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munson-blurbs · 4 months

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.

chapter one: room for one more

It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall.

The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.

The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place.

It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long.

The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train.

Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive.

The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.

You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles.

Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus.

Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear.

They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories.

Ping ping ping ping!

Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk.

“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.

“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?”

“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone?

He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.

You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence.

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape.

“Fifteen.”

The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”

Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.

The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93.

“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.”

Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin.

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar.

He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two.

After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors.

Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.

You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work?

That was sure to go over well.

To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.

What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.

Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift.

Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils.

Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.

Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.

You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar.

Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility.

“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.

“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”

He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one.

“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.

I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”

His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier.

“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn.

Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire.

“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”

“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”

Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase.

It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet.

Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot.

“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile.

The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you.

Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you.

“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended.

The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back.

He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.”

You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line.

If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.

You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you. Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again.

You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied.

The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions.

It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again.

Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?

Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.

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abibliophobiaa · 3 months

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Velvet

my skin in your teeth

summary: you’re meant to eliminate creatures from the upside down, but something — or someone — has got a hold on you lately…

warnings: 18+, blood drinking, biting, allusions to sex, smut, maybe a bit of obsessiveness, and hint of implied soulmates. to be honest, i don’t really know what this is. just wanted to write something. also thanks @myosotisa and @blueywrites for the additional vampire inspiration. 🤍

vampire!eddie munson x f!monster hunter!reader

Chance and Andy cackle ahead of you, their feet rustling the leaves littering the grass, guns at the ready. Normally you’re on duty with Steve, Nancy and Robin, but the powers at be today have decided to put you together with the biggest assholes of the bunch. Cocky, rude, still bullies despite everything — and yet, some of the best shots in the Upside Down Elimination Team. You suppose there’s some comfort in that. Should things go awry.

Your one goal on today’s mission? Make sure the perimeter of area four is safe. Fortunately for you, it’s been a quiet night. For the guys? They’re not having fun with it. For two trigger happy individuals, an eerily quiet night is an oddity. During your last overnight shift, you, Nancy, Robin, and Steve had managed to take down at least fifty demobats that had come through the gate, along with a fully mature group of demodogs.

The hours tick by. Nothing out of the usual to see. A flicker of movement from a solitary demobat with an injured bat here, rustle of leaves there. But nothing major to note when you return to base once the sun rises and your shift ends.

That is, nothing until three in the morning arrives and you catch the familiar whistle. The crack of a twig in the distance. The rustle of leaves as they draw nearer. A pack of demodogs rush through trees, but the familiar glint of predatory canines draws your attention.

You draw your dagger and throw. The metal slams into the trunk with a loud thud and you shout over your shoulder, “You go on ahead, I’ll take care of this!”

The guys run along, practically bouncing in their steps at the mere prospect of taking down a pack of demodogs on their own. Giddy with it. But your mind? Your mind is drawn to the darkened silhouette in the woods, the one that, given the chance, Andy and Chance would rip apart bit by bit.

And you can’t allow that, because Eddie Munson is yours.

——

It was forbidden; fraternizing with the Upside Down.

Even more so slipping away in the middle of the night to entertain a dalliance with a creature harbored and hemmed in the place where the world had ripped into quadrants.

No one understood how it happened. You’d all seen him die. Had seen what happened when a man was ripped apart by those winged hellions. And yet he’d appeared one night, trembling and starved. A hunger that you’d managed to quench, despite Steve shouting at you otherwise, by slicing your own palm and offering it to your friend.

The friend who peered out from those darkened eyes, lines of deep hunger like spiderwebs crawling from beneath his lashes. You whispered that it was okay, that you wanted this when he stared up at you with worried eyes.

Don’t want to hurt you, he said, sounding so much younger than his now twenty-one years of age. Or twenty? None of you understood this magic. He died at twenty, heart stopped at twenty — but months had trickled by, his birthday passed, and it only felt right to honor it all the same.

Shaking hands had curled around the back of your palm, his lips sliding over wet, injured skin, dripping scarlet rubies onto the forest floor below. Steve whirled around, choked out a horrified breath as Eddie drew in your blood, drew in your essence.

Loud, hungry gulps met your ears, making Steve retch. But you leaned in closer, curled your fingers around his bicep, clinging to him as you slipped away in your mind.

Into that heady, rich, velvety, lush ether.

“Eddie,” Robin warned, as your eyelids drooped, body slumping further into his frame, “Eddie, I think she’s done. Let go of her.”

He fell back, ragged breaths pulling from lungs. And he sounded so familiar, you nearly weeped at it. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, sweetheart —”

Those eyes shifted, changed back into the ones you knew before all of…this. Less haunted, more him, and despite the world tilting on its axis as you fell back into Steve’s arms unconscious, it seemed worth it.

You carried on with it in secret. Your friends decided it was better if, until things got better around Hawkins, Eddie remained nothing more than a shadow in the night. They’d find a way to make things right, but in the meantime…you learned how to keep things secret. How to slip away beyond the outer lines of Hawkins — to find ways to sneak off during patrols. Often, Steve would turn a blind eye. Nancy would wave you onward. Robin would give you a little eye roll and tell you to run along.

It started with conversations in the night. Things you never talked about when you’d known one another prior. And yet — since the day he’d drank your blood, you felt a connection to him in a way you hadn’t before. You would sit side by side, laughing and reminiscing. Dreaming, on nights where the world was quiet and it felt like you were the only two people who existed.

Those meetings changed as the seasons did. His gazes lingered longer. Your hands wandered. His lips glided over yours. Your fingers threaded in his hair. He fisted the back of your thigh and dragged you into his lap, whispered he wanted you against your throat.

That first time had been quick and needy. A frantic thing, with buttons flying, his shirt nearly shredded at the hem to get it off faster. He rolled you over onto your back and pinned you there against the dirt, the ground biting into your flesh, reminding you that you were alive despite it all. And you kissed him, panting into his mouth as his hips rolled furiously against your own, your fingers clutching at blades of grass, nearly ripping them up from the root as your orgasm stole your breath.

It kept on like that for months. Secret meetings, whispered words. His teeth in your skin, your bodies entwined, heart to heart, chasing whatever this thing was between you.

He was euphoria and light in a world filled with darkness, and you were addicted, and nothing would rip him away again.

——

The sounds of the guy’s hoots and hollers of enjoyment over their hunt grows quieter as you approach Eddie. He’s leaning against a tree, the dagger embedded near his shoulder, those dark eyes of his crinkling at the corners as you draw nearer to him. Lips curl back over elongated canines, and you note the swirling lines beneath his lashes, deciding you’ll have to do something about that later when you have more time and there’s no threat of the jackass twins coming back and throwing a wrench into things.

“Sorry I tried to kill you,” you tease, falling into his chest as broad palms slide around your hips to tug you close, “needed to make it look believable.”

“It’s fine, but next time you should try harder.” He draws a sigh from deep within your chest as he leans in to claim your mouth. It’s a quick kiss, doesn’t linger long, his head pulling back to look at you in amusement. Mouth curling into a grin, hair in disarray, dark eyes gleeful in the night. “Didn’t know you could throw a dagger like that.”

“You liked that, huh? Been working on that for months now.”

Your smirk grows as he flips you around, your back hitting the trunk of the tree. He grunts out as you coast a palm along the front of his jeans, grinning ruefully at the way his erection strains against the fabric.

“You did.” A satisfied smile creeps up along your features, heart skipping as he grips the dagger hilt near your head and tugs it free from the bark. The metal glints, the sharpened edge twirling as he toys with it in his palm. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, him playing with your weapon, but the way he’s so leisurely about it — like he’s maybe done this before…knowing how good he is with his hands because you’ve been a very satisfied benefactor of their skills many a time now —

“You okay there? You forget I can hear your heart racing.”

He drags the dagger along the hollow of your throat, the standard issue button up uniform loose there, and then lower still toward the first button. He flicks his wrist and a button clatters against the ground, moves down a few centimeters and does the same to the next, the next, the next.

The knife follows. Falls into a pile of leaves, rustles them. There’s a moment — a quick, flash of time before he’s cutting off your breath in a searing kiss. Lips and teeth and hunger — a ravenous type of love, a ruinous thing that you crave. Fingers curl around your throat, apply the perfect amount of pressure that has you moaning into his mouth. He tips your chin up, up, up. His tongue glides along the skin there, silly nips spliced between, the rake of a fang over the throbbing beat of your pulse.

Heat pools in your belly. The sort of heat you know he can sense, your heightened arousal never to be hidden thanks to newer senses. He chuckles to himself as his nose nudges beneath your ear, lips toying with the lobe, breath sending chills down your spine as you shudder against him when his free hand slides down the front of your jeans, dragging a lazy circle over the wet fabric covering your slit.

“How long do we have before those idiots come back to get you?” he asks, a sultriness seeping into his tone.

“Long enough for you to feed,” you rasp out on a gasped breath, “or fuck me. Maybe both.”

“What do you want?” he asks, teeth scraping deliciously against your pulse again.

A little bit more, if you push him down a bit and ask him to take what he needs, and he’ll have sunk them into you again, submitting you to the delectable liquid honey that’ll flood your senses once he does.

The anticipation is one thing, a clanging cymbal that heats your blood. The knowledge that you can do this for him — that you enjoy it. It’s frighteningly empowering. Knowing it’s you who has kept him for so long— that it’s your blood that sings to him. Some might call it wrong; your friends had their own reservations and fears about it, understandably so.

After that first time, you got better with it. Quickly made sure to learn when to stop, how to stop (even if you often didn’t want to).

Sex had been one point of connection for the two of you. And that had been wonderful in and of itself. You craved him in ways you had never craved another. But this? Him having a part of you within him, your souls quite literally becoming one every time he drank from you — that was another level.

A sort of intensity that often made you both lose control. Whatever it was, you were irrevocably changed. This wonderful man, this creature you were meant to kill — the love that drew you into the forest like this, his hands making quick work of your jeans, tugging them down to your ankles, as his mouth licked at you furiously.

A gasp heaved from your chest. Fingers clutch in his hair as he pushes your hips back against the bark, fingers gripping tight to the dough of your thighs, keeping you spread out salaciously before him. It’s thrilling, the waves of your orgasm robbing you of your breath at the dawning realization of it, that at any moment Andy and Chance could appear.

That they might see you tangled so deeply in the web of lies you’ve become so tangled with these months, wrapped in the arms of the man who…loves you.

Because it’s forbidden, yes. By all means, if you’re found out it could be dangerous for both of you. They could kill him — would kill him.

But you would rip them all apart for the man who made a mess of you for all others.

You wince. And there’s coo. Eddie’s hands loosen from around your thighs, his body coming up to its full height before you. He lifts your hand, turns your palm up to inspect the splinter wedged into a fingertip. Blood pools from the wound, a scarlet teardrop that coasts down the back of your hand, trails toward your wrist.

Eddie’s eyes darken, and your lips curl up. You say quietly, “Go on.”

It might be wrong, on many levels, the way he brings your hand up to his mouth, tongue dragging along your wrist, the back of your palm, erasing the trickle of blood.

And it’s downright sinful the way he drags your finger into his mouth, eyes hazy and hooded, sucking lightly. Your mouth drops open, eyes fluttering rapidly at the beginnings of that familiar euphoria sparkling around the edges of your mind.

“I want to be inside you,” he groans, making no effort to let go of your offended appendage, “and you know I prefer somewhere private for…that.”

You know he means when he sinks his fangs into you, when he’s inside you, and you both lose yourself to the magic in his bite. Wants to be alone for when that primal desire kicks up within him, and he loses himself in your body intertwined like that.

“Eddie,” you whisper, dragging him down to the ground, onto the jeans laying sprawled across the floor. “Please. It’s been days.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, hissing out a breath as you make quick work of his belt buckle, the sound of a zipper ramping up your heart rate, “because your schedule has sucked this week —”

“Please,” you urge him as he helps you up and over his thighs, sliding you down his length like the thousands of times you’ve done this before.

His breath stutters against the curve of your throat as you rise and fall steadily over him, injured hand splayed over his heart.

“Please.”

There’s always a sting. It’s only a brief moment. A soft prick of pain like that of a needle. Only it’s really two, and they immediately are replaced by his tongue to soothe away the ache. A healing balm that oozes into your bloodstream. When he latches on again, it’s a bubbly, almost buzzing feeling that spreads through you. The feeling of sifting slowly through sinking sand, like dragging your fingers through water. Your mind numbs, a feeling of floating — of lightness unparalleled has you sinking further into him, the rolling of his hips beneath you tethering you to reality. Here and there, on the precipice of something earth shattering. It’s always like this with him.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers against where he’s bitten into your collarbone, into the skin peeking out from the collar of your shirt, “God, I love you.”

And he’s rolling you over, hands on either side of your face, eyes closed in blissfulness. The forest floor at your back, your thighs around his hips, bodies connected in a practiced dance. You marvel at his features, missing that point of additional connection, cupping his cheek instead. He’s told you you taste like the sweetest nectar, like heaven itself. Says it’s not like this with anyone else. That you’re divine, velvet, rich. You’re ethereal and his. And it takes everything in him to restrain himself, to tamper down the throbbing of his heart when he’s drinking you in, to not take too much. He could lose himself in you, in the bliss of your coupling, in the perfection of your essence.

You both come with a cry, and, as always, hate when it ends. There’s no time to hold one another, to kiss along his bare skin as he keeps you close to him. Not with the fear of Andy and Chance appearing at any time, fresh from their hunt, with murder on their minds.

Instead he leans down and cups a hand around the back of your head. Presses his forehead to yours and whispers of his love, devotion, desire for you. It’s a promise for later, sealed with the softness of his lips against yours, and he’s gone…slipping into the shadows.

No longer next to you, and yet forever marked on your heart.

——

A pair of white, well-loved Reebok’s sit near the door.

Paintings and sketches are scattered around the living room.

Further in the home, Eddie listens to the familiar thump-thump coming from down the hall. Can hear the reassuring inhale and exhale of your breath.

It’s night once more, and you’re finally off work, finally able to catch up on some sleep. Have slept most of the day since you got home, now that he thinks of it.

The bed shifts as he joins you once more, kissing along a bare spine, blankets curling low around your hips. He chuckles at the memory of you earlier, nearly kicking the door open on the hinges, ready to reprimand him for showing up unannounced while you were on patrol, only to end up ridding him of his clothes on your way to rest for the evening.

“Hi,” you whisper, eyes blinking up at him, adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom, “How long have I been out?”

“Few hours,” he tells you, running a hand along your bare shoulder. “Missed those eyes.”

“Sap.” It’s a tease. You see him every day, and even then it’s not enough.

“I made you dinner,” he says, rolling over onto his side beside you, nose brushing yours gently.

“Thank you.” You lean over to kiss him, smiling against his skin. That’ll never get old. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Another kiss. “Today was fun.”

A smirk curls your lips. “It was.”

“I should visit you at work more often.” He’s grinning, the insinuation of his words making your heart stumble happily. It’s music to his ears. “You liked that, didn’t you? Could smell it on you. Bet if I touched you now you’d be wet just from the memory of it.”

He’s not wrong. And he proves that point with the teasing drag of his middle finger along your clit, relishing the soft cry of, “Ed —” that spills from your parted lips.

“Reminded me of that first time we were together,” he purrs, rolling over you. Rolling you over onto your back. Your body settles beneath him, form soft and warm against his. “Forest floor.”

“Sexy,” you tease, breaking off into a whine as he pushes inside, rolling his hips against yours slowly. “All the dirt, twigs and leaves. Nothing screams romance like a nice forest fling.”

“We worked with what we had at the time,” he chuckles, cock dragging along your walls, drawing another moan from your throat. “But I think I like this better. Our bed. In our home.”

Because, though it’s forbidden, you never could handle the thought of being without him.

Had asked him to move in here months ago, into your home on the outskirts of town, to live a quiet life away from prying eyes.

Here, where you could protect him.

Here, where you never needed to be parted from him.

Here, where for a year now, and forever still to come, he’d have a place by your side.

“Next time, just bite me somewhere else, will you?” you ask, when you tumble back onto earth when it’s all over and you’re left satiated once more, body draped over Eddie’s. Eddie’s brows arch high on his forehead. “By the time your freaky magic saliva started to heal the bite, the guys thought it was a hickey and teased me relentlessly. And I can’t be with you from jail if they keep it up.”

“Pretty sure we’ll always be together.”

Forever, he’s promised.

Because maybe it’s his new, more animalistic side. The part of him that recognizes a soul mate. Maybe it’s the way you fit in his arms, the way your lips feel against his, or the way your blood sings to him.

But he thinks, in a way, you feel like his.

And he knows, in his heart, he’s yours.

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #vampire!eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic

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gracefireheart · 2 months

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Once again, did some fanart of @lenny-link TF2 x SU AU, but tried making more fusions! :]

First one is Andalusite [Heavy + Medic] (who I've drawn before already), second one is Iolite [Cheavy + Medic], and the third one is Ametrine [Demoman + Soldier].

[Below the keep reading line, I'll show off the fourth fusion I drew as well, but ended up just-- disliking to hell and back o(-( Also, some notes and such about each fusion]

First off, here's the fourth fusion I did, which was Cat's Eye Tourmaline [Scout + Sniper]. (Side note: I picked out Tiger's Eye as Sniper's gem)

After looking at Steven's fusions with other gems (since Scout's a half-human half-gem in this AU fusing with Sniper who's a full gem), I did notice that basically all of them (besides Obsidian) had some kind of oddity to them. Like Smokey Quartz has three arms instead of four or just two, Rainbow 2.0 is the first gem with male pronouns and has a tad bit strange legs, and Sunstone isn't as humanoid as the other (non-corrupted) gems and fusions.

So I wanted to show that off here, but uh, I just ended up giving up on it in the end o(-( Mostly 'cause I had no clue how I wanted to color them based on the Cat's Eye Tourmaline gem, but also 'cause the overall design ended up leaned a bit more towards Sniper's design than I intended it to do.

Anyways, onto the notes for the other fusions.

Andalusite [Heavy + Medic]:

The duo that imo would probably fuse the most out of the TF2 crew, whether for battle or to just relax together (like reading a book or whatever). So with that, Heavy and Medic would have had plenty of time to refine how their fusion would look like, and making sure both of them like how they look together.

For their fusion weapon, I was thinking about them either having something like Garnet's upgraded gauntlets (the ones with spikes jutting out of it's knuckles), or letting the gauntlets have claws or something.

Iolite [Cheavy + Medic]:

I mostly did this one 'cause of one of the drawings in Lenny-Link's original piece, which made me thinking of Lapis and Jasper fusing into Malachite and all that, which lead me to this. I wanted the design to 1. Make it look chaotic due to the two people that are fused here, but also 2. Make it lean a tad more towards Cheavy's looks to make said guy think that he's the one mostly in control of the fusion, only to have Medic take over take over and do something to trap the fusion and/or get them the hell away from the TF2 crew. Something something angst idk lol

Decided to make Cheavy a [blue] Topaz. Since Heavy's a Topaz as well. I don't have any other reason than that :') Also, I placed his gem on the side of his right shoulder.

The eye goggles change color depending on who is in control. If the two weren't fighting for it, it would be one eye blue and one eye magenta. But since they are, whenever Cheavy's in control, the eyes are blue. And whenever Medic's in control, the eyes are magenta.

Ametrine [Demoman + Soldier]:

Originally, I was going to have them be a Morganite, but decided on Ametrine instead as it fit their color scheme more. Also originally, I was going to give them a knight helmet, but I wanted to draw their hair, so I instead gave them a bandana covering their possibly one eye. Possibly.

Assuming Soldier's helmet (with or without the horns) is Soldier's gem weapon like Jasper's helmet, I thought it would be neat if their fusion weapon [(horned) helmet + sword] would be something like a Morningstar, which they would be able to duel-wield without much trouble.

I've got other lil' ideas as well for this AU, like how Jeremy/Scout was the one that gave these gems their nicknames (Spy, Sniper, Engineer, etc.), how Medic grew a fascination for the organic lifeforms of Earth and how exactly they healed/was able to treat their wounds, and how- instead of Spy being all dead and gone Rose Quartz style when Jeremy was born- Spy is a lot weaker than he should be due Jeremy getting half of his gem. But uh-- I don't wanna go too overboard when this ain't even my AU :')

Either way, I'll probably go and relax a bit before drawing some regular TF2 stuff. But I might do some more fanart for this AU whenever I feel up for it. 'Cause genuinely, I love this AU sm <3

#“Oh. I probably won't draw anymore fusions 'cause it takes a lot of energy to design.” I said. like a liar.#my art #Team Fortress 2 #TF2 Fanart #TF2 Heavy #TF2 Medic #TF2 Cheavy #TF2 Demoman #TF2 Soldier

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toomanyideasandfandoms · 1 month

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Another random sagau idea that'll be thrown into the void. But this is based off of my own oddities and neurodivergency.

But imagine a creator (or player if we want to go into a more actual self aware game route, since that's what the au name means) that is neurodivergent and has an extremely hard time asking for one on one time. Like they either just bear it when in large groups or stay in their own corner to be alone since they don't know how to fully ask.

But what if they found this really cute tea set, and they figured out a way from it.

Essentially what they'll do is leave one of the cups (they get only 2 or 3 depending on if they can handle a three group conversation) where only the desired participant(s) can find it. Along with a note of a time and place. And as a response the other party either leaves the cup in its place for the owner to take back when checking the spot to politely reject, or they bring the cup and saucer back with them to show they accepted and will show up.

It just sounds really cute and also doesn't put any real pressure on everyone, since no words are really communicated. Also it allows the creator/player to have the place and courage they need to open up or talk with the characters they love.

#sagau #genshin sagau

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daisynik7 · 11 months

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Hii how are you? Hope you are doing well! I have a request. Kento Nanami x f!reader? Where f!reader and kento nanami are happily married but the reader is shy and kinda have daddy issues. Can you please make it comforting,loving and add NsFw.

Pairing: husband!Nanami x f!reader

cw: established relationship (married), angst, reader has some daddy issues, smut – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.3k

Summary: Nanami starts coming home later than usual, claiming he’s working overtime. You start to become suspicious, so you decide to confront him about it.

Author’s Note: Zella! I’m so sorry this took SO LONG. I took a break from all the pending requests in my inbox because of life and to work on my other series. Thank you for your patience with this and for sending this request in! I appreciate you so much!! I hope you like it!

About a month ago, Nanami informed you that he’ll be working overtime at least twice a week. It struck you as odd, considering how much he despises work in general, let alone staying extra hours. However, you don’t question it. At least, for the first three weeks.

This week, you start noticing subtle oddities whenever he comes home from these supposed “overtimes.” He arrives sweaty, hair disheveled, his clothes slightly wrinkled, as if they’ve been hastily stuffed into a bag and put on again. And before he eats dinner, he’ll take a quick shower. Maybe it’s your paranoia, stemming from childhood trauma when your own father was caught in the act of adultery, resulting in your parent’s divorce. You try to dissuade yourself from thinking this way, knowing that Nanami is nothing like your unfaithful dad. He’s different. Right?

Tonight, he’s even later than usual. This time, he’s too hungry to bathe, so he goes straight to the table, ready to eat. Your suspicions continue to nag at you. He realizes this immediately, keen on how quiet and shy you are at the dinner table, sliding your fork across your food idly. “Honey? Are you alright?”

You snap out of your thoughts, looking up at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” you answer, in the most unconvincing tone.

His brows are furrowed, leaning forward with his elbows propped on the surface, studying you. “You’re not fine. What’s wrong?”

There’s dread building in your chest, too afraid to ask the question you don’t want to know the answer too, especially if the truth will break your heart. “Nothing, Kento. I’m fine.”

He gets up from his seat, kneeling beside you, cupping your cheek. “Sweetheart, please tell me what’s wrong.”

His touch always has you melting into him, gentle and sweet, loving and pure. You lean into his palm, nuzzling into it, and you’re so close to forgetting the whole thing all together. But then you get a whiff of it. Perfume. Lingering on the cuffs of his dress shirt, his fingers on your skin, the loose tie around his collar. It’s exactly like it was years and years ago; glimpses of your father, drenched in the stench of another women, denying your mother’s accusations until it was guilted out of him. You never thought it’d be Nanami, though.

You whack his arm away from you, taking deep breaths. “How could you?”

He stares at you, confused. “What?”

“How could you cheat on me?!” you yell, tears streaming down your face. “After everything we’ve been through…How could you?”

His jaw drops, hands waving in front of him frantically. “Sweetheart, this is a big misunderstanding. I promise, I swear, I am not cheating on you.”

“You’re lying! I’m not dumb, Kento. I noticed how you come home, all sweaty, always in a rush to shower. To wash away your guilt. And I smell the perfume on you, it reeks. You can’t even hide it anymore.” You cross your arms over your chest, heaving, attempting to steady your breathing.

He’s still kneeling before you, this time, hands in prayer, begging. “Sweetheart, please. Please, just listen to me. I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

He sighs, bowing his head in shame. It takes a couple of seconds before he admits in a stammer, “I’m…taking dance lessons.”

A minute passes for you to process this, considering how hyped on adrenaline you were moments ago. It’s enough time to calm down from the midst of your panic attack. “Dance…lessons?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

He nods slowly. “Yes. My instructor is Mrs. Ito. She’s quite fond of perfume. She’s also much older and married.”

“Mrs. Ito,” you repeat, shocked and embarrassed at your premature freak-out.

“Yes, my love. And I have videos to prove it.” He retrieves his phone from his pocket, tapping at it until generic ballroom dance music starts blaring from the speaker. On the screen is Nanami, in workout clothes, performing a number in front of the mirror, back facing the camera. In the background is an elderly woman’s voice, shouting, “5-6-7-8 and hips, Nanami! Move your hips!” He pauses it once you clap your hand to your mouth, gasping.

He chuckles, blushing. “Now you know why I kept this a secret.”

Now, you’re the one feeling guilt and shame. “Kento, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I know how much you love dancing. I was sick of having two left feet, so I decided to take lessons. I wanted it to be a surprise for our anniversary trip.”

You bury your face into his neck, sniffling. “And I ruined it. God, I’m a terrible wife, aren’t I?”

He embraces you, laughing. “Honey, you’re not at all. Given what you went through, I don’t blame you for jumping to that conclusion. It was very suspicious of me, I admit it. But you mean the world to me. I will nevercheat on you. I’d be a fool to ruin something this special. I love you too much.”

You smile, kissing his cheek. “I love you too. I’m a fool for even thinking you would. I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

“Honey, you don’t have to…”

“Maybe I can show you a few of my moves. If you’d like.” You kiss him on the mouth, gliding your tongue along his lips.

He raises a brow, smirking. “Oh? What moves?”

You lead him to the couch, shoving him down to sit. He removes his tie completely, unbuttoning his shirt halfway with a naughty grin on his face, watching you. Straddling his lap, kissing his ear, you purr, “How about a lap dance?”

All he can do is nod, sliding his hands around your hips, squeezing at your bottom. You rock yourself on him, tongues swirling around each other’s, wet and sloppy with the rest of your dinner completely abandoned on the table. He delivers a firm smack on your ass, relishing the way your flesh jiggles from the contact. You grind on him harder, running your fingers through his hair, feeling his growing erection beneath you.

“You’ll make it up to me, huh?” he coos, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants, reaching for your pussy. “I’ll prove to you how faithful I am. Never make you doubt me again.” His fingers rub at the wet spot leaking through your panties.

You shove the rest of your pants off, lifting your hips to slide them down your legs. “Fuck, baby,” you moan, bouncing on his lap.

“Strip. Now.” He watches you undress, tossing all your clothes to the floor in a hurry, eager for his cock. “Do me next. Slowly,” he demands.

You follow his order, kneeling on the floor in front of him, unzipping and tugging at his pants until they’re pooled around his ankles. His cock is stiff in his briefs, the fabric tight along his shaft. He rubs his palm against it, grunting, “Rub your pussy on it. Make yourself come in your panties. Want them wet and creamy for me.”

Without hesitation, you hop back on, riding him with fabric still separating you, extremely horny. He focuses on you dipping slowly into him, biting his lip from the lewd sight. Soon, his thumb is against your clit, caressing it until you’re moaning incessantly, increasing the pace of your hips. “Fuck, Kento,” you whimper, voice trembling with arousal.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Come for me. Make a fucking mess,” he growls, flicking your swelling bud faster. His cock is rock hard beneath you, and you’re so wet, you’re convinced you’re leaking through his briefs, which are now spotted with his own precum. As you approach your orgasm, he slides his fingers past the fabric and directly onto your swollen clit, pinching it gently. You buck, arching your back and gasping from the sensation, reaching your climax. As you descend from your high, he slips into your slick cunt, coating his fingers in your cum, humming with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl. Always so fucking juicy for me. Can’t wait to taste it.”

Needless to say, Nanami makes sure that you never doubt his faithfulness ever again.

#nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami smut #kento nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #jjk smut #nanami request #requests #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami fanfic

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 2 months

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✧˖°. TWO PARALLEL LINES - i

author's note: hi guys!! didn't except to see me so soon, did ya?? jk, im sure you guys actually did lmao. BUT seeing as this kinda got out of hand and i can only have like ten pics per post, there's gonna be more than one post for each chapter, i guess. look, ill try to make it as not confusing as possible but it is what it is. so, for this chapter, we've got three sub chapters. enjoy!! can't wait to hear all your thoughts, truly!! love ya more than life itself 🥰🥰ALSO i completely forgot to turn my music off for screenshots soooo yeah that explains the black bar my bad yall but i am NOT retaking all those ss's you can go get bent

✶⋆.˚ taglist: @ssparksflyy @imasimpdealwithit @pro-oddity @aezuria @literallyimthenerdemoji @sunshine-of-ur-life @brodieland @ivyy-covered-walls @annybah @aryxchse @riordanness @stargirl-exe @shimas-pjo-addiction @shimas-things12 @butterandhoneytoast @pumpkinbxtch @rlqfpdl

#all my love ౨ৎ #𐙚⋆｡°✩ everythings alright when she calls me back #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #pjo smau #smau

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thegoldencontracts · 9 days

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The Oddity Of Kindness

Jade finds you quite amusing, really. He can't help but wish to catch you off-guard. And yet, his plans are thrown off by your dastardly schemes of- genuine kindness?

Notes: NGL Jade would actually make a really good Kaguya from love is war but at the same time I like it better when there is no shirogane... Just him doing that stuff and some random person who's incredibly nice (I low-key wanna make this fic a series guys HELP-)

Jade always found you to be quite the peculiar individual. You never displayed the fear characteristically shown around him. Oblivious, perhaps?

Your peculiarity just made you all the more fascinating. Jade couldn't help but wonder how you'd react upon finding out his true nature.

He'd lamented this to Floyd. Floyd had just said he was being "lame". How foolish. Jade was most certainly not being lame, in fact, he was being incredibly cunning in his schemes to catch you off-guard. He was intelligent, analyzing your weaknesses with am effortless prowess rarely seen, and he had a flawless plan.

Really, it would be so amusing to toy with you a tad. After all, what could you possibly do against him?

"You're blushing, Jade," Azul had commented idly as Jade left to meet you at the botanical gardens, where you went every Saturday morning to pick strawberries. Somehow, Trey let you pick them without charging anything like he had with Jade. You must've been a genius of wit to make that happen.

"Perhaps you require an eye-exam, Azul," Jade said with a laugh. Honestly, what sort of lovesick fool did Azul think he was? Blushing like some schoolgirl meeting their crush! "Your glasses clearly aren't high enough in power. Would you like me to schedule an appointment for you?"

Azul merely rolled his eyes.

"You would do well to get yourself an eye exam," he said, waving Jade off with a shoo. Whatever. Azul simply failed to comprehend Jade's plan. Really, most people would. It was so dastardly Jade couldn't help but feel a bit bad at his own cold-hearted nature.

He was going to fluster you. That was the end goal. He'd already laid out a step-by-step process, along with backup-plans for your every counter.

The first step was to enter the greenhouse. He'd just done that. The second was to walk over to where you were. Closer, closer, taking in the slight scent of petrichor, the fresh, ruby-red strawberries that surrounded you, until...

"Ah, Jade!" You jumped up at the sight of him, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly upon facing him. "Sorry. Didn't see you there."

He smiled, making sure to keep his mouth closed. It made him seem polite, but slightly unnerving due to the way the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Phase one of his plan - to catch you off-guard and leave you at a disadvantage - was a success. It was time for phase two.

"Don't worry," he said. "I completely understand. Regardless, I'm rather curious as to what you're doing. You show up at the garden rather often at this exact time, you see."

He'd just combined steps three and four into one. He'd both unnerved you a bit more by implying that he'd observed your habits and made for a smooth transition to bringing up why he came to the botanical gardens.

"Oh, I'm just here to pick some strawberries for Trey!" So you picked those as a favor to him. That explained why Trey never attempted to seek payment. "He's pretty swamped in Heartslabyul most days, so I like to deliver the strawberries to him."

So you were kind, yes, but that was nothing but old news. More importantly, why weren't you unnerved by the fact that Jade seemed to know you well?

"What about you?" You asked. "I can't name a time, but I know you come here pretty often too. Mind sharing why?"

So, it'd finally come to this. Jade could already picture the sight of you caught off-guard. It would be so tantalizing- amusing. It would be amusing. Not tantalizing, and certainly not something to savor.

"You truly wish to know? It might frighten you," he said, with that typical, unnerving grin of his. But you didn't even bat an eye. How peculiar.

"Yeah, sure!" You said.

His plan was coming to an amusing fruition. Jade knew his eyes were sparkling as he started his ramble.

"I have a love for mushrooms," he said. "The beautiful, often poisonous things. I come here to grow them. I cultivate them ad best as I can, you know. Some fungi can't be grown here. Those tend to be more poisonous. The fun ones. And then, after a long time, the mushrooms are ready for cultivation. The ones that seem edible get fed to others. And yet, they must complain. I still remember the ghost chef who kept insisting it was rude to feed others mushrooms that freeze the tomgue. How odd, no? It was merely a bit of fun."

Silence ensued, with you keeping your hand clasped firmly over your mouth. Jade grinned. He'd done it. To think, you were so easily frightened. How amusing.

But then, you burst into laughter.

"What seems to be the matter?" He said. This wasn't what he expected to happen. Most people were dying to run away, yet paralyzed in fear.

"I- hah, sorry," you said, wheezing in attempts to catch your breath. "You're just so cute when you talk about your mushrooms. And then you were looking at me at the end like you were expecting something, and I just couldn't help it!"

At his reaction, you seemed to come to a realization.

"Did you actually think that'd scare me?" Here it was. You'd show your less kind side to mock him.

But then, your expression seemed to somber for a bit, before you puffed yourself up in an act of resoluteness.

"All those people who tell you it's weird are wrong!" You said, seeming awfully indignant. "You're cute when you get all excited and your eyes sparkle, a-and I loved learning more about your cultivation process. The information's a bonus, not something to put up with!"

You thought he was- cute? T-That wasn't true at all! Jade wasn't cute, he was a predator, and he was cold and cunning in a way that had brought fear upon others! Even as a child, he'd been feared by the high-profile clients Father had him hunt.

So how could you of all people think he was cute? This was utterly absurd. No one thought he was cute, especially not when he talked about mushrooms!

His mouth went dry. His face felt so hot it felt like it would combust any second. What was he to do? He'd never thought this would happen!

"You okay, Jade? Your face is really red," you said. Somehow, you seemed nothing but concerned. There wasn't an ounce of malice in your eyes, and he didn't understand that. Why? Weren't you going to attempt to take advantage of this rare moment of weakness? To garner a favor?

"I- must leave," he said, swallowing rapidly in hopes of overcoming the knot that seemed to form in his throat. "Until next time. This was a pleasure."

"Yeah, I was really nice getting to know you better!" You said. "And don't feel bad about how red your face is! I think it's super cute! But, since it probably means you're sick, rest up, okay?"

What sort of dastardly trick was this? You couldn't possibly be so well-intentioned. So caring, so concerned, over him? It was incomprehensible.

A retreat. He had to stage a retreat. This was too much.

"Hey, Jade!" Said Floyd, right as Jade had strained the illusion of safety. "You're so red right now? 'Rest up, okay'?"

Floyd had- heard everything?

"You'd beat be quiet, dear brother," he said. His voice cracked. Jade's voice never cracked! That simply wasn't something that happened.

"No, no, Floyd is right," said none other than Azul, approaching Jade from the other direction. He was trapped. "What happened to you? Perhaps your little crush managed to turn the tables on you?"

There was nothing to speculate for either of them. They'd seen it all go down. But Jade had to put an end to this somehow.

"It would be a shame if I were to tell everyone about both of your more embarrassing moments, now wouldn't it?" That wasn't nearly as subtle as Jade would've liked. But it did the trick, and got both Azul and Floyd to quit revelling in his suffering.

"Why must you be this way?"

"Boo. Killjoy."

Jade couldn't help but let out a small laugh at their comments as he pulled himself together.

"Regardless, the Prefect truly is a fascinating character," he said. You really were quite the odd one, weren't you?

Change of plans. He didn't want to fluster you anymore. No.

Now, he was going to woo you.

#jade leech #twst jade #twisted wonderland #twst #jade leech x reader #jade leech x you #jade x you #jade #jade x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #ik flustered jade isn't all that popular (at least not from what I've sen T_T)#But PLEASE YOU HAVE TO SEE THE VISION PLEAS EPLEASE #Istg im gonna give in to the intrusive thoughts and make this a series #just to make more flustered jade #because I've seen basically nothing

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ghostboneswrites2 · 3 months

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my birthday is three weeks from Friday. so i was wondering if you can do a daryl dixon x reader? where the reader's birthday is coming up and Daryl overhears Carol and the reader's best friend from before the turn were talking about what to do for the reader's birthday. (the reader and Daryl are in relationship, been together since the farm) Daryl went on a solo run to find her a present. He wants to propose to the reader for her birthday. (You can decide if she wants to surprise him with a pregnancy test or not)

Happy (a day early) birthday!!!! I did like the idea of the pregnancy test but I had trouble writing it in without taking away Daryl's spotlight with his thoughtfulness. Hope you enjoy!!

Summary: After overhearing you talk to Carol and Evie about your birthday, Daryl decides to surprise you with some gifts, and surprise himself with something he was sure would be nothing but fantasy in the new world.

Warnings: None, actually. Fluffy and cute. Some profanity.

Note: Some of the gifts have links so you can see :)

Daryl sleepily emerged from his basement in his shared home with yourself, Carol, and your best friend Evie, hoping Carol had coffee ready and that the three of you had saved him some. You kept him up all night asking him stupid questions about hypothetical situations like, 'If we were both penguins do you think we'd be mates? Are there any penguins left? Would walkers freeze in such cold climates?'

He paused just around the corner before he entered the kitchen. As usual, you, Carol, and Evie were standing around the kitchen enjoying some breakfast and coffee, chatting about whatever came up.

"So what's Daryl taking you to do today?" Evie asked. Daryl pressed his eyebrows together. He didn't have any plans, aside from coffee and casual chores to keep his hands busy.

"Um.. I don't know. I don't even think he knows about it." You shrugged. You didn't care, it's not like you ever told him. Before you found a community that actually kept track of months and days, birthdays weren't really top priority.

"What? You didn't tell him?" Evie shoved your shoulder lightly. "C'mon, stop being so humble!" She teased.

"Want me to tell him?" Carol offered.

"Nah." You smiled. "Then he's gonna think I expect something from him. I'm fine, guys. Really."

Daryl waited a moment before rounding the corner into the kitchen and rubbing his eyes. "Coffee." He murmured.

"Mug on the counter." Carol said.

"Mmph." He groaned sleepily. You stepped over and took the mug before he could grab it and filled it for him, handing it over once you were finished.

"Black. Just how ya like." You grinned. He ruffled your hair before he disappeared back to his basement, proud of his acting skills. He pretended to be half awake to make sure what he did next would be an absolute surprise.

----

"I'll be back in a few hours." He announced, wide awake and dressed for a run. He had his bow slung over his shoulder and a backpack stuffed with whatever he might need for where he was going.

"Didn't know you had a run today." Carol commented.

"Mm. Need some things." He shrugged.

"Okay, be safe. (Y/N)'s with Judith if you wanna let her know."

"Nah. I'll be back 'fore she notices 'm gone."

With that, he set off. He had his mind set on a pawnshop he found a while ago on another run. It was big, and he was sure to find you a gift there. He searched his memories with you for inspiration. Ever since the farm, the two of you had spent a majority of your free time together. He was sure to stumble across an old conversation or something to hint him in the right direction. What had you liked? You had a thing for picking up cool rocks when you were out. You also liked weird shit, at least to him, like horror comics and creepy oddities. He wondered what he'd find like that at a pawn shop. You did mention needing new shoes and clothes recently, so that was a start.

When he arrived he emptied his bag in the passenger seat to make room for all the stuff he hoped to find for you. He crept inside the the old shop, silently scanning for walkers. He cleared it out a few months back but who knew what could have found its way inside. To his pleasure the place was empty, so he went on checking up and down the aisles for gifts and treats.

The first item he found was an antique jewelry box with intricate carvings all over the outside. He figured it would be a good place for all your favorite rocks, so he went ahead and grabbed it. Next was a candle that smelled like autumn. Apples, cinnamon, rain and leaves. He guessed you'd like anything that smelled nice, so he grabbed it. He also found a few books and movies for the DVD player. He wandered over the the jewelry and scanned the display case, figuring he might find a nice necklace or bracelet for you. He paused on a little section that seemed to have gemstones and fancy rocks. Or.. crystals? To him, they were just shiny rocks.

A particular gem caught his eye. It was clear but it looked like it had a tiny coral reef inside. He reached inside the glass and grabbed it, knowing you'd think it was lovely.

He kept scanning the cases of things that were too expensive to leave out on the shelves. The bracelets all looked to posh for your taste. The necklaces were too gaudy. Maybe you'd like a ring?

Most of their selection were engagement rings or family heirlooms, typical for a pawn shop where folks come when they're low on cash.

He was about to give up on the jewelry when something that looked like it came out of a fantasy novel caught his eye. It was a dainty two piece set with a large kite-shaped gem in the center. It reminded him of the crystal he grabbed for you previously, but instead of a colorful reef inside it had wipsy green moss inside. It was like it was meant to be found in the forest. He picked it up and looked it over, imagining it on your finger. He started to picture how it would feel to slide it on your finger himself, then it hit him. Would you ever consider being his wife?

----

You were fixing yourself a little snack in the kitchen when he got back. "Hey, love." You habitually called out when you heard the door open and close. His heavy boots echoed though the quiet house as he approached you with his bag slung over one shoulder. "Where ya been?" You wondered.

"Just out." He said. "Got ya some things."

"Oh?" You turned away from the counter to face him. He held his bag open and you peeked inside. "What's all this?"

"Mm-mm." He shrugged. "Happy birthday."

Your head snapped up. "How'd you know?"

"Just did."

"Oh... Wow." You blushed lightly.

"Go on, check it out." He urged. You grinned and set the bag on the counter, pulling out each item individually. You seemed excited about the books and movies. The jewelry box definitely caught your eye. "Figured ya'd like it for your rocks and stuff." He commented.

"It's so pretty." You admired the darkwood, tracing your fingers over the carvings. "That's so thoughtful."

You found the candle next and took a whiff. "Mmm. Like fall!" You beamed. He smiled faintly at your excitement. You gasped when you pulled out the last item. "Oh..my..God.." You breathed. "It looks like a reef!" You gawked at the beautiful specimen of garden quartz. "I've always wanted one of these but they're so expensive -- or, were so expensive."

You pulled him into a tight hug. "Best birthday gifts ever." You said giddily.

"That ain't all." He mumbled, unsure if he was ready for the next part.

"Oh. Really?" You were a little caught off guard. What else could there be, a new car?

"Uh-huh." He nodded as you pulled away from the hug. He backed up a little and reached in the pocket inside his vest, pulling out a closed fist. "Gimme your hand."

You pushed your brows together in confusion as you held out your hand, palm up. He gently turned your and over and slid the two rings on your finger -- the finger -- and tried to contain his nerves as he peeked up at your face through his hair.

You had a mixture of shock, disbelief, and awe written all over it as you watched the two bands slide up to the base of your finger.

"Oh.." You breathed, lost for words.

"Was just thinkin'... Can't imagine it matters much anymore, but.." He took a breath. "Thought maybe we could--"

You tackled him back in a tight embrace, cutting him off. He stumbled back and steadied himself against the kitchen island, chuckling with relief. You sniffled.

"Yes." You tried not to cry.

"Yeah?" He smiled, holding his arms around your waist.

"Yeah." You nodded and giggled through your tears of joy.

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tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow

#daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x female reader #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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sotwk · 3 months

Text

Taken (Eomer x Reader) - Part 3 of 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.

Word count: 6.7k

Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3

Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken

PART THREE

Third Age 3019 May 6

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”

“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."

Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well.

While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper.

And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand.

Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat.

“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.”

“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”

“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.”

“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”

“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”

“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”

Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…”

He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”

Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”

“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”

Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”

“With your approval, yes.”

“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”

“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”

It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”

“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”

Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes.

“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”

Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”

And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”

Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”

“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”

“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”

The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”

“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”

So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps.

“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”

Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead.

“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”

Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”

Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”

The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires.

* * *

“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”

You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?”

“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”

“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”

“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”

Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!”

“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”

You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you.

Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.

How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time.

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.

You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth.

Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains. But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction.

It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him.

The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses.

“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”

“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.”

Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily.

What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.

If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables.

As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair.

“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”

“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”

“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”

You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”

“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.”

Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”

Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice.

“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”

“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”

Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”

The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”

“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”

“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”

The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”

He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.

The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.

You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables.

The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm.

“Éomer!!”

Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored.

I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice.

Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.

But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer.

Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.

“I do not need words. This is enough.”

As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.

Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.

“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.

But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.

Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.

An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness.

A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.

“Éomer. W-wait.”

So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.

“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”

“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”

He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.

“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”

He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.

“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”

He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men.

The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him.

Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since.

So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.

Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?”

Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.

“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”

He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.

“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”

He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.

“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”

And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?

“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”

“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”

A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.

“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.

“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”

“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”

“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”

You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.

“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.”

“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”

“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”

“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”

“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment.

Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled.

And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you.

* * *

They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.

Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted.

No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well.

He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers.

A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.

“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”

Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”

“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”

Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs.

Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”

He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.

With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.

At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice.

“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.”

“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted.

Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him. “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”

Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”

“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”

“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”

“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”

Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”

“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.”

Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.”

And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.

Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.

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