#when you stare long into the abyss the abyss stare back kind of dream i think

[sleepyminty]

Eversince i bought my binah plush doll, my two cousins ( who had zero knowledge of any PM games) had developed fear around her, since i placed her near the bedroom door they always said that they started having nightmare of this doll and honestly

Good for you binah, you’re still a manace even you turn into a harmless plushie

#project moon #lobotomy corp #library of ruina #lobotomy corp binah #lobotomy corp garion #this is why i have to put her away in the bag #also the cat always attack her so theres that #they said that they had frequent nightmare of binah doll staring at them through the doll #and thats it #binah plush my beloved #when you stare long into the abyss the abyss stare back kind of dream i think #this is a true story #proving that arbiter being a manace is a universal thing #or binah is so scary her creepiness transcend into many form #but be real and look at this photo does it look scary to you #i had a good sleep btw #not my cousins no #when shes around #same energy as the makima doll i guess #also i snatched one of my cousin earring and gave it to my binah and no shes still salty abt it

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

there was no place in nature we could meet ; suguru geto

synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex. especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart — who also just so happens to be a wanted mass murderer.

word count; 3.3k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.

geto looks something like a bad omen.

sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.

still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.

the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.

what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.

(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)

what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.

so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.

geto watches, eerily silent. 

(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)

finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.

mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.

his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night. even deeper than it was back in high school. 

slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes. 

”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” you exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…” 

a beat. you struggle to find the right word. 

”annoying.”

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.

”thanks,” he hums. crossing his legs.

the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling. 

when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.

”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. almost satirical. ”you miss him that much?”

”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.

your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go. 

”whatever you say, geto.”

at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips. 

”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, jovial. hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.

a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me whatever you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”

geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”

”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.” 

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face. ”guess we’re similar in that way, huh?”

a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that,” he drawls, smile growing. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”

to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.

(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)

geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence surrounding you. a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

(somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by the darkness, melting into the sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.)

”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”

…

”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”.. about your decision.”

”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement.

(geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards as one of his curses goes to pick it up. you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.)

a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs in high school, after you had spent about five minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted. 

”what can i say,” you lean back, palms against the rough concrete. breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”

geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”

with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.” 

a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”

geto doesn’t say anything, so you continue. voice dripping with venom.

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking. a sardonic coo cast his way. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.

so you look away.

a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”

he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.

”you’re better than them,” he states, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.

”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”

a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?

”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”

an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.

it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.

”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”

geto stills.

”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”

you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”

and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.

his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.

when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.

”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”

then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”

an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all. 

something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”

…

”join me.”

the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.

”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.

a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”

”that’s not what i meant.”

he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters. 

you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.

”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”

unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.

”with me.” 

there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”

a moment passes.

(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)

”.. like you give a damn.”

geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes. 

”my love.”

you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.

it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.

but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.

(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)

if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.

yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.

”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”

and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.

geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.

”and you think you do?”

another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”

his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.

”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”

a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —

a chill runs down your spine.

when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”

what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.

geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.

(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)

a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut. 

you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters. 

”.. no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”

a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.

geto closes his eyes.

”.. you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.” 

he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”

dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.

”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.

”come. let me show you the world we can create.”

he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing at you. the promise of something, something twisted. something new. forbidden. you think of red skin, yellow flesh. the bite of sin.

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies. 

paradise.

geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground. 

(you think of the serpent. you think of god.

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

#i just think curse user geto is soooo …… #hes so. hes just so #he has this undeniable softness and hes genuinely a very sincere man. but he just comes across as extremely insincere #n kinda.. suffocating? like just one look from him to you makes u wanna hide. even though hes so coaxing and gentle and eager to care for u #he just has that ’doomed by the narrative’ swagger yknow? the ’distinct air of tragedy’ charm #anyways im completely obsessed and i fear i would fold instantly rip to all non sorcerers #title taken from ’half-light’ by frank bidart btw read it its so good . very stsg coded #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

[lovebugism]

omg omg omg I can’t wait for tcar part 9 🥹 I miss eddie spaghetti and peach so much 🥹🥹🥹

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | sunshine, sometimes

summary: the gang searches for peace of mind at lake lemon. after an enlightening conversation with steve, eddie unknowingly stirs up a storm. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader, mentions of past steve harrington / f!reader

tags: experienced!reader, idiots in love, domestic bliss (road trip edition), newly established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, the gang's all here! TW probable typos, swearing, mentions of b*lly h*rgrove and toxic relationships, kissing, heavy petting, fingering, eddie coming in his pants (vol. 3), smut 18+

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 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You think it’s entirely possible that you made Eddie up in your head.

Sleeping next to you, painted in satin shades of pale pink and milky white, he looks exactly like a dream.

His curls are wild, spread across his face and cotton pillow in a chestnut-colored halo around his head. Soft snores billow from his rosy mouth in heavy, even breaths — a heavenly sound you think could lull you back to sleep all over again. His long lashes flutter against the flushed apple of his cheek, made a gentle strawberry shade from the ardor of his slumber. The soft color splotches the tip of his nose and the plush of his lips.

Eddie’s made of all the prettiest colors you wish you could paint. Maybe then he’d finally see himself the way you do. He possesses an otherworldly kind of beauty — one bordering on religious — something holy people used to sacrifice themselves for.

And here he is. In your bed and on your mouth, like a vivid ruby lipstick stain you’re not rushing to rub out just yet. Or ever, if you had anything to say about it.

“I can feel you staring, weirdo,” Eddie mumbles, slurred and heavy with sleep. The words come out muffled because his face is shoved into the pillow.

You’re not as embarrassed at getting caught as you probably should be. 

You could deny it if you wanted. His eyes are still shut. You’ve got every ounce of plausible deniability to defend yourself with, but for some strange reason, you don’t feel the urge to. He was far too pretty not to be unabashedly examined, like a piece of art you could stare at for ages and find something new in every time.

“Really?” you hum in return, voice as quiet with leftover fatigue as your sleepy smile. “I didn’t know my boyfriend had superpowers.”

The smile that tugs at Eddie’s mouth is absentminded but no less sincere. It’s lopsided and rosy and full of all the love he has for you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of being called your boyfriend. He figures his chest will swell every time he hears the words — as long as they spill from your mouth, anyway.

“You weren’t supposed to know about that,” he teases quietly — eyes still shut, grin still pressed into the pillow.

“I can keep a secret,” you promise in a whisper. Your hand rises from beneath the fluffy comforter to spread across his cheek. Your palm settles warmly at his jaw as your fingers brush a few rogue curls from his forehead. “As long as you give me a kiss for it.”

Eddie’s smile, weighed down by sleep and adoration, only widens at your words. 

His button eyes are swollen as he blinks the haze of sleep from them. It feels a little like his heart has stopped when he’s able to see you clearly. 

It’s like he’s looking down a high-up cliff or staring into the deep abyss of outer space — a warm, empty, and lurching feeling in his chest that only comes from witnessing something so profound.

The profundity in question is you.

It’s your wild hair and puffy cheeks and crooked smile. It’s the way your swollen eyes twinkle with adoration at an ungodly hour of the morning. The way your honey voice seems to match the golden sunrise. You’re an angel in the flesh — a divinely ethereal being wearing his Hellfire tee to sleep in. 

The beauty you are takes him by surprise for all of half a second. It makes him forget how to breathe and makes his brain go all fuzzy. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time every time he looks at you.

“Well, as long as it’ll keep you quiet,” Eddie huffs, feigning annoyance, as he lifts his head off the pillow to settle onto yours. 

His plush lips press against your subtle smile a second later. Your mouths entwine something heavy, like maple syrup or marshmallow fluff — a kiss so full of sleep and distant longing.

But that’s all it is. A kiss. It’s nothing more than an innocuous peck that Eddie stamps upon your mouth. His nose smushes into the side of yours, and he’s gone as quickly as he came. 

Your shut eyes flutter open again. They widen when Eddie ducks down for another sneaking peck. He lingers a few moments longer this time, like he can’t quite get enough of you the same way you can never seem to get enough of him.

Your grin grows. You feel a bit like you’re glittering all over when Eddie settles back onto the mattress. But maybe that’s just the rising sun peeking in flaxen shades from the window — or maybe it’s love sparkling like orange embers in your chest. Maybe it’s both. 

Maybe loving Eddie feels pink and gold like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

It’s just as easy, anyway.

“Ooh,” you singsong with a smile as you prop yourself on your elbow. “Two for one deal, huh?”

The boy shrugs one shoulder. His leadened lids fall over his chocolate syrup eyes when sleep threatens to pull him under again. He shifts against the mattress to get comfortable, though it’s much harder without you pressed against him.

“I gotta secret identity to protect, sweets. Gotta make sure we keep it under wraps and everything, you know?” The tired boy’s mumbles are followed by a hearty yawn that scrunches his sleep-ridden features.

“Well, you can pry this secret from my cold, dead hands,” you lilt quietly, leaning down to sprinkle a featherlight kiss to his flushed cheek. His skin is warm against your mouth, rosy with a good night’s sleep.

“Well, except for Robin,” you whisper shortly thereafter. “I have to tell Robin.”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh.

“And Steve, too. He’ll be mad if I tell Robin and not him.”

“Right,” Eddie scoffs with a tired nod against his pillow.

You can tell he’s trying hard to stay awake for you. He’d done this the night before, too — kept talking to you even though his body was threatening to shut down after a long day of school and road-tripping. You’d called him out on it then, and he confessed that it hurt too much to stop talking to you. He said he’d rather be exhausted than miss you, even for the faintest fraction of a second.

A smile hints at the corners of your lips as you stare down at the boy. You duck down once more to brush a fleeting kiss to the warm apple of his cheek — there and gone again. 

Eddie sighs at the heavenly feeling, then scrunches his features in annoyance when the mattress shifts beneath him.

“Where are you going?” he grouses over the sound of your padding feet and the door creaking open. He’s got one tired eye squinted when he rises to look at you over his shoulder. His untamed curls are as drenched with sleep as the rest of his softly swollen features.

You stand in the doorway and smile back at him. You don’t look nearly as exhausted as he does. That’s only because you spent the better part of the morning ogling at him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

It wouldn’t change anything, anyway.

Slumber looks too good on you. It’s got you glowing like a pink and orange sunrise, grinning like the morning dew has kissed you. It’s a very distinct part of your beauty that took Eddie several days of unabashed staring to understand. You’ve got a far-off kind of quality about you, dreamlike. 

You’re a nymph made of flower petals with unearthly eyes and angelic lips. You’re a swan princess who’s enchanted his imagination. His mind can’t go anywhere without bumping into thoughts of you — like some romantic spell you’ve cast upon him.

Still a bit grumpy with sleep and overcome with yearning, Eddie makes a mental note to add you to a future campaign. What better way to tell someone you love them than by making them your muse, solidifying them in the history of you forever?

“I’m gonna tell everyone that my boyfriend is basically the metalhead equivalent of Clark Kent,” you joke with a crooked smile that flashes your similarly crooked teeth.

The door creaks when it shuts behind you. Eddie’s chest aches with the empty feeling of missing you. The warmth of adoration lingers, however, as though you’d never left at all.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Thankfully, no one had gotten Jason Voorhees-ed while you were sleeping.

You make your rounds about the cabin, peeking into darkened bedrooms and making sure everyone was where you’d left them. You knew Robin hadn’t truly meant her words from the day before, about Ted Bundy or some equivalent creep stalking the woods of Lake Lemon. She’s sincere but in a blatantly irrational sort of way. Sweet but slightly insane. She’s an illogical genius that unintentionally gets in your head.

You’re grateful to find that you hadn’t woken up in the middle of slasher film, however. You’re able to exhale a trembling sigh of relief as you walk into the kitchen.

Steve The Hair Harrington unknowingly keeps you company as you break out the supplies needed to make a couple of teenagers a sufficient breakfast. His soft snores fill the quiet cabin from where he’s sprawled out in the center of the pull-out couch in the living room. He’s twisted in a thin white sheet and gripping a single pillow like his life depends on it.

He used to hold you like that, too. Like you were a buoy in an ocean and the only thing keeping him afloat. He’d cage you in his arms with a grip that only seemed to intensify with his sleep. It felt like being suffocated almost. But in a good way.

The memory is glittering with reminiscence instead of soaking in heartache. 

You don’t miss being with Steve, nor do you miss the person you were when you were with him. You do miss the closeness of him, though — in the simplest, most human way. Also, you just really like taking the piss out of him and all his little idiosyncrasies.

With his sleeping form so near, everything you do feels so much louder in the quiet. The fridge closes too aggressively, the eggs crack too sharply, the cabinets close too harshly. You grimace with every noise you make, checking over your shoulder to make sure Steve hadn’t heard from across the room.

He hadn’t. ‘Cause he tends to sleep like he’s hibernating.

He doesn’t rouse when a humming car crunches against gravel when it pulls into the driveway outside — or when the bowl of pancake batter in your hands clatters to the countertop accordingly.

The milky white concoction sways in the container, splashing in pearly dots onto the gray granite. You’re too distracted to focus on the mess. Your heart starts to race at the appearance of the sudden visitor with the irrational thought that Ted Bundy was strolling up to your doorstep like some kind of offbeat traveling salesman. 

God, you need to stop hanging out with Robin so much. Or watching so many horror movies. Maybe both.

Because it’s only Nancy. 

It’s sweet, beautiful, lithe Nancy Wheeler and her beat-up Station Wagon. 

Her curly hair is cropped at her shoulders, hastily combed through and pinned out of her face with a butterfly clip. Her pretty pink skirt swishes around her knees as she reaches for a leather satchel in the backseat. Her purple and white Emerson College tee is tucked into it, matching the same-colored Converse on her feet.

“Hey,” she greets with a pretty wave and delicate smile when she catches sight of you in the doorway.

“Hi…” you respond, mixed with a breathy sigh of what should be relief. 

Because she isn’t Ted Bundy — or some local Lake Lemon serial killer. She’s far too pretty and far too kind to be either of those. But your heart still thrums something fierce against your ribcage when you look at her. You’re still drenched with ice-cold fear when you know you should be relieved.

But despite your clammy trembling hands, you hold the door open for her.

She winces at the sight of Steve’s sleeping figure on the couch, ocean eyes widening at his freckled back peeking from beneath the thin sheet. Her footsteps become noticeably lighter as you lead her into the kitchen. 

It’s far too big for just the two of you. The open space is filled only with a distant awkwardness and the potent smell of sweet vanilla you’d dropped into the pancake batter.

“Sorry…” Nancy grimaces as she sets her bag on the dining table, as though her company was something she needed to be excused for. Her bushy brows pinch together, and her doe-eyes swim with apology. “I know I was supposed to be here last night…”

You shift your weight on your feet across from her, arms wrapping around yourself for further comfort. She’s just a few feet away from you, but the distance feels cavernous.

“Yeah, is— is everything, you know… okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just— it’s dumb,” Nancy scoffs out a laugh, shrugging off your worry with ease. Her gaze flits to the ceiling. You can see smudged eyeliner around her eyes, like she’s still wearing yesterday’s makeup. “I got carried away with the school paper after school, and I didn’t get home until late, and I… I figured I should just wait until morning to make the drive, you know?

You nod slowly in response — for a couple seconds too long, maybe — as you think of what else to say. “Well, was, uh— was traffic okay, at least?”

“Yeah. It was fine,” she answers and bites back a yawn. “People around here are amazing drivers, you know, so… It was a perfect, anxiety-free three hours.”

Her plush pink lips curl into a smile. 

Yours follow suit, but the breathy laugh that spills from them feels much more forced.

“You’re probably tired, huh?” you wonder, then ramble before she can answer you. “I could get Steve to move upstairs with Robin— or Robin can come down here, and you can take the bed. Unless you wanna share with her, but fair warning, she does kick in her sleep, so…”

A giggle spills from Nancy’s mouth. It’s a soft, bubbly sound that squints the edges of her eyes. Her pointed chin tucks to her chest like she’s trying to hide the gentle grin from you. 

You can’t tell if she finds your babbling amusing or endearing like Eddie does. 

You quickly realize you don’t care — you’re just proud that you’ve made her smile. And, fuck, you can’t even blame Steve for wanting her more than you because look at her. You should hate her, yet you can’t take your eyes off her.

“No, I’m good. We can… deal with all that when everyone wakes up, I guess,” she dismisses with a shake of her head. 

You vaguely catch her eyes darting past you to the tornado of breakfast behind you — a whirlwind of uncooked food, miscellaneous containers, and crumbled napkins. It’s a mess only a gentle, well-meaning child could make. That’s what you feel like most days, anyway, so you guess it kind of fits.

“Do you want help with breakfast?” Nancy wonders when her gaze flits back to you.

You can’t tell if she’s asking to be kind or if she really wants to. You decline either way. “No. You’ve— You’ve been driving all morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a wavering smile.

Her grin is equally sheepish. She falters, a tad bit awkwardly at first, before mumbling something and heading out the back door to explore.

A trembling sigh of relief shakes through your chest when the sliding glass door swishes shut behind her. 

It gets better over time — the preliminary tension that settles like suffocating humidity between the two of you — but it never gets any easier. A forgive but can’t forget sort of rigidity you can’t quite smooth out.

You get only a few more minutes of uninterrupted solitude after Nancy’s gone. The last bit of peace you’re bound to have all day.

A door clicks open and shut again from down the hallway, followed by the subtle scuff of socked feet against carpet. 

Your eyes widen softly when Dustin appears from around the corner, though you figure you really shouldn’t be surprised. Of course he was the kid that woke up before the rest of his friends. You feel a bit like you should fix him a cup of black coffee while he reads the business section of the newspaper. He’s far more mature than you were at fourteen.

“Oh,” you hum quietly, a soft smile twitching at the edges of your lips. “Morning.”

Dustin’s swollen eyes squint at you. His gaze darts around the room, as wild as the chestnut curls on his head. It’s strange not seeing him in his usual Thinking Cap. He looks a little foreign in his baggy blue Scooby Doo pajama pants and baggier yellow Camp Know-Where tee.

“Where’s Eddie?” he wonders aloud when he turns back to you, like he can’t quite fathom seeing one of you without the other somewhere nearby.

Your chest aches. You don’t know why. 

Well, you do, but you figure it shouldn’t hurt as bad as it does. 

Dustin was Eddie’s friend. He had zero obligation to care about you the same way. He didn’t have to like you past his not-so-subtle admiration for your boyfriend, but it still hurts that he doesn’t think you’re as cool.

“Uh… Still sleeping. I think,” you lilt, voice as high and light as the salty breeze slipping past the slightly ajar backdoor.

“Oh. Okay.” Dustin nods and doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t seem as weighed down by the silence as you are. He peeks over his shoulder at Steve’s rousing figure on the couch and then at the pots and pans of food on the counter. His tired blue eyes fill with light when they flit at you again. “Can I help?”

He’s suddenly aglow with a boyish sort of enthusiasm. His bushy brows raise and a smile pulls at his face, and you find it dreadfully hard to tell him no.

“Sure. If you want to, but—” You’re about to prattle on and on about how he shouldn’t feel obligated to. That he’s a kid on vacation and can sleep in if he wants. That he shouldn’t have to worry about helping you if he doesn’t really want to.

But he’s already walking to the sink, flipping on the faucet so he can wash his hands.

Your aching heart swells with warmth.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The rest of your friends wake up one by one.

Mike and El come out shortly after Dustin, the latter already dressed for the day. She’s a ray of sunshine compared to her grumpy boyfriend. His hair is a wild raven halo, and his cheeks are lined with indentions from the sheets. El hangs on his arm in a pair of jean coveralls, sparkling like the cerulean waters outside. 

“Wanna call Hopper?” you ask the blushing girl from where you scramble eggs at the stove.

She nods with her cheek smushed into Mike’s shoulder, eyes wide and sheepish like she’s embarrassed about wanting to talk to her dad. You don’t blame her for it. You tend to call Hopper after most minor inconveniences. 

Dustin mans the kitchen while you help her with the telephone. He’s very meticulous about the cooking, like he’s got flipping pancakes down to a science. He’s too good of a sous-chef for you to get mad at him for stealing from the stack every now and then.

Robin and Max are sitting at the dining table by the time you get back. They’re practically zombies, silent and grumpy, with their freckled features scrunched like they take offense to the early morning.

Lucas is the last of the kids to come out, though a part of you thinks it might’ve been intentional. 

He’s traded his pajamas for day clothes — Hawkins Tigers track pants and a fitted t-shirt. He idles in the kitchen for several long moments with his trembling hands balled into fists. You can tell he wants to sit next to Max. The thought of rejection keeps him from gravitating towards her, though. Instead, he stands at the counter next to Dustin and tries to hide his grieving.

Steve comes second to last — which is strange, because he was the first one there in a sense. The volume in the kitchen grows too loud for him to ignore. When he comes to the begrudging realization that there’s no falling back to sleep, he decides to join the rest of you.

His feet trudge down the hall when he returns from the bathroom. The only remnants of slumber he wears are the sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt he’d thrown on sometime after waking up. His structured features are seemingly too sharp to be weighed down by fatigue.

“Where are those little shits going?” he wonders in the place of any actual greeting. He eyes Mike and El as they depart through the sliding glass door. His bushy brows scrunch in confusion and distant worry — neither of which ever seem to leave him.

“Probably to talk to Nancy—”

“What?” Steve sputters, wide-eyed and gaped mouth. “Nancy’s— Nancy’s here?”

Your brows pinch at his shock. You scrape fluffy yellow eggs from the skillet into a large bowl, fit to feed a sizable family — yours of which has squeezed like sardines into this cabin. “Well… You did invite her, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…” he trails off, features twisted in puzzlement. His anxious hands prop against his sweatpant-clad waist. “When did she get in?”

“This morning—”

His eyes fly open once more. His head whips over his shoulder, like he might see her standing there, then turns back to gape at you again. “And you didn’t wake me up?”

You scoff a faint laugh at him. “Why would I wake you up?”

“‘Cause he’s in love with her,” Dustin answers for him, mouth full of the pancake he grips in his right hand. “Obviously.”

“Shut up,” Steve squints at him with all the annoyance of an older sibling despite having been an only child all his life. His irked features relax when his cinnamon gaze flits to you. “Where is she now?”

“Uh… She went for a walk a while ago,” you answer absentmindedly, as though she hadn’t been on your mind the whole time. “I think she’s sitting out by the beach waiting for everyone to get up now, though.”

You and Steve share similarly narrowed eyes when you look out the kitchen window. The brunette girl sits at the square table outside the cabin. You can only see the profile of her pointed features as she smiles up at her younger brother and his girlfriend — a look so full of annoyance it can only be love.

“Maybe take it down a few notches before you try to talk to her, alright, Stevie?” Robin teases from the dining table.

“Yeah,” Lucas lilts with a slow nod, obviously playful in his dogpiling. He leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, trying hard not to smile too wide. “You look a little crazy right now, man.”

“It’s only ‘cause you little shits drive me crazy,” Steve defends in a monotone.

“Go tell her breakfast is almost done,” you advise with a sincere smile, though your eyes sparkle with mischief. “You can use that as an excuse to talk to her instead of whatever bullshit you were about to make up.”

Steve nods with a flat face. “Thanks, Peach.”

Dustin and Lucas help you transport the containers of food to the rectangle dining table — pancakes, eggs, sausage, and only halfway stale biscuits. Basically whatever leftover groceries you could find in the cupboards and the fridge.

Steve is too busy idling in one place to bother helping. With his eyes trained on the sliding glass door, it’s too apparent that he’s in his own head. He’s trying hard to work up the courage to talk to a girl he’s known for years now. 

As you sit in your seat at the table — beside Robin, across from Max, with a spare chair open for Eddie on your other side — you watch the fidgeting boy from over your shoulder. His pointed features harden slightly with his newfound bravery, his chest puffing with a wavering breath in. You watch him take a firm step towards the door, but he’s stopped in place by three bodies already walking towards it.

Nancy was already on her way back, with Mike and El at her side. Steve had been too late  — too doubtful of himself, too frightened of the pushed-away problems he’d caused. He’s forced to share awkward, trembling smiles with his first love and not a thing more. 

You feel his heartache as if it were your own.

Eddie’s footsteps stomp, stomp, stomp down the spiral staircase when he finally comes down.

Your heart warms at the very sight of him, as though you were looking at the rest of your life in the flesh — wild hair, swollen eyes, wrinkled t-shirt, and all. It’s too early to smile as wide as you do.

“Morning, Eds,” you greet, because everyone’s too busy stuffing their faces or writhing in unrequited love to do it for you.

His lips curl into a soft smile, weighed down by fatigue but rosy with his love for you. The pink expression grows when he sees the full table and the seat you left open for him. “Morning, sweetheart,” he lilts in response.

“How convenient,” Dustin squints from the head of the table, adjacent to Lucas and Eddie’s vacant seat. He’s got scrambled egg clinging to the side of his mouth as he chastises, “You show up right when breakfast is done.”

“Sorry, Dusty Bun,” Eddie apologizes with a teasing inflection that would imply that he’s not actually sorry. His chair scrapes against the kitchen tile when he pulls it out from under the table. “It’s not my fault I have impeccable timing.”

Your eyes dart to the boy standing beside you. They dance across his sleep-ridden features as your lips quirk in a cheeky half-smile. 

You know better than anyone that he’s only ever late to everything. The only time you can count on him being early is if there’s a Hellfire campaign or when he’s coming in his jeans. 

Eddie grows sheepish with the same understanding. His cheeks flush with a poorly hidden smirk as he sits down next to you. “Don’t say anything, Peach,” he mutters quietly to you.

The table, now sufficiently full, seems to thrum with life. Whether they’re picking at their food like Steve and Lucas, or stuffing their faces like Dustin and Robin, you can’t help but smile softly at each of them. 

They feel like family — like you’ve upped and carried your home with you three hours away. You’d forgotten what not being alone felt like before now. Your chest swells with a newfound life you didn’t even know you were missing.

“Uh, did everyone pack a bathing suit?” you wonder aloud with a bright smile on your face, a measly question to fill the silence and the sound of silverware against porcelain plates.

Everyone nods and hums soft “yeah”’s with their mouths full — except for Eddie. 

The boy beside you stills with his fork in front of his mouth. His dark eyes go wide as he looks over at you. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters in the place of an answer. “I was supposed to pack a bathing suit?”

You find his forgetful disposition rather endearing. You can too easily imagine him standing in the middle of his bedroom, mouthing everything you told him to pack while counting them on his fingers. You can see his brows furrowing with a distant pout while he asks himself “what the hell am I forgetting?”

You’re too in love to be annoyed with him — or ill-prepared.

“I packed trunks for you. It’s okay,” you murmur in response, voice as quiet as the smile you look at him with.

Eddie’s chest aches. It’s too warm to be his heart breaking — too fluffy and sticky and sweet. It’s a burning sort of pain that can only be pure, unadulterated love. 

“God, you are the woman of my dreams, baby,” he confesses lowly, mostly to himself.

You only hear the words leave his mouth because he’s leaning in to kiss you. You don’t meet him halfway, but instead grin softly at his efforts, which you know are bound to be interrupted.  

“Hey!” Dustin scolds through the bite of biscuit in his mouth. “No kissing at the table!”

Robin licks syrup from the corner of her mouth, then concurs through her pancakes, “Yeah. You wanna make everybody here puke or what?”

“Or what,” you answer the rhetorical question, meeting her deadpanned expression with a smile. You tilt your head to your shoulder and scrunch your nose. “Preferably, at least.”

“How about everyone just keep their hands to themselves, yeah?” Steve advises in a monotone. His honey eyes flit around the table with a significant focus on you and Eddie and Mike and El. He waves his fork in his hand, still piercing the cooled piece of scrambled egg he hasn’t eaten yet. “How about that?”

“Okay, Hopper,” you scoff to yourself.

El snorts a quiet laugh from across the table, on Max’s other side.

Steve flashes you an annoyed glance from across Robin sitting between the two of you. Despite his monotoned features, his eyes sparkle with an adoration for you he couldn’t conceal if he wanted to.

He tries to, anyway. 

“Bite me,” he grumbles with narrowed eyes.

Eddie huffs dramatically from beside you. The sound gets your attention — makes you turn your head to look at him again — which is all he really wanted to do, anyway.

“Stop flirting!” the boy grumbles, wide-eyed and chewing through his mouthful. “I’m sitting right here!”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie Munson was never supposed to believe in love at first sight. That stuff was for children, chick flicks, and over-played ballads — not metalheads who’ve never been loved before and have had to improvise all their awkward tenderness accordingly.

But then he met you. And he didn’t love you then, but he knew something was different. Off. Metamorphosing, even. 

It was different from love — whatever strange, foreign thing he was feeling way back when. It didn’t hurt nearly as much, and it didn’t feel like every single one of his atoms had been set ablaze. It was softer, warmer, a gentle familiarity in a stranger who just wanted to get high.

You sat down in front of him on that rotted park bench in the middle of the woods, and it felt like he was staring the rest of his life in the face. There was no falling head over heels like all the songs on the radio said there’d be, but rather an “Oh, hi, it’s you. I hope it’s always gonna be you.”

He feels that foreign, fluffy feeling in his chest even now as he stands on the shore in a pair of trunks you bought because you knew he’d forget his. He watches you wade into the cerulean sea with a lily sort of hesitance. You’re so much smaller than the wide-open, but he loves you so much you seem swallow it all whole anyway. 

You’re a pretty little thing in a canary yellow bikini, sunshine incarnate. Your thighs are round and full. The pudge of your stomach is soft and tender. The scarred marks on your back and shoulders are like so many little kisses, each of which he longs to give you in return.

You possess an intimidating sort of beauty, one that Eddie found easier to admire from afar. You were entirely too captivating — warm and gentle like a summer rain dying to be danced in.

“Stop being such a baby!” Robin calls from further in the water. Her sandy-colored hair is a darker shade from the salty sea and pushed back over her forehead and ears. 

Her chapped lips curl into a pink smile as she looks up at you. Not even she could hide her admiration for your fantastical, demoniacal beauty.

“The water’s not even that bad!” the girl continues in half-hearted taunts. “Just run in!”

“It’s cold!” you insist, shivering when a brutal breeze brushes by. You tense and tighten the grip you have on yourself. Your arms are crossed over your chest in a feeble shield that does little to protect you from the water nipping at your ankles.

Robin cackles at your wincing.

Eddie might’ve defended you if he wasn’t so lost in the eternal blue of you, more infinite than the water you stand in or the sky you idle beneath. 

You look so soft in the golden sunlight, so diabolically angelic. Lithe, unholy, yet pure all the same. Built for sin but looking just like Heaven.

Eddie Munson wasn’t supposed to fall in love. He wasn’t even looking for it until it tripped him, ate him up, and spat him out. The universe does whatever the universe wants sometimes, he figures, and if you can’t laugh at their stupid jokes, then that’s on you.

“Holy shit…” Eddie mumbles as the realization pierces him like a dull needle between his ribcage. That searing, subtle feeling of being in love. 

It’s frightening more than it is anything, really — the understanding that you’re diving into something that could ruin you, something you’re going to let ruin you. There’s nothing but a thin line between love and horror.

“Huh?” Steve hums with a cartoonishly scrunched nose and furrow to his brow.

He was the only one close enough to hear him. Everyone else was separate but still near, using every inch of their reserved space. 

Nancy’s reading a book in one of the lounge chairs with El and Max sunbathing on towels close by. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are roughhousing in the water — no doubt irking Steve and his lifeguard-esque spidey senses. Robin, meanwhile, was still coaxing you inside.

Eddie’s head snaps in Steve’s direction. He squints through the wisps of gray smoke rising from the grill. “Huh?” he repeats like the idiot he is.

“You said something.” The brunette boy responds. Not a question, but a statement of fact.

“No, I wasn’t,” Eddie sasses back despite having been caught red-handed. He shrugs and crosses his pale arms over his chest. “I was just… I was just talking to myself.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause that’s not weird or anything.”

Eddie bites back a too-harsh jeer. He watches Steve flip a steaming burger on the tiny grill in front of him with a floundering sort of finesse. He scoffs out a laugh. “Making fun of me isn’t gonna compensate for you having absolutely no idea what you’re doing over there, you know?”

“How hard can it be?” Steve wonders, bouncing his shoulders and gesturing with the spatula in his hand. “They’re burgers. Just flip ‘em before the burn, and they’re golden— well, not golden, but… you get it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at the boy’s blind optimism. Steve’s got all the trappings of a rich kid who never had a fend for yourself night where dinner was just chocolate milk, dry cereal, and pizza rolls. “I thought growing up in the suburbs, you would’ve perfected the art of grilling by now.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly have anyone around that often to teach me, so…”

Steve isn’t exactly playing the woe is me card. He’s just stating a fact that most everyone in Hawkins seems to know by now. It blows the wind out of Eddie’s sails, anyway. 

It’s hard to understand sometimes that Steve’s got his own thing going on — his own secrets with his own trauma he keeps hidden from the rest of the world. Eddie spent his whole life thinking that if he was richer, or if his house was bigger, or if the kids at school liked him more, he might’ve been happier growing up. 

Steve Harrington is living proof that that’s not always true.

Eddie walks a few steps closer to the grill. The smell of smoke and cooked meat pervade him instantaneously. He snatches the spatula from Steve’s hand, who’s too off guard to dodge him. 

His frizzy curls bunch at his shoulders when he tilts his head to the side, flashing the brunette boy a sickly sweet smile. “Let the trailer trash show ya how it’s done, Stevie.”

“First of all, don’t call me that,” he retorts with a flat face, golden biceps crossed tight over the chest of his fitted tee. “And second of all, what the hell do you know about cooking?”

“When you grow up in a trailer park, you know how to make at least two things by the time you’re seven-years-old — pizza rolls in the oven and burgers on the grill.”

Steve’s honey eyes narrow. “I don’t trust you not to poison us, Munson.”

“What? You think I’m gonna poison a bunch of kids and my girlfriend? That’s, like, the lowest of the low,” Eddie defends with bubbly laughter sputtering from his mouth. He flips a smashed burger and lets it sizzle over the low flame before pointing the spatula in Steve’s direction. A mischievous glint sparkles in his eye. “But you, Harrington? You should definitely be worried.”

“…Girlfriend, huh?” 

Eddie, visibly surprised by the lack of a comeback, glances over his shoulder at the boy. His fleetingly puzzled gaze gives way to a teasing pink grin. “Yeah… Jealous?” 

It was a joke, but Steve starts to stutter over himself like he’s guilty of something. “What? No,” he argues between forced laughter. “Why would you— Why would you even say that?”

“‘Cause I actually had the balls to ask out the girl I like, and you’ve been ogling at Nancy for an hour trying to figure out how to talk to her without coming off like a total creep.”

“That’s not… I wasn’t doing that.”

Eddie shrugs. “Okay.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I said okay!”

“Jeez…” Steve concedes with a dramatic huff. “I have no idea what Peach sees in you, ya know?”

“Me neither, honestly,” Eddie confesses with a distant smile, grinning at the grill like he can see you in the wisps of thick smoke. “I always thought it was my strong arms and sparkling personality.” 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about! You can’t be serious about anything!”

“I can be serious about some things.”

“Yeah?” Steve muses with raised brows and a smile that says otherwise. “Like what?”

There’s a million stupid jokes Eddie could make just to piss him off all the more. He swallows them all down in place of something more real. “I don’t know… Peach is pretty cool, I guess… Don’t really wanna fuck that up…”

Steve nods, proud of the answer he wasn’t expecting. “Good. Don’t.”

“And what would you do if I did, tough guy?” Eddie jokes, narrowing his eyes at the boy beside him. “Beat me up?”

He answers without missing a beat. “Yeah.”

“You don’t exactly have the best track record for that. I’m pretty sure you’re on a world-record losing streak, actually.”

“I don’t have to win,” Steve assures with a strange sort of sternness to his words. 

Eddie is visibly shocked by the sudden seriousness, wide-eyed and confused. 

The brunette boy sighs before explaining. “That time I got into that stupid fight with Hargrove, it wasn’t about trying to beat him, you know? I was trying to— I don’t know— I was trying to… keep him from hurting the people I cared about, I guess.”

“Peach?” Eddie presses with furrowed brows.

Steve shoots him a dumbfounded look, confused by the confusion. “She didn’t tell you about that?”

“...No?”

“Then, uh… Never mind.”

Steve closes in on himself all over again — an impenetrable brick wall with abs and a chiseled jawline. Eddie feels so suddenly left out, like there was some secret everyone was in on but him. He abandons the grill entirely. 

“Nope. No way. You have to tell me now.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit, Munson,” Steve scoffs, side-stepping the wild-haired boy and taking his place in front of the grill. The burgers are cooked through now, perfectly seared and smoky. He plates them all like he wasn’t on track to burning them. Eddie lets him do it.

“I swear to god, I will give you food poisoning on purpose, Harrington—”

“It’s not my story to tell, alright?” Steve interjects the half-hearted threat.

“Well, I mean, it sorta is because you were just about to tell it, so…”

The brunette grumbles something under his breath like a rolling storm cloud.

You and Robin watch the encounter from afar, both of you someways from shore. Now submerged to your shoulders in the sapphire water, you’re not nearly as cold as when you first stepped in. It feels as soft as silk now, sparkling around you like diamonds every time you kick your feet to keep yourself afloat.

A smile quirks at your mouth at the sight of the bantering boys — one you used to love and one you think you’ll love forever.

They’re complete and utter opposites of each other. One golden, one pale. One broad, one lean. One with trimmed honey locks that shine golden in the sun, and one with long curls so dark they seem to reject all light entirely. 

They both wear deadpanned looks of utter annoyance on their features, having no idea how close they’re standing to each other.

“The sexual tension is ripe between those two,” you confess to Robin, though it’s mostly for yourself.

“Think they’re gonna kiss?” the brunette girl jokes as she blinks salt water from her eyes.

“I don’t know… They might…” you observe quietly, squinting in the distance in a feeble attempt to read their lips. The conversation seems heated — well, as heated as it gets between two boys who think they’re better off as enemies. 

You long to understand what they’re saying and mourn the fact that you don’t.

“Bet I can get them to kiss by the end of the night, though,” you answer more finally and with a glint to your eye — a result of your looming mischief rather than the glittering sun above you.

“Please, don’t say it…” Robin grimaces.

“Truth or dare,” you singsong with a beaming grin.

The girl makes a pained sound at your words. She bubbles her freckled cheeks and squeezes her eyes shut tight. She ducks herself beneath the water in attempts to hide there, knowing there are some things you just can’t run from.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You hold onto your love for Eddie like so many flowers in your hand. 

It’s a collection of wild things — honeyed daffodils, fluffy white daisies, and pretty pastel forget-me-nots. Their vivid green stems feel like stripes of hardened silk in your palm. 

Maybe you’ll shape them into a crown later, place them on top of your lover’s wild curls the next time you see him. You hope that isn’t too long now.

Max was the one that wanted to go on a hike. Upon the other boys’ insistence of tagging along, she spat like venom in return — “No boys allowed.” And, quite frankly, none of you were in any position to deny Maxine Mayfield of anything.

Robin hadn’t even wanted to go until that moment. She complained she was too tired after a day in the water to spend an evening in the woods. The thought of making fun of Steve seemingly cured her. 

“Yeah,” she lilted with a smile, voice raspy from hours of nonstop laughter. She slid a cap over her drying locks, leaving it backwards and lazy on her head. She bounced her brows and walked backwards behind the group of you. “Go on your own hike, Stevie.”

“We will!” Steve argued in return, like a child not easily left behind.

You can’t be sure of what they’re up to now. Nothing, maybe, or perhaps everything. You just hope Eddie’s missing you as much as you’re missing him — innocently, gently, childishly. 

Maybe he’s seeing your face in the crystalline waves of the sea like you’re seeing his face in the satin petals of the flowers in your hand.

“Having fun?” you ask Max over the subtle crunch, crunch, crunch of grass and leaves and twigs beneath your feet. 

The redhead’s eyes widen at the suddenness of your presence — or rather, how slow she’d been to register it. Noticing her languishing stride, she puts more pep in her step. 

“Tons,” she huffs.

You become a silent observer of Max Mayfield for a moment. You blink at the girl beside you —  with pretty red plaits down her back and pale shoulders peeking from her tank top — and try to make sense of her. It’s an impossible task.

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” you confess with a quiet laugh.

“I’m not,” she affirms with her own scoffed-out chuckle. She tucks a rouge wisp of amber hair behind her ear and averts her gaze to her beat-up sneakers. “It’s… actually been kinda fun so far.”

With a blooming feeling of relief and slight accomplishment, you nod in response. “Good.”

“I just wish the boys weren’t here, though,” she admits with a distant girlishness, kicking a rock with the tip of her shoe. It clunk, clunk, clunks down the hill. She screws her freckled face. “They’re making it all… weird.”

“Weird how?” you press gently. 

You don’t want to push her so hard she closes up again, but you don’t want to stay so quiet she thinks you don’t care. It’s tricky work, getting close to Max Mayfield — like digging through a brick wall with a plastic spoon.

“Weird as in… I don’t know— they’re making it something it’s not supposed to be, you know? Like, Dustin is cool, but that’s because his girlfriend just dumped him and everything,” the girl rambles with a shrug. She lifts her arm to duck beneath a low-hanging branch, scraping her calloused palm against the wood as she goes. 

You’ll hear a low thud moments later when Robin smacks her forehead against it. She’d been too busy explaining how to tell the difference between poisonous and nonpoisonous mushrooms to Nancy and El — the former only half as enthused as the latter.

“El and Mike are always sneaking off to suck face, and Steve and Eddie keep ogling at you like they’ve never seen a girl before, and Lucas won’t stop asking me if something’s wrong, and—”

“He’s just trying to check up on you,” you interject gently, letting the wound-up girl take a much-needed breath.

“Yeah, well, it’s annoying,” she grumbles like a thundering rain cloud. “I’m trying to forget my problems, not talk about them.”

And, honestly, you think she might be onto something. Teenage girls are basically tiny pessimistic philosophers — your problems don’t exist if you don’t look at them, she tells you in essence. The logic is cynically sound to an unhealthy degree. It’s a poison apple you’ve plucked from the tree and eaten whole once.

“You gotta talk about them eventually, Max,” you tell her. Not because you have, but rather because you haven’t, and you’ve seen where that’s gotten you.

Max stops in her tracks. She turns ninety degrees to glare at you — arms crossed over her chest, bushy brows quirked like the right side of her lips. She looks bitterly amused at your words. 

You cower beneath her icy blue stare. You know you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Oh, yeah? Like you’re talking about them, too?” she sasses with all her practiced teenaged apathy.

You falter. “Yeah, well… Don’t do what I do, alright? Do what I say.”

Max scoffs. It sounds almost like genuine laughter in its curtness, as though it were truly sincere. She shakes her head with a cynical smile. “Face it— we’re both hopeless…”

Her words leave you stunned, as though she’d pierced you with the poison tip of them. There’s an edge to them that cuts you and leaves you bleeding as she walks on without you. The wind brushes your exposed skin, a reminder that the world is still going even though it feels like it’s frozen still. 

Robin and El walk by you a moment later. The former rubs her aching forehead over the brim of the cap on her head. The latter is elbow-deep in a drawstring bag looking for a bandaid to give her. 

Nancy, either poetically or cruelly, is the one who notices the splintered ache you are.

She smiles with her pretty pink lips and blinks at you with her stone-blue eyes. She’s as pretty as she ever was — with her bare, sun-kissed face and oversized cardigan pushed up to her elbows. It’s hard to admonish someone who looks as sweet as she does. 

Her attention alone is enough to heal you, like a dog licking a weeping wound. You hate her as much as you worship her. The loathing feels religious.

“Who are those for?” she questions innocently, motioning to the flowers in the limp hand hanging at your side.

“Oh, uh, they’re— they’re for Eddie,” you sputter in a mumble, suddenly aflame with embarrassment. You turn your red-hot cheeks away from her and look at everything but the girl in front of you. “It’s… It’s stupid…”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s sweet,” she disagrees, grinning so sincerely it scrunches the sloped bridge of her nose.

“I don’t know, I just… I felt a little bad about leaving him behind, so…”

“He did look a little like a sad puppy when we left,” Nancy confesses in a soft giggle.

You roll your eyes despite the lovesick smile on your face. “He always looks like that when he doesn’t get his way.”

“He really likes you. I can tell.”

Your heart lurches at her words. 

“What the hell do you know about him?” is first fleeting thought that scorches your mind. “He isn’t yours. You don’t get to know him.” 

The misplaced anger is raging crimson, vivid enough to taste. Or perhaps that’s just the metallic tang of your blood as you bite your tongue.

Your rage is engraved into your bones at this point. 

It isn’t fair, not to either of you, so you swallow it down.

“You think so?” you wonder instead.

“Oh. Totally,” she scoffs like she’s never been surer of anything in her life. 

Her sneakers scuff against the rough terrain of Lake Lemon as she starts walking again, towards the sound of trickling water. You follow behind her on instinct and watch her angled profile flit to the blue sky above you. Gray clouds start to gather in the distance, concealed by the green of towering trees. 

“The way he looks at you… It’s really sweet.”

“Bet it makes you miss Jonathan, huh?”

“I always miss him,” she answers without missing a beat, though she seems so suddenly forlorn. “Even though I know I’m not really supposed to.”

“What do you mean?” you press with pinched brows.

She tilts her head and looks at you beneath her lashes. “We, um… We broke up, actually.”

“Oh. Shit,” you stutter, surprising even yourself because you hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. It makes you that much more embarrassed at yourself. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t— shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Nancy assures kindly, giggling and bringing you at ease again. She smiles so softly, like she isn’t hurt by it all — by what you’ve said or what she left behind in Jonathan. 

You squint at her with a question on your tongue. How can you seem so happy after having lost a piece of yourself? you want so desperately to ask. How has that not ruined you entirely?

She sighs, still with a reminiscent smile. “I haven’t really… you know, talked about it, so…”

“Are you…” you start, but trail off again. Your head whips from her to the rocky trail you descend down, trying to keep focused without tripping over yourself in front of her. God knows you’ve done that enough for a lifetime. “Are you okay?”

Nancy thinks on your words more than you expected her to. “Uh, yeah. I think so. I mean— I guess that’s what this trip is about, you know? Trying to be okay again.”

You nod in response. You figure that’s why you ultimately asked Max to tag along in the first place, and why her friends had decided to join — those heartbroken and otherwise. 

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Nancy follows quickly with wet eyes and pinched-together brows. She’s waiting for you to condemn her, though you’re not entirely sure why.

“For… what?”

“You know, not telling you I was coming and… everything.” 

You wonder if she truly does mean everything or if it’s just a figure of speech. Nancy has a world of things to say sorry to you for — she knows this, most barbarically so.

“Steve told me it was normally a him, you, and Robin thing. He said you wouldn’t be upset about it or anything, but I feel like… I don’t know… like I’ve intruded or something?”

“No,” you assure almost instantly because you know what non-belonging feels like. You don’t want it to eat away at her like it did you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?” the girl presses with a twinkle in her eye.

“Totally.”

She exhales a sharp chuckle through her nose. It’s almost a sigh of relief — like your words have removed a hulking weight from her bony chest. “I was so scared things were gonna be…”

“Weird?” you finish for her when she trails off.

Her sheepish smile matches your own. She nods. “Yeah.”

“That was forever ago,” you shrug, repeating the words you’ve been telling yourself for ages now. It made everything much easier to stomach. You found it much safer not to feel any of it at all — to keep the hurt from touching you entirely.

Nancy nods. Her words leave her mouth, soft like a song and kissed by sorrow. “I know, but… Things were…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t have to. 

You were there for all of it. Most of the bloodshed was yours in the end.

“Yeah,” you huff so deeply it deflates your tightening chest.

“It was all just bullshit, you know?” Nancy says, shaking her head like she’s detested by the memory. “Steve shouldn’t have done what he did, but… It wasn’t like I was raring to stop him.”

“It wasn’t your job. You didn’t know me— you never had to… defend me or whatever.”

“I know, but… I think maybe I should have.”

The two of you stop in place and share a look of distant longing. Not the kind you often give Eddie — not the kind full of puppy love — but rather one of acute understanding. 

She didn’t know you, and you didn’t know her. You thought it was better off that way. Her presence was so often forced against your will. Like Pavlov’s Dog, you knew she only ever came with your inevitable heartache. Steve drifted to her like she had her own gravitational pull. He only came back to you when she was gone.

Jaded by heartache, you learned to hate her. The wrath ate away at you accordingly. And here she was — all your anger in the flesh — extending an olive branch and trying to make you whole again.

“Whoa…” you hear Robin croon lowly in the distance. 

Your attention leaves the piercing moment and darts over to her. She stands between El and Max in front of a leaning willow. She parts the weeping leaves with the palm of her hand and marvels at something further in the juniper you can’t see. 

You give Nancy a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes — too weighed down by the heavy moment — but it isn’t any less sincere. You walk away from her and towards the three others. It takes her a moment or more to follow you.

Past the swaying willow is a shrouded cove. The clear water is kissed by streams of sunlight poking through the fluttering leaves. It possesses a hearty smell of rain and wet grass, the very breath of spring. 

It’s a corner of the world that feels so pure, so untouched by the rest of the world. You can hear words hidden in the rippling water — “Swim with me,” it calls to you. “Let me cleanse you. Let me save you.” 

“Sweet…” Max hums to herself, apathetic as ever, though utterly unable to tear her eyes from the sight before her.

El nods, similarly mesmerized. “Yeah. Sweet.”

Robin turns to you, smirking all cool in her backwards cap and baggy jeans and thumped forehead. She bounces her brows and beams. “Bet the boys haven’t found anything this cool.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Hey, look!” Dustin shouts to the others, eyes squinted with the intensity of his grin. He holds up a shining red rock, made smooth from the water rolling over his feet. “I’m pretty sure it’s a gemstone! Like, a ruby or something!”

He’s met with several unenthused gazes from the rest of the boys on shore. 

Mike squints at him from where he sits next to Lucas in the sand, both of them equally mopey without their girls to bring them back to life. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s just a rock,” the raven-haired boy monotones.

Dustin’s smile washes away like the ebbing tide at his ankles. He looks back at the weighty thing in his hand and realizes that he doesn’t actually know the difference. “Oh…”

“What do you think the girls are doing right now?” Lucas wonders aloud. He can’t go more than five minutes without bringing them up, which Dustin has bitterly observed a number of times. 

He’s more worried about Max than anything, about her eagerness to get away from the boys — from him. He doesn’t know what he could’ve done so wrong to make her pull away like she has. His chest aches with the uncertainty.

“Talking about us, probably,” Mike answers.

“That’s a little sexist, Mike,” Dustin scolds as he walks back on shore, kicking up white sand behind him as he goes.

“What do you think they’re doing then?”

“Talking about you,” the curly-haired boy retorts with narrowed eyes. “‘Cause you’re a dick.”

Mike squints an eye as he looks up at him, shielding his vision from the white sun. He flips the boy off with a pale, bony finger.

Eddie watches from a distance. He stands beside Steve in front of the bubbling white waves, though it’s not really by choice. He’d much rather be standing next to you. He searches for you in the pearly waves and weeps because nothing compares to the real thing.  

“Well, why don’t we just find out?” he offers with a shrug and a lopsided grin.

“Uh, because they said no boys allowed,” Steve answers like it’s obvious.

Eddie meets the boy’s furrowed brows with jettisoned ones hidden behind curly bangs. “…Okay?”

“And, I don’t know— I kinda don’t wanna get my face ripped off.”

“And what would poor Steve Harrington do without his pretty little face?” the wild-haired boy singsongs in response, face scrunched in feigned sympathy.

Steve squints. “You know what? Please, leave. I encourage it, actually.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his head to his shoulder. He blinks at the boy beside him with glittering chocolate eyes that match the frizzy curls billowing in the breeze. “But then who would I annoy?”

“I don’t know. Your girlfriend, maybe,” Steve responds in a monotone, grunting softly as he bends down to pick up a handful of rocks from shore. He flicks his wrist to skip them across the water. It becomes quickly apparent that he’s never done it before. Each pebble plops hopelessly into the salty sea. “Anyone but me, preferably.”

“But you can’t break up with me, so… that’s an obvious bonus.”

“Jesus Christ…” Steve mumbles within an annoyed exhale. “You are the most insufferable person on the planet, you know that, right?”

“Tell me what happened with Billy, and I’ll leave,” Eddie challenges with narrowed eyes.

It’s too good a proposition not to give any thought to. Steve thinks about it for a beat, then shakes his head and turns away. “Yeah, no,” he concludes, skipping another rock that sinks to the bottom almost immediately.

“Why?”

“’Cause you annoying the shit outta me now is nothing compared to what Peach’ll do if she finds out I told you.”

“And what’s that?”

Steve shrugs. “…Be mad at me?”

Eddie scoffs and crosses his pale arms over his chest. “And that would just be… inconceivable, right?”

“I spent enough time pissing her off.”

“What’d you even do, anyway? Or is that another secret everyone seems to know but me?”

Steve shoots him another bitter side-eye. He tosses out another pebble. It bounces on the water once and then disappears beneath the surface. “I think these are questions for your girlfriend, Munson.”

“No, these are questions for bros, Harrington,” Eddie jokes, shoving the boy on his shoulder. His touch is more aggressive than he realizes and it makes the disgruntled brunette stumble slightly to the side. “Isn’t this the sort of things bros talk about?”

“Oh, my god…” Steve mutters to himself, shaking his head and wondering how he got here. What was supposed to be a trip with you and Robin has turned into him babysitting with Eddie fucking Munson.

“Am I not bro enough for you, Harrington?”

“That word has lost all meaning now—”

“C’mon, just tell me, man,” Eddie pleads with a newfound seriousness. “Every time I almost get something outta her, she just— she clams up, you know? I love her and everything, but fuck— it feels like she only lets me know her so much. It’s agony sometimes, dude.”

Steve doesn’t mean to, but he melts.

Maybe it’s the foreign emotion he’s getting from the local freak, or maybe it’s the confession that’s unknowingly slipped from his lips. 

He sighs. Then shrugs. “It was a long time ago. And I was a douchebag.”

Eddie snorts. “Figures.”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?” Steve bites. 

Eddie curls his lips around his teeth, puts his mouth in a tight line, and stays silent. 

The brunette boy continues. “I liked her and everything, but I also liked Nancy, you know? I really liked Nancy. I mean, Peach was a lotta fun, but Nance— she was the kinda girl you wanted to settle down with.”

Eddie feels his chest tighten, and the confession’s only just started. 

You were fun. The most fun he’s had in his life. He’d kill to settle down with you, to have an entire future of fun. There was never any but with you — I love you, but it’d be a bad look to settle down with the town slut. Eddie wants all of you, the good and what everyone else has collectively decided is “bad.” 

He loves the sound of your laughter as much as he loves the sound of your moans. 

He wants a lifetime full of both.

“—So every time Nancy broke up with me, I’d go back to Peach. And I wouldn’t tell her about… about any of it. You know, that I still wanted to be with Nancy and everything. And that’s… I think that’s the worst part about it. ‘Cause she thought there was a chance we would get together, you know? And I wanted her to think that, ‘cause I wanted her to always be there when I was— when I needed her…”

Steve squints off into the blue — where the darker-colored water meets a lighter-colored sky. The white sun casts harsh shadows on his already chiseled features. His face scrunches into something sharper, whetted edges of held-back emotion.

“A part of me knew the only reason Peach stuck around was because she thought I’d finally come to my senses and ask her out, you know? But I was… so far gone for Nancy back then it’s not even funny,” the boy confesses. He exhales a curt, cynical chuckle from his nose and shakes his head at himself. 

“I knew I was gonna keep chasing after Nance, but I couldn’t let Peach know that because I didn’t wanna be... I don’t know… alone, I guess? I needed someone to go to when my heart got broken., you know? But when I went back to Nancy— over and over and over again— it’s like… where’d Peach go? Who did— Who did she have to turn to, you know?”

Silence rolls in like the whispering breeze. It settles heavy like the gray rain clouds on the horizon.

Steve sighs like a strangling hand has finally let go of his throat. Like he can finally breathe again after saying all that out loud for the first time. Beside Eddie, the boy stands golden, grieving, and utterly changed. Steve towers over his old self in the memories he wishes he could get rid of and mourns the people he can’t un-hurt.

And it fucking sucks. 

What he did to you sucks. The person he used to be sucks. And it sucks that he’s changed too much to hate now. Where is Eddie supposed to put all the anger simmering in his chest and scratching at the back of his throat?

“And, yeah,” Steve suddenly concludes, flicking his wrist to toss another rock out to sea that’ll never see the light of day again. “That went on for a while until she got with Hargrove, which was… a total fucking train wreck.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond, so he just laughs — a short, sharp, and scoffing breath. 

“Wow,” he muses with his brows raised and hidden beneath his bangs. He shakes his head in complete and utter bemusement as he looks over at Steve, eyelids as heavy as the forced smile on his face. “You guys are fucking assholes, you know that?”

Steve exhales sharply from his nose in place of a laugh. He shakes his head in agreement anyway. “Believe it or not— people can change, Munson.”

The wild-haired boy squints. “Really?”

“I did. Peach did,” he answers with a shrug, then averts his gaze entirely to mumble, “You did, too, I guess…”

The half-heartedly grumbled phrase feels almost like a compliment — more so when it’s spilling from the mouth of someone he used to hate but has grown to sort of tolerate on handpicked occasions. 

It’s great beauty, to grow and shift and become the person you were also meant to be. And what praise it is to be seen in your becoming.

From a brief distance, they hear a soft and relieved “Fucking finally,” spill from Dustin’s mouth.

Eddie turns and finds you coming down from the trail. Well, you and the rest of the girls you ditched him for, but all he can really see is you. 

He’d missed you in a way he knows he shouldn’t have. Not just because you were only gone for one measly hour, but because that one measly hour ate away at him as though it were eons. 

He knows he shouldn’t miss you so hard, but sometimes the absence feels strangely fulfilling. It’s a reminder that you’re real and not some dream he made up in his head. A reminder that he’ll meet you again because you’ll always come back to him.

“Have fun?” you ask when he’s close enough to hear you. You’ve got one eye squinted to shield from the sun and also to conceal the beam threatening to take over your features.

“Oh. Tons,” Eddie scoffs in a deadpan. “Didn’t even miss you.”

“No?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Well, I didn’t miss you either,” you confess in a similar lilt and with a similar grin that drips with honeyed adoration. “’S why I spent the whole time picking these flowers for you.”

You shrug and hold out your left hand, where a bushel of tiny flowers rests softly against the edge of your palm. It’s a mixture of vivid colors — of greens, blues, purples, and yellows. They’re wild and beautiful and drenched in sun. A whole lot like the love he has for you.

The dull ache of his broken heart sears with warmth when you put it back together again.

Eddie’s toes dig into the sand as he fills the short distance between you. He curls his fingers around your elbows, takes you in his arms, and feels whole again. With a rosy smile and sparkling chocolate eyes, he groans, “Oh, god, I hate you so much…”

Your cheeks hurt with how large your grin has grown, with how hard you try to hide it. It’s not nearly as painful as the adoration burning wildfires behind your ribcage. “I hate you more, Eddie Spaghetti.”

There’s no need to admit you’re only joking.

The words are so obviously playful. 

And both of you know what they really mean, anyway.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The heavenly cadence of spring rain sings a wild song on the old tin roof.

It began first as a few gentle taps, a sparse sprinkle that tricks your brain into thinking it’s not really there at all. Then the greying clouds gave way to darker, more ponderous ones. The soft drizzle became a roaring rain that fell all together, all at once.

A foggy grey covers the cabin and lulls its inhabitants to sleep. Swim-tired, sunkissed, and energy-spent — you all return to a sweeter sort of peace. The sudden exhaustion feels like rose petals. It’s gentle, pure, and liquid smooth. 

Robin clocks out first, and in record time. She stomps in from outside, terribly sunburnt and complaining relentlessly — before and after a cold shower. She shoves a burger in her face and passes out on the couch soon after.

Steve makes fun of her for it, but he goes right after her. He lays opposite her on the small couch, both of them fighting for room, even in their sleep.

Nancy went a lot more quietly, and only after the millionth time you assured her that she was more than welcome to take the bed. “It’s not like Robin has any plans of sleeping upstairs right now,” you joked, nodding your head over to the brunette girl who had her chin tilted backward and her mouth wide open.

You can’t be entirely sure what the kids are up to now, but they’ve all returned to the bunk room. It’s quiet, but not suspiciously so. You figure they’re all either sleeping or fighting it, so you decide to give them privacy while you sit alone in the kitchen — waiting for Eddie’s shower to end and for Hopper to get off the phone with you.

“Having fun?” the man wonders politely.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum in response, cheek propped lazily against your fist as you lean over the granite countertop. You’re too heavy with fatigue to do anything else. Your legs are sore and your skin is sun-drenched. Slumber all but sings your name like a siren out at sea.

“What about El? She doing okay?”

“Yep.”

“You’re watching her and Mike, right? You’re not letting them go off alone?”

“Yes, Hopper,” you singsong in an impatient-sounding sigh.

The man huffs out a laugh that crackles from the other line. “You sound like you don’t wanna talk to me, teacup.”

“I’m sorry. ‘M just tired. Running after kids all day is exhausting,” you confess in a series of barely intelligible mumbles.

“Exactly. That’s why you wear protection—”

“Hopper!”

“I’m just saying!” Jim defends between a bout of gruff laughter. “I don’t want you  coming back from this trip and having a mini-Munson nine months later, alright? That’s all I’m saying.”

You have a hard time placing his intention — if he’s truly being protective or if he’s just making fun of you. He’s more than aware of Eddie’s secret, after all, so you coming home with a mini-Munson is virtually impossible. But, then again, no-parents-empty-cabin surely has its own lewd history.

You figure it’s a healthy mixture of both, and decide to take the piss out of him, too.

“Oh, trust me, lurch. There’s gonna be a million mini-Munsons when I get back. What do you think I’ve been doing all this time, huh?” you argue with squinted eyes and a sudden fire behind your sunkissed lassitude. “Please ignore the sounds of moaning and squeaking, by the way.”

A beat of utter silence passes. 

The other line is perfectly mute. You can’t even hear his breathing.

“…That’s not funny,” Hopper grouses in a monotone.

“I’m not laughing,” you retort, giggling anyway. You couldn’t hide them if you tried. Fuck, you miss annoying this man in person. 

You collect yourself with a sigh and continue. “Believe it or not, I’m perfectly abstinent, okay? I’m not some kinda fiend that… You know what— I don’t want to talk about this with you, actually.”

Hopper exhales a sigh of relief when you cut yourself off. “Good. I checked out of this conversation about a minute ago.”

“I’m good. El’s good. Everyone’s currently sleeping, so… Thanks for checking in, lurch.”

“Remind me to ask for Harrington next time I call.”

“Will do.”

You hang up the phone with a smile and a plan to trek upstairs and tell Eddie all about it. You’ll sit on the bathroom counter and laugh about it with him while he finishes up his shower. You’ll leave out the million Munsons part, of course, because you don’t want him to think you’re a total weirdo.

Eddie finds you first.

“Mini Munsons, huh?” you hear the boy chuckle behind you.

Your heart lurches against your ribcage at his sudden arrival. You spin around to face him, features wide and gaping as you figure out how to worm your way out of this one. “I was— I was just kidding. Hopper was being annoying, you know? So I was… I was just fucking around with him…”

Eddie meets your wild-eyed shock with a much cooler, pink smile. It’s lopsided and wide and beautiful. Leaning against the wall, he bounces his shoulder and juts out his lip. “Well, I know that’s your favorite pastime, so… I guess I won’t hold it against you.”

You know he’s joking, but you exhale the breath you were holding in relief anyway. “Thank you…”

He walks the short distance to meet you. His bare feet pad against the kitchen tile until he’s close enough to wrap you in his arms. He carries the smell of your body wash with him — a warm, floral, and sweet scent. His hair is damp and pulled back out of his face, dripping onto the neck of his t-shirt.

His palms are wide and lotion-soft as they smooth up your forearms. “Uh… Everyone’s asleep now, I think, so… You wanna go talk?”

He looks at you so sweet, you’re almost certain it’s code for something. Not sex, maybe, but something almost as gratifying. It’s Eddie — he kisses you stupid like he was made to do it. You’re more than happy to make out like teenagers until the rest of the cabin starts to stir again.

“Sure, I do,” you answer with a shrug, trying to keep an air of nonchalance about you even though you’re beaming up at him like schoolgirl — some innocent being that’s never been hurt before.

You let him lead you up the spiral staircase with that same giddy grin. You barely let him shut the door behind you before you’re pushing him against it. 

You hear him gasp quietly when your arms wrap suddenly around his neck. He’s tense when your body presses against his, like hugging a mountain’s edge. It takes him a moment or more to respond when you start kissing the breath from his lungs.

He finally relaxes with a soft exhale that fans against your cupid’s bow. His idling hands settle over your hips, fingers threatening to crawl beneath your cropped shirt when it rises to reveal a sliver of your skin. You’d kill for him to touch you further, but his touch stays perfectly still. You’re just glad he’s holding you at all.

He tastes like nicotine, soda, and summertime — clean, boyish, and nostalgic. Your tongue swipes gently over his plush bottom lip for more. You expect him to open up further for you, to let you explore the mouth you already know like the back of your hand. You’re heartbroken when he pulls away from you entirely, missing him the second he’s gone.

Eddie’s grieving in a similar way. It’s hard for him to part from you when you kiss him like no person on earth has ever been kissed.

He breathes out a soft laugh as he peers down at you. He grins crookedly with his freshly swollen lips. “Not that I’m not enjoying this or anything, sweetheart, but when I said talk, I really did mean talk…”

Your blood runs red-hot. “Oh…” you sigh like an idiot because you can’t think of anything else to say. You feel like a total fool — spent ages denying the slut stereotype just to jump someone’s bones the second you got them alone. Maybe they were right about you.

Eddie sees you second-guessing everything, watches you form a long-winded apology inside your head. He follows up quickly to quell your worry. “No, it’s okay— it’s kinda my bad, actually. I guess I should’ve clarified.”

You muster a trembling smile when you step back from him. You’re cold the second he’s gone. You have to fight back the shiver that crawls up your spine. “Well, you did say talk, so…”

“Yeah, but how often do I say things I actually mean?”

“Sometimes,” you answer sheepishly, gazing at him from beneath your lashes in a sincere response to his half-joke. “I hope…”

I hope you meant it when you said you liked me, is what you’re really trying to say. I hope you meant all the nice things you’ve said about me, ‘cause I don’t think I could handle them never being real.

He seems to hear everything you don’t say. 

His rosy lips tug into a slow smile as he tilts his head to his shoulder. “Well… maybe when it comes to you, sweetheart.”

Your girlish smile returns to you — wide, innocent, unhurt. You like feeling this special. You like Eddie belonging to you in a way he doesn’t to anybody else. It’s a primal sort of possession, a borderline unhealthy one for someone who loves like it’s breathing.

“What did you wanna talk about then?” you wonder, then scrunch your nose with a distant wariness. “It kinda seems serious now.”

“No,” Eddie scoffs, walking away from you and towards the bed. “Not serious.”

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he flops down onto it. You want to scold him for being so rough with an obviously aged thing that doesn’t belong to him. You’re already gravitating towards him with an unrealized smile on your face. 

You sit down beside him, far more gently than he had. You settle on top of the fluffy comforter and curl your legs behind you. Eddie lays on his side, propping his head up with one hand and using the other to trace the faded scars and beauty marks on your thigh. 

His finger trails absentmindedly over your skin in a featherlight touch. Chills erupt over your skin, and he smiles to himself. You’re still learning how to be touched so delicately.

“Spit it out, Eds. The tension’s killing me,” you laugh with words you’ll regret a second later.

“I don’t know… I just— I wanted to ask why you never told me about Steve,” the boy says with a nonchalant shrug, like the words don’t suck all the breath from your lungs. He’s too busy watching his finger dance across your skin to see the shock flood your features. “Like, I knew you guys had— a thing or whatever. But I didn’t know… you know, the rest of it.”

Despite being unable to breathe, you try to muster a laugh. “This sounds like a pretty serious topic, Eds.”

His wide-eyed gaze matches your own. His stare darts upward to meet yours. The chocolate of his irises are full with brooding. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Actually, he spent his entire showering thinking of ways to bring this up that would be the least painful for the both of you. But in true Eddie Munson fashion, he can’t ever say the right thing.

“No! No, it— it doesn’t have to be. I was just… It was just a question, you know?” he sputters hopelessly. He glances away and mumbles to himself, “A really dumb, stupid question…”

Despite the overwhelming urge to find the deepest, darkest hole and hide there, you can’t tear your eyes away from the boy in front of you. You’re not really looking at him, though, much too deep in your own head about the whole thing. 

You can’t stop thinking about what he must’ve heard — how he felt when he heard it. Did he think of you differently? Even for a fraction of a second, was he embarrassed at the very thought of you?

“Are you saying that… Steve told you about… all of it?” you ask slowly, terrified of the answer.

“Uh, yeah…” Eddie hesitates, equally as apprehensive. “Honestly, I think we were going a little insane with the girls around…”

He exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh and flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It ebbs away a moment later.

“Why would he do that?” you wonder with wide, wet eyes. The question is more for yourself than anything. You can’t begin to understand why Steve would’ve opened up about such a thing — to Eddie, of all people. Your Eddie.

“I asked him about Billy—”

“What do you know about Billy?”

“Well, he brought it up, but—”

“So you spent the entire time talking about me?” The laugh that spills from your mouth is bitter, cruel. 

Eddie, who’s never known you to be either, chuckles emotionlessly back. “Well… No. It just— It just came up, I guess.”

You smile despite the emotion swimming in your glassy eyes. It makes the boy cower inside himself, unsure which contrasting reaction to pay the most attention to. “My relationship with Steve and Billy just… came up?”

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal, babe—”

“It’s not a big deal because they weren’t your exes,” you bite like a snarling dog. “If I spent the entire time talking about you, you wouldn’t be too happy about it either, would you?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “I didn’t come up? Not one time?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. The volume of your answer and its blurted sincerity take him by surprise. You wave your hands wildly as you ramble. “I told Nancy that I missed you and that I couldn’t wait to see you and give you a bunch of stupid flowers—”

You motion to the makeshift bouquet sitting on the nightstand. They idle in a clear shot glass Eddie found in one of the cabinets. He couldn’t stand not giving them a home.

“—While you were off with Steve, talking about everyone that’s fucked me over!”

Your rage is as wild as it is brutal. You’re painted red from the slaughter you’ve been forced through. It’s given you claws and teeth accordingly. 

Like a stray dog that bites the gentle hand trying to feed it, you’ve been so obviously mistreated. Eddie knew that before he knew you — ‘cause he’s got eyes, as well as a bleeding heart. Someone didn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved, and now the memory turns you cruel.

“It wasn’t like that, okay?” Eddie presses with an urgency you can feel on his hand curling intently around your calf. His fingers tremble with sincerity. His dark eyes swim with it, too. “I just— I wanted to learn more about you because you never tell me anything!”

“Yes, I do!” you scoff.

“Then why do you never talk about Billy?”

“Why do you care so much about Billy?” you cry with a broad, disbelieving smile. “Why do I need to talk about him? He doesn’t even matter— he doesn’t even exist anymore!”

“Because something obviously happened! And if that thing is bothering you, I wanna be able to make it better!”

“That’s what therapists are for, Eddie. Not boyfriends.”

“Yeah, not any that you ever had,” he scoffs to himself before he can stop it. 

You tense beneath his hand. He deflates with a sigh — squeezing his eyes shut and asking himself how the hell he manages to make the bad shit that much worse. 

“Sorry. I’m— I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t bring any of this up to hurt your feelings, alright? I just wanted to— I don’t know— I just wanted to talk about it, okay? That’s all.”

You can tell he’s being sincere. That he really did just want to talk about it, and that he really is worried about you, and that he really does want to make it all better. He wears it all over his face. His features are soft and blurred and utterly genuine.

You haven’t yet softened your sharp, whetted edges. “You said we didn’t have to. That this trip was supposed to be fun.”

He flinches at the way you spit the words at him. They’re coated in vinegar, venom. It sinks into his skin and maims him accordingly. His bushy brows furrow, the corners of his mouth turn downward, and his eyes go glassy — a sad puppy indeed.

“You’re not having fun?” he wonders in a wounded whisper.

His hurt becomes your own. It only makes your anger tower mountains over you. “Not anymore,” you answer lowly and through a tense jaw.

Eddie’s spent a lifetime screwing things up. He’s spent a lifetime apologizing for them, too. This one aches worse than all the others combined. “I’m sorry…” he mutters quietly.

You’ve never seen him this somber. This sad.

The broken look of your lover’s heartache cracks the hardened porcelain you’re made of. You let out the breath you were holding in a trembling, heavy sigh. “No, don’t— Don’t apologize.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t have brought it up…” he confesses with his gaze cast downward.

You bring a hand to the one idling on your leg. You rest your soft palm over his bony knuckles. Your touch is much warmer than the iceberg you were just minutes ago. 

“It’s okay. You were just curious. I shouldn’t have blown up the way I did,” you concede. The softness he’s more familiar with finally returns to you. The corner of your lip quirks into a wavering half-smile as you joke, “But if you want the entire list of guys that have fucked me over, it’s a really— it’s really fucking long one.”

You laugh quietly at your joke. 

But Eddie knows it’s not really a joke, so he stays unsmiling.

His touch is still soft, though. He takes to rubbing your calf again — a slow and measured up and down — a reminder that he’s still in your corner. “Well, you can tell me about it when you’re ready.”

“What if I’m not?” you wonder, hesitant and testing the waters. “Like… What if I don’t want you to know all that stuff?”

Eddie’s gaze flits away from yours as he ponders the question. He purses his lips to the side and nods to himself, visibly deep in thought. “Then I’m good with not knowing,” he answers after a few, long moments.

“Are you?”

Again, he thinks.

“Not really. No,” he responds, still as honest as he’s always been with you. He grins lopsidedly and bounces his shoulder. “But if it means I get to keep you, then… Yeah.”

You exhale a breathy laugh at his words.

Eddie’s wavering smile breaks out in a sheepish beam at the sight of your more genuine grin. 

“Can I have a kiss?” he whispers to you, as innocent and mousy as a child.

Your hand gives his a reassuring squeeze. “You never have to ask, Eds…” you remind him.

You lean down to press your mouth against his. He tilts his chin to meet you halfway. It’s chaste and lingering — a delicate peck that expresses all the swirling emotions neither of you could name if you tried. 

“There isn’t anything about you that I wouldn’t want to know,” Eddie confesses after he’s pulled away from you. The breath of his words fan across your cheek, he’s still so close to you. His deep galaxy eyes dance between both of yours. “You know that, right?”

A smile tugs slow at your mouth. “Now, I do,” you nod in return, even though you’re not sure if you believe him. 

He only says that because he doesn’t know you — the deep, dark you that you try to keep hidden from yourself and the rest of the world. He’d learn everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve done, and he’d hate you. He wouldn’t be able to look at you the same.

You can’t stand the thought of Eddie looking at you the way the rest of Hawkins does — with eyes squinted and twinkling with an admiral sort of disgust. So you’d rather him not know any of it at all.

Silence dances into the room as effortlessly as a spring breeze. The rain’s offbeat cadence taps hard against the sliding glass door across the room. You have the sudden urge to walk outside and stand it. You think it’d be easier to drown in the warm deluge than in your own thoughts.

Eddie’s rosy mouth turns slightly upward. Yours does, too, in anticipation of what he’s about to tell you.

“Wanna fool around?” he wonders, if only to brighten the heavy grey mood.

The sound of your laughter is sunshine — a metaphor he’s been trying to write for years. “You can’t just say that every time we’re alone, Eds!”

“Why not?” he challenges just to tease you.

“Because you know we can’t,” you answer with a soft sort of sternness about you. Your eyes are firm with sincerity, though they sparkle with mischief.

“We’ve been here almost two days, and I haven’t got one whiff of Jason Voorhees, babe.”

“That’s not what I mean,” you mutter, then whisper more quietly. “There’s people downstairs.”

“Well, you can be quiet…” Eddie lilts, grin lopsided and pink as he rises off the mattress to lean closer to you. His breath fans across your chin, coated with nicotine and something sugary. He tilts his wild head to the side and raises his brows in question. “Can’t you?”

“I’m not sure that you can, Eds.”

“Don’t worry about me,” the boy assures, voice low and suddenly serious.

His warm palm travels up your calf, smoothing over your knee and curling around the side of your thigh. His touch is almost as all-consuming as his stare — deep chocolate brown, as infinite as a galaxy. You fall into them accordingly. You couldn’t deny him if you wanted to.

You try, anyway.

“Eddie…” you start, a warning that trails off when he squeezes the buzzing skin of your outer thigh.

“Lay down,” he urges. It’s too soft to be a genuine command. It gives him ample opportunity to turn it all into a joke on the off chance you reject him completely.

You don’t. You couldn’t.

You find yourself slithering past him and closer to the headboard before you realize you’re doing it. It’s like you’re made of magic, totally under whatever spell he’s unknowingly cast upon you. Your head’s swimming with his sorcery as you lie back on the pillows. 

Eddie follows you, resting his body above yours. It’s a comfortable sort of weight, heavenly even. He props himself up on his forearms so he isn’t crushing you completely, though you wouldn’t complain if he did. 

You want him to ruin you, and then you want to thank him for it.

The untrimmed edges of his curls hang down over his face. They tickle your jaw when he kisses you with the ardency of someone who wants to swallow you whole. His tongue swipes against yours, slow and more aggressive than either of you expect. He sucks on your swelling bottom lip right after.

The gray world around you explodes with a burst of a thousand colors. You can’t see any of them because the inner workings of your mind have been stripped away and replaced totally with Eddie. His nose nudging against yours. The taste of his mouth. The texture of his tongue. The warmth of his breath. His hand traveling down down down your body.

His palm starts at your cheek, cupping sweetly at your jaw so he can open your mouth wider for him. Then his touch trails down to your neck, taking a brief pitstop to feel the rapid thrum of your racing pulse, before falling to your chest.

You think he must be able to feel your pounding heart through your t-shirt when he cups your breast. His thumb swipes over your hardened nipple in time with his tongue diving deep into your mouth. You feel his lips curl into a smile when the combined efforts make you shiver.

His fingers smooth over your ribcage, then your stomach, and then your hips. 

It’s a touch featherlight, yet steady and earnest at the same time. His hand creeps slowly over the thin fabric of your shorts and settles between the warmth radiating between your thighs. He cups you gently through your clothes and kisses the breath from your lungs. It’s like he’s trying to kill you.

You buck your hips slightly upward in a silent plea for more. 

The boy above you has the nerve to pull away from you to ask, “This okay?” 

His hair is mussed from where your fingers had entwined so intensely in his chestnut strands. His lips are rosy and swollen and wild. You get lost looking at him. 

With dazed eyes trained on the pink mouth you so desperately want to kiss again, you nod like an enthusiastic child.

“Can I do more?” Eddie wonders through heavy breaths.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, right before your hips cant against the subtle weight of his palm.

You watch with wide, unblinking eyes as Eddie brings his hand to his mouth. His pink tongue darts out to lick the pads of his middle and forefinger, leaving them glistening as he slithers them into your shorts. 

His efforts to be easy with you are appreciated but virtually unnecessary. You’re as slippery as satin for him, drooling in anticipation for him to make you feel good. 

He slides two fingers into your trembling pussy with little effort. The fatty edge of his palm settles over your swelling clit. Your head tilts back against the pillow while you exhale a pretty moan.

With your eyes fluttered shut, you don’t see the crooked grin tugging slow at Eddie’s mouth. “Shh…” he shushes, only half playful, before engulfing your mouth again and swallowing each of your gentle cries. 

He’s moaning with you, though, at the soft squelch your pussy makes when his fingers sink to the knuckle inside you. You feel the smooth metal of his rings on the outside of your cunt and the inside of your thighs.

And fuck, you’re so pretty for him — always so pretty for him — that it makes him forget about the ache of his stiffening cock. His yearning for you throbs like a heartbeat. He wants so desperately to fuck you, to really fuck you until he’s got you gushing all over his lap. But he figures he can settle for this for now. 

But the way you’re moaning for him just now? It doesn’t really feel like settling.

“You’re so pretty,” he hums lowly, almost to himself. “Have I told you that?”

He has. Plenty of times within the few months he’s been able to do that without it being too weird. It feels like the first time he’s ever said it to you, anyway.

A breathy moan spills lightly from your lips, like a spring breeze coated in sunshine. It’s the total opposite of the storm swirling outside the bedroom. 

Your cunt involuntarily squeezes his fingers at the compliment — walls sticky, hot, and pulsing. You all but melt around the two digits he presses inside you.

He figures you must like the praise, which is great ‘cause praising you is the easiest thing on the planet. 

“You have such a pretty pussy, too,” he confesses in a gritty whisper.

You moan for him again, a muffled cry stuck in your throat.

“Feels so warm around my fingers… And you’re so tight, baby— I don’t know how I’m gonna fit my cock in you—”

His words are as sinful as they are vivid. 

Behind your shut eyes, you can see the vision of him on top of you. You can feel his sweaty body sticking to yours like glue — similar to the honey you leak for him while he fucks you. 

If you try hard enough, you can almost replace his fingers for his cock. You know it’s nowhere near as pleasurable as the real thing, though.

The thought of him fucking you — making love to you — has you whining and writhing beneath him. Your hips jut upward, looking for pleasure and running away from it all at once. His fingers squelch as they push in and in and in. You drool impossibly more for him, drenching his fingers and his rings and the cotton sheets below you.

“You could take it though, right?” the boy above you wonders, swollen lips quirked in a heavy half-smile. “You’d take whatever I give you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

You hardly recognize him now. Not because he’s teasing you — because you’ve gotten more than used to that — but because he’s so damn confident. 

He talks to you with the finesse of a guy who’s done this a thousand times, to a thousand different girls. You’re the first, and you know this, but he’s ruining you like he created you.

You nod with a satin sigh.

The silent admission makes Eddie’s head spin. 

He shouldn’t have you in the first place, the metalhead freak he is, yet he’s got two fingers inside you and your permission to go further. And he wants to — god, he wants to — but he’s scared it’ll drive him crazy. 

Crazier than he already is for you, if that’s possible.

“Get on your side for me, yeah?” he whispers to you, surprising himself with his newfound dominance.

You’re too far gone to do anything but obey him. 

You maneuver onto your side like he asked, feeling like your bones are made of melted honey. Eddie follows you. He keeps his fingers nestled deep inside your thrumming heat as he curls in behind you. 

His stiff, aching cock is hard and heavy against your clothed ass. Despite the layers of clothes separating you, his warmth presses so intently against you. You clench around him at the feeling — tighter when his fingers begin to crook inside you. You tilt your head back and moan, rutting further back against him.

Eddie smushes his nose into your hair and hums a moan in his throat. His heavy exhale fans against the shell of your ear. He keeps working you open with his fingers, a slow and measured rhythm he maintains with the thrusts of his hips.

He’s terribly sensitive, almost embarrassingly so. You drive him too wild for anything else. Even like this, without being inside you and with his clothes still on, he feels like he might explode.

You’re much of the same. The pad of his thumb rubs mercilessly at your swollen clit as his fingers coax you towards a head-spinning orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure crawls up your throat, strikes you like lightning, and swirls in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t run from it if you tried.

It doesn’t stop you from canting your hips back and forth — a feeble attempt to cope with the overwhelming pleasure Eddie gives you with nothing but his hand. With his pale arm caging your side and his lean body behind you, curling and melting with yours, you can only get so far. 

All you can do is take it.

Eddie whimpers delicately in your ear as he humps your ass. He babbles in faint whines — things you don’t think he realizes he’s saying. 

“You’re so hot, baby,” he slurs heavily, swollen mouth tracing the shell of your ear. “So soft, too... Fuck... Keep grinding back on me like that— shit, yeah, just like that. ’S gonna make me come in my fucking pants, baby.”

If you weren’t drowning in the void of your own pleasure, you might’ve asked him to come. No, begged him to. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” you would’ve assured him, only slightly teasing. But you don’t do any of that because his fingers are shoved so far into you that you can feel them in your throat. 

Or maybe that’s just your impending climax choking you. 

You couldn’t form an intelligible sentence if you wanted to, either way. 

Instead, you roll your hips back against his cock and act like he’s fucking you for real. The idea of it alone sends you catapulting into an orgasm. You’re so far gone for him — for the freak of Hawkins — you let him ruin you while you fall for him like the rain pounding at your window. 

Effortlessly, unapologetically, and over and over and over again.

Eddie dampens his boxers in the same way you drench his fingers. His twitching cock drools for you, more and more as he nears his peak. He hasn’t felt anything as gratifying as grinding against you like this. He’s bound to be a fucking goner the second he’s caught inside your snug pussy. 

“Can feel you trembling for me, you know?” he continues to ramble, only half-aware of the sin spilling from his rosy lips. His thumb presses against the fleshy hood of your clit. He’s barely moving it, but the pressure alone has you buzzing.  “You’re gonna cum so hard for me, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over my hand?”

You bite back a cry — quite literally, with your teeth caging your bottom teeth — and lean your head back to bear your throat. You throw a hand back in search of Eddie. Your fingers twist in the mussed curls at the crown of his head.

“Mm, Eddie—” you call in a muffled cry, overwhelmed and half-frightened by how good he’s making you feel. By how hard you’re about to cum for him.

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos sympathetically to you, crooking his fingers in time with his grinds against the plush of your ass. His cock starts to ache all over again, this time with hunger. 

Through a breaking voice, he begs. “Go on and cum for me, yeah? Let me make you feel good, baby. Cum all over my fingers, baby— I need it… I fucking need it. I’m so fucking close—”

You bury your face in the pillow when you cum, crying his name into the cushion for only the two of you to hear. You tense, thighs shaking and toes curling, as you gush around his fingers — like the pouring rain outside. 

You drip mercilessly for him, a slippery mess between your thighs you know you should be ashamed of. You might’ve been, if it were anybody else.

Eddie stills behind you, though his fingers remain relentless. He coaxes you completely through your orgasm just as he’s reaching his own. His moans come out in gasps — choppy, sharp breaths through a swollen mouth. His aching cock spits in the confines of his boxers, several warm loads that cool too quickly. 

He trembles through his high, trying to trek through its entirety but growing so suddenly sensitive. 

You let him work you through yours. His fingers, now wrinkled at the pads, are frozen inside you while his thumb circles softly at your delicate clit. You twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your hand leaves his hair to grab his wrist, a silent plea that you can’t take anything more.

And the two of you just lie there, for several long moments — sticky, blissed-out, and so intently pressed together. You let the heavy moment of your ebbing orgasms linger. You decompose together in the heavy honey of pleasure.

It’s all so messy, but then again, everything seems to be. 

His hair, his fingers, his boxers. 

Your thighs, your bed, your heart. 

Words. Life. Love.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere! luo binghe with shixiong!male!reader headcanons

Warnings: obsessive behavior, mentions of violence, physical abuse, and blood.

There may also be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

I would like to thank @berrypuddingpwease for helping me expand a concept to full-fledged headcanons featuring one of my favorite characters from MXTX's danmei series, Scum Villian's Self-Saving System, aka SVSSS. This is dedicated to you, my friend :)

So without being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy!

Luo Binghe had suffered one tragedy after another in his life, and being a disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect with a scummy master would later serve as the foundation of his twisted personality in the future. You know it will happen because you have read it. This world you had woken up in, is none other than the famous stallion novel, Proud Immortal Demon Way. Your current incarnation wasn’t a member of Luo Binghe’s three digit harem nor the villain Shen Quingqui, but an extra, a senior disciple in Qing Ding Peak. 

Since you weren’t equipped with a system, at least that you were currently aware of at the moment, it wouldn’t be considered OOC for canon fodder to try and be a good mentor to the current white lotus that is Luo Binghe, or try to improve your own cultivation so there was a chance you would survive the sect’s demise when the protagonist emerged from the Endless Abyss as an awakened Heavenly Demon. 

It started off with the small things; greeting Luo Binghe  with a smile whenever you saw him, sneaking an extra bit of food or medicine into the woodshed when you were sure no one was watching you, especially Shen Qingqiu. He might be a good teacher, but his temper was a legend in this peak. 

The only way you could help Luo Binghe improve himself was to purposely compare your cultivation manual with the one he had, the false one written by the peak lord in an attempt to thwart the protagonist’s growth. By doing this, it would add another reason for Luo Binghe to hate his shizun. 

You allowed him to borrow your book to copy any information he needed, as long as he was discreet. Lup Binghe swore to take good care of the manual, holding it close to his chest with sparkling eyes as he stared at you with a smile. It was cute, this white lotus version of Binghe. 

Seeing positive changes in how behavior had been worth withstanding Shen Qingqiu’s anger, especially when he found out just the other day that you were the culprit who had been sneaking an extra portion of food to the protagonist. Good things the sleeves of the cultivation uniform were long enough to hide the bruises starting to form on your arms. There’s no doubt that the sect leader will start dishing out punishment to you from now on, even for the smallest mistake. 

Oh, well. You’ll just have to be more careful in behaving around the rest of the sect and Binghe from now on. Still, how could he continue to grow without triggering the events that would lead to his blackening?

As you contemplated these thoughts, you could not have realized nor believed just how much of your presence in this world the plot of Proud Immortal Demon Way in very unexpected ways until it was too late to revert the damage that had already been done. 

Luo Binghe is a  very sticky, lovesick puppy for the shixiong who has treated him with so much kindness and respect and it scares him. He’s afraid he’ll wake up one morning….and realize that it had been a sweet, sweet dream. But he wakes up early every morning, and he sees his shixiong teaching the others alongside Ming Fan….and when his shixiong sees him, he smiles. And it is a warm, friendly smile that Binghe secretly wishes would belong only to him and no one else. 

With his shixiong, Binghe’s life in the peak is so much better. He hasn’t been this happy in a long, long time…so why was his shizun continuing to punish his shixiong so unfairly? His shixiong didn’t do anything wrong! He is training him and the other disciples in preparation for the Immoral Alliance Conference, and doing more than his fair share of the chores around the peak! 

But no matter what his shixiong did or did not do, their shizun would pull him away from him or the others, and his shixiong would not return to the bamboo house until it was past dinner-time. 

Shixiong tried to brush off his concerns with a smile, but Binghe wasn’t blind! He sees the angry whip marks on his senior’s arms, his head and robes soaked with tea, the pained look in his eyes! Shixiong….Shixiong doesn’t deserve to be treated like this!

He needed to get stronger. Not just to protect himself but to make sure Shen Quingqui wouldn’t hurt his shixiong ever again! And if the sect didn’t accept them being together, then they will find happiness elsewhere. Rogue cultivators did exist beyond these mountains, although the other disciples believed they were wholly evil. But Binghe has come to realize that this world isn’t just black and white. 

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #yandere male #x reader #yandere #male reader #ns.fw #cw violence #tw violence #tw obsessive behavior #tw obsessive love #luo binghe #shixiong!reader #luo binghe x reader #yandere headcanons #scum villian self saving system #scumbag system #scum villain #mxtx svsss #cw blood #tw blood #tw abuse #cw abuse

[amelissaofficinalis]

#14DWY  Amour Sans Fin

#14DWY fanfic 

Amour Sans Fin: Endless Love

<traumatized Angel consulting Ren/[Redacted] about nightmare in the midnight>

Minors PLEASE Don’t Interact

*Headcanon

*Assuming this all happens after engagement

*Angel is gender neutral; mostly use he/him as Ren/[Redacted]’s pronouns

*My first language isn’t English. Excuse me for the unexpected funny confusion <3

Word count: 1000(+-)

----------

I used to toss and turn all night, devoured by fears and helplessness before I found you.

Two broken souls are now nestling together, dragging each other away from the abyss of the past.

We have each other now.

-----------

You were woken up by a slight movement, humming in confusion. Your eyelashes shivered faintly when the one beside you pressed a soft kiss.

“[Redacted]?” You squinted your eyes, and then you realized it’s 3 am. You could barely recognize his face in the darkness, only hearing his faint breath. The one near you remained silent, locking his ocean-blue eye on you.

“Are you alright…?”

“…’m fine.”

His voice was calm and comforting, but you had an instinct that something was off-track about him right now, so you struggled to get up, leaning yourself on him slowly and gently. His rapid heartbeat betrayed him, desperately revealing the truth for you, just for you.

He COULD act perfectly like nothing happened, but he hesitated because of the faint hope you gave to him as you said: “I’d love to know ALL of you, as how you saw me when I cried and grieved.” He knew you’d despise him if he told you, but what if, maybe, you would give him some… pity? This wasn’t enough because he CRAVED love, but he couldn’t dare to expect more if he revealed his past. Probably because of the confidence boosted by the fact that you two were engaged, this stupid idea echoed in his head. It was the first time he couldn’t be prepared before you checked on him.

For a long while, none of you moved an inch. As you heard his heartbeat stabilize, you reached out to hug him, rubbing your face against his collarbone.

“I love you more than anything or anyone else.” You murmured quietly, but you knew he could hear every word from you. “You have me now. All for yourself.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. He had just dreamed he was the helpless kid he abhorred again. He had just woken up in fear as the whole world abandoned him, but right now you just stayed beside him, confessing your love and affection to him. You were lively, warm, and soft.

This is REAL.

“I love you too.” He kind of choked on his words. He couldn’t think of anything else but just repeat this straightforward commitment again and again. Then, he quietly sighed, “I don’t deserve you, Angel.”

Your brow rose in disagreement. The fact that he saw you, the complete and real you, and still chose to love and devote to you for ages was far more than enough for you. He held you and hid you under his wings. If you stared at your photos with him, you would see bright admiration in both his and your eyes, but you knew that you couldn’t convince him with words. Instead, you snuggled with him, holding his hands.

He seemed to relax, and you started to wonder what happened. Your words slipped from your lips before you gave it a second thought. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He tensed up again and shivered faintly. He suddenly felt he couldn’t hold back anymore, but he just bit his lip and shut his eyes close, not letting sounds escape from his throat. But you still heard those vague groans. He bit it too hard so that his lower lips became pale and might bruise. You couldn’t stand letting him hurt himself, so you caressed his lips, trying to comfort him by patting his back at the same time.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

He caged you by his arms tightly, unconsciously caressed your back when he buried his face into your shoulder.

 “I just couldn’t… I had no choice…I…I never wanted to…” He sobbed while feeling comforted and safe around your aurora.

You couldn’t understand what he was talking about, but you guessed it.

Vaguely, probably about the past. You were as broken as him before you met him. You used to curl up desperately inside the closet, whispering things you didn’t even understand. Your mind fell into a void and your vision blurred. Then he came along. He sat down on the floor, staring at the closed closet as if he could see through the inside.

“Knock, knock.”

His fingers gently knocked on the closet, but he didn’t say anything else, nor did he open the closet. You noticed him, staring back through the tiny gap. For a long while, he just sat there and waited patiently. Finally, you pushed the closet door timidly to test the water. He immediately reached out your hand, fingers intertwined. You couldn’t hold back burst into tears and dive into his hug. You cried out loud like a kid but with relief because you finally found long-lost soul fragments. He kissed your eyelids and told you he loved you and would guard you, again and again, and you almost melted in his embrace. The emptiness within was seamlessly woven whole.

And now you just wanted to cup up his shattered heart as well as he did.

So, before he covered up his indecency with embarrassment, you ran your fingers through his velvety hair with admiration and murmured, “[Redacted], I understand…I love you.” He violently shivered after he processed what you said. You cuddled him until his breath was even. He slowly pulled himself from you, wiping his tears awkwardly and looking deep into your eyes.

“Sometimes I feel we were meant to be for each other.”  He leaned forward to beg a long and soft kiss, caressing your engagement ring.

“Maybe we are.” You chuckled, and patted the bedsheet while lying down, “And I probably need a nice nap with my dearest SOULMATE before waking up for my job. Wanna catch some Z's??”

“’m in.” [Redacted] settled you by his chest and smirked. He fell asleep right after you idly yawned. He hid his most cherished treasure near his heart proudly, smug, probably dreaming about the upcoming wedding.

----------

Random thoughts:

* Kind of inspired by the “DiE4u” from the Spotify playlist of [Redacted].

I really want to share some lyrics:

“'cause I’ve died inside a thousand times               

    But still I’d kill myself for you

‘Cause the truth of it, you could slit my wrists       

And I’d write your name in a heart with the hemorrhage”

This is Ren/[Redacted]…

*Probably would add some suggestive content if I would post this in AO3

*English is devastating. I laughed out loud when I realized I had misspelled Angel to Angle (probably because the math professor brainwashed me with polar coordinate integral this week)

#14dwy #14 days with you #14dwy ren #14dwy redacted #fanfic #I have no idea how tumblr works but I hope I'm doing fine?

[abyssruler]

to dream a dream

xiao x gn reader

sometimes, all it takes to push two people together is a stroke of luck, and sometimes, leaving is as easy as taking on the abyss. perhaps you were a fool for choosing misery, but people like you were never meant for a happy ending. or, xiao meets a star-borne traveler who captures his heart and leaves it fractured for the next 500 years.

angst, not a happy ending (can be read as ambiguous ending), non-linear narrative, long fic, reader is the abyss twin (gender neutral), i wrote most of this back in sept 2021 so might not be accurate on a few lore aspects but i tried my best

Here is how it starts: a shooting star and a lone Yaksha.

Perched atop one of the many mountain peaks in Jueyun Karst, Xiao watches the afternoon sky be split by a streak of gold.

A shooting star.

It’s only when it begins to descend that the lone Yaksha realizes the direness of the situation. He’s quick to summon his spear, disappearing in a swirl of anemo and his own tainted aura. He arrives just in time to see a golden figure fall from the sky and into the ground in the middle of Dihua Marsh.

What greets him when he approaches is the sight of a person laying in the middle of a meteor-sized crater, eyes closed and dressed in clothes that look as if they belonged to another world.

After the war that occurred only a few years ago, and with the looming threat of Celestia hanging above the Seven Nations’s heads, he decides it is best to eliminate the threat this sleeping stranger might pose to Liyue.

The tip of the spear was only a few inches away from its destination when a pair of too-bright eyes open. And for the first time in his long life, Xiao falters from the stare of a stranger.

(He doesn’t know yet that this stranger is the person who will shape his life for the next five hundred years and more.)

✧

You awake to a spear pointed at you.

Your eyes look up from the glinting jade spear and meet molten gold. Hues of amber, orange, and yellows swim in the eyes of this stranger, and despite the situation you’re in, you can’t help but be mesmerized by such a sight.

There is a gaping hole in your memory, but you aren’t in any rush to fill it, too entranced by the view in front of you.

(Later, you will remember. Later, you will despair.

But for now, you look upon the being haloed in fiery light and marvel at the sight.)

The sky behind the stranger is bathed in the hues of the dying sun. It makes him look surreal, ethereal. His suspicious eyes haven’t moved in the slightest, haven’t shown any indication of emotion beyond distrust, but when you look into them, you can almost see the light of your brethren echoed in the brilliance of his eyes.

Your mouth moves before you can control it. You haven’t felt so out of control in a thousand years. “Are you a god?”

You wonder what kind of world you have ended up in to be in the presence of a god—and a god is what this being before you must be. Only gods can mirror the resplendence of the stars within their eyes.

Your question seems to have caught him off-guard. The way his brows knit and the tightening of his hold on his spear don’t escape your dazed eyes.

Not a god?

“Who are you?” the not-quite-god asks, raising his spear closer to you. You pay it no mind, your body is more resilient than most would think at first glance.

As soon as the thought comes, though, you are reminded by the searing pain scorching through your body, the brief moment of wonder at the sight of this beautiful stranger, gone.

What comes out of your lips is a whimper, hands coming up to reach futilely at your back where the pain resides the most. He seems taken aback by the sudden change in your actions, but all your attention is diverted to the searing pain resonating from your back.

It spreads through you, rendering you useless and vulnerable on the ground, a not-quite-deity only a few feet in front if you, capable of ending your life in your current state.

Across your arms, through your legs—it reaches every part of your body. You have never felt so powerless in your life.

He kneels at your evident distress, spear gone as his hands hover over your prone form. You don’t see the expression he wears, and when darkness starts creeping through your vision, you don’t see anything at all.

You feel him pull your body to his chest, lifting you up with ease that belies his strength.

Somehow, despite the agony you’re in, you can’t help but think of how warm this stranger feels.

✧

(You close your eyes and place your hand above your heart, trying to recall that warmth you’ve longed for centuries.

“Your Highness.”

The mask returns. Your eyes snap open, hand falling to your side as you turn a cold stare to one of your mages. The voice that comes out of you is one you don’t recognize—you haven’t for the past five hundred years.

“Is it time?”

The cryo mage lowers its head in deference as it utters an affirmative.

You return your gaze to the scene in front of you before turning away and stepping into a portal. The landscape of Dihua Marsh is pushed away and locked in a box, never to be seen along with your heart.)

✧

When you next open your eyes, you’re struck by the sheer the emptiness within you. The warmth that once pulsed through your veins is now nothing but ice. What used to be ichor is now normal—mortal—blood. The power that once defeated gods and destroyed nations has become nothing. A raging fire reduced to ashes.

You are exceedingly aware of how powerless you now are.

Your hand reaches for your side, only to be met with nothing.

A rueful smile makes its way to your lips.

Was it not enough for that god to take away your powers? Now you’re not only empty, but also one half of a whole.

You wonder if your twin is suffering the same fate as you.

“You’re awake.”

The voice startles you. How lost must you have been in your thoughts to be startled by a stranger. You haven’t been caught off-guard since that fight against the god of thunder four hundred years ago.

Wide-eyed, you turn to the source of the sound. A young man stands near the entrance of the sparce room you found yourself in, clad in clothes and armor that spark a vague sense of recognition in you. Your first meeting is a hazy blur in your mind. Trying to wade through your jumbled thoughts is like trying to cradle sand with your fingers—futile.

Handsome, is what your first thought is. Then you see the way he stands so warily, sharp eyes trained on you and never once blinking—dangerous. In your current state, you don’t think you have the power to take him on in a fight and win.

“I’m a bit disoriented from everything I went through,” you start, eyeing him cautiously and beginning to loosen up when he shows no signs of hostility. You try for a disarming smile, “I’m sorry, but could you tell me where I am?”

He crosses his arms—a good sign or a bad sign? Probably the former. “You are in Liyue, the land of the Geo Archon.”

Liyue.

Geo Archon.

You are in Teyvat, right where Celestia rules.

All the blood drains from your face. You school your expression into one of indifference, but it’s too late. This stranger has already seen the way you paled at the mention of the Geo archon.

Your hands clench around the sheets pooled around your legs so tight they’re nearly numb. His eyes shift at the action before returning to your face, his countenance impassive and closed-off.

“I see.” You’re grateful for the steadiness of your voice.

You pretend to contemplate your situation, all while your mind is running a mile a minute. You muddle through the haze in your memory, trying to recall the snippets of conversation you’ve had and the barest of informations you’ve been given about Teyvat.

Liyue. There are seven nations in Teyvat, one of them is Liyue. Each ruled by a respective Archon.

The Geo Archon.

What did the King say about him—

The King.

Oh.

Now-mortal blood rushes through your ears and leaves a faint ringing sensation. Your fingers unclench, eyes glazing over as you remember one crucial detail that you had forgotten in your haste to escape this world.

The King is dead.

And so is the Queen.

The Lectors, the Royal Guards, the Nobles, the people.

Everyone is…

Your hand reaches for your side.

Your sibling, your only family, your other half is…

It closes around empty space.

…gone.

Oh.

You are the only one left.

“Could I be left alone, please?”

He doesn’t question you, staying for a moment longer before disappering in a whirl of dark smoke and the lingering aura of the weight of deceased gods.

Only after the last traces of the stranger disappears do you let yourself fall apart.

✧

Grief is a word that can be used to describe Xiao’s entire being.

How many people has he lost and mourned in the long years he’s lived and breathed? Too many to count.

Perhaps it is why Xiao so easily conceded to your wish to be left alone. He, who finds more comfort in his lonesome than in the presence of others, knows better than anyone how overwhelming the company of a person during grief can be.

Perhaps he is a fool for letting you go, for acquiesing to your request. You’re a suspicious individual, proven more by your reaction to the mere mention of his god. He should have you incapacitated and interrogated, deem whether you’re a threat to Liyue and its people or not.

But he didn’t, because when he met your eyes, he saw himself mirrored in the nothingness in them.

So he leaves and lets you confront your grief and resolves to be gentler when he questions you tomorrow.

✧

He doesn’t ask about what happened yesterday, doesn’t question why you asked him to leave. He simply sits on the wooden chair in the corner of the small, rectangular room and waits for you to speak first.

You shift from your perch at the end of the thin bed. “I’m sorry for asking you to leave yesterday.”

You don’t elaborate more than that. He seems perceptive enough to know that you’d needed that time to be alone, or at least, you hope he is. The deities of this world, you’ve found, are much more difficult to read than others.

“Don’t think much of it,” he says curtly. Nodding, you wait for him to start the conversation, let him take the lead.

Moments pass. He makes no move to say anything else, only staring at you with those sharp, appraising eyes of his—and they really do look like molten gold. You suspect they’d look resplendent beneath the light of the sun.

Your eyes rove over his form, deciding to break the silence with a question. “Are you a warrior of Liyue?”

He hums in affirmation, nodding his head whilst crossing his arms. You inwardly sigh at the lack of words, it seems you’ll have to be the one to carry this conversation.

Just when you’re about to open your mouth, he speaks, “I am an Adeptus of Liyue.”

He looks at you as if his words carry a great weight to it. Perhaps it does, but you have no way of knowing so. The word adeptus doesn’t spark anything within your memory. The people of Khaenri’ah never spoke in length about the world above, and you were much too occupied with the wonders Khaenri’ah offered to care much about Teyvat.

So you blink at him cluelessly, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint, still watching you with a stare that would have been unsettling to anyone but you.

The words you’re about to say will probably give this stranger a hint of where you come from—rather, where you don’t come from—but you ask anyway, “May I ask what an adeptus is?”

You then realize that you’re probably not in the position to be asking him questions, but he answers anyway. From the looks of it, he doesn’t seem surprised by your ignorance.

“Adepti are guardians of Liyue. Mortals tend to worship Adepti like deity. Rex Lapis himself is an adeptus.”

Like gods then, but not quite. You suppose that explains why he isn’t so wary of you as opposed to what his reaction would have been if he was human.

You hum at the explanation before blinking at the unfamiliar name. You turn to him contemplatively, wondering if this Rex Lapis fellow is someone important enough that this stranger who claims to be an adeptus might get offended if you asked who he is. Perhaps he won’t, since you’ve already shown that you know little of Liyue’s culture and background.

“And who is Rex Lapis?”

His brows furrow at your response. You brace yourself for the worst, but his expression smoothens out.

“It’s no surprise that you are unfamiliar with the title. Only the people of Liyue call him by that name,” his voice remains calm. Somehow, it reminds you of the ever-composed captain of the Royal Guard (you push away the ache that comes with the reminder of an old friend). “Outside of Liyue, Rex Lapis is more known as Morax.”

Ah, the Geo Archon.

This time, you manage to mask your unease with a faux look of understanding. “I see, so Rex Lapis is the Geo Archon.”

He watches your reaction closely, but you don’t give him the opportunity to catch wind of your less than pleasant thoughts on Morax.

“So you serve him?” you say to divert his attention.

He nods, eyes still trained on you. You don’t think he knows what blinking means. If you’d been a normal person, perhaps you would have been intimidated by it, but after facing countless gods and monsters in battle, you merely find it amusing.

“And you?” he asks suddenly, somehow managing to look even more appraising.

“Me?”

“What nation do you hail from? Your clothes… they are not ones I am familiar with.” He tilts his head to the right in a manner eerily similar to that of a bird’s.

You send him a smile to lighten the weight of your next words. “Well, that’s because I’m from another world.”

✧

You decide to tag along the next time he leaves the little shack.

He still hasn’t deigned you trustworthy enough to know his name, so you refrain from asking him about it. Perhaps the Adepti of Liyue are simply that cautious. It’s a good call, you suppose, it’s always the carefree gods that tend to fall first.

(Five hundred years later, you watch the Dragon of the East ravage the city of Mondstadt with fierce winds. You feel the presence of Barbatos within the winds of Mondstadt, but you fear no god. The carefree Anemo Archon is not an exception.)

He stops by the shade of a tree before turning to you with a look that is distincly unamused. “Following me is unnecessary.”

Placing your hands in front of you innocently, you try for a disarming smile. “But I don’t have anything else to do.”

“There is food inside if you need sustenance.“

“Well, it’s kinda…” you trail off, trying to find the word that would least offend him, “Bland.”

He shakes his head. “The taste doesn’t matter. It’s for nourishment.”

“In some worlds, food is considered to be one of the most sacred things. A bland meal can be considered sacrilege, or simply disrespectful to your guest.” His brows furrow, before he can take offense to your words, you continue, “Have you ever tasted food that made you want to take another bite instead of simply eating it because it’s needed?”

“…What is your point?”

You clasp your hands in front of you. “My point is that we should go to the nearest market and shop for ingredients. I promise my cooking is top notch.”

He refutes you with a quick, “No.”

That won’t stop you though. “Fine. You can stay here and eat those tasteless food. I, on the other hand, am going to find the nearest town and buy myself good food.”

You begin to walk away, only to halt when a jade spear is held out in front of you.

“I cannot allow you to roam on your own.”

“Then come with me,” you argue.

There’s a stubborn set to his lips that fades into a quiet sigh. “I will watch you from afar.”

Later that night, when he takes a bite out of the curry you made with your feeble ingredients, you think you see his cold exterior melt a little.

✧

(There’s an emptiness in your stomach that mirrors the hollow shell that is your heart.

It’s been five hundred years since you slept, since you ate, since you last felt alive.)

✧

“Your name is Xiao? That’s a lovely name.”

He averts his gaze at your compliment, a strange feeling in his chest. He doesn’t know why he suddenly cannot look you in the eye, but perhaps it has something to do with the way you so easily said such words to him. It has been many years, but Xiao has never heard anyone call his given name lovely.

Or maybe it’s just you. You, who radiates a kind of brightness that warms and eases the burden of his debt. You, an outlander who claims to not be of this world, cycling through a range of grief and anger while still being open and luminous. He is not known to let people in easily, but throughout the course of a few days, you’ve somehow managed to creep close without his knowing.

Even the townspeople, who he knows have become wary of outsiders because of the war, have started to return your greetings with their own smiles.

“Does your name have a particular meaning?” you ask, laying on your back and uncaring of the grass stains that could potentially ruin your otherworldly clothes.

His mouth parts before he can stop it, and before he realizes it, two hours have passed by simply listening to you tell stories about the worlds you’ve traveled to and the people you met.

✧

On the third month of your stay, he discovers that you have a sibling.

“Will you allow me to leave, or am I still suspicious enough that you won’t let me out of your sights?” There’s a teasing tone to your voice that doesn’t entirely manage to hide the steel undertone to it.

Xiao shakes his head. “No. You are trustworthy.”

But the true reason he was displeased about this situation is—

“Don’t miss me too much, Xiao. I’ll only be gone for a few months at most!”

You’re heading off to Mondstadt to search for further clues on the whereabouts of your sibling.

✧

There’s something you would almost describe as electric in the way he stares at you after you return from your two month journey in Mondstadt, where all you found were questions and more riddles to add to the puzzle that happened in Khaenri’ah.

“Did you miss me?” you ask with a sly grin that turns into pleasant surprise at his response.

“I did.”

With a smile, you sidle up next to him on the bench and bump your shoulders together, acutely aware of the spot where your arms meet.

✧

“So I figured out a way to cook this new recipe I found at the Harbor. It’s called almond tofu.” You proudly present your latest masterpiece to him. “Think of it as a parting gift before I leave for Inazuma.”

His eyes widen at the first bite he takes.

You pester him whether the taste was good or if it was too sweet.

“It’s… good.” And that was about as close as you could get to attaining a five star rating from him.

You sit next to him, plucking up the courage to rest your head on his shoulder. “Don’t miss me too much, Xiao.”

(Oh, but he would.)

✧

“How was Inazuma?”

You laugh, still mourning your singed hair. “Pretty but dangerous. Did you know I got hit by lightning at least twenty times?”

“And what of your sibling?”

“Ah, still nothing.” You’re quick to mask the disappointment in your face. “But I’m sure Sumeru will have more answers for me. It’s the nation of wisdom after all.”

You slump on the grass, looking up at Xiao who stood beside you. There’s a hesitant look on his face as he takes something out of his pocket. He kneels on the grass next to you, something glinting on the palm of his hand.

“I realize that you will be encountering more dangers in your travels.” He eyes the bandages peeking from your sleeves. “This is an adepti amulet, meant to ward off evil, and…”

You sit up, closing your palm around his and taking the amulet. “And…?”

He breathes out at the brief contact between your hands. “And if you find yourself in danger, in a situation where you cannot bring yourself to kill, call out my name and I will be there.”

✧

“They called me a golden Nara.”

Xiao is quiet as he listens to you recount your brief journey to Sumeru, silently admiring the glow in your face and the smile that brightens your features.

“But they forgot about me,” you finish, something like grief, like the emotion that used to hang around your shoulders when he first met you, flashing through your face. You turn to him, reaching out to grab his hand. “You won’t forget about me, won’t you, Xiao?”

(In five hundred years, he will cling to these moments with you and despair his inability to forget.)

✧

“I don’t think I’ll leave for Fontaine soon.”

“Why?”

“I just… want to spend more time with you, is all.”

(In Sumeru, you discovered the abominations left behind by Gold and realized the depth of an old friend’s betrayal.)

✧

“Tell me more about the stars.” They are reflected in your eyes, glittering lights that remind him of the constellations of this world. If Xiao looks closely enough, he thinks he’ll see the beginning and the end of the universe itself.

You turn to him with a serene smile, and in that moment, Xiao cannot fathom why he had ever doubted your claims of being a star-borne traveller.

(“I’m… well, to put it simply, I’m a star.”

He looked at you as if you’d grown a second head within the span of a second. Brows furrowed, mouth set in disbelief, you’d only laughed at his expression then.

He thinks you might be used to these kinds of responses to your claims of being a star.)

“I’ll tell you a little secret,” you say, scooting closer to him until your noses are practically touching. He feels his ears warm at your proximity, but you don’t seem to mind the closeness. “Sometimes, if a person wants something enough, I can hear them if they wish in the presence of a star.”

You then lean away from him, and Xiao feels the loss of your presence keenly. He shakes the thought off his mind, preferring to watch as you sumon a small constellation from the palm of your hand.

“It’s why people wish upon shooting stars. Ah, but the shooting stars won’t hear them. They’re usually either asleep or in the middle of travelling, so if you need to wish to the stars, direct your wishes to the dormant stars in the sky. They’re usually the ones that hear your wishes.”

He watches, mesmerized as you animatedly talk of your people and the nature of stars. He isn’t so much taken with the words coming from your mouth, but with the way your eyes light up and the little gestures you make with your hands as you try to explain the concept of wishing to him.

“Xiao,” you call, and he snaps to attention at the sound of his given name. There’s a sheepish smile on your face, it’s not until he feels something warm wrap around his hand that he realizes why you’re wearing such an expression.

He looks down at your joined hands, heart thundering inside the confines of his chest. Your fingers close around his palm, while his own hand is laying limply, making no move to reciprocate the gesture.

Xiao doesn’t know what to do in this situation. He has never held anyone’s hands before, the closest he’s ever come to it was when he accepted the hand Rex Lapis offered to him. But this is different, Xiao is adept enough to know that. He doesn’t know what to do, the only thing he knows is that the warmth emitting from your palm to his feels nice.

He wants to stay like this forever.

It’s a strange feeling, one he doesn’t understand. But when you start to pull away from him, a hint of embarrassment painted in your features, he unconsciously grips your hand in a fierce hold to keep it in place.

“I thought you didn’t like being touched?”

Xiao has spent enough time with you to know when he is being teased. Still, he decides to answer your question.

“I don’t,” he says bluntly. He feels you begin to pull away at his response, so he adds, “But since it’s you…” he clasps your hand and holds it in place, not allowing you to retreat from him, “I will allow it.”

You look at him in surprise. He turns his head away to hide the rising heat in his cheeks, and in doing so, he fails to see when your surprised expression morphs into something more gentle, adoration hidden within the curve of your lips and the slight crinkle to your eyes.

“Xiao,” you call again. Reluctantly, he tilts his head to meet your eyes, and the sight of you leaves him breathless. With the soft glow of the moon’s reflected light and the reflection of the stars within your eyes, Xiao thinks you would outshine even the highest gods in Celestia.

He swallows, hiding the swirling emotions threatening to break out of his chest with a quiet, “Yes?”

You turn away from him, and he thinks it’s for the best. If you looked at him any longer than you had, he would have drowned in your light. Raising a finger, you point to one of the many stars in the sky. He follows your gaze to a set of stars in the inky sky, not recognizing which constellation it is.

“That’s my constellation.” As soon as the words leave your lips, his eyes sharpen on the smattering of stars, trying to discern what pattern they should form. The name of your constellation leaves your lips as you trace patterns in the air, and he does his best to memorize it, repeating the name in his head like a mantra, though he knows that he won’t forget it for as long as he lives, just as he knows he will never forget you.

You turn to him then, your hold on his hand tightening for a brief moment. “You told me to call your name if I need help, now it’s my turn to return the sentiment.”

You breathe in a heavy breath before releasing it just as quickly.

“Xiao, if you need me, whether it’s for something as mundane as wanting someone to make you almond tofu or if… if the voices become too much, wish for me.” Unexpectedly, you pull his hand from the ground and hold it with both hands in front of your chest, right where your heart is. “Wish for me beneath the light of my constellation, and I’ll be there.”

✧

“They call you the Golden-Winged King, why is that?”

“It’s an allusion to my true form, as Adepti are also known as illuminated beasts.”

You lean close, breath warm against his face with your proximity. “Can I see it?”

“See it?”

“Yes! Can I see your true form?”

Xiao’s initial recation is to say no immediately, but the excitement in your eyes brings him pause, mulling over his decision. “…Perhaps some other day.”

You nod, conceding to his wish. Then, you turn your head up to the sky, watching the birds soar over the clouds wistfully.

“Once I regain my powers, I’ll show you my wings. They’re gold like yours, so we’ll match.” You wink, and it sends something warm coursing through him.

Xiao imagines your body haloed in golden light and thinks no other sight could compare.

✧

(Your golden wings unfurl for the first time in a hundred years. There is no one but you and rotting corpses to witness it.)

✧

“When will you leave for Fontaine?”

“Are you that eager to get rid of me?”

His eyes widen at the accusation. “No, I was…” His eyes narrow when you start laughing into the palm of your hand. Sighing, he lets your teasing go. “I merely wished to be prepared.”

You lean your weight on him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hm, I’m not sure. I… I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

King Irmin’s silhouette watches you from the corner, a finger pointed accusingly at you. You blink and it’s gone.

Why haven’t you sought justice for our nation?

You close your eyes. “It’s a good day for picking flowers, isn’t it?”

If Xiao is bothered by your sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it show.

✧

You think you would have been content staying here in Teyvat, living a life of leisure in Liyue with Xiao, venturing to other nations to look for clues on the whereabouts of your sibling.

You have grown soft. If the souls of the enemies you’d slain in other worlds could see you now, they wouldn’t be able to reconcile the sight of the warrior who flew through the sky and fell gods with their blade to the sight of you now, a crown of qingxin flowers in your hair courtesy of Xiao and a basket of herbs in one hand.

Here in the forest of Wuwang Hill, despite the chill in the air and the abundance of ghost stories spread by elders, you feel content. A feeling you haven’t felt since you were separated from your twin.

You would have been at peace with staying here; bury the memories of a broken civilization and the cries of its people; ignore the castle in the sky that continues to taunt you with the constant reminder of your loss; brush off the fleeting desire to destroy each statue you come upon and turn it into dust. Xiao loves his god, and you respect his love even if you despise Morax.

You would have been happy with what you have.

But then you turn around, and you are greeted with the sight of a ghost.

He utters your name.

You whisper his in response.

“Dainsleif.”

✧

You thought you were content with this normal life, but when has normalcy ever suited a person like you?

The Twilight Sword looks at you like you’re his last salvation—and perhaps you are. Perhaps it is your destiny to be the salvation of what remains of his people.

“Travel with me, and I’ll show you the truth of this world.” He offers you his hand. It feels like the beginning of the end.

The sight of Khaenri’ah in ruins continues to haunt you to this very day.

You take his hand, the basket of herbs slipping from your fingers.

✧

(In the distant future, Dainsleif wishes he’d left you in peace.)

✧

“I’m going to be gone for longer this time.”

He blinks after you finish speaking, staring at you for a moment as if processing your words, before asking why.

“I’m going to start being more serious in looking for my twin. It might take me more than a month to return,” is your excuse.

Xiao, ever the soft, caring person he is despite his attempt to mask it, doesn’t voice a protest to your decision. Even when you see the slightest purse in his lips that tells you everything you need to know about how he feels about you leaving. You smile and reassure him that you’ll come back to him no matter what.

“Once I find my sibling, I’ll introduce you to each other. I bet you’ll get along!” Your hand finds his, the familiar warmth soothing you, casting away all your doubts and worries.

“Be safe, and remember to call my name should you encounter trouble,” he tells you, fingers interwining with yours.

Your eyes are bright. This world has not yet taken away the light in them, but as you lean forward and rest your head on his shoulder, they dim for an infinitesimal amount.

“Of course.”

The lie tastes like ash upon your tongue.

✧

(Surrounded by the kneeling remnants of Khaenri’ah’s people, you look back on that moment and hear the sound of the death knell.)

✧

“Do you trust him?”

Dainsleif doesn’t have to mention who ‘him’ is for you to know he’s referring to Xiao.

You decide to make sure anyway. “Who?”

“The adeptus.”

A fond smile crosses your face before you manage to hide it. It doesn’t escape Dainsleif’s sharp eyes.

You continue your trek through the stone path, not pausing for a second as you answer, “I trust him with my life.”

✧

(Years later, when you stand alone in the aftermath of Dainsleif’s betrayal, you decide that the only person you can trust is yourself.)

✧

You return after four years, the longest you’ve been away from him, and the first thing you do is collapse in his arms.

“Xiao,” you gasp, limbs shaking and eyes watery. “Xiao.”

You never tell him what happened, only looked at him with an empty smile.

A week after that, you were gone again.

✧

“Your hair is burnt.”

You laugh sheepishly, but it falls flat even to your own ears. “Natlan’s the nation of pyro for a reason. I may have gotten a little carried away.”

His touch feels nice against your scalp, a welcomed relief from the fighting and constant anxiety of whether you would awake to silence or another trumpet signaling the beginning of another war.

“Will you…” You swallow, gritting your teeth and forcing the words to come out. “Will you sleep beside me tonight?”

Xiao doesn’t say anything, merely pulls you to a thin bed that feels heavenly after sleeping on the ground for so long, and lies down with you.

It’s the most peaceful sleep you’ve had in years.

✧

“I think I’m starting to understand the true nature of this world,” you muse absently.

Xiao looks at you, and though his face remains impassive, you can see that he means to ask what you meant by that. You merely shake your head with a wry smile, heart heavy with emotions you choose not to dwell in right now.

Later, you tell yourself, but not now. Not with Xiao.

So instead, you change the subject to an interesting tid-bit you heard at the markets of Liyue that morning.

“I heard from some of the merchants that there will be a festival next month. One where the entire harbor lights up lanterns during the night.” You watch Xiao closely to gauge his reaction to this.

“Yes, it is the lantern rite festival, to honor the adeptus Sky Bracer who gave his life to defend Liyue during the war,” he replies evenly, looking at you curiously. “Is this the first you have heard of it?”

You nod. “You know I don’t venture much in the harbor when I’m in Liyue.”

He doesn’t say anything to that.

You sidle up closer to him until your shoulders bump. His eyes slide to you, but he makes no move to pull away. Your hand reaches out to hold his gloved one between your own, and the thin cloth separating your skin from each other does nothing to hide the warmth that seeps in you at the simple contact.

You lean your head against his shoulder, his hair softly tickling your forehead, but you don’t mind. The sound of your sigh echoes in the silence between you. It’s a comfortable one.

He shifts his hand, and you let him go for a moment to accomodate him, but instead of pulling away, he intertwines his fingers with yours. Your heart aches at the sight.

Briefly, you wonder how long this peace will last—

Not now, you remind yoursef.

“Xiao,” you start, eyes fixed on your joined hands. You can feel the low rumble from his chest as he hums for you to continue. “Let’s go to the festival someday. I’d like it if we watched the lanterns together.”

You hold your breath, scarcely making a sound as you wait for him to respond. A part of you already knows what he’s going to answer. Xiao is uncomfortable among crowds, he said so to you himself, and the festival is sure to be packed with people wanting to participate in it. You won’t mind if he says no, but a part of you hopes otherwise.

When the silence stretches on for too long, you’re ready to take back your suggestion.

Just as you open your mouth to tell him that you don’t need to go, he speaks.

“Okay.”

You pause, thinking you misheard. You raise your head from his shoulder to look at him properly, blinking at the soft gaze he directs at you.

“Did you just agree?” you question, still not trusting yourself to have heard him right.

“Yes.” Using his free hand, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, touch featherlight and impossibly gentle as his gloved fingers linger for a moment on your cheek. There’s a soft, barely there smile playing upon his lips; a rare sight that you soak up and lock deep in your memory like a dragon might hoard its gold. “Let us go to the festival. Together.”

You stare at the serene expression on his face for a second before breaking out into a smile. It is, perhaps, the only genuine smile you’ve had in a long while.

“And make lanterns too, and watch them be released during the night?” you add.

He nods, thumb stroking the back of your hand.

Then, a thought occurs to you. “I have to leave next week.”

His hand tightens its hold around yours for the briefest of moments before relaxing once more. His tone is hesitant when he suggests, “Then... when you return from your travels, if you are still amenable, we can go see the lanterns together.”

Your pathetic heart beats a familiar tune at his words, but for now, you let it be. For now, you let yourself fall into the familiar pattern love and being loved.

(You hope you return to him when you reach the end of your journey.)

You press your face against his shoulder to hide your pained expression.

Not now, not now, not now, you repeat in your head like a mantra.

His scent engulfs you, the smell of qingxin flowers and almonds; the flowers he picked for you and the sweet dessert that took you months to perfect to his liking—and perhaps a little bit of you in the faint smell of the stars. Home, your mind supplies. Your heart calms at the familiar scent.

You savor this moment, eyes closed as you memorize what it feels to be held like this.

“I’d like that,” you finally answer, and it takes everything in you to not let your inner turmoil creep into the tone of your voice as you spoke.

You feel him nod, his thumb resuming its gentle strokes at the back of your palm.

“I,” here, he pauses, and though he tries not to let it show, you can feel the hesitancy and awkwardness in his next words, so unused to voicing his affections even after all these years, “I look forward to it.”

Your smile is melancholic and strained. You’d like nothing more than to gaze at his beautiful face and immortalize each feature in your mind—the slant of his eyes, the arch of his brows, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips—but right now, you are more grateful that he can’t see the look on your face.

Hope is a dying ember within the cage of your hollow heart, but you keep it burning, even when it only remains as a tiny spark. For Xiao, you keep it alive.

You know, at the end of this journey, that spark will be reduced to nothing but ashes, but for now, you’re content to let it warm you as you hold his hand and pretend that you and him are the only people in this cruel world.

(You wonder, in the end, if it was worth it.)

✧

Xiao watches you raise a hand in the air, waving it in a subdued manner as you walk backwards down the dirt road. The light of the setting sun casts a molten glow behind you, casting your face in darkness, such that he is unable to discern what sort of expression you have at this moment.

Are you grinning at him, like the first time you ventured out of Liyue to explore the rest of Teyvat? Or do you hold a worried frown, like the last time you left and didn’t return for years?

He doesn’t know, even when you turn around to face the road and the setting sun, the sight of your retreating back etched in his memory, he doesn’t know. (It haunts him, during the first few decades after you’ve gone, how much he doesn't know.)

He stays to watch until your silhouette disappears in the distance, the sun having long set and the sky bathed in inky darkness, and he stays long until you're gone.

(He wonders, for the next centuries to come, if he should have asked you to stay.)

✧

Dainsleif doesn’t question the redness of your eyes when you arrive at your agreed meeting place, merely nodding his head in greeting as he follows you down the path that will take you away from the harbor.

It’s the last time you ever feel grateful towards him.

✧

In the frozen wastelands of Snezhnaya, you meet an old friend.

His name slips from your frozen lips, eyes wide in shock and hope.

“I go by the name Pierro now. The Jester, if you will.”

It’s the last words you hear before his hand pierces your heart.

✧

Once, in one of his harshest nights, when the pain became too much and the voices too loud, Xiao contemplated letting the darkness take him.

Lying in an unknown field somewhere in Dihua Marsh, with his senses overcome with nothing but pain as he tried desperately to hold on, he wished you were there. His fingers dug into the soil beneath him, teeth gritted and small grunts of pain escaping his mouth that he futilely tried to smother.

In the haze between wakefulness and unconsciousness, when all he could register was the agony coursing through him, he dreamt of you.

Xiao remembers your cold touch as you placed his head on your lap. He wanted to reach up to trace the curve of your cheek to see if you were truly there, but his hands refused to move, stuck in a haze. With your hands cupping his face, the pain became more bearable, became a distant thing in his mind so that all he could focus on was on you—the way the moon set its pale light on your features, highlighting every part of you that he loved.

You had looked ethereal in that dream. Despite your hollow eyes and emotionless visage, to him, you were simply beautiful.

He thinks he told you so, in between holding on to his slipping consciousness and memorizing the contours of your face that he has longed to see for centuries—and that was when he’d seen the slightest crack in your façade. He watched your eyes soften for an infinitesimal moment, and he hoped, then, that you longed for him as he did you.

“You make me weak,” he remembers you whispering before pressing a lingering kiss to the mark on his forehead, your lips like ice against his feverish skin.

He doesn’t remember much of the dream beyond that.

✧

It’s only when he awakens beneath a sea of stars, free from the agony and voices that constantly plague him, that Xiao remembers that adepti do not dream.

✧

Only once did you call upon his name in the unnumbered years you spent in this world.

Lying in a pool of your own blood in some unnamed place in the depths of the Abyss, you choke out his name. During this moment, you don’t think of the grievances of this world, you don’t think of the cruelty of Celestia, you don’t even register the clawing shadows of the Abyss nearing your prone form. In this moment, the only thing on your mind is how much you want his visage to be the last thing you see.

“Xiao.”

A dark form looms over you, distinctly human in shape to your blurry eyes. Your heart blooms, beating weakly against your chest—yet still beating just for him.

You smile, blood on your lips. “You came.”

Finally, you let the thin string of consciousness slip through your fingers, and darkness overtakes your vision.

✧

When you open your eyes, it is to the sight of Dainsleif tending to your wounds.

“You were reckless,” he admonishes. “If I hadn’t found you—”

You don’t hear anything beyond that.

Found you.

Dainsleif found you.

Dainsleif found you.

You close your eyes and count one to ten, fighting back the sting of tears and the lump at the back of your throat. He promised to come should you ever call his name, and during that moment, teetering between life and death, you hoped he would. And yet…

How naive of you.

They are all the same, aren’t they?

You let your head fall back against the makeshift pillow and release a long, drawn-out sigh. (If Dainsleif notices the way your breath hitches, as if holding back a sob, he wisely does not mention it.)

For now, you let whatever remains of your hollow heart break. For now, you let yourself drown in your sorrow and longing.

✧

It’s only years later that you discover that no matter how much a person screams in the Abyss, their voice will never be heard beyond it.

✧

(“The Abyss is a chaotic place. There is nothing there but the remains of an old civilization cursed by the gods,” Dainsleif warns you, eyes watching you sharply, wearily. You’ve changed, and this journey you insist on embarking on might just be the catalyst that corrupts you to the point of no return.

You continue to stare ahead, the dark depths mirroring the nothingness in your eyes.

“I’ve fought gods and destroyed heavenly beings. If the Abyss is as chaotic as you say, then I will restore Order to it.”

Your tone held a finality to it, and so he inclines his head and follows you to the depths of the Abyss.

Only one of you would come out untouched.)

✧

To this day, Dainsleif regrets his decision.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

In the aftermath of Osial, the Traveler was hailed as the savior of Liyue. It felt like a hollow title, meaningless, just as their life has been in the past few months without you by their side.

Missing posters were put up, a smiling portait with a likeness to you, courtesy of the Chief Alchemist using the Traveler as a guide to sketch what you looked like.

Xiao finds one of these posters lying innocuously on the ground of the balcony of Wangshu Inn. His heart hammered within the confines of his chest when he caught sight of it, your smiling face looking back at him from the ground.

To this day, he keeps the poster—the only image he has of you—close to him, tucked in a hidden compartment by his sleeve, only taking it out when the burden of his karmic debt becomes too much.

He ignores how the artist couldn’t quite manage to capture the essence of your smile. It was too flat, a poor imitation of the real thing. Your smiles were always so bright, one side a little crooked, with just the barest crinkle in your eyes. But it was irrelevant, because the only thing that mattered to him was seeing you, even if it is only through a sketch.

(He remembers the first time he met the Traveler, eyes wide and heart racing as he appeared in the balcony and thought, you came back.

But then he had gotten a closer look, and his hope shattered when the Traveler turned their head and met his eyes. There was you, in the shade of their eyes and slant of their lips, but he knew you enough to know that the person in front of him was not you.

The Traveler introduced themself then, and Xiao understood.

This is your twin.

And it’s only when he finds himself staring, engraving the sight of your likeness to his mind, that he realizes that after hundreds of years, without his knowing, he had started to forget what you looked like.)

✧

When the Traveler comes knocking on Wangshu Inn, asking him to come watch the Lantern Rite, his answer is a firm no.

Xiao recalls one of the many conversation you had with him, a nostalgic look upon your face as you recalled how persistent your lost sibling could be. The most persistent person ever, you said.

He finds himself agreeing hundreds of years later as he’s greeted by the sight of the Traveler’s determined eyes.

“Won’t you come to the Lantern Rite?”

Once, Xiao was asked the same question by a person sharing the same face. Once, he agreed. Once, he found himself looking forward to something for the first time in his long life.

It has been nearly five hundred years, but within the recesses of his heart, he still longs to watch the sky light up with thousands of lanterns with you.

So instead of refusing, he says, “I once knew your sibling.”

The sight of a shocked look that morphs into one of desperation in the Traveler’s face—your face—nearly brings Xiao to rest his hand on your cheek. But the Traveler’s voice, so different from yours, brings him back to the present.

It takes him hours to recount the past. Words have never been his strongest suit, but he tries because the Traveler is your sibling, someone dear to you and, by extention, someone he should hold dear to himself as well.

They spend hours on that balcony talking about you, exchanging stories and memories. It’s truly an experience to have someone close to you describe how you were as a person, and Xiao finds himself clinging to the smallest snippets of information the Traveler hands him, no matter how innocuous it may be.

And when the sun begins to set and the remains of the old gods begin scouring the land, the Traveler asks him one more time.

“Will you come to the Lantern Rite? You can watch from afar, away from the crowds. My twin never liked crowded places either.”

This time, he says yes.

✧

Down by the harbor after the fireworks have set off, the Traveler releases their lantern with hope in their heart and a whisper of a wish at the end of their tongue.

I’ll find you someday.

✧

Perched on a nearby cliff overlooking the entirety of Liyue Harbor, Xiao watches the night fill with tiny spots of light and tries to recall the last time he gazed at such a sight.

In the deepest parts of his mind, he wishes you are beside him, watching the same sight as him.

He imagines the smile that would be dancing on your lips, your eyes filled with life as they reflected the light cast by the lanterns. He would hold your hand and you would rest your head on his shoulder, telling him of your travels and the enemies you faced. He would admonish you to be less reckless and remind you to utter his name if you need him, and you would laugh and promise him you’ll do as he says.

And when the lights start to fade and the sky darkens, you would suggest sleeping under the stars. Neither of you would end up sleeping anytime soon because you would be busy spending the rest of the night pointing out each star and constellation. He would listen, as he always did, and the two of you would spend the rest of the night basking in each other’s presence.

But then he blinks, and he’s alone once again.

Xiao looks up to the lantern-ridden sky with a faint smile, ignoring the ache in his heart and the coldness by his side.

✧

Hidden by the shadow of the trees, you watch the sky light up with hundreds of lanterns. Surrounded by Abyss mages, the weight of the object in your hands feels like lead. You wonder, in what feels like the hundredth time, what you are doing here.

Foolish.

Slowly, you relax your grip and let the unlit lantern fall to the ground.

This is the last time you will indulge in old sentiments.

You feign ignorance to the lone person sitting by the mountainside in the distance. You only came to Liyue to see your sibling. Nothing more.

“Gather the rest. We’re leaving,” you order as you turn your back to the sight of the city your sibling saved.

Your mages bow in deference and follow in silence as you walk away, leaving no trace of anyone ever being there.

In the morning, all that’s left is an abandoned lantern lying on the ground.

.

.

.

.

.

(We never did get to see the lanterns together.)

word count: 9k

note: after the events at the chasm archon quest, xiao slowly begins to journey with the traveler in their quest to find you and search for answers on how you ended up as the leader of the abyss order. i won’t make a part 2 because we really don’t know much abt the abyss twin and what really happened during the cataclysm. i made the ending open-ended and vague, but i imagine that your and xiao’s story don’t have a happy ending.

#last fic for 2022! #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #gn reader #abyss twin reader #long fic #xiao angst

[lumiconic]

♪ — NIGHTMARE

❥ summary: comforting them after a terrible nightmare

❥ characters: xiao ; lumine ; aether

❥ content: angst, fluff, reverse comfort, gn reader

❥ note: woohoo lumine content!! i hope this is suited to your liking @sh1-n0bu :D !! i am SOso sorry ab how long it took 😭

♪ XIAO

he feels the familiar ache of a bad dream, like a sickness in the pit of his stomach, as soon as he opens his eyes to a mist-shrouded world smelling of blood and that unmistakable stench of death. he looks around, his muscles tensed, chin tucked into his chest, knowing he's dreadfully unprepared for whatever horrors are conjured for him this time. 

a terrifying, sour taste of bile rises in his throat as his gaze lands on a familiar person, lying with eyes open and blankly staring at nothing, and he falls to his knees as though someone has knocked the air out of him, gasping wildly for breath and finding none. that person is you, and all at once the understanding that this isn't real is gone in a flash and he's pulling at your shoulders and crying your name as though it'll magically rouse you from the dead --

his eyes open suddenly to peaceful quiet and your arms wrapped around him, whispering soft reassurances. a leaf drifts in through the window, moonlight highlighting your concerned features as his breathing slows, posture melting into a limp exhaustion, and you pull back, clutching his hands and asking if he's okay.

the sound of soft wind and gently rushing water pours back into his ears. he places a hand on his forehead, pushing back locks of green shaded hair, cast into shadow by the awkward lighting. "just ... a nightmare," he says slowly, the words almost a prayer to reassure himself.

"it wasn't real," you prompt, achingly aware of that constant vision that appears in his mind what seems like every time he falls asleep. "i'm here, right?" he nods, taking a deep breath. you smile anxiously. "see? you don't have to worry. everything's fine." 

and it is, truly; he knows this reoccuring nightmare is irrational, but he can't remember to turn away when he's deep in his own mind, seeing the person who he loves most in the world dead on the ground. it's just impossible, for him to ignore this, because even with that nausea that clues him in, he would never be able to forgive himself if it happened in real life and he dismissed it.

his throat is drily hoarse and he breathes slowly and carefully, and your voice is clouded once more with sleep as you lace your fingers between his. "is there anything you need? water, or something to eat, anything i can help with?" he shakes his head. you being there is all he needs, a temporary solution to help convince his mind that everything is fine, and it is, and the relief hits him all at once with a bright clarity that brings a clear easiness to his face, softening the sharp, fearful features. 

you smile at him sleepily, closing your eyes. a bird sings a short note outside, and he sinks back into a deep sleep, holding your hand like a lifeline, and when he dreams this time, it's of you and him lying in a field of bright flowers and looking at the sky.

♪ LUMINE

her dream is a kind one at first, a picnic full of sunshine deep in a beautiful forest with you and aether and paimon, and she almost aches with joy at the warm smiles that surround her and the peacefulness that resides softly within her chest. 

but then the trees and the picnic crumble away and the scene flashes into midnight, clouds covering the moon, and aether's face falls into an empty, dead-eyed stare wearing a long black robe speckled with tiny stars, abyss mages appearing behind him, and paimon whirls into a monstrous version of the unknown god that stole him away from her, and you melt and reform into a horrible thing with viciously sharp teeth, and elongated limbs that don't suit your body, and she's surrounded on all sides --

you whisper her name into her ear -- "lumine! " -- and she sits up straight, panting with fear. you reach for her, fearful pity on your face, her gaze wildly unfocused as her head snaps around in different directions. she lashes out, slapping your arm away with blind, terrified fury, barely a heartbeat and a provocation away from slashing at you with her sword, momentarily unable to tell reality from that disgustingly real nightmare.

you scramble away, as far as you can get without falling off the bed, and you hold both hands in the air, whispering in a gentle voice, "hey -- hey, lumi. it's just me, okay? it's just me." she inhales, clasping her trembling hands in her lap, and holds it for five seconds, making eye contact with you. 

when the breath rushes out of her, the tension leaves her shoulders, and she slumps against the headboard, rigid and motionless with an angry expression on her face. you move closer and place a hand on her arm. "are you okay? you were saying something, in your sleep, so i t-thought -- " you stammer, tripping over your tongue for a moment as she looks at you stiffly, "i thought i should wake you up, should i not have?" 

you worry for a moment that the leftover wisps of rage, that overpowering anger that fills her and seems to take up her entire mind so there's no room left to be scared, will be directed at you when her mouth opens, brows furrowing, but it's just a heavy sigh that escapes her lips. "i ... yeah. thanks. i just need a second."

you reach over and flick the light on, throwing the room into sharp relief. you sit in silence as she stares at her hands, words on the tip of her tongue that she's unable to say yet. she knows the irrational anger that bubbles up to drown the terror and painfulness of that dream, with its hints of reality that she never wants to believe, is stifling and poisonous, but for now it just feels so much easier to let the sour irritation win rather than the truer all consuming fear. 

she feels your presence without looking up, your calm steadiness there beside her, and when her face crumples and she leans back and covers her eyes, you wrap your arms around her, and suddenly her dream feels so far away as she presses her face into your shoulder and you whisper that it's going to be okay.

♪ AETHER

he is almost painfully aware that it's a dream from the start, just from the way the deep blue sky shimmers with stars that shine from behind soft puffs of pale gray clouds. it looks too perfect to be real, and when he takes his eyes off the sky, he's sure of it, after he sees the hordes of familiar faces and you holding his hand, tucking a pristine golden petaled flower behind his ear. 

he searches the crowd eagerly and there she is, lumine, waiting with open arms and a tearful smile, and just as he brushes hands with his sister at long last, and the voices of the crowd rise to a joyful roar, and it feels like everything in the world is finally right --

he awakes with a horrible, empty longing cemented deeply inside him, a feeling like he'll never be whole again and his heart was ripped from his chest in a single blow, refusing to let the aftershocks stop. his eyes are glazed over and he shakes, body trembling with held in cries. 

your eyes widen; for all you had known, the dream he'd been having was a pleasant one, his lips forming a smile in his sleep that you were admiring when he awoke. you cup his face, unsure of what to do but wanting to comfort him in this moment, "a-aether," you say helplessly. "what's wrong?"

he bursts into sobs, clutching at you with white knuckles as tears pour down his face. you hold him tight to your chest, rubbing small circles into his back, and close your eyes with a pained breath. "it's okay, it's okay ... deep breaths ... " your quiet humming, while brutal loneliness thrums in the depths of his chest, is a paradoxical feeling. he knows you're there, knows you haven't left, and yet he feels heartbreakingly alone and like he'd give anything in the world for you to remain there. 

it gets easier as time goes on, as everything; as the moments blink by, your voice dimming to a softer whisper, he finds his eyelids growing heavier again, and the constant longing in the back of his mind lifts slowly like a fog bank dissipating, until his mind is as clear as it's going to get and he drifts into a dreamless gray mindscape. 

his dream is an unfathomable reality, a happy ending where he gets to stay with you and his sister and all the friends he made in teyvat; something he knows would be nothing short of a miracle to come true, and maybe the sudden sourness was a warning by his own subconscious that this was an impossibility. 

but at least he hopes -- at least he wishes with all his heart and maybe allows himself to believe it could be his reality -- that you'll be always with him, the one constant on whose side he can still stand by the time his journey comes to an close.

and if that could be the one dream of his that ends up coming true maybe it could be a shield from the inevitable sorrow that will accompany the end; after all, you are the most perfectly unbelievable thing of all, and he counts his lucky stars every day that you're with him.

thank you so much for reading, and pls leave a like + reblog + follow if you enjoyed!!

#<3.writing #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #xiao angst #xiao fluff #lumine x reader #lumine imagines #lumine angst #lumine fluff #aether x reader #aether imagines #aether angst #aether fluff #i had to format this on my phone sorry if it looks weird asf 😭

[iamqueenpotato]

Hurts Like Hell- Azriel's POV

Azriel x Reader

A/N- Hi so writer's block has been a bitch these past two weeks. I got a promotion at work so that's cool, but then I got sick so it's been fun. I hope you guys enjoy this! Your support means the world to me. I don't deserve you guys 💜 Enjoy!

⚠️: None just angsty

Word Count: 2.5k

You had left. Leaving Azriel empty in the townhome you had once brought so much life to. But now it felt like an empty shell, a place where dreams were left to be forgotten. But maybe that is how you felt. How he made you feel. And it only made the guilt grow within him. It was all his fault. And now you were gone.

He stared at your side of the room from where he sat on the floor, there was some bottle of liquor in his hand, yet he doesn’t remember grabbing it, all he knew is it numbed the pain that sat in his chest. Seeing you cry broke him, it wasn’t until then that the events of the last few months caught up to him. He left you behind, forgetting the one thing that made him happy. And you were hurt because of it.

Many nights had passed since you left and each night Azriel found himself on your side of the bed, your pillow clutched to his chest, it was the only thing that still had your scent lingering on it. And it was the only way sleep would find him, the little bit of comfort it brought him in the night kept the nightmares away. The ones that were filled with the broken expression on your face when you stared at him, the one he caused.

But eventually, your scent faded from the bed, and your essence disappeared from the townhome entirely. There were days he thought it was all dream, that he would still find you sitting in your chair by the fire with a book, waiting for him to get home, the bright smile that made even his worst days better. His body ached for one of your hugs after the long day. But he ruined it. And he realized it far too late.

Walking around the city he once loved became painful, each little spot made him think of you, the bookstore you loved so much, the smile you gave him when he bought your favorite books, and how grateful you were for his kindness. But it was only because he loved you, and seeing you smile drowned out that darkness within him, seeing you happy was all he ever wanted. And now without you, he didn’t know who he was. There was nothing to keep that darkness at bay, and now it felt like he was drowning, all alone in the dark abyss he called a soul.

He didn’t know what day it was when he heard the knock at the door, he didn’t know how long he had been staring at the burning fire. The days seemed to melt together, life didn’t feel real without you. Azriel was content ignoring whoever was on the other side, but the knocking never ceased so he slowly moved towards the door, finding Cassian on the other side. “Where the hell have you been Azriel?” Cassian pushed himself into the townhome, Azriel didn’t say a word, only moving back to his seat in front of the fire. “Why did you do it? Why did you push her away?” Cassian stood off to the side but Azriel only glared at him, he didn’t know why, he never meant to do that to you. “Look at me Az.” Cassian had more annoyance in his command, but Azriel didn’t listen.

Azriel didn’t lift a finger as Cassian grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him out of his seat. “Fuck off Cas.” Were the only words he could say, he knew Cassian wanted an explanation but he didn’t have one.

Cassian’s fist collided with his jaw, and it was the first thing he had felt in the past couple of months, Azriel shoved his brother back, tackling him to the ground. He didn’t know why he was fighting back, but as Cassian landed a few more hits on him, he figured it was something he deserved. As Cassian stood over him, his fist clenched, landing more hits across Azriel’s face, he let it happen, he felt the blood dripping down onto his shirt, his arms dropping to his sides, he gave no effort to fight back, but then Cassian stopped, staring at the broken male that was his brother “Hit me again.” Azriel choked out, Cassian looked at him with wide eyes, his fist slowly unclenching. “Do it, I deserve it. I fucked up Cassian. I drove her away, I hurt Y/N. I watched her walk away and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it because she was right, I put her second. I caused her pain. And I hate myself, so hit me again.”

Cassian shook his head, releasing his hold on his brother. “I think you’ve beat yourself enough on your own. Az, you are my brother. But I would have never thought you would be stupid enough to neglect your mate. She was struggling, we all saw it, she denied it but we knew. Yet you were so busy with someone else, you became blind to the one thing that matters the most. Y/N was right to leave, who would stay with someone who didn’t care for them.”

Azriel's body shook, the sobs that were so familiar escaped his lips, and soon they became uncontrollable, he stared up at his brother, his eyes glossy with tears.“Is that what she thought?” He asked, his voice cracking. Cassian nodded, kneeling on the ground in front of him. “I love her so much Cas, how do I fix this, how do I get her back.”

Cassian placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “I don’t know. But you need to give her time. Let her come back when she’s ready.”

“What if she never comes back Cassian. What if I lose my mate?” Azriel’s voice barely broke through his sobs. He stared down at his hands, the way they shook in his lap.

“I don’t know. And if that happens, then you’ll have to live with it.” Cassian stood, walking towards the door to leave.

“Is she doing okay?” Azriel asked. If he couldn’t see you, he had to know that you were okay.

“As okay as she can be, Lucien is helping her. She’s in good hands.” Cassian spoke, but a sudden realization crossed his face like he said something he shouldn’t have. But before Azriel could ask any more questions Cassian left.

He sat there, anger creeping up, melding with the sadness within him. The thought of you with another male consumed him. He knew he shouldn’t be mad but you are his. You two shared that bond. You aren’t supposed to be taken care of by anyone but him. But then he remembered he hadn’t been around when you needed him, and that’s why you left. Azriel tried focusing on the bond, the one that he realized he had pushed aside, he found it empty, and that sudden burst of anger was gone as quick as a leaf in a gust of wind. The emptiness was painfully numb, it was as though you weren’t a part of him anymore. And he cursed himself for letting you feel that for such a time. Hatred wasn’t a strong enough word to explain what he felt for himself.

The weeks had come and gone, he hadn’t been to training, not once stepped into the house of wind since you left. Rhys came by only to give him assignments, Azriel accepted them, hoping they would distract him from the heartache that permanently sat in his chest. He went through each one as a mindless soldier, it took the pain away for a short time but the second he was back in Velaris the pain came rushing back.

He found himself sitting in front of the fire one weekend when a note appeared in front of him. Rhys was ordering him to a meeting, and as much as he didn’t want to go, he knew his brother would drag him in there if he didn’t show. Azriel didn’t bother fixing his appearance, he left the townhome, opting to walk around Velaris until the meeting started. He didn’t know which way he was going, his gaze stayed on the ground most of the time, he could hear the people he passed curse under their breath as he bumped into them. It was when a familiar scent brushed past him that he stopped walking. Realizing he led himself to your favorite bakery. He remembered those times when he would bring you a pastry in the morning, you would always look so peaceful when you slept, and he was content watching you as dreamed. But the look you had when you saw him always made his heart flutter. It was time he had long forgotten, and now the only thing he can’t forget is that he was the reason why things changed.

He didn’t know why he walked through the bakery door, or why he bought your favorite pastry, maybe it was because it reminded him of his favorite memories, reminded him of you. He found himself outside once more, a green pastry bag in hand.

Azriel made his way to the meeting and when he arrived he didn’t speak to anyone, not even his brothers. He noticed Lucien was in attendance, and when he passed by him your scent slightly radiated off of him. The anger that formed was indescribable. He could see the shadows that swarmed around him, turning him into some sort of dark entity, but when he heard the orders to back down in his head, he reluctantly obeyed, slamming his mental walls back up, staring directly at his brother who sat down across from him.

The meeting went by slowly, but each minute Azriel could only think of you. When people began to leave, that is when he paid attention once more, walking past everyone as he made his way towards Lucien. He could feel the eyes watching him, especially his brothers. He wouldn’t fight the male, he needed to know for sure that you were staying with him.

“Lucien.” He called out. Clenching the bag tighter.

“Azriel. What can I do for you?” Lucien questioned, trying his best to keep his distance from him.

Azriel brought the bag in front of him, pushing it towards Lucien for him to take. “Give these to Y/N please. They’re her favorite.” He paused, trying to keep his emotions from showing. “It was part of a weekend tradition between the two of us.” Azriel’s voice was quiet, and Lucien softly took the bag from his grip.

“Okay. See you around Azriel.” Lucien turned away, disappearing through the doors. Azriel knew where you were, and he knew deep down he should leave you alone, but these past few months he hasn’t been able to think straight, so he made his way to you.

His shadows found the cabin before he even landed, finding Lucien was no where near the building, his shadows only spotting you, and they darted towards you, he pulled them back, stopping them from alerting you of his presence.

He watched you in the garden for just a moment, admiring the beauty that you are. His breath hitched, he had missed you dearly, the way your brow furrowed when you were focused, who you were was a sight to behold, and seeing you here only reminded him of how much he fucked up. He was stuck in his head when he realized his shadows found themselves by your side. He froze as you walked by him. Though he wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you how sorry he was, he couldn’t move his body. Your scent brushed past him, but he called out to you, making you turn to face him.

“What are you doing here Azriel?” You asked, your voice was cold, sharp. It cut through his demeanor like a knife.

“I needed to see you, Y/N. My world has fallen apart without you. I don’t know who I am anymore.” He attempted to move closer to you, but with each step forward that he took, you took one back. And it made his body ache to watch you step away from him. Like you couldn’t stand being touched by him anymore.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to shut me out.” Your voice was calm, he didn’t know why but a part of him wanted you to fight harder. To yell at him “Please leave.” You added.

“Y/N please, don’t push me away.”

“Don’t push you away?” He flinched as your voice was suddenly louder. “I spent months trying to understand why. Wondering if maybe it was my fault you pushed me aside. I always asked myself if I was deserving of love. And maybe I’m not because I lost you. I wasn’t enough to keep myself from being forgotten.”

Azriel was crying now, frantically wiping his tears away, he released a shuddering breath as he inched closer to you. He never meant to make you feel that way, he knows how it feels to be left behind, to be forgotten. Never once did he think he would ever make someone else feel that way. Especially you. “You are deserving of love more than anyone I know, you have always had my heart.”

“Did I though?” Azriel stared at you, his empty eyes searching your face for some sort of answer. “Cause I’m starting to think that I never actually had you at all.”

If the area around him went silent he swore he would be able to hear his heart as it broke. The pain burned through him like a wildfire, but every inch of him felt numb. He dropped to his knees, the strength he once had completely dissipated from his body. He knew you didn’t mean those words to hurt as much as they did, he could see it on your face, but the more they replayed in his head the more he understood how you felt. These last few months he wasn't there, he wasn’t the male you needed. So even though the words you spoke were like a weapon, he deserved it.

He watched as you began crying, Azriel wanted to reach for you, to tell you it was okay. But he couldn’t move, his willpower was reduced to nothing and he truly felt as if he lost you. And when Lucien came rushing over to your side, forced to watch as he touched your cheeks, comforting you in the way he should be, it turned his heart to dust. He should’ve fought, he felt like screaming, but he did nothing except let the tears flow freely down his cheeks as his eyes followed you. Until your figure was hidden behind the door.

He winnowed himself away. Arriving back into the townhome he couldn’t even call home anymore. It was just a building. Without you it was no home.

You had shown him love that he never once thought he would experience, and he took it for granted. Now you were gone and that love the two of you shared, the one he treasured, was becoming a memory. He had lost you, and it hurt like hell.

But yet he could only blame himself.

Taglist: @honestlywtfisgoingon @fanfictioniseverything @marina468 @positivewitch @maviee @blurredlamplight @bookslut420 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @elle10 @dragonstoneprincess @bigcreatorwombatdreamer

#azriel #acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #reader insert #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses

[monsterfloofs]

Eldrich Entity x Anonymous Reader (Sfw) part III

( Headspace buddy got a traditional drawing of them done. It has been so long since I have fooled around with a tonal drawing in graphite and black colored pencil. ^-^ ) Before I used to paint digitally or use markers or paint, this was my medium of choice, so it was a nice throw back to my younger art days!)

“Miniscule beings with grandiose emotions.”

You blink blearily, the bed room was dark, only a faint trickle of light was seeping into the room. The voice in your head has woken you up. Although it didn’t sound like it was talking to you. Your body ached and you had to pry yourself from the covers. The washcloth laying in a crumpled heap beside your pillow. A hand pressed to the small of your back as you shuffle out into the kitchen. You must have been laying down all day to feel this sore.

You look around briefly for your cell phone, before reading the clock on the stove. You could barely make out 8pm written in dark digitized marks. You groan softly and rub your eyes with your hand.

“You have not eaten all day.”

You feel your stomach plummet as you could feel attention on you.

“. . . Nope.”

“Will you?”

A flick of irritation glanced across your mind. What did this thing care if you ate or not? It probably was slowly consuming your brain or something like some ungodly abyssal slug. You tried to stuff the emotion down, make it small and unnoticeable.

“Maybe.”

“You resist my suggestions, even if it is for your own betterment?” The voice mutters with a mirrored annoyance and you give a soft huff.

“. . .Welcome to humanity.” You hum, going to the fridge and crinkling up your eyes at the sudden bright light that flicks on as you open the door.

“Buh. . . I second thought. . . I don’t know if I can eat. My stomach feels a little iffy.”

You push the door close with the tips of your fingers, leaning your forehead against the cool metal.

“I detest that simile.”

“What simile?” You mutter.

“I do not, in any way shape or form, wish to consume your being.” The words were punctuated with disgust, and a fair share of indignance. “I am no slimy invertebrate.”

You give a small laugh, a twitter of almost mirth. Realizing how impossible and insane the situation was. It was like a lightbulb lit up in your mind, you had a shouting match with some kind of cosmic god. Now. . . you’ve been going around insulting it. They could hear you, they could hear everything. All the thoughts you never dared to say out loud. If this didn’t show you succumbed to madness, or perhaps were fairly mad to begin with, you weren’t sure what to think anymore.

“You. . . kind of do look like a slug,” You dared to tease, feeling a strange wave of annoyance wash over you that wasn’t your own. You titter with laughter again, putting a hand over your mouth to hush your giggles.

“I do not see why this is funny,” They hiss at you. “Perhaps I shall change my mind after all.”

The giggle fit ebbs away, and you feel tired again.

“I dunno. Sometimes humor helps. If you saw things from my perspective this would be utterly terrifying.”

Silence.

You tilt your head, waiting for some kind of response. When there wasn’t one you sigh, turning around to face the stove. You jump about a foot when you see the starlight being hovering by the kitchen table.

“Ho-my god,” You rasp, “I wish you would say something, that is so freaky.”

The tall shadowy being looks down at their hands, clawed fingers slowly curling towards their bright luminescent palms.

“. . .”

You stare at the figure, studying them quietly. Their skin did look like some kind of strange dark sea, or flowing galaxy. with dots of light that swirled around it. With branchlike horns that turned into wispy plumes of smoke. They didn’t have a multitude of limbs this time, or many angry writhing smoky tendrils. This appearance looked, what you take a very vague guess at, was what they looked like when they were calm. You remember the dreams of this huge mountainous creature, and the lake of swirling stars you had been thrown into. With a voice so loud and deep you thought it was going to shatter your ears. Like being too close to pumping speakers and their thrumming vibrations.

“You’re. . . a lot bigger than this,” You found yourself saying out loud in a quiet voice. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And this fragment thing. . . you mentioned,” You ventured forward. “It's like . . . a miniature version of you, right?”

“That is correct.”

"So. . . how come you know English and. . . Earth stuff?"

The horned head shifts to look up from their hands.

"Shared knowledge. You speak this language, while a piece of me is bonded with you, I share your experiences."

You make a face and they tilt their head.

"That's. . . really creepy. . ."

"You're uneasy."

You nod and purse your lips, "Most. . . most people would be. . ."

You huff and your eyes shift, this really brings a whole new meaning to getting inside someone's head. . . yikes. You go back over to the kettle still making a face.

You decide that you are definitely going to need some tea.

“I. . . would prefer that you stay out of my headspace. . .”

Fingers turn the knob on the stove, listening to the click fill the empty space until flames slither around the kettle. You fiddle with the knob to adjust the heat.

“It’s. . . kind of like invading someone’s personal sanctuary. I would rather not have all my thoughts and feelings be shared. . .”

And what did they absorb already? You felt your heart give an uncomfortable flutter. They were able to learn a language in only a few days. And speak with nuances that a native speaker could, where it almost felt. . . normal. How much did they already know? How much did they already learn from you, cracking your mind open like a clam and examining your thoughts. You glance at them, where the being stood, unmoving and unblinking.

“And. . . what’s your purpose in being here anyway. . . ? You’re not. . .”

You hesitate how to phrase the words.

“No. I did not come here to set in motion ruin this planet.” The little dots on their skin flaring brightly as a few tendrils manifest and whip with sudden irritation. “Your people are akin to ants to me, one does not wage war on miniscule creatures, ones that have proven that they can easily destroy themselves.”

You wince. “That’s. . . that’s part of the personal space thing I meant. . . But. . . ah. . .” You rub your face with your hands, anxiety growing in your chest.

“What I need to ask, the most important question I have is, can I trust you? Obviously, I don’t really have much choice in the matter. You can do just about whatever you want, I just. . . need to know if I have to submit myself into a psych ward and wear a tinfoil hat for the rest of my life.”

You watch the tendrils slowly, wrap back around their flowing form. The horned head bowing.

“I shall not harm you.” They intone. You give a shaky sound, turning your head so you can discreetly wipe your eyes.

“Okay-“ Your voice is unsteady and high, “I’ll uhm, trust you, I guess. . .”

You blink, and look down, as black starry water begins to swirl around your feet.

“Ah-h-hey?”

“You have shared your sanctuary with me, I shall return the gesture and show you mine.”

You watch as the black waters raise higher, engulfing your world back into that starry time void.

Except it wasn’t a black floating void anymore. You stare around a new and strange place. The same swirling star patterns twist and circle along the walls, floor and ceiling. It reminded you of a starry maze, some pathways looked like they go on forever, others took twisting turns and disappeared around corners. A floating staircase of light in the middle of the space that spiraled up into nothingness.Twinkling spheres and shrapnel of glowing rays floated dreamily around it.

“I come here when I need time to think.” The being at your side mused.

“Does. . . does it help?” Your murmur weakly.

They turn to look down at you, “It helps get my mind off my thoughts. Come.” They gesture with a hand before their form starts to glide over the floor. You look uneasy, before you tentatively walk after then. “We— We sh-should probably turn the kettle off.”

They look back at you, and you watch as one trailing tendril unwraps from their body and rises upward through the ceiling. Once it wraps back against their body you nod awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck before you pace yourself beside them.

“Do. . . you have a name?”

“If you must have one,”

“It. . . I would rather call you something other than a voice in my head,”

“Orthcursus, some have called me.”

“And why. . .” You pause, but Orthcursus fills in the rest of your question.

“Simply, to observe, I had not realized my visitation would affect so many around me. I needed a way to move quietly without making many dream of things they weren’t ready for. When I realized planting myself in the surrounding area drew people towards where I lay. A human had already approached me. They fell, and I chose to conduct through them to save their life.”

“Conduct. . .”

“Human beings are made up of water and electricity, I passed a line of my own energy through you to stop the fall. I also hadn’t realized it would also bond us together. Realizing that this would serve my own purposes, I chose this small form, and why my true form is no longer on this planet.”

You have a brief flash of a vision, a tendril shooting your body and curling around you. You press your hand to your heart uneasily.

“So I’m. . . powered on Eldrich energy o-or something?”

A soft scoff, “Not exactly, I made an impression on you, and when I had realized that I had caused a space. . . the only thing I could fill it with at the time was myself. We are bonded, that is. . . the closest word I can use that is available to you.”

“And that’s why you can’t just close the gap and leave.”

They shift slightly and make an uncomfortable sound. “If. . . I was to. . . pull away from this body, the force would pull you along with me. I have tried to pull away, without avail.”

You pause, looking at them. “I. . . Oh. What. . . would happen if. . . I got pulled along?”

“. . .I suppose I could try it, if you wish,”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “Ahhh I’m g-good thanks, I’m still wrapping my head around what you j-just told me.”

Your fingers tighten around the fabric over your collar. You pause to take a deep inhale, counting your breath.

Denial to Acceptance.

“It. . . sounds like some kind of corny sci-fi movie.” You give a nervous laugh, “But I. . . I can’t deny what I have been seeing. . . or h-hearing the past couple of days.” You raise your hand briefly towards your surroundings. “Or the logical explanation is. . . I’m in a coma.”

A huff above you, and a dark hand opening palm up towards you. A light blue palm glowing faintly. “Perhaps this will convince you.”

You glance up at them, before taking their hand with your own. The palm is warm, the back of the hand is cold. You startle slightly as the hand splits apart into tendrils that twist up your arm and give it a squeeze.

You laugh, a strange mix of surprise and unease. As their hand reforms, you rub your arm. Orthcusus’ fingers slip back into your open palm. Your thumb gently rubbing circles into their hand.

A faint smile tugs at your lips.

—

The Cell Phone:

You crouch at the bottom of the canyon, staring at a smattering of glass. “You know. . . I should have realized something was wrong when I didn’t know where my phone was. I guess I’ll have to get a new one.”

“Are you ready to leave now that you’ve found it?”

You stand up and stretch, “Mmhm, I guess it’s time to go to the store.”

A breeze whips around you and you hold out your arms, letting yourself dance in the wind.

A starry portal bubbling up underneath your feet.

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

You give a wide smile, without a care in the world. “Yup! And you can’t stop me!”

A soft deep voice chuckles as you wink out of existence.

#monster x reader #monster x human #exophilia #sfw #floofyocs #eldrich being x reader #eldrich being x human

[erdbeermayo]

(oikage angst)

Hooking up with Oikawa Tooru was one of the utterly unexpected but very welcome “accidents” Tobio happened to experience at this year’s Olympics.

And so was the fact that Oikawa Tooru hadn’t just left as soon as the fun part was over. Instead, he lay there in soft slumber, right next to Tobio, in Tobio’s hotel bed, his breathing slow and steady, and a blissful little smile seemingly stuck on his incredibly kissable-looking lips. So exposed. So vulnerable. So real. Tobio could reach out and twine their fingers the way he’d done it a thousand times in his dreams.

And he counts it as another one of those “accidents” when he does just that. Oikawa's hand instantly reacts, squeezing Tobio’s gently. Tobio is so helplessly mesmerized by the little motion that he nearly flinches when he realizes that Oikawa is watching him. He hesitates but dares to look into those amber eyes, and the stark, unfiltered affection he finds there, all aimed at him no less, robs him of any remaining air he still had in his lungs.

Oikawa's face transitions into one of those oh-so-familiar sly expressions, minus the hostility. His hand stirs in Tobio's light grip, and Tobio is all but ready for him to shake it off and maybe make fun of it. But all he does is clutch Tobio's hand firmly, bring it up to his lips and place a tender little kiss on his knuckles. "Hey there, Tobio-chan," Tobio hears in place of a jab he was mentally bracing for.

It's not like he's not used to the unpredictable that is Oikawa Tooru. He'd known him for too long not to be. Just not this kind of unpredictable. It's new and so delectably unfamiliar that it's hard not to surrender to it immediately. Like letting yourself enjoy a wonderful lucid dream, fooling yourself into thinking that it will never end.

And all of Tobio's defense mechanisms are shut down and discarded in the blink of an eye as he whispers a quiet "Hey" in response and lets himself be pulled into a tender kiss that pushes his consciousness down the darkest abyss of sweet oblivion.

As the kiss ends and Tobio slowly cracks his eyes open, praying for this to not have been a dream, he finds Oikawa staring at him with a mysterious smile, his head cocked playfully.

"I'm curious," he begins, pausing a little as if assessing whether Tobio is in the right mind to process a question. "Did you like me in high school?" Tobio freezes. Because no, he's not in the right mind to process *this* question. Not at all. But he tries. A shiver runs down his spine as the urge to lie begins to sizzle in the back of his mind. He murders it ruthlessly before it's truly born. If this is his chance, he can't afford to squander it. No. It will either be perfect or not at all.

"Yes," he replies honestly.

Oikawa produces a quiet "oh", looking quite surprised but not exactly shocked. Tobio doesn't even try to guess his true feelings. Oikawa has always been good at theatrics.

The brown-haired setter drops back on the pillows with a content expression on his insufferably handsome face, staring at the ceiling blankly. Tobio feels almost at ease as he mirrors him and opens his mouth to return the question when Oikawa turns to face him and says, "If I had known that back then, I might not have left for Argentina". And Tobio doesn't think he's ever felt this many things at once.

He remembers wondering if this is what people mean when they say "it hurts so good" before his mind is plunged into a wild hurricane of emotions. It's violent. It's overwhelming. It breaks him. He's trembling. He feels tears stinging his eyes. He's panicking.

But then there are strong arms cradling him, pressing him close against a firm chest. He feels a heart that is not his own beating really fast and hears his name called out through the storm with such raw concern. He also hears a pained "I'm sorry" before feeling warm lips press against his forehead. And he knows he's safe here. As long as these arms can hold him like this, it will all be okay.

#hq #haikyuu #oikage

[indigowallbreaker]

35 from the Angst prompt for Edelgard with Ferdinand

This one got long so it's going under a readmore. I really REALLY like how it came out and it's my hope you like it just as much, anon!!

[prompt rules]

[more Beagles stories]

35: “Don’t look at me like that, I don’t want pity.”

--

Garreg Mach Monastery was a place of worship and learning. Within its walls were classrooms, stables, a holy altar, sleeping quarters, a library-- and many other useful rooms besides.

It did not have a dungeon.

For that reason, or perhaps due to her many injuries, Edelgard was being held captive in the infirmary.

The other beds and their patients had been moved before she arrived. It was just Edelgard, her bed, Manuela's desk (empty; she'd checked), and a window someone had nailed haphazardly-- thought effectively-- shut. At least it was comfortable. The Church would have had every right to shove Edelgard into a sodden chamber in Abyss as consequence for starting and losing this war. She wondered if that was Rhea's mercy or Professor Byleth's influence. Neither had visited her since bringing her back to Garreg Mach almost a week ago.

In fact, Edelgard had very few visitors. Most notably Manuela came by a few times a day to deliver meals or check on Edelgard's health-- taking a direct hit from the Sword of the Creator did not leave the body unscathed, even if the Professor had held back at the last moment.

A week after her imprisonment, and two weeks after the fall of Enbarr, Ferdinand von Aegir appeared in the infirmary doorway. Edelgard arched a brow as he shut the door behind him and approached her bed. He looked determined, face stone as he stopped a few feet away. In school he had carried with him a kind of glow of confidence. Now, that glow was all but gone. Edelgard found she missed it.

"There is something I must ask you," Ferdinand declared. Edelgard waited, eyes trailing over him for any sign of a weapon. "I would appreciate if you answered honestly."

"That depends on the question." Edelgard's voice came out strained, she knew. Injuries and lack of a conversation partner had dulled her throat somewhat.

"I was in the room when Manuela gave the Professor a report about your physical examination." Edelgard frowned but did not interrupt. "She mentioned some old scars. Across your chest, arms, even your back."

"I am aware."

Ferdinand tensed. "Who did that to you?"

Edelgard looked away, taking the bite out of her reply. "Why the concern? Are you worried your father has more sins on his hands?"

"I am not thinking of him, I am thinking of you."

"Why is that?"

"Because Manuela says the scars are too uniform to be from an accident." Footsteps on hardwood as Ferdinand had moved closer. "She said they looked methodical. Almost as if..."

"As if I had been experimented on?" Edelgard looked up at Ferdinand. Upon reading his expression, however, she wished she hadn't. "Don’t look at me like that, I don’t want pity."

Ferdinand ignored this and sat at the edge of her bed, eyes narrowed as if trying to see the scars himself through her clothes. How long his hair had grown. It fell in waves to the middle of his back, looking slightly less kempt than his shorter hair back at school. She briefly wondered if this was just another way Ferdinand was trying to prove his superiority-- grow his longer hair than Edelgard's. The absurdity nearly sparked a smile across her face.

"Who did this to you?" He asked softly.

Edelgard lifted her chin, levity forgotten. "What does it matter? You must have read Hubert's letter. The Church has more important things to worry about than my childhood."

"I am not thinking of the Church," Ferdinand tone was firm. "I am thinking of you."

This time, the statement robbed Edelgard of any retort. She simply stared at this new Ferdinand. In school, and during their short acquaintance before, Edelgard would never have dreamed of having this conversation. Ferdinand was an annoyance at best and a roadblock for her plans at worst. Now here he sat, pity gone, replaced with the air of a man determined to solve a problem.

Edelgard had only explained this once, many years ago. There had been no need to tell anyone but Hubert about what Slither had done. Even Volkhard had been the one to tell her father after Edelgard had been deemed a success.

Squaring her shoulders, Edelgard spoke. "It is a long story." Ferdinand nodded. He held out his hand, palm up. Edelgard took it, trying to draw courage from his resolve to listen.

And so, Edelgard told Ferdinand of Slither, of their experiments, and of the plans laid long ago that had, ultimately, led to Edelgard being held captive in a monastery without a dungeon.

#fire emblem three houses #edelgard von hresvelg #ferdinand von aegir #ferdigard #beagles run #if you're reading the tags then I gift you the comfort of knowing hubert is also alive #he was nearly a plot point but I didn't want to distract from el and ferdie

[chaos-has-theories]

Heaptober Day 16: Mistaken Identity

Look, I guess I... write now? Don't even ask, all of this setup was definitely necessary. Jup.

Not beta read, barely proofread, we die like Alther Mella.

--

Alda Fry had always dreamed about visiting the Castle. Magyk! Adventure! Houses in all colors!

By the time she was fourteen years old she had decided that she would have to become a wizard. And if there's one thing you should know about Alda Fry, it was this: once she decided on something, she did it, no matter what.

It was late in the year 12024 that Alda stepped off the merchant's ship she'd paid for transport, and set her path towards the Wizard Tower.

It was only just starting to get dark, and not cold at all. Even so, there was barely anyone on the street, and those who were hurried past her, wrapped in coats and scarves all the way to the tips of their noses.

Odd, Alda thought, and continued on her way.

--

It took shockingly long for someone to open the door of the Wizard Tower for her.

When they finally did, it was a ridiculously lanky girl with short dark hair sticking up in every direction. The girl had green eyes and green clothes, and was staring at her rather rudely.

Behind her, there seemed to be some kind of argument going on; or maybe seven of them.

Alda cleared her throat pointedly.

Finally, the girl spoke. "You realize there's a password, right?"

Alda sniffed. "Well, I wouldn't know the password. I've only just got here."

The girl snorted. "You sure did, didn't ya. Come on, just tell me what you want, we can't get anything done in here with you banging away at the door."

Alda rather thought that the cacophanous arguments might be more to blame, but very well. She pulled her shoulders back and squared her jaw.

"I would like to become a wizard," she informed the other girl. "Please."

This time, the green-eyed beanstalk actually left her mouth open to stare at her.

Then she shuddered visibly, cursed under her breath, and stepped back.

"Alright, fine. Come in here, I'm about to freeze my toes off."

Well.

That had been easier than expected.

The girl frogmarched Alda across a shimmering, sandlike floor, and pushed her into a chair at the fireplace.

"Right," she said. "Really, I should be sticking you in the Stranger Chamber, but I'm afraid it's occupied. Nissa Bott, by the way. Who in the entire depth of the Abyss are you?"

"Alda Fry, at your service," Alda said daintily. She suspected that Miss Bott had just sworn rather colorfully at her, but she elected to ignore that.

"And you want to become a wizard."

"Indeed."

"How exactly did you..."

She was cut off by the arguments above them swelling, some clattering, and then a young in equally green robes - with some purple ribbons on the sleeve - dashing past them, only to skid to a halt when he saw them.

"Nissa, you maggot," he complained. "Get back up there and help us clean up this mess."

"So sorry, Newt," Miss Bott said innocently. "I have to interview this Hopeful."

"This what?"

'Newt' seemed, if possible, even more taken aback by this notion than his colleague had. Really, Alda was growing rather tired of this.

So was Newt, apparently, who pulled Nissa up by her collar and dragged her into one corner of her room, where they proceeded to have a - rather more quiet - argument.

Alda took the opportunity to look around a bit. It really was an impressive building. Most impressive of all, the floor seemed to know her name.

Good Evening, Alda Fry, it spelled in an elaborate script, swirling in prismatic colors around her feet. And a wonderful Longest Night to you.

Huh, Alda thought. Nights were apparently rather short around here.

Either the arguments upstairs had eased up a bit, or Alda had simply gotten used to them. Either way, the one beside her suddenly rose in volume. "Then get her to do it," the older boy hissed, gesturing rather unsubtly towards Alda.

Alda decided she was done with this. "Get me to do what?"

As if synchronized, the two turned towards her, looking her up and down with a... somewhat worrying glint to their eyes.

"Well," Nissa began, only to be interrupted by Newt.

"Fetch the ExtraOrdinary. You can consider it your entrance interview, yeah?"

Alda froze, eyes going wide. "As in, the ExtraOrdinary Wizard?"

The boy scoffed. "No, the ExtraOrdinary Message Rat."

Nissa shoved Newt away, sighing deeply. "Look, everything's a bit topsy-turvy today, yeah? EOW's off for some party and took Tod along, and the deputy, and Dandra. And obviously the other Heaps are there too, and we've got the whole StrangerChamber thing to take care of, and Marley dropped some elixir on the floor and we're still trying to figure out what it even was, and Norman and Eliza are arguing about their bunks again, and Master Limm and Madam North still can't agree whether magyk is inherent or extrinsic, and..."

She took a deep breath. Alda was sure her eyes must have glazed over at least halfway through that speech.

Lissa grinned, sharp as glass and just as brittle. "So long story short, we could really need the EOW right about now, but if me or Newt go, Marley might manage to blow up the whole tower. Got it?"

"Not really," Alda admitted.

"Great!"

Just as she'd been led inside, she was marched outside again, and unceremoniously deposited on the stone steps.

"Just down that road, largest building at the end, they should be in the dining room," Newt told her in the tones of someone brushing dust off their hands.

He tried to close the door on her, and in a moment of true desperation, Alda stuck her foot in.

"I don't even know what the ExtraOrdinary Wizard looks like," she protested.

Newt squinted at her as if that was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "Looks like a Heap," he said, begrudgingly adding, "youngest of the bunch. Good luck!"

And with that, the huge double doors swung shut behind her.

--

So the thing was, alright?

The thing was, Jenna and Septimus liked to argue. It had started as "an exercise", according to Jenna: to teach Sep that even if he was loud and opinionated and maybe even a little bit mean, nobody was going to be angry at him. At least, not for longer than a day.

(If pressed, Jenna might admit that she also enjoyed having a sparring partner who didn't win automatically just by dint of being Older. But Septimus didn't need to know that.)

Four years later, seven years later, fourteen years later, they just happened to be... the only people who could really argue with each other. Being family was one thing, and six older brothers would always manage to be annoying, but Jenna was the Queen. Septimus was the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. People did not simply argue with the Heads of State.

So the Heads of Statue argued with each other. Mostly just where noone could hear them: their rooms, their letters, among family and friends.

They would argue about who had the more difficult job ("I have to run the entire castle, Sep, all you have to do is one measly tower" "Have you heard the arguments Thaddeus Limm and Margie North get into?") whose outfit was better ("You looked better in green" "Jen, you mix red and purple") or whose turn it was to check in with the Tribe of Three and the dragonets. ("You're Spit Fyre's Navigator, Jen, you're essentially their grandma" "Absolutely not. No. You can be their grandma, I'm the weird uncle at best.")

In short, they argued about anything and everything, as long as it wasn't actually important.

Which meant, of course, that to the mixed amusement and annoyance of their party guests, Jenna and Septimus spent most of their twenty-fourth birthday on their favorite subject:

Who of them had been born first.

"Of course it was me," Jenna said, affronted. "My mother had time to get ready for the Welcome Ceremony, and then Marcia had time to even come up with hiding me in the Forest for Dad to find me."

"Come off it, Jen. The Messenger ran to get Alther right when you were born, and that was noon. I was born in the morning, just ask Mum."

"I could be three days older than you, and you wouldn't even know."

"Forget it." Septimus grinned. "You are and always will be the youngest Heap."

It was just then that the doors to the dining room swung open, violently enough that one of them smacked Edd lightly on the nose.

Standing there was a girl with pale hair, pale skin, and pale grey robes, unusually flimsy for this time of year. She was breathing heavily, and looking around with a suspicious squint.

Even so, she didn't seem to notice that half the people in the room had reached for their protective charms, keeping them just out of sight.

The girl's gaze snagged on Snorri, passed right over Marcia and Milo, and finally settled on Oskar, looking a bit dubious.

"I'm looking for a... Heap," she announced. Her accent was the lilting tones of a Northener, tasting the word "Heap" as if she wasn't entirely sure that it was a name.

Twelve straw-blonde heads and two darker ones heads swiveled towards her. The atmosphere in the room could be described as 'incredulous'.

Marcia caught herself first. "How did you get in here? Where are the guards?"

The girl just frowned at her. Behind her, Hildegarde ran up, out of breath and clearly embarrassed.

"Terribly sorry. She just seemed to know exactly where she was going, I thought..."

"I am looking for a Heap," the girl repeated patiently. "I am sent by one Newt and one Maggot. There has been a spillage."

Septimus groaned, his hair falling over his eyes as he flopped forwards. "Of course. Nissa and Newt. I should have known."

"So. Which one of you is Heap?"

Twelve pairs of blonde eyebrows lifted. So did a great many other pairs.

Milo was the first to take pity on the girl. "Which one do you need?"

The girl frowned, mouthing the question back to herself. Then, sounding uncertain for the first time, she said, "...the youngest one?"

All the way at the Head of the table, Jenna met Sep's eyes. Purple to green, green to purple: Jenna began to grin.

Sep sighed. "So much for birthday dinner, I guess."

He moved to stand, but Jenna was quicker. "Here I am," she said brightly. "The youngest Heap, always and forever. Isn't that right, Sep?"

Septimus glared at her. Jenna grinned even wider.

"Yes," Septimus said, through his teeth. "You'd better go and stop Thaddeus and Margie from strangling each other! I'll just stay here, enjoying the party."

"Oh, please do," Jenna said sweetly. "And don't forget your meetings tomorrow morning. Or the Open Audience in the afternoon. All those reports won't read themselves!"

Green to purple, purple to green.

A second passed.

"Deal," Septimus said.

"Deal."

#chaos writes #septimus heap #heaptober 2023 #heaptober #??? #once more. I might put this up on ao3 once I've looked at with an editor's eyes #(or if someone asks me to) #lots of setup for that joke! Idk I just want Sep and Jen to be mistaken for each other they're TWINS ok

[unfilteredaj]

Fun and Fear

——

(A/N : While technically not an A Nightmare On Elm Street fic, the guy in this is 100,000% A Dream demon. And I wrote him with Freddy in mind.)

…

(Y/N) started out having the BEST time, admittedly.

I mean, when a free ticket to the local theme park was up for grabs, (Y/N) absolutely LEAPED at the opportunity.

They’d woken up early that Saturday morning and set out for a day of thrills.

Excitement bubbled up inside them as they pulled into a parking space and practically sprinted for the front gates.

The coasters were all freshly painted and bright for the season, and The Park was in it’s stride for Spring. It warmed (Y/N)’s heart to see it for the first time in admittedly too long.

“Have a great day!” The attendant smiled brightly, scanning their virtual ticket.

“Thanks! You too.”

And with that, the fun began! For a short while at least. Now standing before (Y/N) was a …perplexing ride.

It was called ‘The Tunnel of Fear.’ It was a new indoor dark ride based on the idea that Fear and Love are triggered by similar parts of the brain.

A twisted tunnel of love?! They’d give that a shot!

The queue was decked out in a mural of Cupid babies, that showed the bright little creatures growing into toddlers, and children, and so on.

The interesting thing was that as the baby Cupids grew, they were painted into more heartbreaking situations.

The Cupids grew into children, and it showed them surrounded by ripped up Valentines, and a group of similarly aged human girls laughing. All of The little Cupids had large, cartoonish tears running down their faces.

The Cupid Children grew into Teenagers as the mural continued. They were now chasing the Human Girls, but something seemed wrong. A few of the Teenage Cupids had caught the girls, and seemed to be dragging them away by their hair. The Humans in their grasp all had expressions of horror.

There was only one other rider at the loading station when (Y/N) finally arrived. The bored looking ride attendant muttered that they needed to ride together.

The guy shrugged. He was a nice enough looking guy, with sharp features. He smiled, a friendly glint in his blue eyes.

(Y/N) shuffled awkwardly into the car with him, trying not to seem like they were staring.

They mentally Damned Anxiety. A park full of people and they get squeamish having to ride with just one person. They felt a little silly.

The ride started, and an even more cartoony version of the Mural’s story played out, but with special effects and expensive looking robots.

“I don’t bite. Honest.” The man beside (Y/N) said eventually.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened.

Oh god. He just spoke to me. What do I do? SAY SOMETHING BACK TO HIM.

“….What?”

Smooth.

“You just look so nervous…” he began.

Some of the tension melted, and (Y/N) laughed.

“Oh nah, dude you’re chill. The mural in the entrance there just kind of got to me.” They tried to be casual.

The car was coming up on what looked like an extremely steep drop underground.

“Oh. Oh fuck.”

The curse spilled out of (Y/N) just as the car tipped over the edge and into the abyss.

It seemed like endless falling through darkness, and (Y/N) panicked. They grabbed onto the only thing their body would allow them to.

The closest other human being.

Music blared as (Y/N) desperately squeezed their eyes shut, reaching out and gripping the Man’s arm.

“Its ok!” He spoke over the music, pulling his arm around them. The cart eventually leveled out, but never slowed. The darkness was replaced by strobe lights that were somehow worse than the darkness.

The lights and rumble of the cart pounded against (Y/N)’s skull. The man roared with laughter. The ride continued to pick up speed. He finally leaned over again and spoke into (y/n)’s ear.

“Open your eyes. This is great!”

“FUCK no! This thing has to be going over 150!” (Y/N) argued.

The ride, as if hearing them, slowed, but didn’t stop.

“Open your eyes,” The man said again. “This is the best part.”

The softness of his voice, and a hand brushing hair our of (Y/N)’s face coaxed them to open their eyes.

They wished they hadn’t.

They were once again seeing depictions of The Cupids. Now they were grown. Strong looking, with a dark hunger in their beady animatronic eyes. And they looked more demon than angel now.

They were surrounded by real dead bodies. Dozens of women, strewn across the floor or propped into the Animatronics’ arms.

“You know, none of them understood. But you do.”

The man’s voice was barely a whisper, his arms snaking around (Y/N). His voice was like water from the River Lithe. It made (Y/N) want to forget the horrible things they were seeing. His arms were oddly comfortable.

“It’s the same. Love..Fear..Beauty,..Ugliness…”

“Did.. you do all of this?” (Y/N) asked, the question leaving their mouth before they could think.

“Mmhmm. Don’t worry about them. You look tired…”

(Y/N) giggled softly, letting their mind slip down, down, down… until there was nothing.

“Shh…”

…

(Y/N) woke with a start. They were in the cart, seemingly at the end of a perfectly normal ride. They’d been laying on the man’s shoulder from the ache in the side of their head .

“What.. what happened” (Y/N) muttered.

“The ride put you to sleep, I guess. You were out like a light! I’ve never seen anyone take a power-nap so quickly in my life.”

(Y/N) rubbed their eyes, shakily exiting the ride and getting their bearings.

“Come back any time. I’m the only one ever on there.” The man flashed a too sly grin, quickly vanishing into the crowd outside.

——

[voraciousartistry]

“I am the last of my kind, who are you to judge my actions?!” Lecra roared. The grip on his gavel tightening as his seemingly calm demeanor was quickly eroded away by an unrelenting rage. 

“I am the last Drah Ci’an, I survived the purge, the fall of my people, I alone was spared the destruction of my race.” His words filling with vitriolic hatred for the one standing before him, his own arcana spilling putin great waves, what had been a mist of light rain was now walls of near solid rain and ice. 

The soldiers were starting to falter, it was clear none had the fortitude or the constitution to withstand such an onslaught of arcana. Slowly they started backing away, some still firing their rifles at the walls of ice that encroached on them. And yet, their weakness only further enraged the towering ancient. How could such a pathetic species have replaced his mighty people. 

“I spared you out of pity.”

Lecra’s eyes widened sharply. The voice was emotionless, not cold but there was no feeling behind it, as though the person speaking barely accepted him as another sentient being.

Standing before him was a sight that he thought long buried. The long dark purple hair covering her right eye, her violent magenta eyes looking toward the soldiers. Her purple coat swaying gently in the chamber as the blade on her hip sat motionless. But the sight that shook him  the most was the dark purple tail that slinked out from under her coat, ending in a large sting. The soldiers behind her seemed to understand this was their cue to leave and slowly retreated out the many exits.

“You, you’re not possible.” Lecra stuttered as the woman stood. It was simply not possible for this creature to be before him, she was a memory, a terrible nightmare that haunted his dreams. How could she be standing before him?

“Yes now I see. You’re an illusion. One of those soldiers must have cast a human spell that shows my deepest fears.” Manic laughter filled the chamber as Lecra started to lose not only composure but all sense of reality.

Her head turned gently toward him, eyes glowing faintly.

“It’s clear that was a mistake.”

The chamber rocked as she unleashed her Arcana, Lecra’s waves of ice were instantly obliterated as a wall of dark magenta energy lashed out in all directions, tearing through the ancient stone as though it were paper. Looking toward his feet, the workings of a new arcana field had taken shape, his own field was nowhere to be seen, whether erased or consumed by hers there was no way to know. 

She hadn’t moved, she wasn’t even casting a spell, this was just her surface level arcana, she hadn’t actually done anything yet. This single thought sent a spike of fear through the now terrified Lecra. 

“Do you know why I chose them?”

As more of the chamber began to disintegrate, Lecra summoned what was left of his power, the Arcana storage below pumping out whatever remained of the stolen energy. If he could hold her back he might be able to escape, he would live, if only just.

A thunderous explosion rocked the chamber, a distinct blue glow appearing to rupture from under the stone floor, quickly becoming a gout of arcane energy that launched toward the chamber's ceiling. The woman smiled as she darted toward him, her blade drawn. Her arcana field was now tangible as it seared his flesh, his eyes wincing at the stinging pain. His power, or what was left of it, disappeared as the arcana storage vessels below ruptured one after the other sending more erupting gouts of glowing blue energy into the chamber.

“When hope is lost and they stare into oblivion. It’s the abyss that blinks first.”

She was right on him, her blade, the infamous Empires Oblivion drawn and ready to end his existence. As his strength withered under the relentless arcane assault forced against him, he roared and swung his gavel. If he could just stagger her.

In an instant she was gone, vanished from view. A shift in the magenta field drew his sight upward. He froze. Her wings glinted in the still erupting blue energy, her massive tail with the nightmarish sting swayed gently behind her. Floating deftly above ready to erase him was her, Miasta, the First Empress of the Drah Ci’an Empire.

He couldn’t let this be it, he had to survive, she wasn’t a Drah Ci’an anymore, he was the only one. He needed to run. As he turned, his vision went black as she dropped from above, her blade carving through him. Her voice calm, as though whispering on the wind.

“Hear the world ending.”

The chamber vanished in a violent magenta and shadowy inferno, the stonework disappearing as the sheer force of her power rent it from reality. A spherical blast stretching out, obliterating everything in its path as dozens of dark spikes of arcana launched from all directions, shattering the sky above, the world seeming to quake as the entire valley was ripped apart. 

Miasta’s arcana field lashed out across the continent, every person capable of sensing the magical power froze outright or shuddered in terror. Such a release of arcana was the equivalent of a star being born dozens of times over. Even those unable to sense the arcana stared in fear at the growing light show that pierced the sky above. A Skyship Captain would later testify that the Arcana field covered half the continent, the brilliant magenta glow lighting up the darkened night as tears in reality spread across the sky, waves of energy ramming his craft and threatening to capsize it. Through each tear never before seen stars and even other worlds were clearly visible as reality was broken and then remade over and over again.

The First Arch Magus, once thought to be the oldest living being on the continent noted down on that night that the world had once again borne witness to the force that erased the ancients.

Had this in my head a while, might refine it later.

#fantasy #magic battle #fantasy literature

[sissytobitch10seconds]

The Mare and The Stallion

Fandom: Grishaverse: The Grisha Trilogy and Shadow and Bone (TV) Summary: Genya still remembers those moments after she ran from the Darkling. They haunt her like a plague, screaming and tearing at her until she feels as though she might dissolve. David is always there with a solution, to pick her up and put her back together when she cannot. Warnings: Nightmares, PTSD, Genya's backstory, and mentions of war Word Count: 1,586 Ship(s): Genya Safin/David Kostyk

Archive link!

She whimpered as the memory overtook her dream, removing the pleasant strangeness of the unconscious mind with something that she tried to keep as far away from her as she could. There were times that Genya thought that if she just faced all of her memories, then she would be able to really process them and move on with her life in the way that she knew she deserved. Every time that she actually tried to test that theory, she once again felt like she was drowning in an abyss.

Before anything could progress further than it already had, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was woken from her slumber with two brisk shakes. Her eyes flew open and she sat ramrod straight in the bed, prepared to fight off whoever had once again broken into her chambers.

It was only then that her mind caught up with her and she realized that she was in the room that she shared with her partner, and not the rooms that she had been given when she became a serving girl for the entire royal family instead of a gem in the queen’s crown. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, worried that something had happened with the students. They hadn’t been at war for a good long while, but that wasn’t the kind of thing that left a person.

“Nothing is wrong with the students, or the palace, or Nikolai. It’s just…” her awkward, sweet David paused and stared down at his hands. She had seen those hands trip and fumble over wedding rings, create the most wonderful inventions of their day and age, and teach younglings how to use their gift. His hands were his life and in many ways, they were hers as well. He tilted his dark brown doe eyes up at her and then finished, “You were having a nightmare.”

“Did I wake you?” she asked, her voice once again breathy and soft. She leaned back on the bed as her hand searched for his knee. She wasn’t going to be able to have his body pressed against her or his lips on hers, not after the dream that she had just had, but she still wanted him close.

David shifted on the bed so that he was laying beside her and his calloused palm was pressed flush to hers. “You did, but that’s okay. I don’t like it when I wake up and you’ve already been up for hours.”

“We have meetings in the morning, we should both try and get some rest. It’s not like nightmares are something abnormal for either of us,” she murmured. She wished that she had been able to change that, that she could reach with her talented fingers down into their minds and smoothe out the imperfections on their very brains. That was, unfortunately, beyond even her.

He let out an unsure noise and then scooted towards the edge of the bed. Genya sat up and tucked both of her legs underneath her body as she watched him. He shed the pants that he slept in and then dressed in the peasant roughspun he always donned underneath his kefta, despite it not being a requirement anymore. “What are you doing?” she asked as he fumbled with the latch of his belt in the dark of the night.

“Oh, oh right,” he nodded. “I was just thinking. You had a nightmare about when we had to run away from the Darkling, right?” he asked.

She could feel the blood seeping from her cheeks and leaving her as pale as the cream robes she had been forced into her entire adolescence. “Yes,” she breathed. She knew that she had been speaking in her sleep or he had somehow had the same dream as her, that was the only way that he would know what she had been thinking of.

“I was thinking of something that might help us both feel better. It always makes me feel better, at least,” he explained with a shrug.

She looked at him for a moment longer as she tried to figure out what was going on in that captivating brain of his. She had fallen in love with him for his mind, the wonderful things that he could create, first. He wasn’t what she was used to looking at since she worked with highly-curated nobles and he had barely spoken a word to her the first several months she had known him.

Genya let out a small sigh and then shimmied her way over to the edge of the bed the same way that he had. She removed her chemise and left it with his sleep clothes before she found one of her simpler gowns and pulled it on easily. She then turned to him and motioned for David to show her what he had been speaking of.

They broke out into the hall, their hands pressed against each other like they always were when they weren’t teaching or on other official business. The halls of the palace were abnormally silent. The only noise that they could pick up on was the whispers stolen from teenagers getting up to no good. They remembered wanting to do that when they were that age, so neither of them broke it up or said anything.

Genya let a small breath escape her mouth when they stepped through the gardens and she saw where they were headed. “David,” she whispered, unsure that she was going to like where it was all going.

“Just trust me, okay?” he asked. “I promise that it has a very high likelihood of making you feel better.”

That, by itself, had already made her feel more like herself than anything had in a good long while. She loved David in the way that someone did when they knew that their soul meant was specifically for one other person. She had loved others and she was sure that she would continue to love others as their life continued, but she loved him in the here and now.

They walked through the doors of the stable and then he trailed towards the end. “You’ve ridden before?” he asked as he picked a saddle up from where the hands had placed them when they had turned in for the night.

“I have,” she nodded. “I may not have trained with the other Grisha, but the queen wanted me to know how to ride so I could be beside her when she and Vasilly went out,” she explained. It hurt to bring back the memories of when she was loved like a daughter instead of scorned like a demon or cherished like a tool. She wanted to be able to feel like that again someday, but she knew that it was never going to happen. That kind of thing wasn’t reserved for girls like her.

David handed her the saddle and nodded his head towards a mare with beautiful brown dappling over her rump and an auburn main. “Are we going to get in trouble for this?” she wondered.

“Who would get us in trouble for it? We’re the bosses now,” he explained, ducking his head as he walked over to his own stallion. The horse was known amongst their students for being hard to ride if you were too cocky and often got used as a hazing tool to the newcomers.

She didn’t mention that, assuming that he knew what he was doing. He was a grown man and he led an entire school of teaching along with being one of the only surviving members of the Sun Summoner’s army, after all. They both saddled their steads and then led them from the stable so that they were standing out on the open road.

David grasped the reigns of his horse and then slung himself into place before he waited for Genya to do the same. She handed him the reigns of her own stead and then buttoned her skirt so that it was shaped into pants, which would allow her a much more comfortable ride into the wilderness. “Do you have a plan for where we’re going?” she asked once she was sitting atop her mare.

“I think we need to just run. No place, no destination, no time,” he explained with a shrug. She opened her mouth to ask him what he really meant by that but he didn’t stick around to hear her. He spurred his stallion forward and began to disappear into the night. She laughed when she noticed that his hair had fallen into his face because he hadn’t styled it when he had woken up.

Genya spurred her own horse into action and soon she had caught up with him. Both of their steads seemed to be happy to run wild in the night with riders that weren’t directing or slowing them. They cantered all the way through the vast fields where the group training took place during the day and then darted through the beginnings of the woods bordering the Little Palace. When they came across a brook, both of the horses stopped so that they could drink.

Genya only then noticed that her heart was thrumming with excitement, her nose and ears were nipped with cold, and her entire body was vibrating. She removed herself from the saddle at the same time as David before she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like mad. “I’m so lucky to have you. Thank you, David.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #ao3 #archive of our own #grishaverse #the grisha trilogy #shadow and bone #sab #genya safin #david kostyk #danya #david x genya #genya x david #save shadow and bone ship week #save shadow and bone #six of crows spinoff

[bbxnny-bbxtch]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Scotty x Black Fem! Reader where they both just love each other so much…but the reader is just sad so Scotty takes care of them for the day and they just cuddle and so much tooth rotting fluff? If not I completely understand.

This is so fucking cute. I want this to be in two parts (mainly bc i wrote a little too much) so this is part one, I hope thats okay with you 🥹 also i didnt know tumblr had a word limit 😭

Summary - Scotty had met the true love of her life. She knew this girl was her soulmate. This girl (you) is more than perfect in her eyes. Yet, no matter how happy Scotty made y/n, and vice versa, sadness and pain are inevitable. You cant ignore it forever, but seeing just how sad y/n was, Scotty decides its time to cheer her up.

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3|

You are my Sunshine...

Scotty was in hell. Well, not literally. But she sure felt like it. Yvonne had been long gone and it left Scotty in a void for months. She just thought that life without Yvonne was miserable. It was her fault Yvonne left, but it still stung when she laid in bed to cry. She had loved Yvonne with every fiber of her being. But she was wrong. She still kept up with their boundaries even if Yvonne was in France. No more Tuesdays, no more 6:30. And it became, Thursday's at 5:23. Weird huh? 5:23. As the weeks grew longer and her heart got emptier, she went to the market at 5:23, on a Thursday. Like she always did. gfgfAs Scotty ran through the aisles, diligently getting all the items she and her mother needed, she went to check out. Like a normal person would. And there you were. In all your glory. Scotty's heart skipped a beat as you gave her that sickeningly sweet smile you'd given everyone. She froze. Literally. Her brain somehow ceased to comprehend how she was in such close contact with a goddess. You had just landed this job, on top of 2 others to take care of your family. It wasn't much, but it was enough. You prided yourself in the way others perceived you, still holding on to the childish dream of being a model, despite every odd being against you. With one look at you Scotty knew it was fate. "Erm..excuse me miss, but are you alright? Your total is 16.40 quid." You smiled politely, slightly concerned for the cute girl in front of you. Her mouth gaped open like a fish out of water. She had the cutest eyes. Deep chocolate swirls of abyss, the more you stared into her eyes the more the encapsulated you. Seeing as Scotty was still silent you glanced at the ever growing line, and impatient customers. With a sigh you decided today was a good day still and you payed her fee, it wasn't much anyway. Bagging her items, you could see her come back to reality a bit. "Alright then..call me will ya?" Your beautiful face held a cocky smirk as you scribbled your number on the receipt. You definitely knew this girl was interesting. Plus, who were you to pass up this golden opportunity to flirt with a cute girl. Your boldness radiated off of you in the moment just as much as your kindness did. Scotty couldn't take her eyes off of you as she grabbed her two bags and walked backwards to the entrance. It was like a burst of color and life had entered her world. And it all surrounded you. "Wow.." she stupidly knocked over a display while back pedaling, it left you in a fit of giggles she couldn't get over as she raced to her car to go home. Smiling the entire drive home Scotty knew her life would only get better. "Jesus Scotty, you're finally getting some?" Dean choked out as he ate some yogurt. Dean as well as the rest of her friends had listened to Scotty rant about her newfound obsession for hours already. She had this constant shy smile on her face as she reminisced what happened just two days prior. "Well, she was beautiful. I mean- unlike anything I've ever seen. Her smile was like the sun and oh god- she looked so perfect..even in that ugly uniform. She made it look lovely. Fuck- and she payed my fee! How much better can she get?" her ranting seemed to drone on and on but everyone was happy for her. No doubt they noticed how sad she'd been since Yvonne left. They tried to do everything in their power to help her but there's only so much you can do right? "Well, at least you're not stalking the bird. She seems lovely, hopefully you put on some good pining." Sian sipped her tea with a smirk. "Ah yes!why dont you give her a call? She did give you her number, use it Scotty!" Violet chuckled in adoration, Scotty was like her baby sister. "What?!? Are you nuts? What am I gonna say? 'Hey, this is Scotty! The freak who froze when I saw your gorgeous face.' God no! She'll think I'm weird! I'll see her Thursday." She knew it was odd, but this time Scotty promised herself that she wouldn't overstep any boundaries. Plus, the girl did give Scotty her number so..obviously she was interested. Right?