinch when you hear Aegon's voice. He slips from his saddle and lands next to Sunfire's leg. He wears black leather with the inserted signet of his house. He's already taken off his gloves and he's completely wet. Individual drops of rain fall from his blonde hair. Sunfyre turns from Aegon to you and comes a few steps toward you, black smoke threads coming from his nostrils.You shy away from the golden monster. "You don't have to be afraid." You look at him in disbelief. Aegon strokes the dragon's neck.

"Come here."

“No.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “Don’t worry little Rose.”

You want to tell him that you're not Little Rose, but the way you're standing against the wall, scared, you don't believe yourself. Pride takes hold of you and you slowly take a few steps closer until you stand next to Aegon and Sunfyre. "Can I take your hand?" you nod. Aegon takes your hand. His skin is cold from the rain outside, but you still feel like a warm shiver is running down your arm. Aegon places your hand carefully on Sunfyre's neck. The dragon's skin feels different than you thought. You thought the scales were cold and hard, but the dragon radiates incredible heat. “See not dangerous.” Aegon is so close to you that his breath tickles your ear and you get goosebumps on the back of your neck. Your hand carefully strokes the dragon's neck. Sunfyrer holds still, but his eyes watch you carefully.

“I always thought dragons didn’t like strangers.” you say quietly and lower your hand, but Aegon doesn’t let go.

“It depends on the dragon. They are like us, have preferences, hate things, like certain hunting areas. And you’re not a stranger.”

You turn slightly to look at him questioningly, you were never as close to the dragon as you are now. “I told him about you.”

You’re just speechless for a moment. “Why?” your voice doesn’t sound like your voice at all, it sounds thin.

“I tell him everything that happens in my life.” Aegon answers you and then he smiles at his dragon. He looks at least 2 years younger than he is. "He is my best friend. For a while he was my only friend." Aegon strokes the dragon's neck lovingly, then he turns completely to you, his one hand is still in yours and he plays with your fingers.

“I’m glad we’re friends.”

You just stare at him speechless for a moment. Yes, Aegon had insisted on your friendship. He practically begged you to be his friend, but hearing that from him still somehow surprises you. And it makes you happy in a strange way.

“I’m glad too that we are friends.” you answer him and you mean it. Yes Aegon is your friend. Even a good friend, oddly enough.

Your gaze goes from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes again. How would his lips feel on yours? You take a step back to put distance between you and Aegon. This man is your best friend's husband! And your friend. But Aegon takes another step towards you, his hand finds yours again and your fingers intertwine almost automatically. It's a strange feeling, but also somehow nice.

“Y/N…” he starts but a loud roar from the dragon pit makes you both flinch. Aegon narrows his eyes. "Dreamfyre."

“What?” How does he know? It could have been any of the dragons down there. The princess's children had, of course, brought their dragons with them from Dragonstone. Syrax and Caraxes are also down there.

“Wait here.” Aegon turns away and runs towards the dragon pit, worry sparkling in his eyes.

“No Aegon! Wait." but he's already gone and you're standing next to Sunfyre, unsure, confused and frustrated with yourself and him.

The dragon seems to be watching you. “You’re not eating me, are you?” you then ask and almost laughed at yourself. Dragons only understand high Valyrian. Or? Do they even understand it or are they just reacting to it? Is it magic? You don't know enough about dragons to answer these questions. Can anyone actually answer these questions? Sunfyre turns his head in the direction Aegon disappeared, but he remains standing next to you. You think for a moment and then raise your hand again to stroke his golden scales. His eyes flicker to you briefly, but he makes no move to eat you and remains motionless. You don't know how long you wait, but at some point you hear footsteps and the next moment Aegon comes back upstairs with Helaena at his side. Your best friend is crying and her dress is dirty and a little smeared with blood. Cold fear runs down your spine, you run towards the two.

“What happened?” you ask breathlessly and let your gaze roam over Helaena, but apart from a scraped arm she doesn’t seem to be injured.

"Arrax." Aegon's voice drips with anger. You don't know whose dragon Arrax is, but Aegon seems to know.

You take Helaena carefully in your arm, she's trembling.

"I'm fine," she says, trying to give you a brave smile. "The baby too."

The way back to the Red Keep is quiet, Aegon sits next to Helaena and looks at her all the time worried, even though she assures him that she's fine.

"I will kill this bastard and his fucking dragon."

You know everything you're saying right now won't do anything to calm him down, so you shut up and keep holding Helaena's hand. When you arrive in the castle yard, Aegon jumps out of the wagon and rushes inside. You help Helaena out, and you go inside together. The door closes behind you, and Aemond comes to you.

"What happened? Aegon seems..." he stinks when he sees his sister. His gaze goes over her and there is pure concern in his eyes. "angry." he then ends his sentence. "Sister, are you all right? What happened?“

"Arrax has come too close to Dreamfyre," she replies. "She was worried about me. I fell."

Aemond pulls his eyebrows together. "Go to the Master," he says.

"Y/N, please bring her."

"Of course." you say and drag Helaena in the direction of the master's rooms. But you don't get there, Sir Criston Cole, the queen's sworn sword, gets you two passes in advance.

"Princess, Lady Y/N the King demands your presence in the Throne room."

"She has to see the master first." you contradict without thinking, and only then you notice that you have contradicted a direct order of the king, and fear shrinks in your stomach. Sir Cole's face turns a little, and he's nibbling. Nevertheless, he says,

"The king says immediately.“ you can hear from his voice that he doesn't like this order, but he's part of the Kings Guard. He has to do what the king asks.

"All right." Helaena says and so you are on your way to the Throne room. When the double doors open, they release a strange scene. Aegon, Aemond and the queen on one side, the princess, her uncle-husband, and two of her sons and the king on the other side. Aegon curses and screams, the hand that his mother puts on his arm he roughly pushes away. Lucerys has a blue eye and blood sticking to his lip.

"That doesn't explain why my son is being attacked." Rhaenyra brushs over Aegon's curse. "I demand an explanation and a punishment!"

The king looks at his two children, first his heiress, then his firstborn son.

No one is watching you as you and Helaena walk through the room and stand beside Aemond. Helaena holds your hand tightly in hers and you notice her hands trembling. So you rub your thumb over the back of her palms to calm her down. The Queen walks at Helaena's other side and takes her other hand, giving you a grateful smile.

"Arrax attacked Helaena," Aegon insists.

"That's not true! He would nerver do that." answers Lucerys. "Surely Dreamfyre attacked him and he just wanted to defend himself."

"Dreamfyre was chained! Why not Arrax?“ Aemond asks.

"On the Dragonstone they are also free."

"Than go back to Dragonstone, Bas…."

"Aegon," cries the Queen. He looks briefly at his mother, then walks his gaze over his nephew and back to Helaena who is still standing in her dirty dress and blood-smelted arm. His gaze remains at the curvature of her stomach, again flashes pure hate in his eyes.

"Bastard." he spit the word into Lucery's face. Jacaerys comes a few steps toward you, his hand to his fist. Helaena and you unconsciously retreat from his aggression, Ameond next to you also takes a step forward and stands between Jacerys and the Queen. There's tension in the room, and you know, if one of the princes is taking a wrong step now, there's gonna be a fight, or worse. Gods be good, let them all calm down.

"Enough!" shouts the king, Helaena squeezes slightly beside you and presses your hand stronger. Aemond mirrors his nephew with a murderous look in the eye. Lucerys was the one who cut off his eye in that terrible night on Driftmark. There were no consequences then, and you're almost sure there won't be any today. "Aegon! I should have your tongue cut out for that, you know the law." Aegon turns his eyes at his father's words, you know exactly what he thinks, "Try it old man." The King ignores Aegons despite and simply continues to speak. “I don't want any quarrels! Not on my name day! How many times should I tell you all that you should get along? What else should I do?“

You are confused and angry at him, does he not know that you cant demand such things?

"You're not doing anything!" Aegon exclaims to his father. The King raises his hand and strikes him in the face. But he is old and sick, the blow may not have really hurt, yet it was humiliating. The Queen gasps next to you.

"I said enough!“

"Father! You let him get away with such an insult, such a lie?“ says Rhaenyra. She doesn't pay any attention to Aegon and his siblings, but only looks at her father.

You look at her unbelievingly. What's going on here? Helaena was attacked and now Aegon is the one how gets to be punished? The King shakes his head, his gaze is deeply sad and at this moment he seems incomprehensibly old and sick, so you wonder why he can still stand on his own.

"Aegon, you will apologize."

The blonde prince laughs cheerlessly.

"I'm gonna do a shit." “That’s not enough,” Aegon and Rhaenyra say at the same time. Aegon looks at his older sister, Rhaenyra looks at him, her look is ice-cold just like his. For a moment, brother and sister sparkled in anger. Then Aegon breaks eye contact, turns back and escapes from the throne room,. Rhaenyra opens her mouth to say something, but the Queen interferes now.

"We should forget the matter," she says in a firm voice.

"Yes." Viserys agrees. “I don’t want to hear about it anymore. Into your cambers all of you!" his voice does not tolerate contradiction.

Helaena moves her weight back and forth next to you, she is dissatisfied with this result. You are too. Even if you didn't expect anything else. Rhaenyra makes a dissatisfied sound, but her husband puts one hand on her shoulder and with the other hand scolds the children out of the room.

Aemond looks at his mother, who nods and releases Helaena's hand, then takes her face into her hands and kisses her forehead. "Please go to the Master my child, I will come to you soon."

"Yes, Mother." says Helaena, you follow her from the throne room, a few steps behind you. The door closes behind you and a few tears flow from Helaena's eyes. You grap her hand quickly. You want to say something, but Aemond stands next to you and puts his hand on his sister's arm.

"Y/N," he says and looks at you. "Please follow Aegon. I will bring Helaena to the master."

"Wouldn't it be better if you talk to him?" you want to stay with Helaena, you want to make sure she's okay.

"No. Believe me, Y/N, it's better if you do that. When I speak to him, the Strong brothers will be found in their beds tomorrow with their throats cut open.” his voice is cold, and you've got a shock over your back. That wasn't a joke. You squeeze Helaena's hand, let go of her, and then follow Aegon. He has take the way to his cambers, and you hear the door slaming two corridors ahead, so loudly he beats it into the fishing. You encounter two maidens who quickly escape from the prince's rooms, presumably he screamed at them and sent them away. Without knocking, you just open your door and step in, quietly close it behind you.

"I told you to go." Aegon revolves furiously around, his eyes shine dangerously and his whole body trembles, but when he sees you, he relaxes his shoulders. He close his eyes and take a few breaths. He doesn't move for a second, then he turns away from you and throws his cup of wine against the nearest wall. You're scared, but Aegon is not done yet. His next target are the chairs, the wood crushed as he blows it against the table with full vigour, splinters flying and the candlestick, as well as a vase of flowers that were placed on the table, falling to the ground creeping. The scraps spread and the water mess up the tail of your dress, but that doesn't really matter to you.

"Aegon." you start, but he doesn't hear you. He's too caught up in his anger. It is only after he has destroyed half his facility that he seems to calm down a little bit. His breath goes fast as his eyes restlessly wander through the room, like he was looking for something. His body is still trembling with anger. Then his gaze find yours. For a second it seems like time is stopping, you don't even dare to breathe. Then a sop comes out of Aegon's throat, tears run over his face, and he falls to his knees. With quick steps you are near him, sink next to him on the cold stone floor and pull him into a tight hug. He clings to you and starts crying in your neck. You rock him back and forth, like a child, as you try to calm him down. Silently you sing a melody, the song of the knights of the roses.

"I hate him. I wish he was dead." He wishspers quietly in your shoulder. You know he's talking about the King. You can understand him. Even if it's actually high treason what he says. You stroke over his shoulders to calm him down. “My brother lost his eye, he didn’t care. My pregnant sister was attacked and wounded by this dragon worm, he didn't care. Where is the border? When did he start to care? Does one of us have to die first?“ you have no answer to his questions, there is no answer. His eyes are filled with tears, but his eyes stick to your face. You can feel tears accumulating in your eyes.

"I'm so sorry," you say and you mean it. No one deserved such treatment and it's even worse because this treatment comes from his father. You reinforce your grip around his shoulders, push him closer to you. You want to show him that he's not as lonely as he feels right now. At some point his tears dry on his cheeks, he collapse in your arms. Your knees hurt because you're sitting on the cold stone floor and your back hurts slightly, yet you don't move a bit and just hold Aegon in your arm. "You should sleep." you say in silence. He nods at your neck, slowly he rises up. His eyes are bloodshot, he's pale and his gaze is matte. Nevertheless, he helps you on your feet, his hand doesn't let go of yours and he starts playing with your fingertips.

"Will you stay with me?“ he speaks so quietly that you are sure you just imagined his question, but he looks at you uncertain. Your heart almost tears at the sight, and before you can even think, you nod. You go to his big bed, Aegon falls on the soft mattress and just pulls you with him. You end up next to him and of course his bed is a thousand times softer than yours and a hundred times more comfortable than Helaenas. The sheets smell like him, everything here smells like him. You slide under the blanket and slide a little back and forth until you lie comfortably, you don't care if you ruin your dress, it's messed up anyway. Aegon is lying next to you, so close that your fingertips can touch each other, he's rubbing his finger over yours. Seven hells, what are you doing here? You lie in the prince's bed. With the prince. With your friend Aegon. You close your eyes. The gods would curse you, but for what are the gods good at all when they are so unjust? So you decide you don't care tonight. You slide closer to Aegon, lift your arm and lay it around him, start to gently fondle his neck and comb through the short hair. He makes a sound that lies somewhere between whimpering and sighing.

"Is this okay for you?“ you ask quietly and feel him noding.

"Yes. More than okay. Please don't stop," he whispered. A smile play around your lips and you sink deeper into the soft pillows, not stopping fondle his neck and hair. His breath is starting to calm down, his shoulders are relaxing and his hand is laying under the blanket on your hips. He holds you tight even if you're not planning on going anywhere.

"Sleep well, Aegon." you say in the dark after a few moments, you're not even sure if he's still awake.

"Sleep well, my little rose."

taglist: @arabellachant

#aegon ii targaryen #Aegon II #aegon x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #heleana targaryen #helaena targaryen #house targaryen #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #dragons and roses #part 2

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linksthoughtbrambles · 5 months ago

Note

Thought I'd give you a one word prompt for any of the Zelinks: Ghost.

@nocturnalfandomartist, thank you, thank you, thank you for this prompt. This astonished me more the more I wrote - and I couldn't stop writing. It may be longer than you bargained for at 9K words, but I enjoyed writing every single word of it. I will write at least one follow-up. This is a canon-compliant sequel to What to Expect When Fetch-Questing and a loose sequel to The Seeds of Love, Well-Worn and What Once Rang Hollow (with a few continuity differences for that last one) but it can stand easily on its own. Rated T, post-TotK, humor, drama, and romance. Also available to read on ao3.

Eternal

Link was extremely pleased he had his own arm back.

Unfortunately, he was the only one.

Purah (“Are you fricking KIDDING me?! I wanted to study that thing!”), Robbie (“I must repair my balloon myself?!”), Impa (“Mmm—a pity. With it, we might have learned how to create our own constructs—perhaps incorruptible ones.”), Paya (“That’s too bad, Link—it looked good on you!”), Tauro (“Ahhh. I’m sure you’re feeling better, but I was hoping I could learn more of the Zonai language from it, somehow.”), Calip (“It’s gone?! What did you do with it? You should’ve given it to me as an expert in these matters!”), Sidon (“My dearest friend! Where has your adult arm gone? Are you well?”), Yunobo (“Oh NO, Link, you lost your cool arm!”), Tulin (“Oh mannn. You still have my pledge, Link, but I don’t think I should just…slap my rune on your body. We gotta get you some rings or something.”), and Riju (“I didn’t expect you to look so much smaller without it.”), not to mention every single member of the monster control crew, and essentially anyone in Hyrule who ever recognized him, all thought he’d been better off with part of Rauru grafted onto his body.

Even Zelda wasn’t (entirely) an exception.

She did appreciate Link’s hands during their personal time (“I must admit, Link, I’d have felt strange were you doing this with a Zonai’s hand rather than your own”), but the scholar and sovereign in her definitely mourned the loss of such a unique artifact.

“Link, is there any chance you still share a psychic connection with Rauru?”

“Nope,” he said.

She blinked at him.

“Sorry,” he said, blushing and sheepish.

Now that the depths, sky, and newfound caverns had created vast opportunities for exploration, research, and innovation, Zelda’s original aim of rebuilding Hyrule had essentially tripled. She and Link knew if they didn’t make depths exploration and settlement official, people would do it on their own and get themselves killed (or the Yiga would claim it, and Hyrule would be threatened again in a few centuries). So it was, indeed, official as were new initiatives to investigate Zonai technology—making the Great Abandoned Central Mine one of several hubs of Hyrulean activity in the depths. Its proximity to the healing spring directly beneath the Shrine of Resurrection had made it a frequent destination of theirs.

Link and Zelda materialized beneath the Koradat Lightroot to the weighty vertigo of silence in the dark beyond the root’s oasis. It was the same every time—some quiet dread sinking into the deepest pit of Link’s belly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He kept telling himself it would be better once people settled, with their warm lights and the sounds that come with them going about their daily business. Zelda kept telling him otherwise. (“We oughtn’t fill this place to the brim with light, Link. We would disturb its ecosystem severely”).

Link was usually on board with leaving nature undisturbed for the most part.

Maybe it was the time he’d spent down here in utter silence but for his own footsteps, utter darkness but pale flowerlight shot into a black so matte it may as well have been death’s void; the pressure of vast expanses of pitch-black felt nothing like a sea of undisturbed trees far above in the light.

There wasn’t even any wind.

Were both nature? Yes. Were both natural?

It didn’t feel like it.

“Shall we?” Zelda said.

It severed Link’s fledgling reverie. He tore his eyes from the lightless maw beyond Hylia Canyon and turned to join Zelda in descending the steep slope on the path toward the Great Abandoned Central Mine. He gave her a small smile, though he knew, from her face, it didn’t reach his eyes.

Her return smile did. “I hear one of our survey teams discovered another root in that direction,” she said. “We merely- ah- well-“

“Have to figure out how to light it up without my arm,” Link said.

A hint of pink dusted Zelda’s cheekbones. “Yes. Sorry, Link.”

The mine’s central structure loomed in the distance, its light cold, the highest statue of the ancient Gerudo sage always watching, an intimidating glower over the hilt of her sword aimed at any who would ascend the formidable stair toward its main entrance.

“Hello, Aratra,” Zelda whispered, as she always did, as though the woman herself could still answer her.

As they neared the bottom of the hill, blue flickered in Link’s vision. “Zelda,” he said, pointing to the small cluster of poes coming into view on the left.

The spectre of that intimate grief between them passed over her face as she nodded.

He didn’t say it wasn’t her fault.

Since he didn’t say it, she didn’t say it could be.

The words floated between them, spoken so many times they’d become an immutable understanding: that she’d been too slow, that he’d been too silent, that they’d both been too obedient to the long-dead king whose grave Zelda still brought blue gentians to in the early days of each summer.

That neither of them blamed the other for it.

That they’d both spend the rest of their lives making up for it.

And that they’d do it together.

Neither of them knew whether the spiritual flames were casualties of the Calamity.

Link only knew the vague sense of relief he felt when they entered him. It felt like they felt safe—sometimes, he even sensed joy—and they clung to him so hard.

They clung to Zelda, too, it turned out. As they approached, the spirits snapped eagerly into whichever of them was nearest, nestling somewhere unfathomable within them until released to a bargainer’s care. Link still didn’t trust the bargainers, exactly, though they intended to visit the one in the mine that day.

They didn’t talk much. They usually didn’t when sliding through the depths’ silence—sound felt like a beacon to whatever might be beyond the lightroot’s reach; yet they moved in unwavering agreement, sweeping up every poe in their path and off it within sight. It’s why they took the long route to every work site.

They veered far off the path at one point to collect a dozen wayward souls atop a half-buried ruin of a toppled archway.

“If we go much further, we’ll be at the spring rather than the mine,” Zelda said.

“Yeah,” Link answered quietly. They turned to rejoin the path further up, hugging the rounded base of a monumental column presumably carved by nature, reaching the impossibly high ceiling of what was far, far too large to consider a mere cavern. It was like a space willed into existence by the gods themselves.

Link’s mood lifted as the sounds of civilized activity reached him, more and more distinct as they neared the foot of the quadruple-flight of stone stairs beneath the statue’s feet. Link caught a glimpse of a Sheikah scientist, little but a few motes of color on the highest level of the structure, cheerful construct “Brrrp!”s reflecting toward them off any of hundreds of stone facades: every surface the same pale grey—every light cool and lifeless.

Link couldn’t imagine living in such a place. With an irritated grind of his teeth, he realized he strongly preferred the haphazard Yiga structures, with their paper and oil lights and bound wood. The real, green-leaved brightblooms were also better than the Zonai’s artificial torches.

“Rupee for your thoughts,” Zelda whispered.

Link huffed. “The place needs some color.”

She paused on the stairs, a third of the way up, her torso shaking with laughter and her hand squeezing his tight.

Link tried not to smile. He didn’t want her to think he liked being laughed at.

“Link,” she said, holding her stomach, “that is…precisely the sort of observation I ought to expect you to make.”

He really tried to keep a sour grimace on, but he knew his lips were going twitchy.

“Unfortunately,” Zelda said, eyeing his lips with suspicion, “I am no longer in a position to pass on your criticism of Zonai décor.”

Link snorted. “Neither am I. But I definitely would’ve said something to Rauru if I’d seen this before he disappeared.”

“I have no doubt! And truly, you’re right. I cannot imagine spending any great length of time down here with nothing but grey stone and white light.”

Link nodded. “At least not without experiencing crushing environmental depression.”

Zelda inclined her head, no longer laughing. “Indeed. It makes one wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“…Whether the monsters find it as unpleasant as we do,” she said, her eyes sweeping the far-off dark.

Link let that one sink in as they made the landing. Zelda touched the dais on which her old ally stood with reverence. When her hand slid from the porous stone, they continued up the staircase on her right. The chamber below would wait until later.

They ascended among tents clustered on the flagstones before the forge, lining the walls both natural and Zonai-made right up to the great arch. They littered the circular courtyard on the other side of the building, too, the royal crest and symbols of the Sheikah, Zonai Survey Team, and Gerudo adorning many. The familiar sound of a fan whirred somewhere above them, out of sight.

It had been quite a stroke of luck, really, that Link had activated these facilities before Rauru’s arm vanished. The constructs had still recognized him as their “primary authorizer” and he’d been able to grant access to others.

He admitted, though, it was getting cumbersome; the moment he saw Ponnick, he knew he’d run out of time to think about Zelda’s monster-wonderings. He flagged Link down (as if Link wasn’t looking straight at him) with arms wild above his head. “Thank the skies you’re here, we have new recruits!”

Link then spent the obligatory hour introducing them to all the constructs in the facility.

Zelda had her own work in store for her. Between decisions regarding distribution of newly acquired zonaite and reports from the excavation, inventory, innovation, and engineering teams, she easily had a full day of deliberation and arbitration ahead. Link joined her for much of it once he’d fulfilled his authorization duties—after all, he’d become something of an amateur engineer himself. It was nice to have something scientific to contribute when talking with Zelda.

“You can totally build a wing/hot-air-balloon hybrid!” he’d said.

“Link, that sounds quite impractical-“

“No, no, you don’t put the balloon in the middle, you put it on the nose at an angle, see? Then it drags the wing upward.”

“L- Link- what of the flame needed?“

“Oh, no, it’s fine, you only get burned a little bit.”

“What?!”

“And you still put the fans on the back, you know, to help out. Oh, and the steering stick.”

“Link, forgive me, but the flame shall not be directed straight up. It is inefficient and unsafe.”

“Yeah but the LIFT!”

He’d quite liked his flaming plane. So had Robbie.

Today, the engineering talk had more to do with shoring up mining tunnels, which while important, did not require Link’s particular flair for incendiary devices. All their talk of angles, sines, and cosines seemed a bit more precise than his higgledy-piggledy constructions to hold up Addison’s signs, so he eventually left them to it, jogging instead to the rim of the courtyard, climbing up, and inviting all the poes newly showing themselves to join him—then scouting for more from his higher vantage point. He’d grown used to the quizzical looks from everyone else but Zelda.

“What?” he’d asked as Ponnick watched him jog, zig-zagging, in a roughly circular area covered in pale grey and lavender fungi.

“What are you doing?”

“Collecting the poes,” Link said.

“Poes? Where?!” Ponnick spun, wildly searching for spirits which glowed blue, plain as day, in Link’s vision.

At least Zelda could see them, too.

On balance, between the poes, soldiers’ spirits, koroks, Hestu, and the dragons of the springs, he’d have presumed himself insane if no one else ever saw what he saw. He almost had after the ghost of King Rhoam disappeared right in front of his face in the Temple of Time: an insane amnesiac with delusions of heroism.

Except they hadn’t been delusions, because he’d killed the crap out of Ganon.

Twice.

Or, of course, he imagined it. Twice.

Link shook his head. No point going down that route. If he imagined that, he imagined everything, and if that was the case he might as well relax and start attaching rockets to every exhausted korok’s backpack like that one by Outskirt Stable.

Poor little guy. At least he made it the eleventh time.

He huffed to himself. Sometimes, Zelda thought he was a little nuts. He supposed he could see why.

As a particularly large poe with a bright pink fringe zzipped its way into his body, Link caught a wink of blue between boulders at the stone circle in the distance to the north—a small zonaite deposit he’d cleared of monsters for what seemed to be the final time, the blood moons having ended.

It sparked his curiosity.

He sprinted the first hundred feet, then slowed to a reasonable pace. He didn’t want to go too far and worry Zelda, but if there were poes at that old monster nest, he didn’t want to leave them there.

Ten minutes later, he entered the mouth of the circle, three moldy, rickety old watch-posts within and another gap in the rocks across from him. Blue flickered beyond it: five poes huddled together. As he approached, flashes of his last encounter there played across his mind’s eye. The bokoblin on the platform before him had seen him first and tried to rain fire-fruit-arrows on him. Two silver moblins had slouched toward him, intent on splitting him open with their horns or the decayed royal claymores they’d somehow gotten. The other two bokoblins had fallen quickly to Tulin’s duplicate. Five monsters in all.

Link’s lip curled.

He hesitated on the brink of turning back, the thought of helping anything that may once have been a bokoblin sending a shockingly wicked taste of bile up his throat. He brought a fist to his mouth, pressing it deep to his skin, the imprint of his teeth stark against his lips.

No one memory stood out.

He’d never met a bokoblin that hadn’t aimed to kill on sight—never known one to show mercy, or even disinterest. Once they knew a person was near, they entered an unstoppable, murderous frenzy until they succeeded or someone put them down.

Link shut his eyes and took breath after deep breath.

He didn’t know anything for sure, and the bargainers never said.

Except they did say.

“Good… Evil… That’s the futile perspective of narrow-minded beings… There is no such distinction in wandering spirits.”

When he next looked, the flames flickered every bit as forlorn as they always did. He shook his head, his feet finally choosing forward for him.

When the poes joined the others in Link, he felt the usual sense of relief. Whoever or whatever they were, they seemed glad to be with him—not as happy as the ones he’d found in the deepest pit of the mine beneath Hateno, but if he was stuck for Goddess-knows how long at the absolute bottom of a pitch-black pit, he’d have been overjoyed to get out, too.

He took his time on the way back to the courtyard, half-watching a team excavate a buried section of the cracked enclosure and half-scouting for more glints of spirit-light, pensive, wrinkling his nose as he became aware of the sticky sheen on his skin. He pulled a handkerchief from his pouch and took it to his face. It came away slightly green with the powdery spores always floating in the too-still air of the depths. Zelda collected them to study, but Link preferred not to be the collection vessel.

Zelda herself appeared over the edge of the wall as he swept the cloth beneath his left eye a second time. He watched her make her way down the inclined stone the natural grace she’d always had.

When he reached her, she was busy snapping images of the newly excavated section of stone.

“It is remarkable how they accomplished this precision on such a massive scale.” The Purah Pad clicked. “These structures were erected before my time with them—long before for most. They are scattered so far and wide and yet certain markings on them are precisely identical. I suppose they may have mass-produced stones as they did construct parts and delivered them afar.”

Link grew a soft, sideways smile as he listened. He could imagine her doing exactly this in the sunshine, her hair brushing the small of her back, himself silent as always, allowing her voice to wash over him until she inevitably remembered who she was talking to.

“The compendium feature is still something of a mystery,” she’d said, snapping a carefully-timed shot of a warm darner just as it paused, searching for prey.

“It recognizes certain species, but not others. Initially, Purah and I believed its recognition to be related to useful effects. Warm darners are of use in elixirs to resist cold temperatures, for example. Yet despite being unable to identify any species of tree, the Slate recognizes certain perfectly ordinary fruits, including apples.”

Link thought apples were too delicious to be ordinary. He didn’t dare say so, but the phantom flavor of hot buttered apple flooded his mouth and his stomach betrayed him with a thoroughly embarrassing hunger-pang much-too-much like the sound of a hopeful retriever begging for an appley treat.

Zelda’s back stiffened. She glanced over her shoulder at his now-pink face, her eyes flicking to the blue pommel peeking out behind his ear. Link remained perfectly still, and that included not swallowing his imaginary-apple-induced-saliva.

Then-Zelda had returned to imaging wildlife in a rankling silence.

Now-Zelda heard him huff a laugh and turned with a smile sparkling despite the cold light of this place. She hooked the Purah Pad onto her belt. “May I ask what’s amused you so?”

Link shrugged a little. “Ways you haven’t changed.”

“Ah,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “And what of ways I have?”

His voice emerged low and soft. “I love those.” He squeezed her hand.

It made her smile at him in a way far too similar to how she had much earlier that morning, not long after waking up. He swallowed as she pulled him toward her—then she squinted at him and laughed a little through her nose, taking the handkerchief still in his other hand and beginning to wipe his forehead.

“I did that already,” he chuckled.

“You missed your hairline,” she said with the soft laugh he’d come to recognize as her equivalent of a giggle. “It’s fortunate this substance does not irritate your lungs as it does for some.”

“Especially Nappin.”

“Indeed, yes, especially Nappin. I do not believe depths research is his calling.”

“Nope.”

“You must have walked through a thick patch.”

“Ran through, more likely.”

“Oh? Where did you go?”

Link motioned toward the stone circle in the distance.

Her brow pinched. “Monsters?”

“Poes,” he said, wondering if he should tell her about the coincidence of the number. It might make her feel better, to have some hint these weren’t all souls marooned by the Calamity, but he wasn’t sure how she’d take the possibility they might be doing favors for monsters who’d been intent on murdering them in life.

She must have seen it in the motions of his mouth, nearly but not quite speaking. “Something else?” she asked.

He sighed soft through his nose. “Just something that made me think.”

The corner of her mouth quirked. Then her whole face opened up in mock-surprise. “Incredible!”

“Pfff,” he said with a poke to her ribs.

She squeaked. The three people working on the excavation behind Zelda went from studiously ignoring them to unabashed staring. Link gave them a small wave just as he registered Zelda’s eyes narrowing at him.

She began to rub the handkerchief all over the crown of his head with unnecessary vigor.

“Hey!”

The sounds coming from her as he pushed her hands away were much more like a girlish giggle than anything she usually produced. “It was in your hair, too,” she pointed out.

“There’s probably some in yours, Princess,” he warned.

Her eyebrows shot very close to the hairline her hands had risen to protect.

Link smirked. Her braid was much more difficult to fix than his ponytail. He made short work of his, shaking his now-mussed hair out and re-gathering it in the tie. Hyper-aware of the team still at rapt attention in the background, he finished up and offered his hand to Zelda. “Truce?”

She took it with a small smile. “Yes, please—but sincerely, I would like to know what gave you pause in the short time we were separated.”

His smile ebbed as he began to lead her over the shallower side of the half-buried stone walkway. It was no use, really. He’d only been good at hiding things from her when she refused to look at him, so long ago.

“There were five poes,” he said, “same as how many monsters I last cleared out.”

Their feet fell so quiet on the soft courtyard ground covered in pale, fuzzy flora he had no real names for, some soft and mossy, others more like wisps or powders. A few prickled. He liked the purple ones best for breaking up all that grey.

Their feet followed the same path without any hesitance or need for confirmation—toward the great central corridor. Zelda finally answered ten feet from its first stones.

“The statues say… good and evil… are meaningless for them.”

“…Yeah.”

“For a few moments, I was wondering whether only the spirits remaining clear in the shape of Hylian soldiers were people, but… no. For they aren’t poes at all, are they?”

Link shook his head. “No. They… find their way on their own. Once they’re done.”

Zelda nodded. “They had a purpose—to help you,” Zelda said.

“To help someone, anyway. Whoever came around to fight back.”

A series of clanging sounds echoed down the stone steps into the corridor, along with quizzical "Brrrp!"s and a Hylian's grumbling. Link's right hand flexed. No more convenient ultra-glue. He kept walking.

“Why down here?” Zelda asked.

She’d spoken so quietly he had to think to process her words over the noise.

“You mean why in the depths?” Link asked.

“Yes. Why so far beneath the place they perished? There seems little hope of aiding someone here, doesn’t there?”

“I came along.”

“Yet they can’t have known you would. They wouldn’t even have known the depths were here to travel here intentionally.”

Link shook his head. He had absolutely no idea.

They descended in thoughtful silence to the base of Aratra’s main statue, then behind her into the yawning chamber tucked deceptively beneath the center of the great structure.

It struck Link, as it often did, as the offer of an embrace. As the chamber opened before them, the long bridge leading from the entrance directly to the four-eyed face of the greatest bargainer statue, the platform running abreast its shoulders combined with its massive arms and it appeared so ready to encircle whatever came before it. When he’d first stood there, he expected it, watched those hands out of the corner of his eye, waiting for movement.

It had never come.

Instead, a distant but surprisingly level-headed voice had issued from the alien face. It had helped him—no question about that.

The poes gladly rushed into its waiting arms—no doubt about that, either.

But this entity had also played a trick on him to get him down here. He would never trust it the way he trusted the Goddess.

The Goddess statues were another matter entirely. Now that he knew more than one thing could talk out of them, he was a lot more wary than he’d been before.

They came to a halt near the great statue’s face.

“You who stand before me,” it said in tones of single drops of water echoing in a deep, black lake, “offer poes to me. They are spirits that ought to return to the afterlife.”

As always, the poes simply left them. With hundreds or thousands of spirits somehow housed within him, Link always expected there to be something like a whirlwind, or flashes of light—but there wasn’t. It was swift and gentle as a sigh: barely a murmur of any motion or sound. It took merely a moment.

Then a wave of desperate grief seized the core of Link’s body and he cried out, clutching at an anguished heart, though neither the cry nor the heart were his own.

“Link!” Zelda gripped his biceps, her face stricken.

“Z-elda-“ he said, more to answer her than anything else, at a complete loss.

“Two do not wish to leave you,” said the bargainer.

Link’s breath caught. Zelda’s eyes flew wide, and she looked him up and down as though trying to find them. “Can you- pull them from him?”

“I can do no more than guide,” the bargainer answered. “I show the way home.”

“They usually seem quite pleased to go home. So- why?” Zelda’s face seemed approaching a panic like none he’d seen in over a hundred years.

“I’m fine, Zel,” Link said, “really- NO, really, I’m fine, I’m just- I feel what they feel.”

“Yes, I do as well, but this-“

“This is them not wanting to go,” Link said, shaking. His eyes met first the lower, then the upper pair of the bargainer’s. “Can you talk to them?”

“After a fashion.”

“Can you figure out why-“

“I know why.”

Link and Zelda waited a few beats.

“We would appreciate it if you would inform us,” Zelda said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

There was a depth of quiet, as though all sound plummeted into some unseen pit, unable to return, siphoned, whenever the bargainers spoke across fathoms to their brethren. It muted Link’s accelerated breaths. Zelda’s grip tightened, her mind visibly whirring behind the eyes flicking between his features.

“…You have made a substantial offering,” the bargainer said at length.

Link and Zelda exchanged a glance.

“You have made many offerings,” it continued, “many more than any other being in countless ages.”

Link experienced the distinct sensation of someone…curling around him, like Zelda would, holding him tight, but inside his own chest.

“If you agree, I will honor these spirits’ requests as repayment for your offerings.”

“Agree?” Zelda asked. “What requests?”

“They would speak with you,” it clarified.

The curl tightened. It felt like far, far more than a desire to speak. A creeping dread rose in him—his own—of what spirits would choose to cling with such desperation to his body.

Someone terrified of death? Of the afterlife? Maybe someone with a last request—a regret? Two someones—at the same time, when it had never happened before?

Or did the bargainer mean… “W-wait,” Link said with a swallow. “Do they want to speak to someone in general? Or is it just me? Or Zelda?”

Link resisted an inexplicable urge to whimper.

“It is you who stand before me,” the bargainer said.

“Meaning Link,” Zelda said squinting at the statue.

It stared as though its answer had been obvious.

“Do they mean him harm?” Zelda’s tone had hardened considerably. “We have seen spirits lift weapons- perform magic.“

Link lurched with a sudden fear—could he have picked up Ganondorf’s soul?

“I offer you a boon,” the bargainer said, “not a curse.”

Zelda blinked, taken aback, while Link registered the depth of the anguish invading his heart.

It didn’t feel like Ganondorf. He’d have been hatred—envy—fury.

No, that wasn’t it.

This was regret. Something undone or unfinished.

Link closed his eyes and tried to… reach—within himself, where this spirit wound around him. So tight—clinging—stubborn. Something made him breathe an incredulous laugh, and he didn’t even know why; but the more he seemed to press into the spirit’s space the more familiar it seemed, an intense vertigo hurtling toward him from an invisible horizon slamming his awareness into long ago, when the world was over a hundred years younger.

Link’s body gasped.

Link’s mind looked down at a very spiteful young girl with a thick mop of mixed sand-and-straw-and-acorn-colored hair which he’d wrestled into a braid for her earlier that day, springy strands poking out at odd angles as she narrowed her eyes at him, her gangly arms vice-gripping his ribs, her hands fisted, and her feet planted wider than shoulder-width apart, as though to brace him immovably in-place.

“This isn’t going to work out for you, cheeter,” Link said.

“You’re not going,” she answered, her voice a mix of petulant and acrid.

“I… kind of am.”

“Nope.” She sniffed, a bit of her own hair having tickled its way to the edge of one nostril.

“I mean, if you won’t let go, I can just drag you all the way to the castle.”

“Good.”

“Good?!”

“Dad takes you everywhere. My turn.”

“You clinging to my midriff isn’t the same as Father taking you somewhere.”

Her lip curled and Link felt kind of bad, but what did she expect? “You’re eleven.”

“So?”

“So you’re not even out of school yet!”

“Castle Town has a school.”

“So you want to go to school in Castle Town while I’m in training all day and pretty much not see me anyway?”

“At least I’ll get to do something.”

Link laughed so hard he went silent, the girl’s chin bopping his ribs painfully with each spasm of his diaphragm.

“What are you laughing at?!”

“Chee… for Hylia’s sake, you’ll just be at a different school!”

“With you.”

“What about Mom?” Link said.

Chee went quiet for a moment, her eyes softening a little, though they still shone like tiger’s-eye. He could tell she was trying not to grimace.

“That is totally your sheepish face trying not to come out,” Link said.

“Dad leaves her alone,” Chee said quietly. “A lot.”

Link’s smile left him. “No… he doesn’t. Because she has us.”

“You mean me.”

“Yeah, okay… so it’s been you more than me. But do you really want to leave her here while we both go?”

“She could come.”

Link shook his head. He was getting sidetracked. Mom wasn’t really what this was about, and neither was a different school, or Castle Town, or even his sister getting to do more exciting things. “Look, Chee… I know you’ll miss me.”

She grunted and pumped all the air from his lungs with her bony arms (damn she was strong).

“I’ll miss you too. A lot.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, hard, but not too hard. He was way too strong for his own good, or hers. “More than anyone,” he whispered.

“Link?”

“No way.”

“Yep.”

“You’re a total mommy’s boy.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t mean my sister can’t be my favorite person.”

“Link, please- answer me!”

“He communes,” the bargainer said, the sound of distance itself as the image of Link’s little sister faded.

The feel of her arms around him remained.

“I agree!” Link blurted.

“What?!” Zelda said, her thumb swiping at a wetness on Link’s cheek.

As the embrace of his innermost self bled from Link, he tripped forward, his arms desperate, seeking to return it. His hands found Zelda’s waist, and his eyes found hers—whatever she saw in them made her hug him tight about his shoulders.

“Link?” she said.

He held her too, unsure how to begin, but any words died on his lips at the sight of blue flame coalescing behind her. He tapped Zelda’s back, taking her by one shoulder and turning her to look.

Two spirits came into slow being before them, veiled in a pale blue glow, their features weaving into existence as patches of light, seamless once in place. Flames licked their feet, one moment there, then gone. They were old women, but as Link watched, their edges shimmered, and they took the forms he knew they would—some hidden heart within him had already known, had felt their shades only in his most dreamless of sleeps, in the darkness with them.

One woman stood almost exactly his height, about forty years old, and looked very much like him. The other had become the girl who’d insisted he stay home with her over a century ago.

How could his waking mind have forgotten them so thoroughly? He really was an insane amnesiac with delusions of heroism. He’d have to be insane to forget people he loved so much.

“Mom. Chee,” he said, and as he did, their tears fell, too. They rushed to embrace him, both at once, and he could feel them, they were real, and his deepest core spoke a wordless vow to offer a gift worthy of the bargainer’s extraordinary blessing.

Zelda balanced privacy and caution, wandering the length of the bargainer’s platform, the communion of three always at the corner of her eye, sitting cross-legged, knee-to-knee and hand-in-hand.

She’d known of his mother and sister, but they’d never met. He’d spoken of them only in bare, short spaces, quiet moments when Calamity’s imminence dulled.

How their Hateno home had not brought their memories forth long before now, she didn’t know. She’d sensed, sometimes, as Link stared at a piece of pottery or brushed his fingertips over a length of wood-grain on the banister, some glimmer of their former reality floating near to the surface—but it never emerged.

It’s why she’d delved into the mystery of the Shrine of Resurrection—into the healing spring beneath it in the depths—as though the missing parts of him had drifted into its bed, lying nascent against its darkest earth, far below.

They’d have stopped there again after this, on an ordinary day. She’d have given him her most sincere of smiles as she removed his leather—his bracers, his belts, his boots—her eyes never leaving his. She could feel the way his chest would rise and fall, quickening against the heels of her hands. They’d have entered the water together.

Zelda reached the platform’s edge. Hundreds of feet below, a small cluster of poes huddled in the great chamber’s corner, near the bargainer’s ankle; Zelda wondered that they’d come so close to the guiding statue, yet not found their way to the afterlife.

“They do not wish to cross,” the bargainer said.

Zelda gasped, one hand pressing flat to her chest. It had heard her?

“I can hear only you who stand before me.”

Zelda craned her neck toward the statue’s head, half-expecting it to have turned toward her. It hadn’t. “Not the others above us, then?” she whispered.

“Only you who stand before me.”

Zelda sighed, the bargainer keeping its secrets as always. She centered Link in her vision, speaking quietly with his lost family, so engrossed he’d not spared the statue a glance as its voice sounded.

“I spoke to you alone,” the statue said.

“Oh?” Zelda’s curiosity piqued. “I didn’t realize you could.”

She waited for a response, the spark of excitement slowly fading in the silence.

She oughtn’t have expected anything else. These beings showed interest in nothing but the welfare of the spirits they shepherded. She peered over the railing once more, at the flames flickering far below.

“If I go to collect them, will they come?”

“For you, yes. Undoubtedly.”

“And would they then move on as the others have?”

“Almost certainly.”

She wondered why her carrying them a few hundred feet would change their minds.

“Listen with he who also stands before me. You will understand.”

Zelda’s brow tightened, taken aback and hesitant to simply eavesdrop. She shuffled her feet.

The bargainer remained silent.

She approached the three with great reservation, her hands clasped before her, unwilling to simply insert herself within their conversation. She stopped partway across the platform. Should Link wish to include her, he would—yet he was rapt. He appeared as though drinking in every detail of his mother’s face over and over again. Perhaps he feared a more ordinary forgetfulness would take her from him a second time.

Zelda’s lower lip rose in understanding. Some days, she, too, struggled to see her father’s face clearly. Her mother’s had long been wiped blank.

She gasped, her hand touching the Purah Pad.

Link looked up at the sound, giving her a small smile, and as he did, the spirits looked at her as well, as though only just noticing her presence.

The spirit of Link’s mother smiled wide. “Link! Is she with you?”

Link turned deep crimson, his face twisting in a smiling grimace Zelda had never seen on him.

“Oooh!” his sister said, her face full of mock-scandalization. “Your face, Link. Wow. Is she… with you?” she asked, her eyebrows inching upward.

Link’s rested his face in his hands as the spirit-women giggled at him. Zelda couldn’t help but quirk a smile, herself, though she felt strange. She could not ignore the hesitance in her heart.

Transient.

It would be transient.

Her eyes threatened tears as she watched her lover, watched him be with them as though they yet lived.

Their departure would sink him as his forgetfulness never could have.

It took Link a minute and a few resurgences of giggling to recover enough to peer over his hands at her.

Then he held one out in invitation, turning that smile on her- the one that was for her alone. She drew a steeling breath, her fingers worrying at the pad’s cool surface. “Are you certain?” Zelda asked. “I’ve no wish to intrude.” I’ve no wish to cut your time short.

“I’m completely sure,” Link said, beckoning her toward him.

Her shoe scuffed on the first step and she swallowed, extending her hand. When he took it, his mother’s spirit slid to make room for her. Zelda sat as they did, her knee to Link’s, unable to smile and unsure what to say—though she had no intention of asking questions about the mechanics of spirithood, despite the bargainer’s nebulous words.

Link seemed to sense her uncertainty. He threaded his fingers through hers and moved closer, drawing her hand warm into his lap, his shoulder to hers. Zelda couldn’t help but find his eyes, and though she knew his smile and the squeeze of her hand were nothing but sincerity, a truth to reassure her, the smile she gave held a depth of sadness for the future this would bring.

“That is so a yes,” his sister said, snapping the moment in two. Link’s eyes rolled and fluttered shut, and a small laugh left Zelda’s nose despite her visions of Link falling apart.

“The sky’s sake, Chee,” his mother chuckled. “You lived to be ninety-two. I’d expect you to have matured eventually.”

“Are you kidding? This is my chance to be a kid again. I’ll take it!” The girl smiled at Link, but an intense sadness lay in the core of her eyes, the precise contours of her lips. Zelda recognized its longing.

It was in his mother’s, too. “Link, my little love,” the older woman said, shifting a soft smile between him and Zelda, “why don’t you introduce us?”

Link huffed a laugh and gave Zelda a look so like one he’d given her just before the Calamity struck—on Mount Lanayru—something sad yet loving and utterly immovable all at once. She wondered wildly for a moment exactly how he’d introduce her—for she wasn’t his wife, not yet, but “fiancé” seemed an entirely inadequate word.

Fated. Soulmate. Destined. Those- those began to approach the magnitude of whatever connection had laid between them even from the beginning.

“Mom- Chee,” Link said, his eyes and smile still soft, still on her. “This is the love of my life.” His thumb stroked the edge of her hand. “Zelda.”

She and her smile warmed, his words an anchor to the present. Her free hand curled around his bicep and their foreheads somehow met, though she’d not intended to approach him.

His eyes on hers.

Those calm waters she always wished to dive deep within. They seemed to go on forever, further than Link himself could know, to a place warm, safe, and eternal.

Should she ever tell him so, he would give her his lopsided smile with that deep dimple of his. He would tell her the reverse—that she was his eternal goddess, and he worshiped her—that it wasn’t about him.

But it was about him. She knew it in her deepest self. They two were as one. When it came time for her to pass into the afterlife, she knew she would not go without him.

A sudden understanding drew an aching smile on her face for all the little lights in the darkness.

Though the silence between them bore no tension, its length emerged in her awareness. No irreverent remark issued from his sister; his mother had asked no questions of her. She turned with a flutter of dread, expecting, somehow, the spell to be broken—to see empty space where the spirits had been. Instead, she found their gazes on them, awed.

“What is it?” Link asked softly.

They seemed at a loss for speech. Their eyes traveled all around and above and below them, their hands locked together. His mother’s eyes fell on Zelda’s, and his sister’s on Link’s.

“It was you,” his sister said.

Link shook his head. “What was?”

“You… shine,” his mother said, her voice like a whisper in a cathedral. “Together. Like- the light of a thousand Suns.”

Link turned as though searching for that light himself. “Zelda does- she shines with her magic.”

“No, Link. Both of you,” his sister said, shaking her head hard, her eyes shut for a moment. She opened them, squinting at Zelda. “I see you both ways right now. Before, I didn’t have eyes, not anymore. I do now, and I can see you sitting there, but I could see you before, too. You… you were the lights. You…” she gestured at them, her palm wide, “are the lights.” She swallowed. “Mom? Same for you?”

“Yes,” the older woman breathed. “Yes. I thought- Link, I’d thought the light had led us to you. I felt- so happy to finally be with you again. My little boy-“ tears slipped down her cheeks again, and she reached for Link, cupping his cheeks. “I thought- I still don’t understand- I thought I’d outlived you. I kept wishing, and wishing, and wishing in a sea of darkness to find you again.”

“We all thought you died at Fort Hateno,” Chee said quietly.

“But the light didn’t lead me to you,” said his mother with a tearful smile. “The light was you. And…” she smiled at Zelda, “you. And together…” she shook her head.

“Together you get a lot brighter,” said Chee. “Like, a lot. Way more than double.”

His mother laughed. “I don’t have the right words- to tell you- just how beautiful it is. I wish you could see it.”

Link’s sister raised her hand like a schoolchild, her eyes on Zelda, one eyebrow intensely arched.

“…Yeah, Chee?” Link asked cautiously.

“So… are you Princess Zelda?”

Zelda couldn’t help but laugh. “I am.”

Chee gawked and whacked Link’s arm.

“Ow-“

“You landed the Princess?!”

“It’s not-“

“And you didn’t even INTRODUCE her as the Princess?!!”

“Well, I didn’t want to- to-“

“To what, brag?”

“No, it’s just not what’s im-“

“It is so important-“

“Children,” their mother said.

They ceased so completely their hands froze mid-gesture.

The older woman offered her hand, palm up, to Zelda with a kind smile.

She took it, astonished to feel warm skin, no different from anyone else’s, a mere shimmer of blue at the outline setting her apart if she looked hard enough.

“My name is Junilla,” she said, placing her other hand over Zelda’s. “I am so sincerely pleased to meet you, Princess- and overjoyed that my son has found such love in his lifetime.”

Zelda returned the gesture, placing her other hand over the spirit’s. “I am grateful,” she said, “for this chance to meet you. That Link has been reunited with you after all this time…” she took a breath, “is a blessing.” Her gaze rose from Junilla to the eyes of the bargainer. The others’ gaze followed hers.

Chee traced the unfamiliar shapes of the statue’s eyes, a hand worrying in her lap. “How- how much time do we have?”

Junilla’s hand tightened for the space of a pulse around Zelda’s, searching the stone for an answer.

“The- bargainer didn’t say how long we could speak,” Link said softly, suddenly breathing strangely.

“The choice to move on is never mine,” the statue said.

Link blinked. “So- there’s no time limit?”

“I impose nothing. Yet my gift cannot extend beyond these walls.”

Link nodded, his face flat.

Ponnick and several Sheikah entered the space several times to check on them, so long they remained below.

They never appeared to notice the two strange women, though the Purah Pad had been able to take their pictures.

When she and Link finally left—at 5:17am according to the Purah Pad—the women faded without even a whisper of sound to two flickering blue flames, resting together beside the bargainer.

They would wait for Link’s father.

He and Zelda would begin their search in the depths beneath Akkala to find him—under the Citadel—though the bargainer warned that spirits may drift or become bound.

“End the final tide of gloom,” the bargainer said. “Only then may they all return home.”

Link seemed to understand.

They kept their appointments in Lookout Landing and Goron City for that morning and afternoon, having skipped their detour to the hidden spring of resurrection in favor of them. Link was unusually subdued as she’d expected, and her heart fell further and further as the day lengthened.

He’d barely smiled at Yunobo’s fist-bump.

He broke down in her arms, as she’d thought he would, at home in their bed, exhausted and shuddering with a grief which should have been foreign to him, as it should be to anyone—yet he had felt it before in lesser magnitude when the spirits of their friends, their allies, had become known to him, one by one and memory by memory, a sudden knowledge of what had been lost.

He’d even grieved over her in this way, for he’d no way to know she would emerge from the Calamity’s innards as a living being.

Zelda could not imagine it.

All she could do was hold him, kiss the crown of his head, stroke his hair, tell him it was alright.

“I am here, my love,” she said. “I am with you, and I shall stay.”

He nodded, unable, for the moment, to speak.

It was days later, the Sun a deep gold resting in a bed of lavender above the stand of trees west of their garden, when Link suddenly took her by the waist with his only-for-her smile and kissed her, gentle and questioning, then deeper as she rose to meet him, passionate, her arms wrapping about his neck, their bodies moving as a single unfettered wave. Her mouth parted from his breathless.

“L- Link,” she said.

He kissed her again, on her jaw—behind her ear.

“Are- you alright?” she breathed despite her body’s insistence that now was not the time to worry.

He breathed a very soft laugh in her ear and pulled back to look in her eyes. His hands left her hips to cup her face.

He spent a very long moment just like that. When he spoke, the sweet summer breeze danced with the sunflowers, his soft voice like its rustle through the birch leaves.

“I don’t want to remember what I’ve lost only to forget what I have.”

Her hand covered one of his, pressing it to her cheek.

“I love you so much,” he said, his smile growing, a joy nestled there despite the shadow always upon his features. A hint of mischief twitched his mouth. “So much we attract poes in the dark.”

A laugh burst from her. “Link- you are indeed the love of my life, but I’d rather thought it was our magic-“

But Link was shaking his head. “Magic, sure, for glowing when we’re alone, but… the light of a thousand Suns? That’s love. I know it.”

A memory burst to her mind’s eye, of a power as though the surface of the Sun itself, flowing from her as her knight clung to the thread of life behind her.

It had been love then. She knew that. Love of Link which had hurled her bodily before him, willing to die in his stead.

She pulled him close and tight—placed a long, gentle kiss on his cheek. He breathed a laugh and nuzzled her hair.

“You are- absolutely right, Link,” she said. “Absolutely right.”

They held each other, quiet, unhurried as the soft changes in the palette of the sky, restful as the setting sun, resting in the place sought by all the little lights far below—that place in Link’s eyes: a far deeper depth than any within this earth, for eternity had no limit.

She ought to have understood it sooner.

The lifetime of the Light Dragon had been a mere blink of an eye.

Link would love her far longer.

It wasn't transient.

Nor was his love for his sister, his mother, or his yet-unfound father. What resurrection had taken from him in life would have been found beyond the bargainer's crossing, just as she and Link would follow each other to the spirit realm, to whatever lay beyond.

Some well deep within herself whispered in the language of forgotten memories, a truth woven of silent echoes, veiled shades of her many selves passing through her as a thick-muffled feeling—and in that moment, safe and warm in Link’s arms, she felt they had done so before. Over and over again, passing in and out of death and life and realms and voids and time together, and always each other’s light.

She looked at Link, eyes and mouth wide open in a sort of shock, as though seeing him for the first time—as though just having remembered him.

“Zelda?!” He ducked, flickering from feature to feature of her face, his thumbs brushing tenderness on her cheeks and temples. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Oh- oh yes,” she said, her voice shuddering. Her next smile glowed, for him and only him, all else in reality falling from her present. “I love you, Link.”

He grew a smile to match hers and then some. “You sound surprised,” he said with a chuckle.

She took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth, softly, full of reverence, and it felt like a first time. Link’s palm came to rest flat on the table beside her, pressing hard, bracing himself against a force Zelda felt, too, and welcomed—a compulsion to rejoin, to reunite. A shocking elation flooded her that he was wholly him, that he carried no spectre of an ancient king, no matter how benevolent, by his side, and she surged forward against him, delving, caressing: worshiping.

Her kiss released by a hair’s breadth, the heat of their lips a promise of imminence. Link’s heart raced against her elbow where it met his chest. “Z- el,” he said, utterly breathless, even more than he’d made her.

“I’ve always loved you,” she said, her voice quiet’s paramour. “And I always will.”

He stood before her, an avatar of adoration, every aspect of his being focused on her, the softness in his eyes unlike any she’d seen outside those moments he watched her at pleasure’s height. He brushed his lips to hers—not a kiss: a caress.

“You understand,” he said.

She kissed him again, her hands carding through his hair, thrilled when his eyes fluttered shut. She pulled back, a pause. “I do, now.”

“Forever,” he said.

“Through death and life again,” she answered.

In bed that night, Link slept soundly, his arms wrapped around her and his head resting on her chest. She sat partway up against the pillows, stroking his hair and thinking in a way she hadn’t in her waking life: a thinking more like feeling—more like acceptance.

This life was a gift.

A time to feel with skin, with heart and blood.

A time to be separate.

Not because they wished to be—but because it made their reunions that much more joyful.

And when it came time to fade from the physical, there would be nothing to separate them. They would be as one.

Death was not the end.

Birth was not the beginning.

And love…had neither.

She held Link a little tighter, smiling at his sleeping grumble, and closed her eyes.

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