#but maybe now Slash will let her mother him

[forever-eternal]

More Atlas fanart. This time Chapter 50, with our man LH and Vee!

“Where is my family?”

#atlas fanart #tmnt venus de milo #tmnt leatherhead #tmnt fanart #fanfic fanart #atlas by d0minoeffect #Leatherhead looks derpy because I can’t draw animals #perspective is weird because I can’t draw 🙃 #one day these will have more than a black background #but that is not today #Vee and her bros are separated and I scream everytime 🙁 #but maybe now Slash will let her mother him #Spike was her baby too 😫😫 #this one looks weird as hell but it exists now.

[ickadori]

++ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐔

[summary] your parents have no place in getou’s new world, but you do.

[cws] fem reader. death. murder -> getou is killing your monkey as parents, but it’s not described, just hinted at! yandere vibes but i didn’t lean into it heavy. mentions of getou’s past crimes (village slaughtering/killing his parents). hinted that reader used to like getou. unedited.

“You can’t be here.”

If your body hadn’t locked up in fear, you would have given yourself a pat on the back for keeping your voice so steady despite the panic curdling in your chest at the sight of Getou Suguru standing on your doorstep—your parent’s doorstep.

“I can’t visit my dear old friend? We are friends, aren’t we?” No, you had stopped being friends with him the moment you heard of what he did to his parents—no, not even then, because you couldn’t believe it at first.

“Getou Suguru killed the people of the village, as well as his parents.”

You had balked when Yaga first said those words to you, and then you had spat venom as you vehemently denounced the claim. I mean, it was Getou. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t. Someone had gotten something terribly, terribly wrong. He wasn’t that kind of person, he wasn’t evil.

There had to have been some kind of mishap — an anomaly. Perhaps his technique had failed and one of his curses had turned against him and killed the villagers, and he was powerless to stop it. Or maybe there had been some kind of colluding - it wouldn’t be the first time that the higher-ups pulled a nasty, underhanded tactic for their own hidden agendas.

But then Gojo had come to you with bloodshot eyes and wild hair, and you had known it was true, even though the both of you had desperately wished it wouldn’t.

Even then, with the confirmation that Getou had turned his blade against the people you all had spent your life training to protect, you still hadn’t turned your back on him…until you had seen the state of his childhood home.

The walls, once painted a a soft cream, had been stained a dark red, splatters of blood stretched high up to the ceilings. The pictures on the walls that contained images of a young Geto positioned in between his parents, beaming smiles on all of their faces, had been smashed beyond recognition. The recliner that you vividly remember seeing his father napping in, book laid on his chest and glasses slipping down his nose, had been flipped, the fabric slashed to shreds and the cushion spilling out. His mother’s apron, a gift that you had given her one year for her birthday, had laid in bloody tatters next to it.

You would have thought he hated them with the savage way he had killed them (didn’t he, though? Was this his way of showing you all just how serious he was?), he hadn’t even left behind a piece of bone to properly identify them, and the implication that he had let the curses he hosted consume them had made you sick to your stomach.

That’s when you began to hate Suguru Getou, but even more than that, you began to fear him.

“No, we’re not.” Whatever steel that had been in your voice before was now gone, and the waver in it was clear as your hand tightened on the doorknob. You wanted to slam it close and turn the lock, but what good would that do? He’d get in, and while you were a decent enough sorcerer, him and Gojo had been the real hotshots, you just happened to be entertaining enough for them to let you tag along. He could kill you easily, your parents even easier, and your stomach twists into painful knots as you think to your mother who’s only a few feet away and sitting on the couch, curled into your father’s side as they watch a movie together.

“That hurts my feelings,” he smiles, and instead of the fluttery feeling that it used to give you, it only makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “I considered you family, y’know—I still do.”

You bristle, eyes narrowing into slits as a wave of anger washes over you, quickly replacing that all-consuming fear. “Is that why you’re here? To kill me just like you did your family? Your parents?”

“My family?” He tilts his head, a look of confusion taking over his features, and you finally notice his new look. He’s garbed in a monks robes, and his hair that had usually been kept tidy and out of the way now flows down his back. A fleeting thought of his attractiveness passes by, and you don’t entertain it. “Oh, those monkeys.” An easy smile graces his lips as he bats his hand in the air, as if shooing away something bothersome. “No, I’m not here to kill you. You actually have a place in this world, unlike…” His eyes make a motion to the side when he hears your mom’s grumbled complaint of the show, and he’s been inside your house enough to know exactly where the couch sits.

“Leave, Getou.” His eyes slide back to yours, that smile still on his face, and the fear from before comes back tenfold at his unspoken intentions. “Now.”

“You don’t have to look so scared,” he laughs lightly, and you jump when you hear your mother call out to you.

“Who’s that at the door, sweetie?” You hear the sound of her shuffling towards you, and your heart lurches up into your throat as you freeze. What do you do? What can you do? Tears well up in your eyes when you come to the realization that whatever you did would be pointless in the end. If he wanted your parents dead, then they’d be dead.

“Please, Suguru.” The floorboard creaks behind you, and his smile widens further at the desperation in your voice. Please don’t hurt them.

“Honey, who are—oh! Getou? I haven’t seen you in ages! How’re you doing, hun? I thought you were still overseas.” Your mother sidles up beside you, a pleased smile on her face as she takes him in. Getou looks to you, clearly wondering when he had gone overseas, and you think back to the lie you had told when your mother kept questioning you about where your ‘handsome little friend had gone’.

“I’ve just gotten back tonight, actually.” He smoothly lies, hands disappearing into the sleeves of his robes, and your heart rate skyrockets as your brain conjures up various scenarios, scenarios in which all end the same exact way. “I missed your daughter so much that I just had to come and see her.”

Your mother swoons.

“H-He’s leaving, actually.”

“I’m not, actually.” He retorts, and your mother throws a glance your way, and you meet her gaze, hoping and praying that she’d realize the gravity of the situation by the look on your face. She’s your mother, she raised you, she knew all your moods, good and bad, surely she should know when something was seriously wrong with—

“Why don’t you come inside then and get out of this cold? You can tell us all about your stay overseas over some tea.”

Nonononono.

“Oh, how kind, I’d love to.”

-

“How are your parents doing, Geto? I haven’t heard from your mother in a while… she missed out on the market’s half off deal last Saturday.”

Dead. He killed them. He killed them and he’s going to kill you, too.

Your stomach gives another lurch, and you press shaking hands in between your thighs and squeeze them together tight. I can call Gojo, you think. He’d get here in seconds thanks to his teleportation, and in a battle of strength between him and Getou, he came out on top every time. Of course, somehow being able to sneak away to grab your phone would be a risk. But you had to try, you couldn’t just keep sitting here and prolonging their death while they chatted about an overseas trip that never happened, and parents that had long been murdered by their own son.

“…find yourself a partner yet, Getou? I’m sure you have, with your good looks and all.” Your father gives his wife a raise of his brow, but otherwise keeps his attention on the television. “Oh, it’s a pity. You know…” Your mother gives you a sly look, and you narrow your eyes at her as you give a firm shake of your head. “I always thought you two had a little spark going on.”

“Mom.”

Getou grins like the chesire cat, and you wonder if he’s always looked this devious and you were just too blinded by…whatever to notice. “I actually haven’t found anyone yet, although I do have someone in mind.”

“Oh.” She jovially laughs, her hand softly batting at your shoulder as she throws you another look, and you couldn’t keep the grimace off your face if you tried. “It wouldn’t happen to be my lovely, sweet, beautiful, hardworking, amazing cook—”

“—I’m not listening to this.” You shoot to your feet, using the excuse of this embarrassment of a conversation to your aid. It’s a good enough reason to make a swift exit —a mother trying desperately to set her daughter up with the man who’s plotting to kill her and her husband— and swift it is, your feet quickly carrying you up the stairs and down the hall.

“—oh, come on, honey! I’m just playing around!”

Your mother’s voice fades out as you push open your bedroom door and immediately lunge for your phone that’s lying on the bed. You grab it with shaking hands, fingers frantically tapping in your password, and your eyes dart between the screen and the hallway.

A silence falls over the house, and you make a choked noise as your mind jumps to the worse. He’s killed them. He finally got tired of playing nice and killed them. Oh God, he’s killed them.

“…just down the hall and to the ri—well, you’ve been here plenty times! You know the way!” A wave of relief washes over you at the sound of your mother’s voice, only for a surge of panic to rise when you realize he’s on his way and you’ve still yet to call Gojo. You’d have to settle for a text, then.

Your fingers fly across the screen as you move to the text chain you have with Gojo, and you begin to type a message. Getou is here please help, quick and to the point. Your thumb moves to send it, only for a blob of something black to suddenly engulf your hand.

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes widening and arm flinging to the side as you try to fling whatever the hell is on you away, and go to release it in a scream, only for a hand to clamp around your mouth from behind, nails painfully digging into the fat of your cheek. There’s a numbingly cold presence at your back, and your ears twitch at the ragged breathing in your ear.

You know before you look down and see the dark, ghoulish hand that it’s a curse, and you gag as the scent of rotting flesh floods your nostrils. The sound of your bedroom door lock clicking into place reaches your ears, and your eyes snap up to see Getou leaning against it, hands clasped in front of him as he looks at you through his lashes, head tilted down so his chin reaches his chest.

“Your mother doesn’t know when to shut up.” He sighs, and then he’s pushing away from the door and sheathing his hands back into his sleeves, eyes slowly taking in your room. “A second longer and you would have gotten that text off. To Satoru, I’m assuming?” The blob that had engulfed your hand plops down to the floor, and you gag again at the sticky liquid that drips from your palm and onto the carpet.

Getou splays out his palm, and then the phone is spat out and up from the curse before landing in his hand. He glances down at the screen and tsks. “I should kill them right now.”

You scream into the curse’s palm, your head frantically shaking wide to side as best it can. The nails dig in deeper, and you moan in pain, your own hands moving to attempt to free yourself, only for the thing’s other hand to snag ahold of your wrists and wrench them behind your back.

“They were supposed to be dead two hours ago, but I figured I’d let you have a few more moments with them for old times sake.” He smiles as he stoops to look at a picture on your bedside table — it’s one that you had taken the winter before Getou had turned into what he was now. You were sandwiched between him and Gojo, a grin on the white haired man’s face as he leaned his elbow on the top of your head. You were in the middle of sending your fist into his stomach (that of which had been blocked by his infinity, you faintly recall) while Getou watched the two of you with a small smile on his face.

It was the last picture that the three of you had taken together, and you had thrown it away countless times, only to later find yourself rooting through the bin as you frantically searched through it.

Your eyes fill with tears once again.

“Those were fun times, yeah?” He comes to a stop in front of you, and the curse that had been restraining you suddenly lets you go. It steps around you, and you watch, frozen, as it takes hurried steps out of your room. You gasp in a breath, your hands flying to his robes as you clench them in your fists.

“I’m begging you,” you croak, the tears freely falling down your cheeks. “Please don’t do this, Suguru. Please don’t hurt them.”

“They have no place in my world.”

“Honey…do you see that? Oh my God, do you see that?”

“Suguru!” You wail.

“But you…” His hands move to cup the sides of your face, and you sob when you hear the first scream. “You do.”

#getou x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 6

Part 5

Most of the time, being the son of Batman was a point of pride for Damian. Today, it was an exercise in frustration. Not only had Father deemed him too emotionally compromised to participate in the investigation of his so-called brother. Not only was he benched from patrol until Batman returned from abroad. He also had to continue attending school as if nothing had happened! He could probably teach most of the classes better than the adults! Oh, but ‘socializing with his peers’ was deemed too important to miss out on.

No wonder Damian was in a foul mood when he returned home. It had been the last school day before fall break, and a week ago he had been looking forward to the opportunity to patrol without having to worry about getting up early in the morning. Then that damned apparition had dropped the bombshell that had upended all of Damian’s carefully laid plans. Now half of the family was off chasing leads and he was stuck at home cooling his heels. It wasn’t fair!

After doing his customary check on his pets, he had changed into training gear as soon as possible and was now in the process of running through the latest combat program Father had designed. The flow of dodge-weave-counter-strike was helping him vent his frustration and clear his head. And if the training bots ended up more damaged than usual, well that just served Father right. He wasn’t some hapless child to be grounded!

Spin. Strike. Jump. Slash. He was moving on instinct, letting his training take over. A symphony of violence the background track to his churning thoughts, the questions that had been plaguing him all week.

Brother of blood. What did that mean? A full brother? A half brother? The result of some ill-advised dalliance of his Father? Unlikely. The letter had been addressed to Damian Al Ghul, not Damian Wayne. A deliberate choice of words, most likely. A child of his Mother then. He couldn’t imagine Mother would sully herself with another man’s touch. Even after everything, she still loved Father in her own twisted way. Unless Grandfather had ordered her… Stop it!

Stab. Crouch. Roll. Slice.

Never buried but already mourned. Not a lab grown creation then, to be discarded casually. Mourning meant caring. Love. Did Father know something? The haunted look that had appeared in his eyes spoke of old grief. The same grief that still plagued him when memories of Todd or Damian’s death were close to the surface. But he had never spoken of another child. Would he even bother to tell them?

Strike. Throw. Close distance. Disarm.

Lightning and ice. Defibrillation? Some horror movie style reanimation? Cryofreeze? The entity had meta abilities, could it harness lightning and ice as well? A better son, a more powerful Demon’s Heir… No!

Side-step. Kick. Twist. Leg-sweep.

Strike down the Demon’s Head. Did that mean Grandfather? Or Damian himself if the old man died first? It would be just like Grandfather to arrange for Damian to be killed and replaced by a brother. To get revenge for Damian choosing Batman’s legacy over the League’s while hurting their family in the most intimate way possible. Killed by a brother he should have loved, who should have loved him… Fool!

Damian stopped as the gong sounded to mark the end of the program. Around him, the training bots returned to their starting positions, now significantly worse for wear. A few of them were disabled to the point of uselessness.

Damian sheathed his weapons and forced his breathing to slow as he started his cool down stretches. It wouldn’t do to be careless because of some emotional episode. He was more disciplined than that.

What could Death earn anyway? Death brought nothing but nightmares and pain and torment.

Damian shivered. He didn’t like thinking about his Death.

Shoving the memories firmly aside, he returned his training weapons to their respective places before heading over to the Batcomputer. He needed a distraction. Maybe he should call up Jon and see if he had any plans for fall break. Since Damian was benched he would need something constructive to do with his time. Surely with the two of them working together they would find some kind of criminal enterprise to topple in a Kansas cornfield.

Damian compiled the search strings for any unusual activity in the area and set it to run. Now it was a waiting game to see if anything of note turned up. Leaning back, he idly kicked the console, sending his chair into a lazy spin. If nothing turned up in Kansas, maybe he would widen his search to the surrounding states. If they flew Air Superboy, distance would hardly be an issue. Hell, if Jon was busy maybe he could go visit Richard. Bludhaven was never lacking in crime, and Father wouldn’t be able to complain about a lack of appropriate supervision during patrol. With Drake and Todd having left on a ‘roadtrip’ for at least a day…

Damian stopped his spinning and frowned. Now that he thought about it, it was highly unusual for his two older brothers to have left Gotham together and in their civilian identities. Especially with the Bats already shorthanded due to Father’s absence and Robin’s benching. He had been too distracted by the upcoming school day to make the connection when his brothers had mentioned their plans at breakfast that morning. And Drake had been investigating League activity… Damian’s fingers flew across the keyboard, bypassing Drake’s security protocols with ease. If his brother had uncovered a League connection he had a right to know!

What he found among Drake’s recent search history was not what he expected. Some crackpot scientists from Illinois? That’s what had drawn his attention? Certainly, the older Robin had flagged some suspicious transactions and marked the Fentons as potential threats based on their inventions, but there were heroes closer to Amity Park that they could have foisted the investigation off on.

Damian drummed his fingers against his armrest. Something wasn’t adding up here. Pulling up everything he could find about the Fenton parents, he started looking through medical records, school records, articles… Suddenly, Damian’s heart slammed against his ribs. There, on the cover of a two year old magazine, was the face that had haunted him all week. With trembling fingers, he zoomed in on the image. It only took a few minutes to alter the hair and eye colour. It was unmistakably him. The boy who bore an uncanny resemblance to Damian himself, if slightly older and paler.

Swallowing hard, Damian scrolled through the magazine’s online archive to find the article mentioned on the title page. An almost extinct gorilla species. A chance discovery by then fourteen year old Daniel Fenton.

“Daniel,” Damian rolled the name around his mouth. A fairly common Western name. “Daniel. Danyal?” If he was Talia’s son, surely she would have used the Arabic version… no! He was jumping to conclusions!

Now having a name to go on, Damian dug deeper than Drake had bothered to. The birth certificate named a small town in Utah, but there were no records of a hospital admission. A home birth? There were no records of the Fentons having a residence in that state. No medical records of prenatal care either, though there were for the birth of the older sibling. Had the pregnancy gone unnoticed? Possible, if unlikely. There had been a vehicle registration for a motorhome during that time period though. Had the Fentons been living on the road when their son was born? Or had they acquired the child some other way? If he was an Al Ghul who would have spirited him away to the USA?

The Fentons had settled down in Amity Park about six months after Daniel’s birth, purchasing the residence they apparently used to this day. From there, his records were fairly standard and unremarkable, though there were a higher than average number of doctor’s visits for minor household accidents. Not enough to get flagged by CPS, but certainly worrying if potential mad science was involved. Daniel’s school records showed average grades, with higher scores in Maths and Science. At age fourteen however, his academic performance took a sharp dip, with an uneven performance on tests and numerous unexcused absences. His teachers noted frequent inattentiveness in class or Daniel outright falling asleep. Someone had submitted reports of bullying and suspicious bruises, but the case was dropped and never followed up on. His grades had evened out since then, but the unexcused absences persisted.

Damian knew enough about the trials and tribulations of teenage superheroics to recognize a pattern. And it certainly looked like Daniel fit the bill. If he had acquired meta abilities two years ago it probably took some time to get a handle on them and find a balance between his legal and illegal activities.

Damian steepled his fingers together. There was only so much his digital investigation could reveal. It was time for some fieldwork.

Part 7

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batfamily #damian wayne #robin #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right) #no beta we die like danny #damian snoops on tim's browser history #and gets more than he bargained for #damian thinks he would have made a good brother #and having a brother would have made his childhood less miserable

[peachdues]

And a fluff thought stemming from bundle of joy just some years after

All I'm cracking up at is this big scary wind hashira, terrifies the lower ranked slayers. Middle of training when they break for lunch, Y/N coming by with their now toddler daughter. Watch the slayers head spin when this lil girl is absolutely delighted to see her dad, running to hug his leg squealing

No, because this has sent me into a spiral.

Imagine Sanemi has the lower-ranked slayers nearly passing out from how brutal his training is, but they're also too scared to actually stop because they know it will just make their day a thousand times worse.

Sanemi is in the middle of laying into one of them because his form was wrongwrongwrong and how can he possibly expect to cut a demon's head off if he can't even hold a fucking sword, when they're interrupted by a shriek of laughter and joy from across the training grounds.

At first, the group of trainees see the Lunar Hashira crossing the dirt towards them, and they think, oh thank god, she's here to save us from Shinazugawa's wrath, she's going to help, thank god, thank god.

But instead she stops, and she's not looking at them, she's looking at the Wind Pillar and the Wind Pillar alone (like hello?? they're here too?? damn), and he stops the entire training session.

Suddenly, a small, white-haired, pink-cheeked miniature human peeks out from behind the Lunar Pillar's leg. She takes one look at the scarred menace who is low-key torturing this poor group of slayers, and she lets out the loudest little shriek of delight and begins toddling towards Shinazugawa as fast as her little chubby legs can carry her because she just learned to walk and now nothing can stop her.

And Shinazugawa smiles, and not in his signature sadistic manner that makes his trainees nearly wet themselves, but he has an actual genuine smile on that scarred face of his. Then, he does something even creepier -- he laughs.

He squats down and opens his arms as this little ball of pudge and snowy hair waddles to him, and he scoops her up and puts her on his shoulders while she claps her little hands together, laughing.

Sanemi then turns back to the group and for half a second, they think maybe Shinazugawa is in a good enough mood to dismiss them for the day because he can't possibly want his little angel to see him all scary and mean and angry, right?

Sanemi does decide he's done with training for the day -- but they're not. Instead, the Lunar Hashira -- his wife -- is stepping in to run them on defensive drills. Most of them haven't trained under the Lunar Hashira, so they breathe a sigh of relief, because surely, surely her training cannot be anywhere near as life-threatening as Shinazugawa's.

The Lunar Hashira looks so kind, so gentle, as she unsheathes her actual fucking weapon and begins using her breathing forms on them (because it's a mostly defensive-style of fighting, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have some very fast, very brutal offensive techniques saved for when she needs them). The slayers are forced to run, to contort their bodies into unimaginable shapes in a desperate attempt to dodge her crescent-shaped attacks. By the time the sun sets, several of them have thrown up, and a couple of them have passed out.

Meanwhile, Sanemi stands off to the sidelines, daughter still balanced on his shoulders, as she oohs and ahhs the display of lights and shapes unfolding before her. She squeals in delight every time her mama makes another pretty crescent moon and is so entranced by the dazzling show before her that she can't hear the screams of the slayers trying desperately avoid getting slashed to pieces.

And Sanemi has never been happier in his entire life.

Sanemi's proudest moment is when his daughter, who just hit speaking age, loudly says "fuck!" in her little, cute voice when she drops her piece of ohagi in the dirt outside their estate one afternoon. Too bad she also said it in front of her mother, and suddenly Sanemi's proudest moment also becomes the moment he learns what true fear is.

#sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi drabble #sanemi x reader #kny sanemi #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader #kny fanfic #sanemi fic

[dwindlinghaze]

reader pretending she (or they) doesn’t love peter back when he confesses because she is scared to lose him as a friend if they break up so after some angst and pining and avoiding feelings they end up together? ty!

main thing

(peter parker x reader)

summary : you're scared of losing peter as a friend by being more than friends with him.

contents : fluff, small angst ig, she they pronouns used!!! kind of short and rushed im so sorry but i love this concept a lot so thank you anon !!! 🫧🫧

a/n : im back!!!!! im really sorry if my writting is messy and stuff cuz i haven't been writing fics for months noww,, anyway i hope u like it 🫧☃️☁️ and a little rant here um i have this exact situation with a girl- i like her a lot and i knew she liked me back but i also happened to know that if we were to be together it will not last very long so we just ignore whatever is there between us. but don't worry lovelies r and peter's ending won't be like mine <3

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

the hallway between classes were so full. crowded by students walking in eight cardinal directions. your head felt dizzy, it's like you're seeing everything underwater. your steps came to a halt when you were met with a row of lockers. palm against the cold metal as you gain back your stability.

peter must've seen you from the other side of the hall. frowning as he took in your state.

he walked over to you, cautiously. "you okay?"

you looked up to meet his eyes, immediately closing them back when the ceiling light hit your vision. "not feeling well."

peter placed his left palm over your cheek, rubbing them softly to soothe you. he didn't know if it helped but he smiled nevertheless when you nuzzled your face further into his hand.

you wanted peter to give you a hug, maybe his shoulder can be a good resting spot for your heavy head and his warmth can relax your muscles.

and of course. peter did. without you even asking.

"wanna go to the infirmary?" he asked softly, rubbing the side of your head as you completely lose all energy, so now he's the one that held you standing.

"mmh," you replied, not having the energy to form real words.

"alright then let's go," peter started to pull away but stopped midway when he felt you struggling.

"pete, i'm sorry i can't, i have to lay down," you whispered. so soft and low. if he weren't that close to you, he wouldn't hear it.

"that's alright, just slow steps," he encouraged.

he missed his class but he didn't care. he just wanted to be there with you. showing his affection because of his new slash old found love he has for you.

your migraine has not subsided at all the following day. you decided, for good, to skip class. there's no point in going to school when you're sick anyway right? you'll have ended up in a worse condition by the end of the day.

peter was searching for you left and right, he knew you were sick and he is worried sick about your whereabouts. he called you several times already but you never picked up.

when school finally finished, which for him was the longest six hours of his life, he immediately went to your house.

your mother was the one greeting him, saying that you're resting in the comfort of your bed. he went upstairs, after getting your mom's permission, and knocked on your door softly. "hey, it's me peter, can i come in?"

you gave him a very soft hum, thanks to his advanced hearing he can hear you just well.

you were lying on your bed, covered in tons of blankets. peter felt warmth rushing through his chest, seeing you like this. he approached you slowly and kneeled beside your bed.

"how are you feeling?" he asked ever so gently, hand on your shoulder with the blanket in between.

you peeked an eye open, your room was dimly lit, only your vanity lights were on. "better than yesterday," you answered, pushing yourself up slowly. "the migraine is not as bad as yesterday, my head is hurting- just a little."

"oh okay," peter replied. "do you need anything? i can bring you food or drink or water? do you need painkillers?"

you smiled, reaching for his hand, "i'm fine pete, just cold. can you turn up the ac please?"

peter did just that, jumping to his feet to take the remote.

after that you fell into a deep sleep again. peter was there the whole time. he was thinking about... stuff. stuff he wants to tell you.

he sat on your bed right beside your blanketed legs, his hands over them. he looked at you, your sleepy face, perfect hair, soft cheeks. you are his friend. best friend in the whole world. no one understands him like you did. just a few months ago he realised that his feelings may have grown.

it's not just a friendship kind of love but a lover kind of love.

he recalled the amount of time he had cried on your arms. laughed together with you. talk about embarrassing things he had done and had regretted. nobody knows him like you do. and peter would not let anybody know him like you do.

you're the only person that he can be vulnerable with. the only one that he can just be himself even if it's not the best. the only one he trusts.

"what are you thinking over there?" your voice pulled him out of his thoughts. he gave you a smile and you gave peter space for him to lie down.

"just thinking about thoughts... ?" peter answered but it's more like a question.

"thoughts about?"

"nothing."

"you know you can always tell me anything right? no matter what it is," you assured the boy.

"yeah..."

"so...?"

"you're sick right now, you should be resting," he said instead.

you sat up, stretching your muscles as you scrunched up your face. "i feel a whole lot better now... hey do you want some meal and we'll talk about whatever you are thinking about? cause by the look of your face, it's something that has been bothering you hm?."

peter thought about it for a while, but he really didn't have to. it was about time for him to tell you how he feels. he just hoped that you feel the same way.

your mom brought the two of you dinner to your room, you thanked her before she left and urged peter to eat. "pete?"

"yeah," he cleared his throat, "um i don't really know how to start this."

"it's okay, you can take as much time as you want, i'll be here," you said as you take a spoonful of the dinner.

that's also another thing about you that made his feelings even more clear. you never pushed him. always waiting for him to be ready.

"i like someone," he started. you stopped what you were doing and turn your focus fully on him. your heart felt like it has been crushed. "i know we never talk about y'know- this kind of stuff together but the thing is, i like her so much maybe i even love her, i don't know yet though cause i don't really know how love feels- but i sure do like her a lot."

"and does she know this?"

"no... but she knows now" peter answered, hoping that you'd get what he meant.

"what do you mean?"

peter sighed looking down at his lap, "well she's my best friend. my only friend actually. i really really want to be more than friends with them because she is everything to me. i smile every morning because i know i will see them later that day. i spent most of my time thinking about the two of us together. and you know just how worried i was when they didn't go to school because she was sick."

"peter-" you warned him.

"y/n, listen to me-"

"peter please don't," you whispered. you thought you would be jumping and giggling if peter ever confessed to you but instead it's the complete opposite. you don't want this. you can't have this no matter how much of you wanted him.

peter's eyes were brimming with emotion, shiny tears fighting their way not to roll down. "you don't feel the same do you?"

you wanted to say yes. yes you feel the same, you like him so much and that's what you're so worried about. "peter it's not that easy. we- we can't," you shook your head.

peter's brows knitted together, he was bitting the insides of his lower lip. "that's ok. i'll just go home now. i'm sorry for making things weird yeah? just forget everything i said. tomorrow is a new day." he forced a smile before he is out the door.

just like what peter has said 'tomorrow is a new day' so you acted like yesterday never happened. you walked into school, seeing peter by his locker. you smiled at him. "morning!"

"morning, y/n," peter said back, voice cracking.

"let's go to class," you suggested.

through out the day everything was just like how it used to be. you still sit besides each other. still eat lunch together. everything was the same... except that peter can't look at you for more than three seconds and you two don't talk as much anymore.

peter still walked you home, though there is no goodbye hug.

you wondered if you had made the wrong decision. what if you just accept your feelings and let peter in? but the thoughts of ever, god forbid, breaking up with him is what makes you back away from accepting his love.

you love peter so much. more than you can ever say. in a world of boys he's a gentleman. he proved so today. even after getting rejected and having his own heart torn into pieces, he still walked you home.

the next day though, peter seemed to be avoiding you.

you tried to come to him several times but he just gives you short replies. you couldn't blame him. he has every right to do so.

it has been two weeks since. you missed your peter so much. you missed his cheeky smile. his science jokes. his laugh that never fails to make you smile.

sure you can live without peter parker, but would it be as exciting? would you let the only person that knows you best slipped away like that just because you pretend to not return his feelings?

it was such an emotional rollercoaster. on one hand you want to wake up beside peter, but on the other you worried that he'll realize that he's better alone so you'd break up. you want to cuddle up next to him, but you fear he'll get sick of you and break up.

why does every intimate thought of him always ends up with breaking up?

you tried to bottle up your feeling until you can't anymore. so here you are now, knocking at his door.

he opened up, looking as tired as one can be. now that you really look at him, you notice his beautiful freckles that doted all over his nose and cheeks, his smile lines around his eyes, his pretty eyes that you love so much. even in his exhausted state he still looked so- so perfect.

"y/n? what're you doing here?" peter spoke.

"i want to talk to you." you mumbled, looking down at the pavement.

peter was silent. complete silence.

"i want to tell you that i do like you too, peter. i was just being dumb because you're my best friend for years and if we ever get together, what will happen when we break up? i don't want to lose you. so by pushing my feelings aside i can just continue like nothing happened... but i can't stop thinking about how i have hurt you. i completely denied and hurt your feelings and i can't forgive myself for that."

peter put a warm hand over your shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth.

"it's fine. if you don't want this then we don't have to." he said.

"but i want this."

"you do?"

"yes but-," you took a deep breath, "but what if we broke up?"

peter shook his head at that, "we haven't even got together yet and you're thinking of breaking up?"

"it's not funny."

"y/n look at me, i love you. i will not let that happen. and if you really think about it, what is there to be the reason of our break up?"

"i don't know something might come up."

"we know everything about each other, we understand each other. if there's something, i'm so so sure we can work it out," peter placed a hand on your cheek, forehead touching.

"really think so?"

"of course," he replied. "i'm also sorry for saying that so suddenly. i should've known better."

"it's okay peter, we're here."

"yeah we are, and we are not leaving each other yeah?"

"promise," you said.

#peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm x reader #tasm fluff #tasm fic #peter parker blurb #peter parker angst #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic

[lewisyellowhelmet]

summer storm

summary: eddie munson x reader

You got caught in a summer storm, you may as well wait in Eddie’s trailer while you wait for it to pass. (6k+) 

content: virgin!eddie, smut, cheating (but its ok #girlboss), weed, general pining, confusion, eddie charm, p/v sex, fingering etc all that yummy stuff, praise kink if you squint

It’s the kind of violent summer storm that makes you think the apocalypse is incoming. Preceded by violet, rolling clouds in the sky, and the kind of humidity that makes you feel like you’re constantly in a warm bath. The wind is vicious, hitting the walls of Eddie’s trailers with a thrilling intensity, rain slashing against the windowpanes. You sit, fidgety, on the very edge of the worn couch, sneakered feet turned in on each other. The plastic bag of weed is already buried in the bottom of your backpack, your money in the pocket of Eddie’s jeans, but the rain had come before you could make your routine exit. You cringe for your poor bicycle, leant up against the porch outside, getting soaked through. It’ll rust if you leave it too long.

  “I can drive you home,” Eddie had offered, but you thought of your mother in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and watching through the blinds as you manoeuvred your bike out of Eddie’s van, blinking in the rain, calling out thank you’s back to him. She’d never let you leave the house again. So. Here you are. Sat on Eddie Munson’s couch, waiting for the storm to pass. You’re winding a stray thread from your jean shorts around the tip of your finger, watching it go purple and throb before you unwrap it, feel the pulse of escaping blood. 

  Eddie is crouched in front of the television, rifling through VHS cases, mumbling to himself. You feel like an observer, someone not meant to be in the scene with him, witnessing something private. Usually, you do your deals after school, and even if you do bike out here you only ever see a brief glimpse of the inside of the trailer, just enough to swap pot for money, say thank you, and retreat back out into the bright daylight to ride back to town. You’ve never been in his presence for so long, had a conversation longer than a few brief sentences. And now he’s searching for a movie to watch together, something not too scary, as you’d requested, even though he’d rolled his eyes. You bite back on a smile, imagining the conversation with Nancy tomorrow as you rolled blunt’s of Eddie’s weed on her back step, drizzle coming down but safe under the porch. You did what, she would say, round, shocked eyes, at his house? And you’d smile and say, he wasn’t that scary, actually. 

  “Ah ha!” Eddie says, rising up and spinning to show you the video in his big hands. His chunky rings clink together. Labyrinth. You grin. 

  “I love David Bowie,” you say, laugh at him pretending to gag. But he puts it on, punches buttons on the television until it flickers onto static and then the reeling play menu. Eddie backpedals to the couch beside you, collapsing in a crumpled mess of long limbs and hair. All the energy seems to go out of him, like a deflated balloon. It’s strange seeing him still. He’s usually so active, parading around the cafeteria, causing a ruckus in the back of English Lit, but here, in his own space, he seems almost peaceful. 

  “Have you seen this before?” He asks, and you nod, allowing yourself to finally shift more comfortably on the couch so you can lean into the back, pulling a cushion into your lap for something to do with your hands. 

  “Yeah, in the cinema.” 

  “With your boyfriend? Hot date.” 

You swallow over a dry mouth, “Something like that.” 

  You wonder what your boyfriend is doing now. They were supposed to be running laps today for basketball training. Have they been rained out? Retreated to the gymnasium to listen to the rain drip through the tin roof? Or maybe he’s with that Junior, under the bleachers where you’d caught them last week. You feel suddenly ill at the thought, and slouch further into the couch. You should break up with him, but the energy required of such a task seems supernova like. Everything feels like too much effort these days, as you careen towards graduation and college and adulthood. May as well play out the facade for a few more months. You turn to Eddie before you start thinking about it too much. 

  “Did you wanna smoke?” You ask. He turns his head towards you before he drags his eyes from the television set, but when they land on you it feels suddenly blinding. His full attention, surveying you on his couch. Deciding whether you’re a good enough weed partner or not. His mouth crooks into a sideways smile. You don’t know why you suddenly need his approval so badly.

  “Sure, if you wanna,” Eddie says, a lazy way about his words that make you feel judged. Has he decided you’re cool enough? Or not, a disappointment. The feeling clangs in your belly. You go to dig in your bag for the weed he’d just sold you, but he bats your hand out of it, levering himself off the couch.

  “Don’t be silly, I’ll get my stuff, it’s better anyway,” he says, and you frown at his receding figure. You were under the impression he had given you the good stuff. Nancy certainly never complained, and her boyfriend was an aficionado at pot. In the movie, Jennifer Connelly is arguing with David Bowie about her missing brother, as he rolls the crystal globe menacingly in his hands. Somehow, the outside rain seems to increase in intensity, thundering down on the tin roof. It’s soothing, being inside and warm while the weather storms. The light is cosy in here, just a lamp in the corner and the television set. The place smells like smoke and coffee, the scent of clean rain just beginning to edge in. Somehow the trailer is exactly how you expected it to be. Cluttered, obviously occupied by single men, but homely. A collection of bric-a-brac mugs. A rug on the floor. There’s an amp pushed into a corner.

  “Here,” Eddie announces, and to your surprise plops down at your feet, the supplies he’d gathered spread out on the floor. You pretend to watch the movie while he carefully puts together a blunt, packing it neatly. You look away when he lifts it to his mouth, pink tongue flickering over the edge to seal it. The sound of his lighter, the crackling paper, and then the sweet, sticky smell of weed. Eddie passes it to you, and you don’t think about how his mouth was just where yours was as you take a drag. You want him to see how you don’t cough, how you’re good at this, but when you look down at him he’s watching the movie, fiddling with the lighter in his hand. You pass the blunt back to him. 

  “Thanks,” he says, absentmindedly, like he’d forgotten you were there at all. Even more, you feel like an intruder. Now you’re smoking his weed, too. Insisted on a movie he clearly doesn’t like. Awkwardness clogs your throat, but the high brings a soft edge to it, not so immediate. 

  “Do you think I could pull off those pants?” Eddie says, breaking the smokey silence. David Bowie and his package are taking up the screen. The weed makes you laugh easier. 

  “Maybe if you straightened your hair,” you say, take the blunt he’s passing back. Eddie frowns and ruffles his hand through his mop. 

  “What, and lose all this? Curls get the girls, ya know,” he says, and throws a smirk over his shoulder. You feel it again, the blinding power of his attention on you. You want to say something funny back, something to make him laugh, but the weed is clouding your brain. Instead, you suck in another hit, let it sit in your lungs for too long. 

  You alternate between watching the movie and watching him. He’s stayed seated on the floor, one knee pulled up, the other leg stretched out languidly in front of him. It’s strangely endearing, seeing him in his socks, heavy boots lost somewhere. Your whole body feels heavy and fluid, like you’re sinking into the pillowed depths of the couch, but you’re not that fussed about it. The rain is soothing. At some point, Eddie shifts, and you find his shoulder is against your leg, a steady pressure. You imagine your boyfriend finding you like this, slumped in the couch, your leg against the side of Eddie’s body, smoking a blunt right down to the ash. Eddie is flicking his lighter on and off, and you watch with hazy eyes as the flame appears and disappears at his will. 

  “Are you thirsty?” He asks, eventually, somewhere in the last act of the film, and you nod, eyes heavy. He laughs at you, rumbling. 

  “You okay?” 

You nod again, blinking up to where he’s leaning over you, half amused, half worried. 

  “Yeah, it’s just… Nance and I, we don’t usually smoke that much at once.” 

  “Oh, shit,” Eddie says, standing up. Seated in the couch like this, looking up at him, he seems very tall, his shoulders broad against the ceiling. The rain pounds down. You wonder if it will break through, flood the trailer, leaving you swimming around his kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” he apologises, “Let me get you something to drink.” 

You listen to him in the kitchen, clinking glass, the open and close of the refrigerator. You’re not greened out, you know how that feels (Jason Carver’s basement, Sophomore year), you’re just very high, floating away. And this couch is so comfortable, and the rain is so nice. Your leg is cold where Eddie’s body was. You reach to rub warmth back into it. 

 This time, he sits back on the couch with you, waiting for you to wrap both hands around the glass of lemonade, ice blocks floating at the top. 

  “Thanks,” you remember to say, smiling at him over the rim of the glass, small, sweet sips. 

  “You’re very welcome,” Eddie says, rubbing one eye. The room has a smokey haze, now you think about it, all the windows closed against the rain. The air is warm and close in a dreamy way. The movie is about to end, Jennifer Connolly has her brother in her arms. The lemonade clears your head so you don’t feel so much like you’re about to melt into nothingness. Eddie is watching you carefully, and you try to act normal, movements robotic. 

  “Still with me?” He asks, as the credits roll. You’re sucking on an ice block, rolling it around behind your teeth. 

  “Yeah,” you say around the ice, “still with you.”

  “Good,” he says, gets up to turn the television over to a live channel. There’s an I Dream of Jeanie episode playing. You notice it blearily, feeling Eddie take the empty glass back from you. 

  “I can’t go home like this,” you say to yourself, noticing how you’ve half collapsed into the corner of the couch, head propped up by pillows and the arm. One of your legs is tucked up into the crook of your body. 

  “That would be a bad idea, I think,” Eddie agrees, his head coming into view above you. 

  “What time is it?”

  “Just past 9. But. It’s still storming.” 

You close your eyes to think. You feel sleepy in a comforting way, the haunting insomnia of senior year far away. You know you shouldn’t be here, but you feel relaxed like you haven’t in a long time. Sat on this couch with him. Really, you’ve known Eddie your whole life, orbiting each other in a small town. It makes sense, somehow, that you’d end up here together, trapped by weather. But maybe that’s just the weed.

  “Can I use your phone?” You ask. Damage control time. 

  “Yeah, of course. Look, you know. You can stay here, if you want. I can sleep on the couch.” 

You open your eyes to blink up at Eddie, who’s rubbing his hand across his chest, not meeting your gaze, looking at the pillow you’re still holding. 

  “Are you sure? It’s just. The rain. And the weed.” 

  “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Besides, if you get in trouble, I’ll get in trouble,” Eddie says. Something hot and urgent flares in your chest. You sit up, ignoring the head spin. 

  “I wouldn’t tell,” you say, grabbing his wrist so he looks at you, “You know that, right? If I got caught, I would never say you’d sold it to me.” 

  Eddie is doing his lazy smile, just one side of his mouth. Something is shining in his eyes though. 

  “You really know how to get a guy all mushy,” he says, “Not ratting me out, now that’s romance.” 

You grin back at him, the word romance getting stuck in your chest. You realise you’re still holding his wrist, fingers flexing before you let go. Eddie clears his throat. 

  “I’m gonna shower, you can use the phone or whatever,” he gestures to it on the wall near the kitchen, “What’s mine is yours, mi casa et tu casa, etc cetera and all that.” 

  “Thank you,” you say to his receding figure, take a second to gather yourself before you stumble up and to the phone, plugging in your home number. You listen to the shower turn on as you explain to your mother you’ve got stuck at Nancy’s, that you’ll be home in time for Church in the morning. You definitely do not think about Eddie undressing in the room over, standing under the shower, the water streaming over his naked body. What would he look like? You’ve seen the tattoos on his arms, but does he have more, hidden under clothing? Does he face up into the water stream? Does he use conditioner? Your mother says something about homework and you blink the image away. 

  You wander into the bedroom after soothing your mother’s concerns, find it how you expected, messy and boyish. Clothes on the floor, posters haphazard on the walls, various drug paraphernalia. A guitar slung over the mirror. A dog eared copy of Lord of the Rings on the bedside table. The bed is unmade, and you tug the doona back into place before you sit down, mentally committing the room to memory. It feels strangely important, knowing everything about this space. It shouldn’t feel like this, really. You shouldn’t need to know every part of him. But everything is obscured by the rain, so nothing is real. This is a moment outside of time. Just for you, in his most private of spaces. 

  “Oh,” Eddie says, finding you in his room, just a towel around his waist. His hair is roughly dried and dripping down his chest. 

  “Sorry,” you say, standing up, a blush high on your cheeks. Caught. 

  “No, I just uh - Didn’t expect you in here,” he says. You drag your eyes off his chest, trying to track all the tattoos, the images he’s chosen to have on his body forever. His body isn’t what you expected. What did you expect? He’s all lean muscle, a boy almost grown into the figure of a man. 

  “I won’t look,” you say, cover your eyes, smile when he laughs. 

  “Alright, eyes shut,” Eddie says, and you stand resolutely still, listen to him move around the room, the rustle of fabric. You imagine him dropping the towel, naked in the room with you, choosing what clothes you’ll see him in next. At one point, you feel his hands around your shoulders, moving you off to one side. 

  “Sorry, just, here,” he says, and you hide your stumble when he lets go, listen to the dresser draws open behind where you just were. 

  “Sorry,” you whisper, not sure where he is in conjunction to you. 

  “It’s okay,” he whispers back, right by your ear. Your stomach drops out. 

  “Can I open my eyes now?” You ask, ignoring the crack in your voice. Hoping he does, too. 

  “Almost,” he says, and you listen to his footsteps come closer, then, “Okay, now you can.” 

You blink against the light of the room. He’s changed into soft looking sweatpants, an oversized Metallica shirt with a hole in the collar. His hair is still damp around his shoulders, spreading wet. 

  “Everything okay with Mommy and Daddy?” Eddie teases, sitting down in a rickety chair by the cluttered desk. You return to the edge of the bed. 

  “No. But, yeah.” 

Eddie nods wisely, like he understands everything. Maybe he does. 

  “I gather you didn’t tell them where you were,” he says, picking at a seam of wood. 

  “God, no. I said I was at Nancy’s.” 

He seems to consider his next words, then, “What would they say, if they knew you were here?” 

  You cross your ankles over, hands either side of yourself, curled into the bedspread. Your eyes are itchy from the smoke. 

  “Maybe they’d send the cops, I don’t know. Something bad.” 

Eddie huffs a laugh, rocks back in the chair precariously, “Probably with good reason. Who knows what satanic Eddie is gonna do to their precious little daughter.” 

  You blink. Swallow. “What. What is he gonna do?”

Eddie looks at you, and his eyes are heavy and dark, then the smile splits his face and he’s laughing, “God, your face. Nothing, oh sweet princess, nothing. You’re safe with the big bad wolf.” 

  “Are you saying I’m little Red Riding Hood? Because I’m not a ginger, I won’t stand for that,” you protest, and he grins at you.

  “Darling, I wouldn’t dare.” 

  “Good,” you say, chin jutted. 

  “Now,” Eddie says, claps his hands together as he stands up. The sound breaks the moment, whatever it was, the movement of him. “Did you want clothes to wear to bed?” 

  You stand up with him, body still slow with weed, “yeah, please.” 

You change in the bathroom. The bathroom mirror is still steamed from his shower, and you can smell the apple body wash he’s used. It feels weirdly intimate, occupying the same space he just did to clean himself. You’re methodical about changing, folding up your shorts and t-shirt, into a Dio shirt that swallows you and a soft pair of his boxers. These are the clothes he’s chosen for you, he thought about you when he pulled them out. The fabric is well-worn and comforting on your skin. You blink at yourself in the mirror. Tracking back through memory. Why are you here? Still? Why is everything shaded quiet and warm, here, with him. Circling each other for so long, gravity pulling each other closer and closer until you’re here, hiding from a storm, settled with Eddie to watch it pass. You take a deep breath.

  When you emerge, sneakers in hand, clothes held against your chest, you find Eddie on his bed, strumming at his guitar. The chord breaks as he looks up at you, quiet smile. 

  “All good? God, that’s huge on you,” he laughs, “you look like a ghost. But a metal ghost.” 

  “Thanks,” you say, making a little pile of your stuff by the door, “Because that’s the kinda ghost I wanna be.” 

  Eddie plays quietly as you flit around the room, picking up things and putting them down again. Intrigued by what he’s chosen to keep close around him. The shower has cleared your head, although the remnants of the high shade everything hazy and dim. Eventually, you get brave enough to climb into bed. The rain is louder in here, three walls exposed to the weather. Eddie doesn’t look as you settle, just keeps playing. You watch the muscles in his back move. 

  “Alright,” he says, eventually, standing up, returning the guitar to its place, “Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” 

  You’re half asleep, sat up in the bed but with heavy eyes, soothed by the rain and his playing, bleary as you realise he’s leaving, retreating to the couch. You want to say stay so you don’t let yourself open your mouth, watching him take a blanket from the end of the bed, turn the light off, then the shape of his body in the dark and the quiet close of the door. Then here you are. Alone in Eddie Munson’s bedroom. In his t-shirt. Expected to sleep. Leave in the morning like this is normal. Suddenly sleep feels very far away, staring up at the ceiling, eyes kaleidoscoping against the blackness. Somehow the rain seems louder in the dark. You hear the sound of the television being turned down, the heavy sounds of his body on the couch. Is he comfy? He’s tall, he won’t be able to stretch out very well. You roll over, pressing your face into the pillow. The sheets smell like him, boy musk, weed and smoke and deodorant. Or is it the clothes he’s given you? You’re in layers of Eddie, his smell is yours now. The shadows of his furniture loom, the wind rattles against the trailer. You think of how he said big bad wolf, the words in his mouth, the way he’d leered at you. It was a joke, but, it made something warm and sticky turn over in your belly. You imagine you can hear him in the lounge, breathing, yawning, turning over. Is he thinking about you? In his bed? Imagining he can hear you breathing? 

  The courage hits you like a train, and you let yourself get carried away. For once, you don’t think about the decision, just throw off the doona, bare feet on the carpet, move from memory to the door, feel the knob cool and smooth under your palm. 

  The hallway is dark, and you keep one hand trailing along the wall as you tread into the lounge. You hear him stir, for real this time, the rustle of his hair, the movement as he props himself up on one elbow. The light from the television illuminates him. His chest is bare, his hair messy. 

  “Are you okay?” He asks, concern on his face. It makes your heart hurt. 

  “Yeah, yeah, sorry. It’s just.” 

Your eyes flick to the television, back to him, clasp and unclasp your hands. 

  “You don’t have to sleep out here. It can’t be comfy. It does’t. It doesn’t bother me if we sleep in the same bed. I feel bad,” it comes out all in a rush, more than you meant. Maybe you are still high. 

  “Don’t feel bad,” Eddie says, still craned around to look at you, a spectre in the hallway.

  “I know, but I do. Please. I won’t sleep thinking about it.” 

  “Well, we can’t have that,” Eddie says, sitting up, but he seems wary, brow creased. 

  “Only if you don’t mind, like, sleeping in bed with me,” you say, winding the hem of his shirt around your hand and back again. 

  “Why would I mind?” He seems genuinely confused by the idea, head tilted. “Do you snore?”

  You laugh, “No, but I talk in my sleep.” 

  “Great,” he stands up, goes to turn the television off before he comes towards you in the hall, “I wonder what secrets you’ll spill.” 

  “It’s just gibberish,” you tell him, watching him step around you, the closeness of him, before following him back into the bedroom. His movements are easy, familiar, the routine of going to his own bed. You feel clumsy as you crawl up beside him, take the wall side. The mattress creaks and dips as you settle. It takes you a moment to realise you’re facing each other, gleaming eyes in the dark. 

  “Hey,” Eddie says, teasing, a smile.

  “Hey,” you reply, poke his shin with your foot.

  “Jesus, your feet are cold,” he cries out, overdramatic, but you laugh anyway. 

You hate sleeping with your boyfriend, never let him stay over if he sneaks in, it feels suffocating, having another human in the bed with you, wriggling and breathing. But Eddie’s presence is soothing, the heavy weight of him beside you, the musky smell of him, the quiet rumble of his voice as he tells you your feet belong in Antarctica. 

  “Are you sleepy?” You ask, after a long quiet moment. His eyes are closed, long clumps of eyelashes, but he says, “Not really. Are you?”

  You could sleep for eons here, under the rain, the steady sound of his breath, knowing you can reach out and touch him if you want, but you say, “Not really.” 

  “Hmmm,” Eddie hums, eyes still closed but mouth crooked into a smile, “Dilemma.” 

  “Yeah,” you breathe. The wind has died, finally, and it’s just the patter of rain on the roof, less punishing. You could ride home in this, now, just be damp on arrival. But you don’t get up. 

  “Eddie,” you murmur, gazing at him, the shape of him in the dark, the lines of his face. As familiar as your childhood, as unknown as adulthood.

  “Yeah?” He mumbles, eyelashes fluttering and then his eyes open, wide and brown and warm. 

His mouth is soft when you kiss him, the rustle of your face across the pillow to meet him, a chaste press of lips, a drawn out moment before he turns his head, his big palm sliding over your face, opens his mouth to kiss you properly. 

  He doesn’t kiss like your boyfriend, all punishing tongue that isn’t even that nice, really. He’s slow about it, measured, kisses you like they do in movies, lingering. For a long time there’s nothing but the rustle of the covers as you try and crawl into his chest, panting into his mouth as Eddie kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. He makes quiet sounds every now and then, his hands grabbing at you under the blankets, smoothing over your skin, calloused and rough. A man’s hands. You touch under his shirt, the muscle of his back, imagining the tattoos under your fingertips. He groans when you tug on his hair, and you smile into his mouth. 

  He’s careful not to to touch you. His hands on your ribcage, but no higher, no lower. You try and encourage, a leg over his waist, kissing open mouthed down his neck and listen to his cut off breath, but his hands stay on the curve of your waist, rubbing warm patterns. 

  “Eddie,” you say, finally, lips swollen, heart pounding, “You can touch me, if you want.” 

  He’s panting, chest moving quick under your hands. You can feel him against you, the hard line of him in his sweats, pressed into your belly. 

  “Are you sure?” 

His sweetness is almost sore, your fingers skittering over his cheekbone to brush the hair out of his face. 

  “Yeah of course,” you say. 

  “Okay, just. Okay. Tell me if. If I do something you don’t like,” he says, his voice rough. 

  “Yeah,” you murmur, nudging your nose into his chin, wanting desperately to just be kissing him again, “I will.” 

  It’s only when his hand is finally, finally, up and over your breast, fingers brushing over your nipple, that you realise no one’s ever told you that before, ever checked. You pull him in tighter. 

  It feels like he’s a step behind in the dance, but it doesn’t feel disjointed, it just means you get the pleasure of seeing his reaction to every movement you make. When you sit up over him to take your shirt off, his eyes are wide and he makes this quiet, hurt sound, teeth sliding over his lower lip as he hands come up to to touch your tits, massage over them. 

  “That’s so nice,” you say, dropping your head down close to his, mouth over his jaw. 

  “You’re so pretty,” Eddie says, his voice by your ear, hot breath. You rock down onto him and he moans, his hands sliding down to your hips, up to your face, back to your boobs, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you the most. 

   “Do you have a condom?” You whisper, and for a moment the interaction is shocking, in a bell clanging kind of way. Sat on top of Eddie Munson, in his bed, in his boxers, asking if he wants to fuck you. But then he smiles up at you in this dopey kind of way, like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen, and it’s like the camera clicks over, and the picture is again soft and close and warm. 

  “Is that. Is that what you wanna do?” He asks, as if he’s not grinding you down onto him like he’ll die if there’s no friction. 

  You laugh, the words so sweet in his mouth, glide your hands over his chest, his shoulders, bring yourself low over him so your tits drag over his skin and you can kiss him again.

  “Yeah, that’s what I want,” you say into his mouth, can feel the way his cock jerks against you. 

  “Okay, yeah, just let me. Hang on,” he says, doesn’t let go even as you slide off him, like he can’t bear it, still kissing you as he gets out of bed. You kick out of his boxers under the covers, watch him rifle through various draws, before he produces a battered box, shakes out a foil packet. 

  “Is this alright?” He asks, mattress dipping as he returns. You frown. 

  “Yeah, I mean, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Right,” Eddie says, crawling over you, the condom in his hand. His mouth on your breast, warm and wet, and you tangle fingers into his hair, holding him there. He’s attentive, learns quickly what makes you gasp and twitch, does it over and over again until you feel like you might die. He groans when he realises you’ve lost his underwear, bare underneath him, his hand hot and big slipping over you. You want to be embarrassed about how ready you are, can feel the way his fingers slip over you that you’re too wet, but he’s been so hard it must hurt for awhile now.

  “Eddie,” you say, when he’s out of his sweats and you can feel the heavy weight of his cock on your cunt, “Please.” 

  “Yeah. I. Yeah,” he says, sitting back on his knees, opening the condom packet. His hands are shaking. You reach out, close your own around his trembling ones. 

  “Eddie, it’s okay. You’ve done this before, right?” 

He huffs a laugh, shoulders sinking, “I. Yeah. I. No, I haven’t. But I want too, I really want too, if you just tell me what’s good I can. I’ll try and last, I - ”

  He’s talking too much, untethered, unmoored. He looks silver in the light of the moon coming through the window, broad chest, the mess of his hair. Since when was the moon out? You drag him down to kiss him so he stops talking and think, the rain has stopped. The storm has passed. And Eddie Munson is a virgin. 

  “We don’t have too,” you say, hands sliding down his body, back up into his hair. Can’t stop touching his hair. 

  “I want too,” he’s insistent, panicky almost. He’s hot and hard against your hip, absent rocks for pressure. 

  “I just. I want it to be good for you,” he says, doesn’t make eye contact. 

  “It will be,” you say, and realise you’re not lying. It will be because it’s him, and his hands are so careful on you, his kiss so wanting. 

  “I’ll help you,” you whisper, touching his swollen mouth with the pad of your finger, “I’ll teach you, we can stop whenever you want, it doesn’t matter, just tell me if you wanna stop.” 

  “I don’t think I’ll wanna stop,” he laughs, breathless. You smile at him. 

  “Have you, like, done hand stuff before?” You ask, words awkward, but Eddie rolls his eyes, shakes his hair out of his face. 

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ve done hand stuff.”

  “Alright, just checking!” You protest, wriggle your body under him, “Work your magic.” 

  “My magic?” He crooks an eyebrow, kisses the very tip of your nose, “My magic, she says.” 

Then, his hand between your legs, his body to the side of you, hot and long, his mouth on your shoulder, your neck, your cheek. You think it will be like it is with your boyfriend, the only experience you really have to go on, two fingers pushing into you, perfunctory, just opening you up so he can get into you as quickly as possible. But Eddie is slow, sucks on his fingers before he touches you, so it’s slick skin and easy. He whispers to you, his mouth moving over your skin, as he rubs your clit, steady, slides down just to prod at your entrance before he withdraws, teasing, making you clench around nothing. 

  “That’s good, huh,” he murmurs, “That feels good? You’re so hot, oh my god, look at you.” 

You’re so knocked out by it that you can’t do much but pant into his mouth, grip his wrist, move his hand where you want it. And he’s pliant, lets you manoeuvre him, kisses the air out of your mouth. Then one finger, sliding into where you’re hot and wet, not enough but so good, already pressing on a spot that no one but you has ever found. 

  “Eddie,” you whisper, half a sob, wanting more, fucking yourself onto his hand. 

  “Yeah, baby? Whatever you want, whatever you want,” he’s saying, and your heart thumps like a bullet, wanting to make him say baby again.

  “More,” you get out, flush when he laughs, but he dutifully slides another finger into you, curls them in.

  “Is that good?” He asks, and you groan, pressing into his body, sweaty and hot.

  “So good,” you gasp. 

Already, you want him desperately, your body searching for more of him, all of him, but the next part will be easier if you’ve already come, so you curl into his body, kiss him and breathe him in until you’re whispering, “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, right there.” 

  “There?” He checks, and you can hear his hand moving inside you, slick and hot, his other hand rubbing steady circles on your clit. 

  “Yes,” you pant, head pushed back into the pillow, eyes screwed shut, “Yes, there, there, God.”

  “Just Eddie is fine,” he says, breathless laugh, and you come like that, laughing at him, clenching around his hand between your legs. 

  He stays very still beside you, his fingers still in you, kissing gently on your shoulder until you can breathe properly again. 

  “Oh, hey,” you say, peeling open your eyes. He grins. He seems to be vibrating with energy, eager. 

  “Hey, you,” he says. You whine when he takes his hand away, wiping it on the sheets. Such a boy. 

  “You ready for the big show?” You ask, reaching for him between your bodies. He sucks in a breath when your hand closes around him. 

  “Take it away,” he says, his voice thin and wavering, eyes slipping shut. 

  “You have the condom still?” You ask, and he fumbles around in the sheets for a moment before he produces it, triumphant.

  “It’s probably easiest if you’re on top,” you tell him, rolling onto your back, legs spread. Eddie nods, moving over you, sat back to roll the condom onto himself. Your hands move out without thinking, he’s hot and achingly hard, bending forward into your touch. 

  “Jesus,” he whispers. 

  “Nope, just me,” you say, grinning at getting him back. He flips you off. Your heart jumps with sudden fondness. 

  “Okay, come here,” you murmur, reaching for him, suddenly craving his return, the warmth of his body, the heavy, reassuring weight of him. You kiss him, wet and messy, before you reach down, guide him in to nudge against your opening. He’s breathing hard and quick, fists curled into the sheet. 

  “Whenever you’re ready,” you murmur, blinking open eyes to see his face. His jaw is slack, his brow furrowed with concentration, a needy glaze to his expression. You try to exude calmness and confidence in him, and not the shaking, urgent want to have him inside you, like, yesterday. 

  The push is slow, and he’s thick, opening you up where his fingers didn’t. The sound he makes is delicious as he slides into you, a relieved groan that goes right to your spine. The breath punches out of him as he sinks home. 

  “Good?” You whisper, voice hoarse from the way he feels, the stretch of him. 

  “So good,” he breathes, his lips moving over yours. 

  “Everything you dreamed of?”

  “And more,” he teases.

You can feel him trembling, the urgency of his breathing. 

  “You can move, Eddie,” you murmur, shifting to wrap your legs around him.

  “Yeah, I’m just,” he laughs at himself, drops his chin, “Just concentrating on something here.” 

  “Oh. Sorry. Yeah. Do that. But, it’s okay. I already came so, whenever is fine.” 

  “I don’t wanna end it too soon,” he says, and you push the hair behind his ears, kiss him. Can’t speak over the thickness in your throat. Want him so bad it hurts. 

  He takes some deep breaths, then pushes himself up onto his arms, withdraws, fucks back into you. The rhythm is off, at first, but he’s a quick learner, and you murmur, slower, then, faster, until he’s got it just right, panting, his chest glistening with sweat, and his necklace skipping over your collarbone as he fucks you. 

  “Eddie,” you gasp, fingers tight around his biceps, gazing up at him, “Eddie, Eddie, s’good, it’s so good.” 

  “Yeah? Like that? That’s how you wanna be fucked?” His voice is rough and instinctual and you feel like you’re going to explode. 

  “Yes, yes, God, yes.” 

Eddie pants and groans and you vaguely notice the bed thumping into the wall but you can’t care about anything but him and how he feels. 

  “Fuck, sorry, I’m gonna. I’m close. Fuck,” he says, his voice thready.

  “It’s okay, I want it, I wanna see,” you tell him, hands in his hair. There’s suddenly nothing you want more than seeing Eddie come. Fuck college acceptance. Fuck parental approval. Fuck everything. Just Eddie. He’s all that matters. 

  “Jesus, fuck,” he says, fucks into you once, twice, messily, and then a whole shudder goes through him and he groans out your name, twitching inside you as he comes. You pant and gaze up at him, enamoured. He collapses into your body, like all the strength has suddenly gone out of him. 

  “Oh my god,” he says into your neck. You laugh, tracing fingers down his spine, feeling him pant. 

  “Good?”

  “So fucking good.” 

  “I’m glad,” you murmur, and you are. This is something you can hold forever, in a safe spot behind your lungs, that you took Eddie Munson’s virginity. That it will always be you. He’ll always remember you. 

  “Are you good?” He asks, and you smooth his fringe back to kiss his forehead.

  “I’m good.” 

It’s nice, having him lie on you, an anchoring weight, sweat drying tacky on your skin. The storm has passed, and outside you can hear the crickets beginning to start up, emerging from the ground to tell tales of the appalling weather to their brethren. You think Eddie might be asleep, but he sighs and slides off you, rolling onto his back. You look at him, suddenly unsure of your place, but he gets up, gets rid of the condom and crawls back into bed, drawing the covers up over you. He seems almost shy as he reaches to touch your belly, curve his hand around your hip. 

  “Are you sleepy?” He murmurs, tracing a bumping pattern over your ribs. 

  “Yeah,” you say, and find it’s true. You’re suddenly bone tired, sated. You let yourself wriggle closer, into the encircling warmth of him, and Eddie gathers you in. He smells like sweat and sex and boy and you want to breathe him in forever. 

  “Don’t snore,” you mumble, and he huffs a laugh. 

  “I’ll try.” 

You want to remember the last time someone said they would try for you, try and make things good for you. No memory arrives. 

  “Can’t wait to hear all your secrets,” he mumbles, already half asleep. 

After tonight, you think he might know them already. Outside, the crickets roar. 

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #stranger things smut #stranger things #joeseph quinn x reader #joeseph quinn #*

[shoshiwrites]

"gamble" or "quiet"? kissing out where nobody can catch them? - for Jo & Egan, of course, because I live the life of an enabler handing you another juicebox 🧃

You are the best, Killy, and thank you to you and @mercurygray for helping me break my little sick-time writer's block ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!

close to you

She’d gone with Kay back to London for a few days. Enough time to catch herself up, wire the stories she hadn’t already, knock her head against the wall a few more times over what did and didn’t go through. The damn blue slashes. Black ones too. Hell, a woman at the corner newsstand had showed Jo a letter from a boyfriend, cut into the RAF’s version of a paper snowflake. It fluttered strangely in the humid breeze, in the young woman’s hand. 

She’d seen Bill March’s broken arm, sustained in some manner during an air raid, though the correspondent still had his usual cheerful smile for her, and the pallbearers carrying a distant cousin of Kay’s out of the church in Marylebone, all of twenty when his ship had been torpedoed off the coast of Italy.

She’d gotten back to Thorpe Abbotts on a Friday afternoon, the air still soupy, her suitcase with a half-broken latch and her bitten nails, a growing hole in her last pair of stockings.

It wasn’t raining. Maybe that counted for something.

Trousers then, and maybe she was optimistic, thinking she felt the air cooling a bit around her. There were small scraps of blue sky, like she’d found them in the bottom of her mother’s rag bin. Calico up in the firmament.

The coffee’s warm, if bitter, she hardly pays attention to that now. A few Clubmobile women cleaning trays in the kitchen take pity on her and sneak her a donut. She dips, sloshes, remembers the good old days of milk and cream, and wanders back outside, wondering if she’d made a mistake in coming here straight from London. Her room is still hers in Norwich. Mrs. Fitzgerald had made sure she knew that. It’s a kindness she doesn’t quite have the words for. 

She’ll stay in the Clubmobile quarters tonight, on the extra cot. She’d left a book in Crosby’s care last week and he’d returned it to Tatty Spaatz, a piece of stationery stuck in the middle with neat, if hurried, observations. His handwriting reminds her of Evie’s, the block print of a planner.

“Major Egan will be happy to hear you’re back,” Tatty says, and there’s almost a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, her lipstick the color of red wine.

Jo hardly keeps stone-faced, a little scrunch somewhere between a question and an acknowledgement, distaste and curiosity. “I haven’t seen him,” she says.

They yawn, the seconds between the conversation outside and when he’s walking, seeing her, redirecting his path. His eyes look like he’s been squinting in low light, the mask-marks raw across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He’d come out of his office. Post-mission administration, she thinks. Letters home. He writes them longhand, someone had told her. He’s never spoken about it. She’s never asked him.

And she’s not sure happy is the word she’d use, right now. But Tatty knows what she said. Happy is on the ground. A girl smiling at you. The smell of her hair, clean. 

The question comes on an exhale, the tie loosened around his neck. “You wanna go for a walk?”

It feels faintly ridiculous, the way she’s not used to being asked. And it’s faintly ridiculous too, the way propriety and a respectful difference between his boots and her lace-up shoes becomes a sneak-around, a glancing journey to the far edge of the airfield, the side of an outbuilding backed by trees. 

Maybe he wants something else, she thinks. Another jigger of whiskey, playing cards on the table, chips or dice or jacks. Someone else. Someone who lets him forget.

He kisses her before they’ve even stopped moving, as she rounds the corner in the half-tall grass. 

She hasn’t snuck around like this in — god — she can’t remember. Years. 

She can’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this. A sunlit kitchen, softer. Before the leather interiors of fancy cars and class rings. She never thought it could be dressed like this, callused hands and muscle. The flutter of tiny wings falls still. A fly buzzes around their ankles; she can hear it between the sounds of his mouth, breath hot between them.

She can feel that little swatch of damp at the small of her back, the feeling of her hipbones beneath the wool of her trousers. He breaks away to kiss the side of her mouth, the short hairs of his mustache brushing her upper lip. 

John, she wants to say, but maybe she can help it, the desperate act of naming him. It all sticks in her throat, like a glob of too-soft caramel. Hardening. John, John, John. “Afternoon, Major.” 

He looks like he’s trying to decide something, kisses her again by her nose while he does. She’ll do the same if he’ll let her, the cuts of the oxygen mask and the freckles she can see in the light. “Afternoon, Captain.”

#masters of the air oc #mota oc #john egan x oc #bucky egan x oc #title from listening to the sinatra vdiscs while writing #not to be confused with the carpenters #i mean. you could. it would be fine also. #i've had a really fun cold for the better part of a week so this may be a little....interesting. but i'm feeling a lot better! #hope people enjoy <3 #motaverse #jo's tag #anyway! #shoshi writes

[crisiscutie]

Fluffy Sephiroth’s reaction at the darlings little pregnancy waddle bc i been wanting fluff.

Sure thing! Enjoy this entry in the Crisis Cutie Collection.

Sephiroth slashed at the wooden training dummies, effortlessly cutting many of them down in a quick succession. He's going to need to come up with more creative ways to maintain his sharp mind and fighting prowess if he wants to cope with this new life. His decision to abandon Shinra with his darling was the best one he made, but now he's plagued with doubts if this new domestic lifestyle is a better alternative. He knew that living in a remote, peaceful village should be a fresh start, but restraints of the past made that difficult. He was trained and raised to be a killer. To search and destroy. He was never suited for normality.

While lost in thought, a hidden sense of his detected a special someone in the fields, approaching him; His darling. He swiveled around, his eyes fixed on her alluring silhouette in the distance. Of course, she was wearing her favorite sun hat... More of her figure became distinct by the second, and he felt some of his tension ease away. He knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he must adapt to this new way of life. It's necessary for his darling and their precious unborn child. The thought of losing them is unbearable to him. He wouldn't know what would happen if they were to leave him...

But something seemed off about his darling's gait as she came closer to him. His eyebrows furrowed, slit eyes narrowing in suspicion. ...She's waddling? For a second, worry and concern overtake him. Is his darling hurt!? No, no. No one would dare hurt her when he's around. Despair shall come to them if they did. His gaze then lingered on her baby bump, which seems bigger. ...Of course! It's her pregnant stomach that's making her waddle like that. His expression became eased as he continued to watch her with interest.

He couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight. Her gait affected by the weight of their love's fruit. A dreamy smile began to play on his lips as he fixated more on her swollen belly, yet his eyes still held a hint of sadness. Hopefully, he won't lose his darling, like how he lost his mother... If she can make it through, then maybe life in this village is possible after all.

"I was calling out to you, Sephiroth. Didn't you hear me?" His darling said, now suddenly in front of him. She caught him in his trance.

"My apologies... I was distracted." Sephiroth said, somewhat embarrassed. He looked down and noticed his darling was carrying a wooden basket.

"I know you don't want any distractions when you're sparring, but... I'm worried about you. I know you didn't eat all day." She murmured. He looked away from her briefly, a telltale sign of his guilt.

"I'm fine," Sephiroth said, attempting to appear stoic, but the slight quiver in his tone said it all. His darling reached out and touched his arm, her pleading eyes silently conveying her concern. Sephiroth didn't relent, though. He wanted to remain strong for both her and their child. After a few moments passed, she let out a deep sigh, breaking the tense moment.

"Well, at least let me feed you," she said. "This food shouldn't go to waste." With that, she lifted the basket, revealing fruits and vegetables within it. Sephiroth looked back at her with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "You heard me," she said, her gaze stern and maternal as she put her hands on her hips. "Now, sit down." Her maternal concern tempered the command in her voice. Sephiroth found himself obeying as he sat down on the stone bench near them. Satisfied with his obedience, she happily plucked a ripe strawberry from the basket and held it out to him, her fingers brushing against his lips. Sephiroth's lips twitched into a small smile, as he opened his mouth to accept this lovely gift. When he tasted the juicy sweetness of the strawberry, a wave of happiness washed over him. Perhaps, he thought, more activities like this can help him better adjust...

Sweet boy is struggling... but he's getting better.

#sephiroth x reader #sephiroth #ff7 sephiroth #crisis cutie #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #final fantasy x reader #fluffy sephiroth #domestic headcanons #domestic au #domestic fluff #domestic reader #the crisis cutie collection #final fantasy vii #ffvii #ffvii crisis core

[crazyk-imagine]

I Mean It

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!reader Characters: Fem!reader, Daphne Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Simon Basset Warnings: Fluff, cringey content, this has been in my drafts for a while, it’s more modern than our classic Bridgerton time, I manage to write the most heartfelt sentences a man could say like five minutes before I have to go to work, no regrets for this bad boy, anthony and the reader denying their feelings, anthony breaks so he can have the reader, daphne and benedict are very proud of their plan, vague backstory for readers ex, the reader being the smartest when it comes to bridgerton sibling fights, I hope you all can find it in you to enjoy this  Word Count: 2,662

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“Another line left in yet another book for you, I see,” Daphne teases you. 

You roll your eyes. “Would it hurt you to quiet down.” 

“Yes, truthfully. It would.” 

“You exaggerate.” 

“I do but only because you don’t want to try and figure out who it is? Or even suspect that maybe it could be-” 

“It’s not him, stop trying to bring it up every time we’re here.” 

She opens the door, gesturing for you to go inside. “Chickens first.” 

You narrow your eyes at her, “rude.” 

“I am not rude. I merely, tell the truth.” 

“Like I believe that.” 

“Believe whatever you want but when your secret admirer comes to light. and it is A-” 

“Good morning, ladies,” her older brother greets with a smile, having some idea that he was interrupting but not seeming to care (or so he lets you believe). 

“Good morning to you too, Anthony,” she returns with the same upbeat he had in his tone, only stressing his name as she turns back to you. 

You ignore her and smile, nodding your head to greet him. 

“Daphne, you have five minutes before your shift.” 

Her head snaps in his direction. “What? Why? I have more than five minutes before I start.” 

“That was until you started showing up late and not staying to lock when I needed you to.” 

“But I had plans before coming in and you know that.” 

“I do, which is why your lucky mother doesn’t know about what’s going on right now. I ask that you start your shift now because I need you to take over, okay? I need to be able to focus and give my full attention to the next wave of customers to come in.” 

“Kind as ever, Anthony.” 

They give each sarcastic smiles before she runs off toward the back of their family’s shop. 

You’ve always loved coming here, not just because of the company but because it has each family member’s touch. 

You have Anthony as the head of everything, making sure everything runs smoothly. 

Benedict creating news pieces to put up for display or customers to buy. 

Colin... he’s not as much involved as a few of the older siblings, but he does help out when it comes to calming down a particularly angry customer. Now that you think about it, he’s more of a diffuser than anything. 

Daphne is basically a manager assistant but doesn’t work like it, she likes working in the book section of the store (not just because it gives her an excuse to have girl talk with Eloise and vice versa). 

None of the other siblings have yet to step into the role of working here, nor have they talked about it. None of the older siblings seem to mind, if they decided they don’t want to (maybe Eloise, but even then, she’s just teasing them). 

You realize you’ve been too lost in your thoughts. 

Daphne shakes her head, knowing that you have, in fact, gotten lost in your thoughts and Anthony could care less. 

With her other friends, he’d be grumpy and force them away from the door slash the edge of the register-counter combo but with you, it’s an entirely different story and she doesn’t know how you don’t see it. 

No matter how hard she tries to persuade you into knowing that he does, in fact, feel the same. It just means she has to try harder and open your eyes. 

Anthony moves you away from the doors, not wanting anyone to bump into you. He lightly shakes your shoulders, wanting you to stop looking dazed. 

You owlishly blink, “what?” 

He narrows his eyes, furrowing his brows in confusion. “You were thinking about something.” 

“Was I?” 

“Definitely.” 

“Sorry, I’ll just- I'm going to get out of your hair.” 

He opens his mouth to argue but you halfway away from him before he could. 

-

“How was your morning interaction with Anthony?” 

You shrug, “fine.” 

“He’s still staring.” 

“No, he’s not.” 

“He is.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

She chuckles, restocking the bookshelf. “Then look for yourself.” 

You pout, furrowing your brows in annoyance. “I will.” 

Anthony turns away as fast as he can, immediately helping the next customer to walk through the door. 

“He wasn’t.” 

“He was.” 

You’ve never been one to give into her ideas, she thinks it’s because you don’t see it, but the truth is, you don’t want to give in and get hurt. 

Your previous boyfriend was a bit of a, what’s the right phrase... ah, right, a dick. 

He was nice in the beginning, treated you like you were a princess which included saying and doing all the right things. 

But things slowly took a turn, and he wasn’t as nice, he never laid a hand on you, but he ruined the mental image yourself and it took a while before you told Daphne about what happened... or even went over to the Bridgerton household after you two parted. 

None of her brothers know, you were barely brave enough to tell Violet what happened. 

Another reason Daphne feels you and Anthony would be good together, she knows he won’t treat you wrong; he’d take care of you and won’t let you down. 

“Do you want to have dinner tonight?” 

“What are you thinking?” You ask her. 

“Something filling but not too expensive.” 

“That could be anything,” you giggle. 

“I know.” 

-

Benedict nudges Anthony, as the latter’s lips curve upward as he watches you look happy. “Ask her out.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Chicken.” 

“Get back here you lit- hi, welcome to the B-Ton Store.” 

-

Daphne texts you that she can’t make it and sent you something better. 

A knock on the door pulls you away from the TV, you’re still unable to decide what you want to watch tonight. 

You look through the peephole and are surprised to see another Bridgerton at your door. “Anthony?” 

“Sorry, I just- Daphne told me you’d be here alone and I- mother told me to come over.” No, she didn’t. 

“Oh, okay. Come on, come on in.” 

“Or I could- I could leave?” 

“No, this is better than what I had planned.” 

“Not going out tonight?”

“Exactly.” 

“I see you have some bags with you,” you comment. 

“Observant, aren’t we?” 

“Don’t be mean, Anthony. I am starving and you interrupted me.” 

“Were you cooking?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“So, I didn’t interrupt.” 

“That’s rude of you to say.” 

“I brought your favorites.” 

“My favorites?” 

“Yes.” 

“And how would you know my favorites?” 

“Please, you’ve been to our family home so many times, I think it would be a crime if I didn’t know what you liked.” 

You resist the urge to smile. “Let’s go set these down in the kitchen.” You try to grab a bag from him, but he pulls away. 

“I know where it is and I am a gentleman, I won’t let you carry any of these.” 

“Anthony-” 

“No.” 

You sigh and follow him. 

“Go sit in the living room and find a movie or something I can tolerate because I know you were watching one of those romance movies, I can’t watch any tonight.” 

“Why not?” 

“Francesca and Hyacinth forced me to watch one too many this weekend.” 

“Oh, okay. So, I’m going to go and find all of mine.” 

He lets out a fake chuckle, secretly watching as you walk out of the kitchen. He shakes his head and starts setting up the plates. 

You click off the movie you were watching before and search for a comfort movie of yours. 

He enters, handing you your plate and setting his beside you while he runs into the kitchen to grab drinks before setting down beside you. 

“I told you; you don’t need to serve me here. You’re the guest.” 

“It’s okay. I got it.” He sits down beside you. “What are we watching?” 

“Something.” 

“Oh, I see. I feed you and you don’t tell me what we’re going to watch.” 

“Exactly.” You don’t think you’ve ever been alone with him before and it’s nice, usually you two are civil towards one another but this, this just feels different. 

You glance to the side when you hear his voice mumbling along to the words. “Do you-" You hesitate in the middle of the question, unsure how he'd react if you do. 

He doesn't move and before you know it, you're asking him. 

"Do you know the lyrics to this?” He pauses, not wanting to answer you but he knows you and you aren’t the kind to stop asking until you get an answer. “A few lines," he answers vaguely. 

“More like all of them.” 

You bounce in your seat. “When did you learn them?” 

He shrugs, pushing himself off the couch, taking your plates into the kitchen. The corner of his lips twitch at your excitement, suddenly his sister’s pestering doesn't seem like it was as torturous as he thought. 

You don’t care to pause the TV as you follow him. “You can’t just avoid the question. You know more than Daphne does and she’s seen this more times than I could count.” 

“I- I don’t know. I heard… you listen to it and it sort of... got stuck in my head.” 

“So, you played it until you somehow knew all the words, didn’t you?”

“I’m not going to answer you.” 

“Why not?” You whine. 

He shakes his head. 

You take a step closer, leaning against the counter. 

"You should go back and watch the rest of your movie." 

"But I want to know when you learned all the words." 

"Just," he sighs. "Go back into the living room and maybe we'll talk." 

"Anthony." 

He sets the plate in the dish drain before wiping his hands on the dish towel you keep beside the sink. "I will not ask you again." 

You don't know where this change in behavior came from, but you don't... not hate it. 

"Fine, you really want to know?" 

You nod even though he's not facing you. 

He spins around, setting the dish towel back in its place. "I learned because my sister's longest and closest friend always sounds so- there aren't enough words for me to use to even begin describing how lovely you sound while singing along." 

He takes a step forward. "You also have no idea how much you're in my head. It drives me insane almost because I wake up and think of you. I go to bed, and I think of you. Before I realized what I feel for you, I hated you." 

You furrow your brows and thin your lips as if you're in pain. 

"But when I talked to my mother about it." He leans against the counter with one hand close to you. "She told me it's not hate, it's love. She also told me to stop acting like a fool but here I am." 

Your brows shoot up in surprise, you turn to give him your undivided attention. "Anthony?" 

"I learned all the words to that musical that's still playing because I wanted us to have more in common. I wanted you to know that I can and will learn all that I can so that I may be closer to you because this- this relationship you have with my family is worth too much to lose." 

The warmth on your cheek isn't just from his confession, he cradles your cheek as if you'll break. "I don't want to scare you with how deep my feelings for you are, so I'll start with saying I like you more than a friend or family friend. I want to-" 

"To what?" 

"I told you I don't want to scare you." 

"What if," you gulp. "What if it won't? I mean, what if I actually like it and you just think I won't." 

"Is that what you truly feel?" 

"I-" 

"Because I think you're acting tough, and you don't mean it. I think you're pretending to want to know just so you can have an excuse to turn me down." 

"What do you take me for?" 

He leans in, "someone who denies themselves the right to be happy." 

"I- No. You're wrong. I am plenty happy." 

"But you can have more." 

"Why are you pushing this so much?" 

"So, you can stop being sad." 

That certainly surprised you. "You deserve nice things too. Even as much as finding the one you'd be able to spend the rest of your life with." He pulls away and you crumble. 

"What if I did find him and it took me a while to realize it?" 

"Do you think you'd be happy with me?" 

You nod. "I know I would." 

He stands in front of you, blocking you, evidently trapping you in between his arms as he leans in and smiles; not moving any further, not wanting to pressure you. 

You know that too which is why you're equally as shocked when you pull him in for a (long awaited) kiss. 

One of his hands slides away from the counter to hold onto your waist, keeping his other on the counter. He smiles at you. "Do you want to go back into the living room and finish your movie?" 

The corners of your lips twitch. "Maybe." 

"Come on," he mumbles, guiding you with one hand resting on your low back. 

You don't know why you're feeling so shy all of a sudden. 

You two sit back down and rewind to where you were before his confession, only this time, you’re not as far from the other. 

You curl into his side, mouthing along to the words as his voice travels through your ears. 

-

Daphne knocks on the door, arriving earlier than you expected, curious as to what happened between the two of you but also because you have plans for lunch before going to her family home. 

She groans and hangs up the phone again, her patience is wearing thin. She knocks on your door harder than before. “It’s me, open up before your neighbors think I’m a burglar.” 

The door swings open, her jaw drops at the sight of Anthony with you curled into his side. 

“Well, well. Now I know why you haven’t answered your phone.” She lets herself inside, leaving her brother to close the door. “We have plans, say goodbye to your girlfriend so we can get ready and then go out to lunch.” 

“Is it where I made your reservation for?” 

“Of course.” 

“I’m coming too.” 

She whines, “no you’re not.” 

“I’m hungry too and it’s under my name. You would have forced me to come sooner or later.” 

“But that was before last night.” 

He raises his brows. 

“You two are a couple now and I won’t have enough time to spend with my friend because you’ll be dragging her around with you.” 

“I won’t be dragging her-” 

“Fine, coupley things.” 

“You can do coupley things with Simon.” 

“It’s not the same.” 

“What if,” you interrupt the two. “What if we go out together?” 

They both are ready to object when you quickly add, “you, me, Anthony, and Simon? We’re going to your family’s home anyway, why not all four of us hangout?” 

Neither of them object, seemingly going along with your idea. “Good. Daphne and I will get ready while you go back to yours then we’ll meet at the restaurant?” 

He nods, pulling back into his grasp. “I’ll leave on one condition.” 

“What’s that?” You ask with a smile. 

“A simple kiss.” 

You peck his lips. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Daphne lets out a fake gag as the two of you make out. 

“Go away, Anthony. You’ll see her again soon.” 

Once he’s left, she drags you into your room. “Tell me everything.” 

“Daph!” You chuckle. 

“Spill.” 

“No.” 

“Come on,” she whines as you walk into the bathroom. 

“I don’t kiss and tell.” 

“Oh!” She chuckles, “fine. I’m just happy he stopped leaving you those notes.” 

“He what?” 

“Nothing. Nothing. Finish getting ready.” 

#Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton imagines #anthony bridgerton x fem reader #anthony bridgerton x fem!reader #crazyk-imagine

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Forgetting the end of the third part of second chance, all of it just made me feel so sad for Lucien. Someone needs to write something about Lucien being brought to Helion way younger, like as a child or something.

Look at me turning into Vanseera and Helion blog and all this time I thought I didn't have it in me. Also, I think I was supposed to make it better but I might just made it worse... upsie...

warning: blood, beating, child birth, all the warnings that come with Beron.

Live, Licien, live

The wind was so harsh. So cold. So bitter. Rarely were the nights in autumn so cold but it seemed like the world had been suffering today alongside Eris. Maybe it was his father's bitterness that followed him. Maybe it was his ever-seeing eyes, that now lashed at him for disobeying. He was supposed to be in the training hall, kicking and slashing at his other brothers. But he couldn't not after today. Not when he had watched the horrors of it for some time now.

How long can one neglect the inner voice? Shouting and clawing at you that it was all wrong. That this was not how the world worked. Couldn't be. His father had been wrong. Real power couldn't lay in the joy of making others suffer. Beg. Bleed beneath your feet. Eris had already done so many things wrong. Had given in to his father's cruel demand. Out of fear of dying himself, had bled others dry. But he never forgot their faces. He could name every single soul he sent to the other world. But this time. This time he couldn't sit still.

Eris's mother had given birth a couple of hours ago. Yet from the moment the pregnancy was announced, Eris felt that something was off. Beron valued his litter. The fighting dogs his wife provided. Eris had watched her go through childbearing multiple times and his father's hands would soften when the swell in her stomach rounded. Yet this time she was offered a cell. A bucket. Beatings. Water if she was lucky. And Eris had never been more confused. Was Beron suddenly against having more sons?

He tried to raise the question to his father. It wasn't in a pleading way, he approached it as a future high lord and yet the furry that left his father the moment Eris spoke his mother's name. The beating had been like no other. Eris hadn't even crowded out of the throne room after. Just laid there hoping that his body would heal a little and then he'll drag himself out. But that was more than enough for him. The baby growing wasn't Beron's. That was clear.

So Eris slipped into the cell as often as he could. He still couldn't properly feed his mother because someone would notice but he kept the food as nutritious as possible. Enough to keep them both alive, to help the baby grow and his mother go through labor. He had bribed the guards who had been ordered to beat her. Eris couldn't stop them fully because his father came down here almost every day to watch his wife fade away. But enough to keep the kicks and slashes away from her bump and breasts, enough to soften the blows.

Eris had pleaded for days for her to tell him the truth. Tell him who the father was so that he could hold onto something. Know why the furry in his father burned so hard. She said nothing, "Not your burden to carry", she said day after day. Until she went into labor. Way too early. Way too fast. The beating that night had done the trick. Even her body had given up on growing that innocent soul within her.

Eris had found her in a pool of blood, panting, gritting her teeth. Pleading with the gods to not let this happen. To let her keep him within her womb just a bit longer. But fate was cruel. It had laughed at his mother that night. No one came to help her. The cell doors had been locked tight the moment her screams echoed through the basement. Eris knew that this was another way of making her pay. Having her die like a rat there while bringing a bastard into this world.

Just Eris had learned parts of the house no one besides him knew off. He had dragged buckets of water there in a hurry, blankets. Did he know what he was doing? No. But his mother was there. The one source of decency. The only reason why he wasn't like his father. So at that moment, he didn't care what he had to do, he was going to fight for them if they refused to. He was going to try and save them.

Of course, his mother had tried to usher him away. Beginning to let her be in her shame. Let Mother Nature do her thing but Eris was unmoved. He crotched next to her. Pushing heaps of blankets behind her and beneath her back. "You'll get yourself killed", she sobbed, watching as he wetted the cloth to soothe the dizziness she was feeling, "Go, before his blade slashes your throat". But her words did little to inflict fear in Eris. He braced his hands on her legs, just as he had seen the healers do many times. Their eyes met and he could tell that something in his mouth had shifted.

Eris heard her scream even here. Even as he ran across the dark forest. At times the wind sounded just like her. No longer like his father. It sounded as if she was crying for her two boys. Her two sons who still had hope of keeping their hearts untarnished. Eris wished he could erase the image of her lifeless body, though. Wished he could have frozen the smile that brushed her features when Eris brought the baby closer to him, pressing his palm over his mouth, to drown out the sobs. And then in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Just a pile of broken limbs and a pool of blood. Eris had talked one more glance before he fled. Maybe they were going to assume she just died like this with the baby instead her. Just bled to death. He hoped they would. For everyone's sake.

The baby inside his arms let out a cry. A cry Eris wished he could have let out as well. Lucien. His mother had whispered the name before she went. Little Lucien. Eris only held the boy closer. Not even hours in this world and he was already fighting toughest battles. But Eris was going to make it better. He was going to save him. He could feel the baby squirming against his chest, feeling the little tears that fell onto his skin, "You'll live, you'll get to live. Live, Lucien, live", Eris muttered over and over as he rushed.

It only dawned on him how this all might look when he was standing right outside Helion's castle. The guards had pointed their weapons at him and here was Eris Vanserra, trembling like a leaf with a screaming baby in his arms, "I need to see him", he pleaded, "Let me see Helion". But no one wanted to listen and no one would have if not Helion himself had heard the commotion and the sobs.

"What's all of this", he had roared, making the guards stagger back. It's only when the red hair came into his view did he halt himself. That same color of hair Helion had kissed so many times on his lover. But it couldn't be her. There was no way for her to leave just like that. It's the panic. The smell of her. The smell of blood. That made him order everyone away as he pushed Eris through the gates.

Eris only managed to make it through into the hall before his legs bucked and he sank to the floor. "Boy, what's all of this? What's going on?", Helion demanded, yet it wasn't anything like the way Beron demanded. Helion had still left him a choice to refuse to answer. Eris didn't trust his words. Not just yet. Not after everything that happened tonight. He pulled his cloak off, pushed the side of his shirt aside, and pulled back the messily wrapped fabric.

Helion's eyes had grown big as he inhaled sharply. Eris could tell that he understood what this meant. That he hadn't expected it. But he knew what this baby was. "Yours", Eris crocked out. Letting the high lord reach out, to pull the baby out of his arms. "Mother died", those words made Helion's body shake, jaw clenching. But he only held onto the crying babe stronger, "Mother died but Lucien lives. Keep him alive Helion. Keep him alive".

#pain #it's what this is #helion x lady vanserra #helion x lucien #helion x eris #eris vanserra #eris vanserra imagine #helion imagine #lucien imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #helion x reader #lucien x reader #eris vanserra x reader

[ultralightpoe]

The Great War - Aemond Targaryen

The Great War - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: I AM SO HAPPY ABOUT SPEAK NOW! YES!

Warnings: death, cheating, a dragon is killed

Word Count: 2841

The MIDNIGHTS event! (Take a look if you love Taylor Swift) and the upcoming SOUR event (requests for that one are still open so send em in!

Enjoy!

My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked

Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

And maybe it was ego swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur

It was funny how much one's life could change within moments. You had never thought you would be here, there had been a time where you absolutely refused the thought of hurting your family or your husband, let alone fighting in a war you had been a pawn to stop in the first place. 

And yet, here you were. 

Covered in blood, head to toe, your hair matted and greased in the braid not that anything but bloodstains really showed. Your armor was black, like your father's armor had been, and the banner you stood by was that of blood red. 

There was apart of your mind that screamed for you to stop, to find a way for peace, just as your grandfather requested. But you pushed that thought away as your sword tore across a mans stomach, slashing into his guts and tearing the green banner from his hands. 

This battlefield was yours now. 

“How lovely of you to join me, dear husband.” You laugh, moving up to where he was hidden, ready to jump out and scare you. 

“You take all my fun, wife.” 

“Not all of it, I am sure.” There is a flash of something on his face that you don’t recognize for a moment, both of you just standing there and staring at each other. You debate if he knew someone had told you, and he must be here to explain himself. 

He had to have known the Queen of Whispers sent you a raven on his whereabouts, everything about his affair with Alys Rivers, and your heart began speeding up. 

You would tell him it was fine, if he asked. You would not be mad. Your mother had made you swear to this marriage for peace in the realm, a realm she would be queen of within days. You could not lose it now. 

But he doesn’t confront you, instead he walks up smoothly and places his lips upon yours in the softest of kisses before pulling your forehead to his own and rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “How about a dragon ride today? Hmm?”

“I was actually wishing to sit with my grandfather- since he is sick I think it necessary to-” His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence, allowing yourself to melt into his touch some more. The rumors about Alys couldn’t be true, not when he loved you so….. “A dragon ride sounds lovely.”

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, sweet dream was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, tears on the letter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If we survived the Great War

He could sense you on the battlefield. As he always sensed when you were near before this. 

It had been an odd trait of his, always knowing where you were lurking and following. Where most people ignored you like a shadow he couldn’t help but see you. You had been his light. 

“I want that Targaryen bitches head!!” A shout behind him has him whirling with his sword until it’s pressed on the man's throat, the sharpness of the blade slicing his neck until blood leaks down his neck. 

“She. Is. Mine.” The man nods , gasping when the blade is taken away as Aemond turns back to the battlefield. 

“She’s announced she wants your head…” Another soldier murmurs, watching your army hit another barrier of his people. 

You want me so badly, wife? Come and get me.

The throne room looked dull and empty, the sunlight barely peeking through what windows were not covered as Aemond stares at the floor before him. 

The guilt was something he never expected. 

It’s not like he wanted to marry you, it had simply been for peace amongst the family, and he already had a relationship with Alys Rivers long before you swore yourself to him. So why shouldn’t he get to keep his love?

So he spent some nights with his mistress and some with you. Only the more time he spent with you the more he craved your presence. It was beginning to wear into his soul. 

And now he stood in the very same throne room he married you in, after spending a night in his mistresses sheets, talking about putting his brother on the throne and betraying the very thing your marriage stood for. The peace treaty. 

“Has it happened?” Alicent asks, a sob raking her body as she turns to the others.  Aemonds own throat tightened up before he felt it. Like a needle entering the small of his spine, hitting the nerves all the way up to his neck, you were close. 

“They killed the beast this morning…” The dragonkeeper murmurs, and Aemond feels like puking. Your dragon, your charming beast had been taken out so you would have no chance of escape, no chance to get back to your mother. 

“Aegon is being bathed right now. And Rhaenys is still deciding in her chambers, though I still think we need to-” Otto begins only for Alicent to scream. 

“WE’VE ALREADY KILLED ONE DRAGON TODAY, THERE WILL BE NO MORE DEATH!”

There is a gasp from the doors and everyone's heads whip around to them, before he can stop himself Aemond is rushing to get to them. But there is nothing there when he opens them. 

You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone

You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playin' with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it

You think on your grandfather kissing your head the day of your wedding, the heavy veil weighing your head down as you tried not to cry when he whispered a thank you for your sacrifice. Then you thought of your first night with your husband, scared and lonely, wishing you had family when he offered to play chess. 

Oh how you had loved him throughout your marriage, and now….you were gutting anyone who got between you and him on the battlefield. You would make him regret ever crossing your family. 

They forgot Rhaenys, or maybe they didn’t forget her but they thought you would never find out until she had already sided with them. 

You were running through the halls so quickly that your slippers fell off and by the time you got to your great aunts rooms you had a thick layer of sweat covering your body as well as tears. You had sobbed to her as you broke the door down, falling into her when the wood gave out and allowing her to cradle you for a moment before she rushed you to stand again. 

You had no dragon and hers was locked up, so you had to concentrate on what to do next. 

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the bombs were close and

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, the burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War

He finally sees you from a distance, swinging his sword at a giant coming for him smoothly as he scans you for injuries. A vision covered in blood, your eyes narrowing in on him the second he smiles at you. 

His heart begins to beat through his chest as you step towards him, one step first slowly followed by another before you full blown charge at him. His breath catches as he watches, hand tightening on the sword and his feet preparing for the blow, and for the smallest moment he thinks of letting you kill him. 

Letting you get your vengeance. 

If you had killed his dragon and betrayed his family isn’t that what he would want himself?

“We need to go Aemond.” Otto Hightower snaps, following his grandson through the halls of the keep, a fuming look on his face as he does so .

But Aemond refused to listen, no, he needed to find you before anyone else did. He had to be the one to tell you of what his family had done. The only problem being that no one had seen you. 

Not your maids or your ladies in waiting, not even the castle maids. 

When he tears through your shared apartments he doesn’t see you and the anxiety rising in his chest begins to take over. You knew. You had to have known.

That’s when he sees it, the small parcel you had hidden under a vase of flowers beside your side of the bed. Just the corner had been peeking out and when he tugs on it he finds a letter written to you by the Queen of Whispers. 

There is a cracking feeling in his chest that rises up his neck and into his ears, and all he can see is red.  “Y/N!”

It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Your finger on my hair pin triggers

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you

By the time he is within arms reach you are swinging your sword as hard as you can, his own steel hitting yours with a crash before you both draw back and start again. It’s like a dance between you two, one that you haven’t done in years but feels so exhilarating all the same. 

One turn and you slice his arm, only to have him slice your thigh, so you duck and swing upwards. He dodges back and the tip of your sword hits the very tip of his nostril. 

A moment of pride fills you when he takes in a deep breath, pulling your sword in and getting into the proper stance. 

“Is that all you got?” He laughs and you find yourself smirking. 

“I was just getting started.”

“You know, I remember the first night I had you…. You had been so scared I was sure you’d sob the entire-” He knew what he was doing, that much was evident when he blocked your blow with a smirk and retaliated just as quickly. 

Your knees wobble when the force of it sends you back, but you grit your teeth and grab his wrist before he can pull away, trying to wrestle his sword free as he uses his body strength to throw you. 

“There are many people here…” You murmur, ducking behind your veil as your new husband leads you to the dance floor, your hand gripping his own so tightly you feel as though you might break the bones that lie underneath. “I might fall or-”

“Do you not trust that I would keep you upright, my dear ni-wife?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to trust-”

“Then today I shall.” He whispers in your ear before getting ready to start the dance. And you follow his lead, the nerves making you hesitate every step of the way, but soon enough you found your way with Aemond and it no longer mattered who was watching. 

He lifted you and spun you around, a smile on his face that many people gawked at. It was a well deserved smile. 

We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

He has you pinned to the mud below and a snarl written on his face, his back screaming at the amount of pressure he has put on it today but the feeling of satisfaction at you being stuck was far too big to give up now. 

“We can forget this, you and I, just say the words and I’ll let this fit go.” He warns, applying a bit of pressure on your neck to cut off circulation. “By morning you can be on my side and I’ll have maids wash that blood out of your pretty hair. You can be my wife again.”

Something in him is begging you to take the deal, please please please. Please don’t leave me, please don’t make me do this….

He wondered for a moment if you would, seeing the tears well up in your eyes as you struggled to free yourself from his grip. If you would just listen, let him make this right without any of your blood being spilt, he would. 

He would swear himself to you over and over if you gave him another chance. 

The first night he knows he has feelings for you is the first night he turned down Alys, stopping her fingers from touching his pants as he mumbled out an excuse, forehead resting on her shoulder as he pictured your disappointed face. 

He never wished to see that face, and by the time he leaves Alys’ hut he would be sure he never would. 

“It’s been weeks of this Aemond,” She snaps, pulling into herself as he reaches for his leather tunic. “You said you married her to make your father happy, a death wish.”

“I did.”

“Then what is this-”

“I DON’T KNOW!” He screams, whirling on her. In truth he didn’t know what was happening, all he knew was you were left there, in the halls of the red keep as he was out there betraying you. 

You had made a vow and kept to it, why couldn’t he?

“I thought you hated basta-” Alys begins her sentence with tears in her eyes before he is upon her, blue eye sparkling in the candlelight. 

“Maybe you cursed me then.” It’s a spit in the face, the nail in the coffin as she reaches to slap him. The sound echoes across the room as his head snaps to the side, his cheek stinging from the pain and it takes everything in him not to retaliate. 

He had to get to you, none of this mattered anymore. 

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the worst was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, we're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

If you agreed he would fly you away to a remote island, just the two of you. He would find you another dragon egg and grow you a garden. Nothing would ever harm you again. 

He sent a quick prayer up to the gods for this before a sharp feeling is sliding between his ribcage, the cold of your dagger meeting his skin like a cool kiss on a heat ragged day. 

He doesn’t really comprehend it, just grunts out in pain and loosens his hold on you to lean back, his hands flying up to see what damage had been done. 

“nO.” He gasps out, eyes flying to where you are in the mud. 

If he was scared in this moment he had no clue what you were, eyes wild as you sob, your chest rising and falling with every short breath you take. 

“KILL HER!” Someone calls, and for a second all Aemond can think to do is crawl to you. Ignoring the pain in his side as he removes his bloody hands from it, he makes his way to you, bringing one hand up to your cheek as an arrow marks through you. 

Your body shudders as it pierces from your back to your stomach, sliding right into Aemonds own stomach where he has wrapped his body around yours. If death was to greet him today then he would be sure not to be separated from you. 

Soldiers charged in at once and you let out a couple more sobs, and he found himself whispering in your ear “Just a second of pain, and we’ll be free.”

Uh-huh

Uh-huh

I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

Uh-huh

I vowed I would always be yours

Alicent buries you both together, a black veil over her head, her hands bound by rope with Cregan Stark keeping her close. 

This would be her final day outside, for the rest of her days would be in a tower, no freedom and no allies. 

She yearns for her children, and she yearns for her dear old friend, looking at the grass growing from the burnt earth surrounding your grave. 

Yes, she thinks while allowing the tears to fall, you both would be together after the war.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x y/n #prince aemond #aemond fluff #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen possessive #house of the dragon #house of the dragon angst #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #house of the dead #taylor swift #taylor swift midnights #midnights album

[formosusiniquis]

the bells, the joy (together in darkness)

Robin Buckley & Steve Harringto WC: 11963 | T | Tags/Themes: hivemind, Post S3, Scoops Troop Friendship, Nonbinary Steve and Robin, Blink and you miss it Steddie and Buckingham pre-slash AKA It's the Stobin Hivemind fic y'all! thank you very very very much to @spectrum-spectre for beta-ing this for me!!

Steve has never done LSD before. Which is the kind of statement his father would call ‘qualifying’ and ‘implies other kinds of wrongdoing, Stephan.’ Like the time he’d said he hadn’t smoked anything other than cigarettes that weekend. Apparently the ‘that weekend’ was a qualifier that got his very small pot stash flushed, and forced him into a second transaction with Eddie Munson in as many weeks.

Yeah okay maybe there were worse things, as far as punishments go.

Qualifying or not though, Steve has never done LSD. Not after the weekend he spent reading the supposedly true diary of a supposedly real teen that had been left on his bed. Like mother, like son, his father had sneered when he'd caught Steve curled up with it, like the whole plan to keep him from becoming pot-addled and destined for the gutter, or whatever, hadn’t relied on his gossipy nature.

It was mostly stupid, the book, but Steve figured it didn’t hurt to stick to weed. The stuff about that he knew for sure was totally fake.

Except now, he wishes he maybe knew a little bit more about what LSD was supposed to feel like. So he knows how to portion out blame for his current state. It’s currently 50% Upside-Down-Shit and 40% Russian-LSD-Shit and 10% Concussion-Shit, but if he’s being fair he’s blamed the Upside Down for about half of everything that’s gone wrong in his life since 1983. He’s willing to acknowledge that maybe the blame breakdown should be readjusted for this one.

“Hey Robin?” Trauma changes people, makes you want to stay close to the people who are changed the same way you are. Robin had shown up at Steve’s house the Monday after everything, trumpet case and duffle bag in hand. Apparently, she had walked from the school where she was supposed to be catching the bus to Band Camp, like she does every year. Apparently, when you undergo traumas heretofore unexperienced by any teen ever, Russian torture and flesh monsters, it’s okay to skip Summer Intensive to move in with your new best friend without telling your parents. Apparently, if you’re the kid that the Band Person, Director, wants to keep happy because in addition to the billion and seven languages you can play any instrument with a mouthpiece -- except trombone, slide positions, Steve had pretended he knew what that meant -- then you can just leave school to deal with your ‘mall fire smoke inhalation’ at your ‘aunt’s house’ instead. Apparently this is fine and Steve doesn’t need to worry about any angry former hippies beating down his dore because ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them.’

So he can call out for Robin, without raising his voice because he knows she’s there. Somewhere in the house, the weight of it changed now that someone else is in it with him. He can call out even though he’s pretty sure she’s holed up in his Mom’s library on the ground floor, because he can feel her in the back of his brain and he knows she’ll hear him.

Drifting in an unfocused middle distance, he can imagine Robin. Curled up, she knows she’s been called for but isn’t in any hurry to comply, Steve will wait. He's fine with waiting, at least for the five minutes it will take for her to finish her chapter. He can see her, slotting her bookmark in place and sitting up straight for the first time in hours. She stretches, uncurls from the window seat that Steve also favors, gently sets the book down before letting a foot dangle and brush the floor to actually stand. And she leaves the library. She starts to feel closer, her presence looming stronger in his brain and Steve aware of himself in his own body. Then he hears her feet on the stairs.

“What is it, Dingus, did you know your Mom has a whole collection of French books? I’m in the middle of a bunch of lesbian short stories.”

“Yeah, she speaks it, not sure why.” He answers absently, “Have you ever done LSD?”

“I’ve had half a pot brownie and gotten way too high before.”

That’s not really the same thing, Steve thinks.

“I know it’s not really the same thing, Dingus, I was using it as a framework.” She flops facedown on the bed beside him, wiggling into what he’s started thinking of as her side. A lucky coincidence that she prefers to be tucked in on the side closest to the wall. Probably because she’s never seen anything burst out of one.

“Okay don’t think that, cause now I’m never going to be able to sleep again, I don’t think you’ve got enough space for us to pull your bed into the center of your room.”

He can see the way she imagines it. His bed, an island in the center of the room floating in a sea of plaid. Something about it is even more unnerving than if it stayed up against the wall.

“Not a good look.” He doubts anything will come from the walls again anyway, the Upside Down has proven to be surprisingly adaptive; it doesn't seem to attack in the same way twice. It makes it harder to be prepared, but he’s less worried about not being able to protect Robin in the middle of the night.

“Savior complex. Your mom has psychology books down there too. What does she even do?”

“Reads mostly. Do you think there’s anything down there about LSD?” He doesn’t think this is normal.

“Nice leap, Steve, I don’t think there are many drugs that link your brain with your coworker.” She says coworker, but he feels friend. Even that concept isn’t enough to describe the depth of warmth and affection that he feels wash over him as she thinks.

He lets the silence hang for a second, thinking but not sure what yet. His thoughts are slower to arrive and more jumbled in these early days post-concussion. His right hand curls, his fingers flex. First and third finger tap, then one and two, then none, one and two, and two, and none.

Robin’s knee jostles the bed as her leg bounces just a little.

“I think something else happened to us.”

“Wondered how long I’d have to tap your fingers for you before you got there with me.”

Read the rest on AO3

#platonic stobin #my fic #steve and robin #scoops troop #scoops troop friendship #untitled stobin hivemind fic #now has a title #which is a reference to a song for lya which i don't really recommend but whatever #nonbinary steve harrington #nonbinary robin buckley #autistic robin buckley #neurodivergent steve harrington #the author gives steve their own quirks and lets the audience diagnose as they will #enjoy!!! its been a nine month labor of love please like it!!

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Am I writing birthday fluff because it's my own birthday? Maybe 😁

Lambert/Aiden

pre-slash/platonic

"Birthday tradition." Aiden answered with a shrug as he popped another piece into his mouth before offering to Lambert as they sat in the shade and out of the summer heat. It wasn't unusual to see Aiden with sweet things but his tastes usually ran to anything and everything fruit based, not plain, unadorned honey cake. Which is what had prompted Lambert to ask about it in the first place.

"My mother. We had jack shit when I was a kid, but I remember she'd always surprise me with a honey cake on my birthday." He smiled softly at the warm memory, "It became a bit of a tradition also that I'd pretend I had no idea what it was she was hiding behind her back and try and guess the most outlandish shit I could come up with. Had to find substitutes after I got taken to the Caravan but as soon as I was walking the path and free to come and go." He gestured to the remaining sliver sat between them.

"You've never mentioned before it's your birthday today."

Aiden laughed, spraying crumbs, "Well it's the first year you've actually been with me for it, so it's never been worth mentioning before now. What about yours, since we're on the subject?

Lambert felt the slight jealousy that had manifested at Aiden's story morph into something a little harder as he stared straight ahead at a rather unfortunate squirrel which now found itself on the receiving end of a Witcher's scowl.

"Ah. Forget I asked."

Lambert shrugged as he leaned back on his hands, "Eh. I'm not the first one who doesn't know and I'm not gonna be the last. Half the other boys at Kaer Morhen had no fucking idea about theirs either, same with the caravan I bet." He grabbed up the last piece of cake and swallowed it without tasting before continuing, "Some of 'em who were a bit more sentimental about it would pick a significant date and use that, but that wasn't for me." Why would it be when everything significant or monumental in his long life so far was a day he'd rather forget: the day he got dragged to Kaer Morhen, the day he lost Voltehre, the day he survived The Grasses....all days he still sometimes had nightmares about.

"Well. Be sure to let me know if that ever changes."

"Hmm."

Aiden yawned as Lambert shook him awake for his turn on watch. Usually they wouldn't bother with such things with their enhanced senses but considering they were experiencing an unusually high number of contracts right now they didn't want to tempt fate by being complacent.

"Anything?" He asked

Lambert shook his head, "All quiet apart from a nosey badger."

Aiden gave him a pat on the shoulder as he moved to take Lambert's place against the trunk of a huge oak tree.

"August 9th."

"What?"

"My birthday. Let's just say it's August 9th."

Aiden couldn't help his smirk, "Isn't that the date-"

"The date some arsehole Cat stole half of my contract three years ago and then refused to leave me the fuck alone? Yeah. Don't read too much into it."

"Whatever you say, Lambert. Whatever you say." Aiden replied, settling against the trunk and trying to figure out what sweet treat Lambert would like best for his upcoming birthday.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #lambden #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

[mizusnose]

Love, Poisoned by Betrayal

heavy heavy TW for emotional abuse, implied physical abuse, and toxic relationships. Mikio is also a TW because I hate this man so much. be safe reading.

“How did this terrible creature come to be? Hate alone wasn’t enough. It took one more ingredient:”

———

Getting away was supposed to be helpful. Leaving her small town, her abusive father and absent mother, Mizu thought she’d be able to make her own way in the world. Yet, as she sat near the edge of their shared bed, Mizu gripped the hot spill of blood leaking from her knee, and thought: This isn’t what I thought I wanted.

It was an accident. Mikio had bumped into her. Sent her to the ground and she felt silly thinking about it: the story she would tell to her friends. A lie to calm them, one she’s gotten used to keeping like a prayer.

Her homework was still unfinished. Had been for the past few days now since Mikio’s been angry. Her thoughts felt scattered and unfettered, a birds molting wings in birth, the rot of it in death. There had been more arguments, more yelling, more crying. No time to finish her essays, even lectures felt like too much work these days.

So today was supposed to be a peace offering. Her, outside to visit her friends. Mikio, home, without her or her whining or crying or distractions. Something she thought he’d wanted.

“You..you upset me.”

Mizu shuddered. Held the clean sweep of blood in her palms. Her breath taut like a string of the guitar she’d been learning how to play—the same one Mikio had been teaching her on. His own.

“You made me do this.”

Mikio was there again, his face still faint with the lines of anger. A frown indented between his brows, the scruff of his beard, his canines peaking out wild and hurt.

“I’m sorry..”

Mikio’s hands were larger than Mizu’s. It had been the thing that turned Mizu on so much the first time they met. Mutual friends. A bit older. The age difference didn’t matter—but now, as Mizu watches him push her hands aside and start cleaning up her knee she wonders: This was a bad idea huh?

“Shh. It’s okay. I just—you shouldn’t go.”

Mizu felt caught. A thread through the thin bones of a bird, caged to the ground, forever held from flight like an interrupted tide of breath in sleep. A swift sudden thing, yet one that was there all along, waiting for the perfect time to catch—to devour.

Maybe I’d just been too blind to see it before now..Mizu thought.

It wasn’t unlikely. She’d been so vulnerable a year ago. Caught up in escaping her past life, the pain that came with it. She’d push past the insistent Lets stay friends from Mikio, let him turn away when she’d be naked, teach him how to say I Love You when she had said it first.

There were signs, a scarlet thing in the sea of darkness and yet—she hadn’t listened, didn’t want to.

“This is okay. It’ll be okay.” Mikio pushes too deeply on the cut and Mizu whimpers, pulls away. Doesn’t get far before she’s being pulled back. Mikio’s always been stronger than her, even if she pretended.

Mizu meets his eyes across the small space between them. In their shitty small apartment, the angle of sunlight from outside the windows. A car honks in the distance. Mizu is terrified.

It looks ugly, the cut. It’s held open now by Mikio, a clean slash that aches. The fight starts up again then. It’s Mikio, washed in watercolor blue, red, black. The screaming is simple and Mizu barks and bites: a dogfight that lasts only a couple seconds yet Mizu is wrung out and exhausted at the end of it.

The way he sees her is this: stained sheets against Mizu’s bruised chin, her gasping throat, the working of her jaw as she pants.

And the tide of his guilt brings him back once more. A cry, a whimper, and Mizu is pulled into his embrace again. His words are sweet, soft, bitter like cherry wine.

Mizu texts her friends she can’t make it—traffic is bad despite it being the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. Explains that they’ll meet up later, maybe next week. She knows she’s lying when she types it out and sends it.

Knows because it’s the same way she comforts herself when Mikio gets like this. I’ll leave tomorrow, the day after, the day after that, the day after—

It’s rare, the blood that spills. Takes longer for it to heal, a bump of flesh that was once puckered and leaking. And still, Mizu will ask again over and over: are you hungry for me baby? are you hungry? are you?

And she will give every time.

———

She escapes the awful relationship and finds true love after all this FYI, please don’t hate me :,)

inspired by cherry wine by hozier and the giver by sarah kinsley

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #fanfiction

[davinaclaire16]

Wings of Dusk pt. 10

AzrielxReader + HelionxReader

Warnings: abuse. War

I just wanted to thank everyone who's been patient with me. I've had two emergency surgeries and a death in my family so it's taken me second. I appreciate everyone support so much!!

“Cassain! Where is he Rhysand?” You had burst into the camps healing tent. It had been a month since the fight between you and Azriel. A month since you’d been Mated to Helion. Unfortunately for the two of you the wall had fallen the next day and since then there had been battle after battle. You didn’t have time to talk about it or let any one know and right now as you were standing soaked in blood waiting to see if Cassain was ok it was the furthest thing from your mind.

“He’s going to be ok Y/n’ it was then that Rhysand had actually looked at you. Soaked in blood your white leathers had turned crimson red a long time ago. There were bags under your eyes and dried blood in your hair. He didn’t know where the blood stopped and you begun. He knew that you were exhausted. You all were but he had watched you slash your way through half of Hyberns army. Knew that you were pulling more that your fair share of the force on the ground while him and his brothers took to the sky. He had watched you time and time again from the sky jump in front of your men ready to die for every single one of them but here you stood unharmed.

“Y/n you need to rest please” he hoped that you would listen because having you and Feyre out there fighting was too much. He couldn’t afford to loose anyone in his family but he had lost You and Feyre once and couldn’t… wouldn’t do it again. With Feyre he could always feel the bond know in a second if something was wrong. He couldn’t do the same for you at all. He could get Feyre to rest. Could plead with her to fall back and Feyre would always understand respect his worry. With you he couldn’t tell or ask you to do anything. If he told you to pull back you pushed forward. If he said take a break you’d work twice as hard. He didn’t know how to protect you because you wouldn’t let him or anyone.

“I’m fine Rhysand” hearing this Rhys got visibly agitated. His weight shifted from foot to foot. It took real effort on his part not to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

“You are not fine. None of us are fine but you haven’t taken more then 15 mins since the first battle. You need to take a break. I mean seriously y/n when was the last time you slept.?”

Your brother was right you were not fine but to be honest you didn’t know how to be. There was something about war…you couldn’t just sit and do nothing. Couldn’t sleep when you could be training or coming up with battle strategies. You couldn’t do nothing when your family…your men were risking their lives and could be dead any second. This was where everything you’d ever been taught came into play. Where years of insisted perfection paid off. Because anything less then perfection out on that battle field could cost you and somebody else there life. You were prepared to die every time you stepped out of your tent. Ready to give your life for anyone of your soldiers on that field.

“I know your worried about me brother. The same as I’m worried about you. But just as you can’t promise me you will live, I can’t promise you either. However I can keep the promise we made as children.” With that you had told Rhys to update you about Cassain, gave him a hug and exited the tent. You remembered back to that promise Rhys and you had made centuries ago. You remembered that night like it was a week ago.

“Father I think maybe it would be wiser not to involve Rhysand in this war.” You pleaded for your brothers safety to your father. You knew that you were walking a very dangerous line but you had to try. Hell your mother had even requested you to “talk some sense into your father” which of course she didn’t need to do she had asked while you were already on the way to his office. Whenever your family needed something from your father it was always you they would send. Like they knew you were the only one who could be in his presence that he wouldn’t immediately beat. This night was a strangely quiet night at your home.

“Absolutely not Y/n. He is my son he will fight. No matter how insistent you and your mother are.” your father was sitting at his desk he didn't offer you anymore than a glance. You could feel your nerves this kind of defiance was unlike you. Typically your defiance was classier. It could almost go undetected like a faint thread of manipulation hidden under a smile and a logical response. You were calculated in everything that you did...but not that night. That night you had only one rhys life on your mind.

“Of course father, my apologies I just thought that since he’s your next successor then-“ the room was tense, you kept your wings so tightly pressed against your back the pain had started to creep its way up your shoulders.

“Enough Y/N! Your brother will fight and if he can’t survive then it’s due to his own incompetence and failure!” Your fathers word stung. You didn’t know how he could care so much for you and not at all for your brother and sister. It was clear your father didn’t care if Rhys was ready to fight. Or even if he was given a better chance of survival. You could see on your fathers desk that he planned to place Rhysand right on the front lines. It was almost as if your father was trying to get your brother killed.

“At least keep him in the sky with Azriel and Cassian! They fight better together.” the second the words left your mouth you knew it would send him into a rage.

“Y/N you forget your place!” Your fathers voice boomed, He stood from his desk so fast you flinched on instinct. His voice so loud you were sure that it carried down the hall where your family was residing. But you had to continue, it wasn't an option not to make him change his mind. Otherwise your brother would pay the price.

“I’ll fight on the front lines in his place! Just please father.” You spit the words out as fast as you could before your father could throw you out.

“You can’t keep protecting that boy Y/n. One day that protection will cost you your life.”

That day you had left your fathers office with a black eye, a busted lip and a guaranteed death sentence on the front lines. You knew that he would retaliate by your lack of obedience but you couldn’t afford not to fight him. Not when the cost was your brother. For as long as you could remember you always protected your mother, sister, and brother. Had taken lashes, foul words, and their punishment so that they could have some sense of peace. Kept the true price for their safety as secret as you could. Glamoured the marks. Put on the mask of confidence and indifference.

Later that day your brother had come running into your room

“Y/N! I just talked to father and got my assignment and placement in the war effort. Get this he’s keeping me in the sky.. same fleet as Azriel and Cassian! I can’t believe it. Whats your assignment? Did he give you your own fleet to command or are somewhere higher. Maybe commander?” Rhys had ran in so quickly that you almost didn’t have time to glamour your face. But the second you saw the joy on his face all the pain washed away. like it did every single time. How many times had you hid the bruises and scars upon your body for your siblings... you couldn't keep track anymore but every time you saw their faces the pain or thought of telling them disappeared

“Umm I am on the front lines” You mustered every bit of confidence you had to try and calm Rhysands worry. You could tell if wasnt nearly enough as you watched your brother begin to panic and break down.

“What?!? No! Why would he do such a thing. I thought for certain he’d give you something. Of more importance! This is absurd. I’ll go talk to him! HE CANT… He JUST CANT-

“HE CAN. And He did. And YOU! Will not breathe one word of this to him. Do you understand?” You waited for Rhys to reply needed him to tell you he wouldn’t provoke your father further. But Rhys only stood there staring at you. So you walked over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders

“Do you understand Rhysand?” you meant it as a question but it came out more as a demand.

“yes I understand” he answered meekly you sighed a thank you to the Mother.

“Thank you.... And Rhys don’t argue with father. Do as he says and listen to his every command. Especially on that battle field.” Rhys only laughed and rolled his eye at your comment.

“Pfft come on Y/n, I know, I know.” Your brother laughed like you weren’t being serious. Like it was something you warned him of everyday. Which he wasn’t wrong but your father wouldn’t be as “forgiving” with Rhys now. He would actually expect Rhysand to perform otherwise it was his reputation that was put at risk.

“I’m serious Rhysand. Do not provoke him. Do not give him any reason to reprimand you. You need to be training everyday and not just till you’re tired like you do now. You need to practice until you’re perfect. He will expect you to be the epitome of perfection and wrath on the battle field.”

“Please I’m not you y/n he couldn’t give two shits about how I perform. I’ve worked my ass off trying to prove I could be worth his Time but no matter how “perfect” I perform, it all about you.” Rhysands words came with a bite. Underlined with jealousy. You wished your father cared for Rhys and your sister....more than anything. But if your ability to protect them meant they had to stay out of his eyesight you would fill this roll everytime.

“I won’t be around forever to protect you from him Rhys. This time he put me in the grunt position and you in the high seat. He’s not expecting me not to embarrass him. I’m expected to be dead before that fight begins. You will be the one who will have to be perfect for him because any weakness in you will make him look bad. You’re his trophy now not me. You will have to protect our sister and mother from him once I’m gone. DO NOT PROVOKE HIM ANYMORE. No more running out with Cassian and Az acting like children. He will take notice and I won’t be there to distract him.” You had never been so serious with Rhys before. Had never spoken to him with such aggression and demand for him to understand. But you needed him to understand because you could not protect him once you were gone. You had shielded him from this for a long as you could.

Rhys didn’t know what to do. He was shocked and scared. Like for the first time he got a glimpse of the pressure and weight that laid on your shoulders. Never thought about how much exactly you shielded him and your sister from. He knew that many times you were the difference between being beat and being sent to his room but had you given more for his protection then he thought? All of these things ran through his mind but what he couldn’t get over was how easily you had admitted you were going to die. How that was the last thing on your mind. But it was the biggest on his mind

“Do you really believe your going to die” Rhys tried to say without shedding a tear but it was clear that he was about to become a mess.

“Oh Rhys I- I will always be honest with you when you ask me something you know that….the truth is that it’s very likely almost impossible not to on the front line.”

“You can’t die out there y/n. Promise me you won’t die out there.” Rhysands voice cracked and tears streamed down his face.

“Rhys I can’t promise you that.” You couldn’t promise him you’d survive so you did the only thing you could do. you held him and for a while the two of you didn’t say anything. Accepting that the each of you could die very soon.

“I can’t promise you I’ll live. But I do promise that I will die fighting to stay alive for you. Can you promise me the same?

“I can. I promise y/n.” And just like that a tattoo formed on your body right behind your ear with a matching tattoo behind Rhys ear.

To this day it was the only tattoo on your body. You didn’t believe in promises did everything you could to avoid them actually but it was a promise that kept you and Rhys connected. A promise that reminded you of how your relationship with your brother used to be. How he used to look up to you and trusted you…. Now you were last person he’d trust to do his laundry. Just another hurdle in his life as High Lord.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{+}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Again! I want it perfect this time!” It had been 3 weeks since Cassian was injured and thank the Mother he was back on his feet. Rhysand had asked you to lead a fleet of rejected Illyrians. Illyrians who had failed miserably every step of their training.

“Y/n please if anyone could make them capable fighters in this short amount of time. It’s you. I’d ask Cassian but he’s healing right now.”

“Rhysand I’m already leading a fleet of day soldiers. Also their Illyrians and I don’t know if you’ve noticed I’m a female…they won’t listen to me.”

“Then make them.”

And that is how you had ended up here. With Day soldiers and Illyrians at each others throats. The Illyrians had actually improved impressively since the first week. You were quick to put them in their place and after three weeks of hard non stop training some of them had even come to respect you. Others were still learning that it was possible a female could run laps around them. On the other hand the Day soldiers were continued to give you an impressive amount of respect and obedience they were more skilled then most of the Illyrians but that was only because they had been training with you longer. But the respect and courteousness of Day combined with the Arrogance and disrespect of the Illyrians didn’t mix well. It led to unnecessary tension you would have to fix. At any moment another battle could arise and they would have to fight with each without trying to kill the other. You had been stuck in your own thoughts when you spotted Helion outside your tent.

“Kemal and Theo grab a weapon and step into the ring Everyone else work on your blocks and dodges.” Kemal had been the Illyrian who had improved the most while Theo was your best soldier from Day. You were truly curious to see who would best who. But you had business to attend to first.

“When I get back everything better be in order or we aren’t breaking for dinner till breakfast” you said as you walked into your tent with Helion following.

“Helion… what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What I can’t come see my mate without a reason” Helion teased while placing a kiss on my temple. You simply laughed.

“I suppose you don’t. However my mate typically does have a reason.” You and Helion had decided not to accept the bond until after the war and to keep the bond a secret until after as well. But you two would undoubtedly accept it the second the war was over. The two of you had found solice and joy in each other in such an awful time. With flirty remarks and touches you kept each other fae while the world threatened to make monsters out of you.

“Ok fine you got me I’m checking in to see how your troops progress is going.”

Helion had taken a seat on your cot and you had found your self standing between his legs running your hands through his hair.

“They are progressing well. I’m no longer worried about the Illyrians fighting they improved however now I worry about the tension between the two groups.” You whispered and could feel Helion relax under your touch

“I don’t understand why your brother gave you them in the first place. You have far exceeded enough favors for him. He cant just keep expecting you to jump to his every whim. What will he do when you become my High Lady? Continue to treat you like your less than-“

“High lady?” You didn’t know why his words had shocked you so much it hadn’t even occurred to you that you’d become a High Lords mate. It wasn’t that you hadn’t expected Helion to treat you as an equal it was more that you had given up those foolish dreams long ago.

“Oh Y/n sorry I didn’t mean to assume you’d court me after I just had thought we were on the same page.”

“No-no Hel that’s not what I meant we are on the same page. I just I don’t know. Hadn’t thought about what my title would be.”

“Did you expect to be anything less? You are my mate. My equal and your brother started something of importance I intend to uphold.”

“Oh Hel I lo-“

“Y/N! I need you now!” Rhysand had come running into the room so fast I had withdrawn my weapon from the sheer shock of it. Helion had instinctively stepped in front of you

“Rhysand you cannot just storm into my tent and demand I go with you.”

“It’s Azriel” that’s all he had to say and you were as serious as could be and running out of your tent without thought. Leaving Helion and rushing to Az.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N thank the mother your here….it’s his wings y/n we need your help.” Cassian looked like more of an emotional reck then Rhys. You could feel the pit of worry growing to a disastrous size. You had no idea what to expect.

“Ahhhhhh, STOP, AHHHHH” you could hear Azriels screams from outside the door. You felt like you were going to be sick like everything in you depended on him surviving.

“Y/N! You need to get in there.” Both Cassian and Rhys stated. They looked like the two little boys you remember making food for. For a split second they mirrored their younger selves coming and pleading to you to make all their problems disappear. But as much as you wanted to make their sorrow go away your feet wouldn't budge. You had no control over your body.

“What?!? I can’t go in there. No I….I can’t.” You couldn’t go in there and see the shape he was in, you would break down the second you saw him.

“Y/N you have to. You’ve studied wings and repairs and clipping reversals for centuries. You studied under Madja. Y/N I’ve seen you save hundreds of wings and Madja needs your help and another person skilled enough to heal his wings so he can still fly after.” Everything they said made sense. It was all logical and you knew that. But it didn’t change that your feet were glued where they were. You indeed had studied under Madja. After you lost your wings you were obsessed with finding a way to reattach them it drove you mad. Once you realized it was just an impossible obsession. Your motivation for the knowledge changed to finding a way to heal or reverse clippings for all those poor girls. Even Illyrian soldiers who’d been injured in the war. You had secretly set up a safe haven for girls who needed immediate help in the mountains. You couldn’t always save the wings but if you couldn’t you could at least ease the pain they’d feel for the rest of their lives.

You were by no means a better healer than Madja you wouldn’t even say you were a healer. You were just skilled in this one area of study because maybe if there was someone who knew all that you knew your back wouldn’t ache everyday. Madja was the best, a great healer and she had taught you well you had just “specialized” and been able to do more with wings.

“Y/N Madja is asking for you” you heard Rhysand say. You wished, wished that you could pull yourself together right now but everything was foggy and blurring together all you could hear was Azriels cries and with each of them you felt more faint. Everyone was frantic, crying, screaming at you. But you couldn’t pull your self out of this state until

“y/n…I know that you love him. I know he is a very dear friend to you and I know that this cannot be easy. I know that your fear and worry for him is over taking you and that is understandable. But right now he needs you to help him.” Feyre spoke to you softly and with love. You could see her compassion and even her own fear in her eyes. Those eyes got your attention enough to realize the severity of the situation and that time was running out.

“Yes I’m. Im sorry. Thank you” you said as you entered the room that Azriel was in. He was laying on his stomach. Head tossing with his arms hanging of the bed. The first thing you saw was blood. There was so much blood. His wings had cuts , breaks, and tares all over them. It was awful, heartbreaking to see his once strong wings torn and tattered. The next thing you noticed was how much pains he was in. His cries and jerking. How every time he jerked or moved the more blood there was.

“Mother thank you, Y/N I need some help stabilizing him. He won’t calm down and if he doesn’t calm down soon he will have lost to much blood.”

Immediately you started to help Madja try and stop the bleeding. You grabbed a cloth and began to apply pressure to his left wing. You weren’t prepared for the screams and cries that came from him.

“I’m sorry….I’m sorry.” You had whispered under your breath over and over again.

“Y/n! I need you to calm him down” Madja instructed.

I can’t I’ll get Rhys or Cassian they can talk to him and Rhys can help ease his pain.

“No they’ve gone to get more elixirs form my office”

You tried to ask him to calm down but nothing. So finally you went to the head of the bed and crouched down so that the two of you were face to face.

“Az I need you stay still for me.” His face was scrunched up and tears were streaming down his face. You didn’t know what else to do so you went with your gut. You brought one of your hands and cupped his cheek while the other grabbed his hand and held it.

“It’s going to be ok Azriel. I’m here I’m going to help you. But I need you to calm down for me. I will not stop until I know that you’ll fly again. But I need you to calm down because every time you jerk or thrash you loose more blood.”

“Y/n i…I’m sorr-“

“None of that. None of that matters right now. Right now I need you to know that I have you. And that I’m sorry for what I have to do. Hold onto this bar ok this is going to hurt.” He squeezed your hand and met you eyes once more. It was a glace that told each of you everything you needed to know.

After he had calmed down you, you tied your hair back and instructed Madja.

“Madja we need to reset the bones now if he stands a chance to ever use them again.”

“That will be far to painful without anymore elixir.” Madja responded with a pained look on her face almost like she was praying that Rhys and Cassian would walk through those doors right now.

“I know that. But we have already lost vital time. And too much blood. It we don’t reset them now then that’s it.” You didnt want to be the fae doing this. prayed to the mother that someone could take your place or that he hadnt been hurt in the first place. Something in you called out to him willing him to hold on. Ensuring him you would do everything you could.

“How much time do we have to wait” was her only reply. As you looked at his body laying on the table you knew he didnt have long but you werent sure if you could bring yourself to break his bone with no way of easing his pain.

“We can only wait 5 more minutes but that mean we don’t have a second to make a mistake we will have to be perfect”

“You’re the expert on this Y/n I’ll follow your instruction” you spared one more glance at Azriel and made a decision within yourself.

“5 minutes” and those were the longest 5 minutes of your lifetime. You and Madja spent it packing his open wounds and staring at the door. By the end of the five minutes you were curing the mother that the only thing your power was capable of was destructive. It consumed and snuffed out unlike feyres or rhysands. They could silence pain, help heal and all you could do was expediate death.

“Thats 5 minutes” you stated with zero joy there was no sign of Rhys or Cass and you would of cursed them but just as you were about to break the first bone Cass and Rhys come running into the room with at least Madja whole stock of Elixirs.

“Give it to him now!” You said and broke the first bone and the scream that fell from Azriels mouth broke your heart. But you knew you had no choice but to keep going and with each break another agonizing scream.

“Rhysand! Put him to sleep!” You yelled at Rhysand while breaking and resetting 2 more bones.

“What I thought Madja said-“

“PUT HIM TO SLEEP RHYSAND” it’s wasn’t instruction or a question it was a command and Rhys didn’t dare finish that sentence and quickly put Azriel to sleep.

“Out” was all you said and Madja shoved them out.”

Madja turned and for just a second watched as a tear rolled down your face. How you moved swiftly and precisely. Not making a single mistake completely focused on repairing his wings. You worked and worked until there was no more work to do.

14 long grueling hours of, resetting, packing, bandaging, and more work but after 14 hours you would of gone 32 hours to know for certain he’d fly again. It wasn't until you were done and collapsed that Cassian had come to retrieve you. You were nothing more than a statue exhausted, silent, and covered in Azriels blood. Cassian had brought you to the shower and helped clean the blood off of you. He didn't expect any words to be exchanged he knew that you had shut out any emotion while you were working on him so everything came up once you were done.

Cassain had seen you like this once before when your family had been murdered. Found you curled up outside of your fathers office staring off into a void. Tried to get you to speak but nothing. He stayed with you all night that night just sitting there with you. You had even completly shocked him that moring when rhysand came down the hall and you shot up, pulled yourself together and were the image of perfection. Went right to taking care of Rhys like there was nothing wrong with you to begin with. If Cas hadnt sat with you all night he would of thought their death had no affect on you. It was that morning Cas realized just how much you loved rhys. How much of yourself you hid away to care for him. How much you had given to become the strong, capable and invincible older sister that all of them had known their whole life. Azriel and Cas had found a way to see through the mask throughout the centuries. It took a long time and it was still difficult to see through they had seen all the signs through out years and years of friendship that showed you were just a female with the weight of prythian on her shoulders. Cas didnt think Rhys was ever able to see through the mask. He still treated you like you were unbreakable. You were and always have been his very capable rock of an older sister.

So now Cas knew what was going to happen. Knew that come morning you would go right back to working like Azriel almost dying had never happened. Like having to hear his screams and be the one to keep pulling him back from death was just another tuesday. But for tonight he'd help wash off the blood and force you to stop scrubbing under your nails when there is no more traces of blood so you didnt rub your hands raw. Hold you while you screamed and beat his chest while tears streamed down your face, insisting you were fine. He would hold you all night while you sobbed and found irrational ways to blame yourself. That is exactly what Cas did and the next morning when Rhys came to check in with you he watched as you smiled at your brother and asked him "why wouldn't I be ok brother? He's fine."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel had slept for 5 days. Slowly coming in and out. Any second you had that wasn’t spent teaching was spent next to Azriel, watching his vitals, tending to his wounds , and ensuring the wing bracing hadn’t slipped or moved. Yet the second he awoke you stayed away. You didn’t know what it was that kept you away after he had awoken.

The fear that he didn’t want to see you? That you weren’t ready to forgive him? You didn’t know. Maybe it was that you’d never kept secrets from him and now you were mated and you didn’t know why that made a difference but it did. Was it that you couldn’t trust yourself around him? Or maybe it was simply that Helion had confronted you while he was asleep about the way you felt.

“Y/n I’m not trying to sound jealous or pushing over my line I just want to ensure that you feel nothing for him in that way anymore.”

“Helion you’re joking right? He’s unconscious. I’m simply helping a friend.”

“Y/n this is the first time I’ve talk to you in a week. You have avoided, pushed me off, and ran from me. While your every second is spent here in this tent with him. Rhysand and Madja have assured me and you that he will wake. That he’s fine…..if this is just you worrying for a friend then I entirely understand. However you can’t blame me for being worried. I found out you were my mate the same night you tried to start a relationship with him. I just want to check in with you about where you stand with this bond…..that we want the same thing.

“Helion I- I don’t know what I want the war is all I can think about and then Azriel got hurt. I was concerned for my friend.”

“Ok y/n I understand…. I think it’s best that we pull back a little then. Maybe completely until after the war that just so you have time to think about what you want.”

“Hel that’s not what I meant-“

“Y/n my sweet I am not mad at you. Nothing I have said was against you. You have every right to love whoever and want whatever it is that makes you happy. I’ve just. I’ve loved before and I’ve been stripped of that love. That was one of the hardest things I have been through and I don’t know if I could survive the rejection from my mate if I let myself continue to fall in love with you. Don’t get me wrong I’m already so far deep but I could pull myself out and keep some of my heart. But if don’t pull myself back and I continue to let myself have everything that I want and you were to change your mind it would break me. My heart is yours to have if you want it. All I’m asking is that your sure it’s my heart that you want before we continue.” With that Helion had kissed your forehead and left you outside of the medic tent.

If you had been paying attention you may of caught the pair of eyes from inside that were locked on you and Helion. Maybe of even seen the way Azriel had tried to push him self up to hear the whispered fight the two of you were having.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N” he’s been asking for you.

“I’m not going I have far to much work to do and not enough time.” Rhysand only sighed at you. This is the 5th person who had come to your tent and pleaded with you to see Azriel. First it was Cassain going on and on about how if it weren’t for that one fight you’d be right by his side and instead of him trying to get you to see him, he’d be trying to get you to leave.

When you had told Cassian to fuck off then they sent Mor who described in vivid detail how every time someone walks into the medic tent Azriel is practically breaking his neck to see if it was you. That he is just wrecked with guilt over everything he said. When you had told her you didn’t care she just walked out in disbelief.

Then they had decided to send Feyre…thought maybe because she stopped you from panicking maybe she could convince you to go see him. “Y/n please I know he hurt you. But doesn’t that pale in comparison after almost losing him? I saw you that day you care for him and up until he woke up you were there. Why is it different now that he’s awake?” You had only told Feyre that your decision had been made.

Before they had sent Amren you thought they had given up. Turns out they were just deliberating on who to send. “Girl you need to get your shit together and see the boy.” “No I don’t.” “You need to come see him if I have to watch him mope around like a kicked dog one more day I’m going to kill somebody.” Amren had just stormed out. She gave you the impression that if she had stayed a little longer she would have shared something with you she wasn’t supposed to.

Eventually you found yourself here arguing with your dear brother.

“Y/n you cannot be serious about this. You can’t avoid him forever” Rhysand only pleaded with you.

“I am, I can, and he made it very clear he wanted me to stay away that Is what I’m doing.” You were tired of this. You knew they had watched him say those things to you. Knew what it meant to you. How could they still be insistent you needed to get over it.

“Y/N he didn’t mean-

“I don’t care. I’m not going. I took beatings, I went with Amarantha, I have stayed in your court. Took in your Illyrian troops, saved his wings, and jeopardized a relationship I really cared about by the way, I have sense agreed to seduce Eris about Beron joining this war. What more do you want from me brother? You were broken, could feel all the tape and glue coming apart. Helion had decided to give you space. You couldn’t blame him it was smart and responsible for the both of you. But that left you alone with a troop at each others throat. And friends dying everyday. You just wanted everyone to let you be.

“I want you to go see him.” Was his only reply and you couldn’t believe it or could you? All you were to him was a chess piece to play. Not a sister, not a friend, or a member of his court. Just a pawn to be placed. With that he made his way out of your tent but right before he left you simply replied with what you realized he wanted from you.

“Of course my lord”

What you didn’t expect was for that to make him stop in his tracks and turn around. He stared at you for awhile and you stared back. Neither of you said a word but you could tell he wanted to say 1000 things but not one left his lips.

Rhysand felt guilt overtake him the second the words left your mouth. He knew that all he did was ask more of you. Knew what he sentenced you to under the mountain. A part of him knew he still looked up to you. While the other part only blamed you. For everything. For Mother and your little sister Marjorie. He looked at you and saw the person his father picked every time. He was too busy teaching you how to balance the courts expenses when he bested Cassain the first time. Too busy introducing you to high lords and their sons when he made carynthian. And off instructing you of the do’s and don’ts of war when mother and Marjorie were killed. He had so much bitterness in him but he knew you did everything for him. Held him together and all he did was let his bitterness take over him.

“I’m sorry about Azriel Y/n”

“Why? That may be the one thing that truly isn’t on your shoulder Rhys. He just doesn’t feel for me the way I had him.” The look that Rhysand gave you before leaving almost fooled you. Almost had you believing guilt flashed through his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hated coming to Rhys side of the war tents. It always got you into uncomfortable situations with someone. However we were about to head to the human lands for the last battle fortunately you had finally solidified your troops. Day soilders had learned how to loosen up, Illyrians learned some respect and they were actually getting along. The Illyrian almost made a complete 180 with them actually respecting your power. Asking you actual tips to get better had even included you in some of the barrack pranks. They were ready and you could say that you were proud of the work they had accomplished. As you thought you couldn’t help overhearing the argument coming from the medic tent and peeking in.

“I am coming. I’m fighting in that battle.” You could hear Azriel grunting as he got up from his cot.

“You are not” Cassain and Rhys were quick to respond.

“I am”

“You will not Azriel if you fight you will not fly again.” Madja interrupted and you could feel the shift in the room. Saw the way Cassain and Rhysand shared a look and the way Azriel froze.

“I forbid it Az you will stay here and that is final.” Rhysand commanded and exited the tent on the opposite end with cas and madja followings

Maybe you should of left. Maybe you should of stayed and slipped in when you saw that he was still insistent on going but you couldn’t allow that to happen.

“You better get back in that cot” you had said with your back to a supporting post of the tent.

Azriel flew his head to your voice. Like he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t

“Y/n”

“You can’t do what I know you’re about to do Azriel. You will never fly again. Take it from somebody who knows that pain doesn’t go away.”

“I have to. My entire family is fighting today. What would I be if they died while I laid in this tent.”

“It means youre safe and healing properly. It also means the hours of work I did to save those bat wings don’t go wasted.” You joked and you saw tension roll off Azriels shoulders. “Well um anyway I should get going don’t do anything stupid” as you were leaving azriel grabbed your shoulder and spun you around.

“Y/n, please don’t die. I uhhh, I need you to know... ya know about what I said its-

"Azriel. You can tell me after this war.....look you were right I am exactly what my father raised me to be. Which is why i wont die on that field, I have been in war with far worse odds and lived. I was born for times such as this." You were looking at Az but the male staring back at you wasn't someone you had ever met. There was fear and regret swirling behind his golden orbs. Fear you had never seen Azriel have but this fear was new, like if he released his grip from your shoulder his world would come crashing down.

Azriel stood staring at you with no mask to hide behind. He was wracked with terror. You were once again going into a dangerous situation without him. He would have no way of ensuring your safety... no way of knowing youd come back to but the hope he had in his heart. If that hope was the only thing that could bring you back after this war then mother he'd have more hope then there was in all of pryrinthian.

Before you knew what was happening Azriels had craddled your head back and his lips had met yours. This kiss was different than the first. It wasnt full of lust, desire, and hunger. No this kiss was gentle, it was soft and warm something you couldnt help but melt into. His tongue dipped into your mouth you couldnt help the muffled gasp that escaped from you. He smelled of cedar and ash and in this moment it was like the only thing that existed... the only thing that mattered were the two of you. His shadows danced around your two forms and it felt as if you'd been made whole could of sworn that you felt something snap in your chest. As fast as it came it had disapeared and Azriel had pulled away cupped your cheek and pressed his forehead to yours and whispered.

"just come back to me" before you could reply he had winnowed away leaving you flushed with a sense of guilt as you felt Helion tug on the bond.

--------------------------------------{*}-------------------------------------

When you had finally found Mor to winnow you to the human lands it was chaotic. Humans running and some flat out calling you wicked things simply because you tried to help them. After coralling what felt like hundreds of humans it was time to have march into battle with the king of hybern. You couldnt say that you were ready but you could say that youd give everything you had to ensure the people you loved came out of this war.

--------------------------------------{*}-------------------------------------

In the midst of Battle you struggled to breath there was so much blood. It was like you were drowning in it. Hybern Soldiers just kept coming so just you kept slashing them down one by one. When the battle had first started you could see Cassian and Rhys in the skies but blood coated your eyes so that all you could truly see was right in front of you. Your men surrounded you and as you looked to your left and right you could tell they were just as exhausted as you. Every now and then you or Helion would tug on the bond just to give peace of mind that the other was still ok. As time went on you weren’t sure if you’d win this war. It seemed that the Hybern Soldiers just outnumbered you. Many lives were lost and the battle went on. You used every bit of strength and ounce of magic you had. Especially when you heard Nestas scream for Cassian. It was so loud that both you and Cas had whipped your head around and if it had been a second longer both you and Cas would have been dead but you called to the power inside of you and wrapped the starlight around yours and Cassians figure tightly. Pushed up a wall of pure power to protect your men on the battle field. The blast was so strong it brought you to your knees and the scream that left you broke Cassians heart. But he Watched as you fought every second holding the shield and wall against the blast. Honestly after that the war was a blur. The only other thing you remember after that was Rhys.

You could remember right before your brother had died. You magic racing across to Hybern. To tear his very heart out for threatening Rhys. You remember the panic and dread. Your power an inch of hybern when one of his men had tackled you to the ground. And then you felt it the tattoo on your neck glow and disappear. You had sliced the soldiers throat so fast and stood. Had to know if what you felt was true and when you saw Rhys body and Feyre screaming the world went black.

The next thing you knew you were being carried by Helion off of the field. Madja over your body. You were in and out of consciousness. one second there was madja or mor, then Cas and always Hel. But it wasnt until you saw Rhys. You saw your brother and you could feel the smile on your face. Had determined he was there to take you home.

"rhys...' you let out with a shaky breath.

"Y/N thank the mother, Y/n you are going to be ok". You could hear Panic and see tear on your brothers face which confused you. You were ready you just wanted to be with him and here he was telling you no.

"y/n please Im ok. But you have to be ok. Im alive you can come back. COME on Y/N. You promised remember.. You promised me... Y-

you watched in and out how upset rhys was how worked up he was. Saw as Cassian dragged him away and then nothing.

When you finally awoke your family filled you in and just like that you insisted you were fine. Now arguing in your room with Helion who hadn't left your side. went on about how you needed to slow down. to go back home to day and relax.

"I couldn't of lost you Y/N" Helion shared as he let out a sigh.

"Hel Im ok. Its going to be ok." you held him as he cried for awhile until he stood.

"Come back home. I'll know you're safe there. I can even ensure i dont go overboard with overprotecting you." you could see the love shing through Hels eyes. Could feel how much needed you to say yes. To let him care for you flowing through the bond.

"Ok ok... we will pack tomorrow tonight just be with me."

"I love you Y/n"

With that Helion brought you in and kissed you longingly. Like this was what he needed to ground him in your safety.

Poor Azriel couldn't pull his gaze from your bedroom window. Where he stood outside with a bouquet of flowers eye glued to the scene above him. You smiling at Helion, his hands on your hips looking down at you with so much love almost Azriel could feel it. Watched as he placed a kiss on your lips and how you only deepened it. how you leaned into him and flung your arms around his neck. Watched as Helion lifted you up with your lips still attached to one another. And he especially couldn't tear his gaze away when he felt a golden thread snap into view...connecting him to you. Azriel sat atop that mountain with those flowers with his heart breaking long after the lights of your bedroom had gone out.

Tags

@mis-lil-red @bankerfrog @paasrin @judig92 @boys-no-books-better @powerfulpantera @randomfortheday @answer-the-sirens @kuraikei @issybee0611 @lennaleen @starryhiraeth

#acotar fanfiction #a court of war and ruin #acotar x reader #azrielxreader #acotar series #acotar fluff #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #a court of mist and fury #azriel acotar #azriel fic #helion acotar #helion x reader #cassian #rhysand

[cryptidcasanova]

Sweetest Sins

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: The Upside Down is a place of pain and trouble, but a new concern comes to light when you and Eddie stumble upon the local flora.

Words: 5k

Warnings: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac, Dub!Con, Smut. Creampie.

"We need to split up," Steve announced, looking over your group of misfits. "Vecna could be at any of the gates, waiting to pull himself back into Hawkins. Into our Hawkins. We can't let that happen."

You looked around, catching similar expressions of masked skepticism from Robin & Nancy. You weren't sure you looked much better. 

The Upside Down was unsettling. A dark flash of lightning burned overhead, flashing red above your heads. You were running out of time.

Only then did you look to Eddie, whose brazen expression was stuck on Steve. They were locked in a silent argument.

And then, without breaking eye contact, Steve clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Nancy, Robin, you're coming with me. And you two," He pointed at you and Eddie, "Go back to the trailer. See if there's a way to block the gate. We don't need anyone else accidentally stumbling into it."

You were paired up with Eddie Munson like you were members of Mystery Inc.

You nodded hesitantly, your gaze catching Eddie's before he looked away. He was giving Steve another warning look before letting out a huff.

"We'll be careful." He finally said, his voice low. "C'mon."

He urged you to follow as he turned on his heel, not waiting for you to catch up.

You gave one last look of hesitation to the others before following him.

A moment passed. Another crackle of lightning lit up the sky overhead as the other three took off in the other direction.

"What are you doing?" Nancy hissed once the two of you were out of earshot.

Steve gave her a look of consideration before running a hand through his hair.

"He's been hung up on her since we were sophomores," He shared. "And if Eddie doesn't say anything now, he might not get the chance."

Steve might not have run the same circles as the freak in high school, but he wasn't blind. You were a catch. Steve could see how he looked at you even after you graduated, and Eddie didn't. It was like you were just out of reach.

"I knew it." Robin contemplated. "Like I knew it but didn't know it. You know?"

A slow understanding fell over the three as they trudged into the dark. Maybe Munson just needed a little push.

It's not that you didn't like Eddie. It was the opposite - you had a soft spot for the attentive, cynical dungeon master. His eccentric behavior and mother-hen attitude toward the younger kids were endearing. You loved the way Dustin talked about him.

But his good nature never quite made it to you.

You looked at him, watching his back as he led the way to the trailer park.

The unabashed metalhead steered clear from you. In high school, you shared some classes with him. You thought he'd be at least a little excited when you were paired for a senior writing project. His imagination was wild and unhindered, but he didn't show it. In the moment, Eddie was soft-spoken. He was careful with what he said. He wasn't the academic you hoped for and let you lead the project.

You ended up getting a C on the final. And you knew that he could do better than that. Eddie was bright and sharp on his feet. His words were as wicked as his wit.

Outside of class, he hardly gave you a second look. Even when you worked at the records store at Starcourt, Eddie would try and get help from the other employees before reluctantly searching you out. It didn't matter if you were crowding the new Slash tapes. He would wait.

Eddie avoided you. Or at least, that's how it felt.

Dustin told you not to worry about it.

In his own words, "He can help us defeat dragons and goblin pirates, but you're not any of those things. Don't take it too hard."

And now, with Vecna causing trouble in Hawkins, you were thrown in the mix together. Eddie never asked for any of this. You could see his waning frustration and underlying fear.

He wanted to be like the heroes from his campaigns, but it was an act. You could see his composure cracking. Eddie was more than just the town pariah; he was -

You almost bulldozed him over when he stopped suddenly. You put your hand out to his shoulder to catch yourself.

"Shit, sorry," You startled, but your apology died in your throat.

The pattern of trees tapered off into fields of scorched earth and dirt. The air was heavy and stagnant. And then you saw what Eddie was looking at. The vines in the area grew into dark, dewy flower buds. But they didn't look like typical flowering plants.                            

"What the hell is that?" Eddie crouched down, looking at the plant in confusion. It was almost as if it was breathing. 

A hive mind, you reminded yourself. 

The dark blooms reminded you of how Demogorgon's heads looked when closed, but only a fraction of the size. You tilted your head. It was actually kind of beautiful, in a haunting, dark way.

"I didn't think anything could grow here." You spoke softly.

In a place surrounded by pain and death, flowers grew. It was ironic. And they were beautiful. Maybe if you got a little closer, you could smell it -

"Careful," Eddie warned, his hand closing over your shoulder. The metal rings dug into your skin. 

You didn't even realize you had stepped next to him, crouching by his side. Your knees were touching. Shit, you didn't mean to get in his personal space.

But the flowers were calling you in, and you leaned too close to the decrepit vines. You were right in front of the bloom.

You blinked once, snapping out of it before nodding in Eddie's general direction. 

He was right. You needed to keep moving. 

But at that exact moment, the flower bloomed in front of you. Even Eddie stopped, watching with a morbid curiosity. 

The dark petals unfurled, showing off a bright red interior. As you watched, the petals billowed in and out, mimicking breathing. The air was fragrant with the flower's sweet perfume. And then, when you were locked on the petals, a mist of red pollen puffed up into the air. 

You were too close. The pollen dusted your nose and cheeks with red freckles, and you pulled away to sneeze. 

Eddie steadied you with a cautious hand behind your back.

He was careful. His touch was hesitant as he looked at you and then at the flower. The air was sweet.

It was too sweet. He looked at the plant with a grim expression.

"I don't like this," He urged, "Come on. We're almost there." 

Eddie got back up to his feet, and you followed. You looked at the dark, red petals one last time before leaving them behind.

At first, you felt fine. But your steps grew heavy as you cleared the field.

You jocked it up to stress. But your breathing was starting to slow down, hammering in your chest. At first, you hardly noticed it.

The effects of the pollen took hold of you as you walked farther into the dark. Eddie watched, confused, as you started to slow down behind him.

"We've got to pick up the pace," He said, turning towards you. "No Sunday Driving today through town today."

Eddie stopped talking altogether. He noticed how your eyes glazed over, lids heavy as you followed him. Eddie knew something was wrong, cursing under his breath. He asked you a question - something about how you were acting funny, but you couldn't hear him clearly.

It sounded like he was calling your name through the murky depths of Lovers Lake. The syllables were muddled and lost before he repeated it.

You snapped out of it as he touched you, his hand circling your wrist and preventing you from going into the trailer.

The gasp that was caught in your throat wasn't missed by Eddie.

"What?" You asked, your skin jumping at the contact. "What is it?"

He could see how you were swaying on your feet and how heavy your breathing was. Where he was holding you, your skin was flushed. You were feverish and didn't realize it. You blinked up at him expectantly, his eyes brimming with confusion.

"What is it, Eds?"

The tremor in your words was something he had never heard before, and as his grip tightened, he watched as your eyes closed. His hold was grounding, calming in a way.

You weren't thinking clearly.

"I don't feel so good," You admitted, swaying as you tried to take another step. You looked up at him with dark eyes. Your pupils were blown wide, and he watched as you struggled to focus.

Eddie was in a battle with himself, watching you lose a grip. He wanted to – shit, he wanted to help. He just didn't know what to do.

You looked up at him, needing him to say something. You just wanted to hear his voice.

"Please, Eddie," You whispered, and he took a step closer to you.

His own eyes were growing heavy, whether or not he realized it.

"I'm right here, sweetheart."

The red mist still lingered on your skin, and in a move bolder than he ever expected of himself, he pulled his hands up to cradle the sides of your face. His thumbs brushed away the spots from your cheeks and nose, dissolving into his skin before he knew it.

He wasn't feeling quite like himself.

A bead of sweat was forming on your forehead, and he brushed it away too. Your eyes closed at the soothing touch.

"I thought it was supposed to be cold down here," You murmured, your eyes opening as Eddie's hands trailed down your face. "But everything's too warm. It's too tight."

You didn't know what you were saying. Eddie was in a daze all his own, rolling his thumbs over your temples to soothe the ache. It was supposed to be comforting, a small gesture, but you sobbed out the sweetest sound as his touch lingered.

Eddie had to bite back his own sound, watching you relax. You groaned as he pulled his hands away.

"Please don't," You begged, reaching out for his hands. You were holding them with your own, your thumbs tracing circles on his palms. "Please don't stop. I can't explain it. But please don't stop."

Don't stop touching me.

But Eddie knew something wasn't right. His eyes narrowed, thinking about your change of behavior. The flower.

It wasn't just pollen in your veins, but a poison. Your skin was hot to the touch, and even Eddie could feel the slow burning in his veins. It was going to take you both down. He shouldn't have let you anywhere near that damned plant.

"It hurts less with you here. I need you to touch me," You explained, your words as pitiful as the expression on your face. Your lucidity was long gone, and lust clouded your expression.

"We need to get you inside." His eyes were starting to get heavy. "C'mon, we need to hurry."

He kept one hand in yours as he walked, letting him pull you into the trailer. He'd never admit it, but the contact was soothing to him too.

With the door closed behind you, it almost made things worse. Instead of worrying about the demo-bats or Vecna, your focus was solely on the man in front of you.

He offered to get you water, you vaguely remembered him saying.

You focused on the rips in his jeans and how his arms moved, pulling up his jacket as he looked through different cabinets. His shirt rid up slightly, exposing a strip of skin at the top of his jeans.

A sound of approval bubbled past your lips.

"Something's happening. What's happening?" You stepped towards him.

Your question fell on deaf ears as Eddie breathed in, only able to smell you. The soft perfume on your skin mixed with the sweet pollen was…fuck. It was too much to handle.

He blindly reached out, muttering under his breath as he stroked the swell of your cheek again.

"You were too close to the flower." He said. "The mist, it's too powerful."

He cursed under his breath, feeling a slow ache of discomfort as he pulled away from you. Eddie called your name.

"I don't know what it was," He exhaled, calling your name gently. "But it's going to be okay. You're gonna be okay, princess. Fuck," he shook his head lightly, his mouth hanging open. He rubbed a ringed hand across his face to get a grip. "You're so pretty."

And you whimpered at the compliment.

His eyes flew back to yours. The sound was needy and raw, shooting straight through Eddie without compunction.

Fuck.

You looked at him like you could eat him up, your eyelashes damp. You were on the verge of tears, and he thought it was so damn pretty. The building desire that swept through you was unbearable.

And all Eddie wanted to do was drag you back into his room and lay down at your mercy. You could take anything you needed from him, and he would thank you for it.

But it wasn't right. It wasn't him.

And you, you weren't thinking straight. The plant, its poison, had you in a steel grip.

He turned away reluctantly. Medicine, he needed to find medicine.

"Please," You tried again, "I need your help."

"It'll be okay," He urged, looking for painkillers or anything, really.

You try to say his name, to curl your tongue around the letters, but it turns into a whine. Eddie wasn't listening.

The slow, rolling ache turned into a sharp pain at his rejection. The next moment, you were doubled over in pain. You were folding in on yourself. How could it hurt so bad? What did the Upside Down do to you?

The medicine was forgotten as the pollen muddled Eddie's thoughts. He's there instantly, calling your name, begging you to open your eyes, but you can't. 

The pain is all-encompassing.

His tone was bleeding panic, and he let his body act without his thoughts getting in the way. He picked you up from your crumpled mess on the ground and carried you through the trailer to his room.

It was different than he remembered, older, but he couldn't focus as you curled your fingers into his shirt.

"It's too hot."

Your skin was flushed and angry, and even he felt a little hot under the collar. He set you down, tugging off the sleeves of his jacket. He could feel the heat prickling at his skin now, and as he turned back to you, you were frantically pulling off layers of clothes.

"H-hey," He faltered.

Eddie watched as you took off your jacket and shirt in one swoop. Your modesty was cast to the side as you fought against your jeans. It was too hot. Your skin was on fire, and you needed to take it off. Eddie bit back a haunting groan and pinched the bridge of his nose.

You were in his bed in only your bra and panties, and he struggled to come to terms with it.

"What are you doing?"

You took a heavy breath, settling down against the sheets with a scowl.

"I think I'm dying."

A moment passed, and you realized that while your breathing was uneven and your stomach was in knots, your heartbeat was steady. Your pulse was brought to light, and you could feel it in your throat. The pain ebbed away, revealing its true nature.

Your skin was flushed, aching, and needy. You needed him to touch you, and the idea of it alone sent you in a tizzy. You wanted him.

You wanted those ringed hands on your skin and his hot breath in the crook of your neck. You wanted him to devour you. 

Realization settled over you. The pollen was an aphrodisiac.

You looked at Eddie with wide eyes.

"Get over here."

His jaw clenched. Eddie's eyes raked over you, settling on the crux between your legs. You were going to make a mess on his sheets.

"You don't know what you're saying." He whispered.

But the way that your eyes jumped up to his begged to differ.

"Oh, sweetheart," He let out a ragged breath. He was fighting the way his words were dripping with want. "This isn't what you want. You don't want me."

Your frown changes, shifting from the aching pain in your chest to the sudden throb of his words. They are laced with a longing you couldn't un-hear.

"You don't know what I want."

His hands shake.

"As soon as this wears off, you'll regret it."

His words tumble in your head, and you bite your lip in frustration.

"Eddie," You manage, "Please, I need you."

A startled noise fell from his lips that sounded too close to a groan for him to take back. The pollen was hitting you with full force, but it was consuming him too.

His restraint was laughable. His skin was flushed, and he tugged at the neck of his shirt for some air.  

"Fuck," He bit out. "You can't just say things like that."

His entire body shook. It took all his restraint to not cross the room and bury himself inside you.

It was the pollen talking. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself of.

"I don't get it. I don't get you," You whispered, closing your eyes as a wave of pain swept over you. A new rush of want clouded your mind. "I thought you couldn't stand me. I thought that's why you always give me the cold shoulder. And that's why I've never tried to tell you –"

But your eyes rolled back, your head hitting the pillow with a groan. The heat in your stomach was unbearable.

You're far too gone in it to take it back.

"Fuck." You shake your head again.

Eddie's eyes are blown wide but far away. You said too much. You scared him off.

"I think about you all the time," He admitted. "All the time." He emphasized, his words low. "But it's not supposed to be like this."

You zoned out, clenching your thighs together at his admission. Your brain was drained and exhausted, but your body persisted.

"You think about me?" You whispered, more to yourself than to Eddie. 

The pieces of the puzzle were in your hands. Eddie didn't intentionally ignore you. He had a crush on you.

And he watched you in your hazy stupor.

But too much time passed. You were too tired to fight with him. You were too tired to speak.

Your tongue was heavy against your teeth. You stopped asking for his help. Your hand trailed from your collar down between the swell of your chest before groping there once. You needed more. 

With the poison rushing through your veins, you let your hand trail lower. It found purchase at the hem of your panties before gliding over the damp spot with a moan. You were eager for relief, but it wasn't giving you what you needed. You were desperate, and tears were clouding your vision.

I can't do it alone.

It was pitiful. You didn't even realize you said it out loud. 

Eddie could fucking smell you, and it was driving him wild in his hazy state.

"Sweetheart –" You heard from across the room, and suddenly, Eddie was there, palming against your pussy and swatting your hand out of the way. He couldn't take it anymore. "I can't; I won't make you do this alone."

His touch was ardent and needy. His hot fingers swiped up your folds, treasuring the wet and sinful noises it produced.  

You were already so wet. His touch fueled your body, and you were grasping his shoulders. His touch was a balm, healing you with every stroke of his fingers.

His other hand was flat against your stomach, holding you in place. You were squirming and needy, panting when his finger circled around your clit. Your body was a cage, and you wanted to let Eddie in.

You were chanting his name blindly, trying to get away. The searing pressure in your belly was overwhelming. Eddie let out a tsk, cocky and satisfied at your reaction.

"You've got to take it, Princess." He said. "It'll make you feel better. I'll make you feel better." And then his fingers took a new course. 

His thumb was settled against your clit while he worked his fingers inside you. You cried out his name and jumped at the contact, but Eddie was distracted. 

Your body was coaxing him in, urging him as close to you as he could get between your slick walls. He was getting lost in the feeling, letting his hair fall in front of his face. His eyes closed in bliss. You were there, his for the taking.

And then a sinful idea made him sit up. He was mapping his way up the sheets, hovering over you. His body was thrumming with new energy. 

"Maybe we should do this in the right order." The weight of his words was suffocating, your eyes full of need.

Your confusion melted as his nose bumped into yours. He leaned down with a hand on either side of you, holding his body weight up. And then he kissed you.

Dark hair fanned out around you, and you let your hands pull him down. You needed him to be closer, until his body weight was draped over yours, and his tongue begged you for attention. 

Who were you to say no?

Eddie commanded your body until your kiss matched his own. Desperate. You were desperate. He pulled the breath from your lungs and returned it with his own intentions. He wanted to feel all of it, and you were blind to the rest of the world.

The pollen was potent, giving you tunnel vision as you kissed against his cheek and jaw, down to the column of his throat. 

Eddie couldn't help grinding his body against yours, and your body quivered under his. You couldn't get out of your clothes fast enough. 

You thought you were going to cry when he wasn't touching you. With matching expressions, you raced to feel his body against yours again. His skin was cooling, and you couldn't get enough. 

You needed him to fuck you more than you needed to breathe.

The sound you make when he hitches your leg up over his is cataclysmic. 

Your begging turned into a sharp breath when his cock finally pressed between your lips. And the way he brushed his cock through your folds only fueled him on. 

He lets you pump him once, and then twice against you. He was unhinged as you coaxed him into your body. You were guiding him home.

The dull heat roared to life as he rocked against your hips. The friction was detrimental. 

And then he started moving, stroking your pulsing walls. It was hot and tight and wet. He couldn't get a grip. He takes it slow for as long as he can, until he can't help but sink to the hilt. 

Your eyes rolled back in bliss.

Its, it's too much. 

It's such a raw feeling that he's reached the deepest parts of your body without knowing where to look. And when he pulls out and sinks back in with the same ferocity, you scream his name. His free hand is teasing you, circling your clit in lazy movements.

"I'm not going to last." Eddie warned." With you? There's no fucking way I'll last."

You're a mess under him, shuddering and holding onto him like a lifeline. Your nails are digging marks into his skin. His words only make you flutter around him.

Eddie almost snarled as he continued to fuck up inside you. The desire he has for you is maddening.

He's going to make you feel so good; he's determined of it. And then he can get lost in it. So, he gets lost in you, watching you take everything he's giving. 

Your body is fueled by the pollen, and your moaning and quaking only bring you closer to your end. You feel everything. The slick of your body is welcoming him in further, deeper. You can feel the coil in your belly, hot and tight. Your blood is on fire. You could die now and be happy about it.

"Eddie, baby," You beg, and when he looks down at you, he kisses you like his life depended on it. 

The curve of his body shifts slightly until his cock hits, spears, something devastating. And he doesn't stop. His harsh strokes hit it over and over and over.

Your chest is bouncing in time with his thrusts. Your sweet pussy is clutching so tightly to him that you're on the verge of strangling his cock. He's going to push you over the edge. 

"I know, sweetheart," His teeth grit together, his movements steady and unwavering. You cry at his determination. "That's it – let go." 

You can't stop it, your eyes catching his as you crest over a wave of pleasure. It's sinful watching you fall apart because of him. You're so fucking pretty that he can't handle it.

Your thighs are trembling, your release absolutely ruining the bed below you. But Eddie eases you through it, slowing down and feeling how you cling to him. When your head finally lolls back against the pillows, he brushes your cheek with his hand. The blissed-out smile forming on your lips is detrimental to his health.

He was watching you with watery eyes. It felt so good. 

Eddie let himself feed on it, giving you long, slow strokes to see just how well you coated his cock in your affections. 

He groaned something wicked. He was shifting your legs, pulling your knees up, and steadying himself with a hold on your thighs. He bent you in half, and your lips fell open in surprise when he fucked his way back into your body.

He was a man on a hunt, chasing his own release but not realizing what it was doing to you. The pollen was still so potent, and the tidal wave was still storming inside you.

The new angle was aggressive, and your legs were shaking in his hands.

"You're going to give me another?" He asked, blinded by the groan tearing through your chest.

"It feels so good, Eddie," You urged him on, snaking a hand between your bodies. Your hand rubbed against him before circling your clit with a mission of your own.

"Oh god," He choked. "Holy shit, please. Touch yourself, sweetheart. Touch yourself, and I'll give you anything you want."

But Eddie was done for. Your blissful determination pushed him to new heights. He was frantic, his strokes making the bed quake against the wall.

"It's okay. Take it." You whispered, clenching around him. "Let go, Eddie. "

He went rigid, the softness of your voice making a snarl tear through his throat. His hips were stuttering, fighting off his own release but failing. It was feverish. You were coming apart around him, your chest heaving against him. 

He couldn't stop himself, his spend spurting off in ropes deep inside you. 

It calmed the overwhelming heat of your body almost instantly. 

When the frantic haze subsided, you were left with the sounds of heavy breathing and the smell of sex in the ever. Ever so slowly, you could see the change in Eddie's features. Blind confidence was replaced with caution, and he let go of your legs before slowly pulling away from you. The sound of your slick was shameful.

You let out a breathless laugh, offering him a bashful expression before turning on your side. 

It was a peace offering. Eddie stared at you for any hints of doubt but found none. He leaned on his side, facing you. You watched him, looking over the details of the tattoos peppered along his skin. They were messy and uneven, but he was stunning. 

But when your gaze traced back to his face, Eddie was already looking back at you.

Those big brown eyes spoke volumes. He was nervous. 

You grabbed his hand, entwining your fingers before rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. The reassurance didn't need to be spoken.

"Do you feel better?" He eventually asked, his words softer than you'd ever heard.

You couldn't help but smile. 

"Much better," You replied. "You saved me, Eddie." 

The pollen had successfully worked through your system. You were satiated but tired. 

You turned to your back, your hand still connected with Eddie's, and closed your eyes. If you weren't still stuck in the Upside Down, maybe you could have fallen asleep that way. But you rested, not quite ready to snap back to real life.

Eddie was quiet. 

He'd brush the top of your thumb every now and again, so you knew he was awake too. Even as lightning crackled overhead, you were locked away, safe in the trailer.

"I know why Steve split us up." He eventually whispered, and you didn't know if he was talking to you or himself. "I'm crazy about you. Flowers from hell or not."

He let out a long breath that voiced his longing and fears. 

Oh, Eddie.

You tilted your head towards him, blinking your eyes open carefully. He was a vision. His hair was a dark halo around his face, and he was biting his lip.

"What do you say we get a pizza after this?" You offered with a careful smile. "When all of this is over. I know a place with decent beer and live music. I think you'd like it."

Eddie blinked once and then pulled your hand up to his mouth. He hesitated for only a moment before pressing a warm kiss there. 

It was tender. He was tender. And then his eyes found yours again, hiding a grin behind his hand.

"It's a date."

#eddie munson x reader #aphrodisiac #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female!reader #stranger things fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson