summary: And in that moment, you swear to yourself that nothing will happen to the beautiful boy holding your hand. He will live a long and happy life, full of music and laughter and make-believe adventures. Eddie will not die for the simple fact that you will not allow him to.
In which you save Eddie Munson through the power of love and incredible violence.
rating: 16+ (violence, language)
read on Ao3
You are well aware of the fact that your boyfriend is not the most careful guy around. You know about the drugs, which you admittedly sometimes partake in, and the pranks he loves to pull on the Hawkins High sports teams, which you proudly partake in. Some girls might disapprove of their boyfriend’s recklessness, but you can’t bring yourself to, because it’s just a part of him. Eddie Munson wouldn’t be Eddie Munson without a little danger for him to thrill in.
Keyword being a little.
These past weeks have been excruciating—running and hiding and fighting with this unlikely group of warriors in order to save your boyfriend, yourself, and the rest of this town. This town that just so happens to want Eddie dead. When you’d first heard the news, seen Eddie’s picture with horrible words like wanted and murderer splashed across the television screen like a scarlet letter A, your heart had nearly fallen out of your chest. You hadn’t believed it, of course, not even for a second—but you were well aware that this meant life would never be the same for either of you.
You’ve thought about just saying fuck it and taking off, of taking him by the hand and getting the hell out of Hawkins. But it’s never more than a passing, guilty thought, because you know that Eddie would never agree. He would never leave his Hellfire friends, especially the little ones; you may only be twenty, but fourteen seems like barely more than a toddler to you. And while Mike may be safe thousands of miles away, Dustin and Lucas are right in the middle of it all just like the rest of you.
You’re not as familiar with Nancy or Steve, since you’ve never really run with the popular crowd—you’ve always been a bit too atypical, had a little too much bite, to truly fit in. It’s why you and Eddie clicked so well. You do know Robin, thanks to the year you spent in band before growing fed up with the idiot of a director and quitting, deciding that Hellfire was the only activity you really cared about. So yes, she’s a friend, but you’re not that close. In all of this, Eddie is the only one who you know, and who knows you.
Which means you’re the only one who is aware of the fact that Eddie will not run away forever. There is always a point where he will find the determination to stand his ground.
If you call him brave he’ll laugh it off, make a self-deprecating joke about how he talks a big game but all that grandeur is just necessary to be a good dungeon master, that outside of Hellfire he’s not half as fearless as you. But that doesn’t fool you. People who don’t know him, really know him, might use words like careless or foolish, but the fact of the matter is this: Eddie is brave whether he knows it or not.
And now that part of him doesn’t endear you—it terrifies you. Because not only is he brave, he is also kind, and you fear this will be his undoing. He might claim to be all about self-preservation, but if it came down to it, you’re sure he would put his life on the line for those kids. For you. He won’t abandon this town, even though it’s abandoned him.
It’s more than you can bear.
So here you are, crouched in a mobile home outside the War Zone, all too aware that this may be your last moment alone with him until this hell is over and trying not to scream and cry like a child at the unfairness of it all. You distract yourself by counting the discolored spots on the ceiling that most likely resulted from heavy storms causing leaks. There are quite a lot of them. Eddie is sitting across from you, humming to himself. He does this often, but what betrays his anxiety is the way he falls out of tune every few notes. He is a musician, and a damn good one—he doesn’t falter on notes.
You want to say something. You want to hold him close and hide him away from all this bullshit. But you can’t, so you nudge him with your foot. “Hey. You okay?”
It’s a stupid question. No one is okay anymore. But you ask anyway.
The humming stops. “Yeah, yeah.” He nods at you, smiling. Then the smile fades and he glances away. “No.”
At least he’s being honest. “Well,” you sigh. “Me neither.”
Silence settles over the trailer. You shuffle a bit closer to him, which seems to prompt him to speak again. What he says makes you wish he hadn’t.
“Baby,” he begins. “If this… I mean, you know anything could happen out there. Not saying it will! But this isn’t like our campaign. We don’t get to walk away from this. And if I… If I’m not able to—”
Your whole body goes cold. “No.” You cut him off. “Don’t you dare say it.”
Eddie should never look as mournful as he does right now. “Princess, please, just listen.”
“No!” You slam your fist against the carpeted floor. “Don’t try to say goodbye as if we’re guaranteed to die. No one’s going to die.”
He wraps his arms around his knees, narrowing his eyes at you. “People already have.”
“You know what I mean,” you retort, but you feel chastened anyway. You didn’t mean to make it sound like you don’t care about Chrissy or the other victims, but the truth is, you didn’t know them like you know Eddie. Their deaths were sad, yes, and you wish they hadn’t happened, but you weren’t exactly mad with grief. Not the way you would be if Eddie died. Even just thinking of it sends a lightning bolt of pain through you.
“I’ve never been a hero,” he says. “Maybe… maybe this is my chance to prove myself. To make it up to Chrissy for running away.”
“Fuck being a hero,” you snarl. “Fuck being a sacrifice. So what if people say running makes you a coward? You know what I say? I say running has kept you alive. And there is no shame in living, Eddie.”
The stricken expression on his face almost makes you want to take it back, or at least say it a bit less callously. Almost.
You can’t imagine the guilt he’s feeling over seeing Chrissy die, because though you know it’s not his fault, he can’t seem to believe that himself. And you’re not jealous of a dead girl, because that would be all kinds of fucked up, but you are resentful of the fact that it had to be him she went to, that he was dragged into a world full of monsters.
You understand that he’s hurting, that he feels he has to atone. But understanding doesn’t mean you’ll back down.
“You don’t have to be a hero,” you murmur. “I don’t need you to be a hero. I just need you.”
You know very well that there’s a good chance not all of you will make it through. Hopefully, that won’t be the case, and these crazy kids will actually be able to pull this off. But if worst comes to worst, if you can only save one person at the end of all of this mess, you’d choose him. Every time. Maybe that makes you a selfish person. Maybe even a terrible person. You really don’t care.
‘I love you,” you continue. “There aren’t a lot of people that I love. So let’s not make that number even smaller, okay?” You feel a tear making its way down your cheek—funny, you didn’t even realize you were crying. “Don’t break my heart, Eddie.”
That seems to hit home. “I would never,” he protests, eyes wide. “I’d never break your heart.”
“You not being here would break it,” you say. It would break you, period, but you manage to keep that to yourself. You’ve made your point clear enough, or at least you hope you have.
You lean forward to kiss him, entwining the fingers of your left hand with his and placing your other against his cheek. His curly hair tickles your face. His skin is warm compared to your own, and you resist the urge to slide your hand down to his neck, to press against his pulse just to reassure yourself he’s here. He’s not going anywhere.
It’s chaste compared to how you usually kiss, but you have had so little gentleness recently that you cherish it. His lips are full and slightly chapped, and you can feel how he smiles against your own. He always smiles when you kiss him.
Finally you pull away, opening your eyes to meet his chocolate brown ones.
“You will not die,” you say fiercely. “If you die I will never forgive you, Eddie Munson.”
He presses his forehead against yours. “Well,” he says quietly, “I guess I better try my best to stay alive.”
And in that moment, you swear to yourself that nothing will happen to the beautiful boy holding your hand. He will live a long and happy life, full of music and laughter and make-believe adventures. Eddie will not die for the simple fact that you will not allow him to.
At least you won’t be alone in this effort. The others will take out Vecna/Henry/One, you and Eddie and Dustin will distract the demobats but then haul ass back to safety, and in the end you’ll all escape the Upside Down safe as can be, and the nightmare will be over.
Everything will go according to plan.
—
Everything does not go according to plan.
If the swarm of bats before seemed big, this is unfathomable. You and the boys are cowering inside the trailer, makeshift weapons seeming so useless now against the horde just outside.
Screw being the diversion for any longer, you decide. You’ve done what you were supposed to. It’s time to go.
“We need to get out of here NOW,” you snap. One of your arms is thrust out to the side in front of Dustin, shielding him as if your weak flesh will be any defense against the creatures struggling to get in. The other is tugging desperately at Eddie’s jacket, trying to get him to turn around, to run for safety.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing. The hellish shriek of a bat as it slams itself against the flimsy door of the trailer sends all of you running for the makeshift rope that connects you to the real Hawkins.
Dustin goes up first, of course—Eddie may be the love of your life, but you couldn’t bear anything to happen to that sweet kid either. You’re next, though reluctantly. You’re so scared that Eddie will not listen to you, that he’ll try to pull some heroic bullshit the very moment you aren’t there to pull him back. But there’s no time to argue, and you haul yourself up the rope as the demobats screech and claw at the door.
You can’t help the small shriek that leaves you as you tumble onto the mattress—going from climbing to falling in the blink of an eye is an unnerving experience every time. You stand up quickly so that Eddie can jump through.
But he doesn’t.
You can see directly through the portal into the corrupted version of your world, where Eddie has one hand on the rope and the other holding tightly to his weapon. He’s looking up at you with those big brown eyes, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, a million unreadable emotions flickering across his face.
And he isn’t moving.
“Eddie, come on!” You shout. Dustin is next to you, screaming similar words, but you barely hear him. You’re locked onto your boyfriend as he glances between you and the bats that, from the sound of it, have nearly gotten through the door.
A dread more overwhelming than anything you’ve ever felt surges through you. You know him better than anyone. You know exactly what he’s about to do.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” you shout up—or down, or wherever the hell—at him. “You get up here right now!”
He stares up at you, and even from here you can see the tears shimmering in his eyes. “Baby,” he says. “I think this is it.”
“No,” you say. “No, no, no, baby, please, no. Please, come on. Come with me.”
Now his tears have spilled over, trailing down his face the same way yours are. “I have to do this.” His voice cracks and your heart cracks with it. “I’m going to be the hero for you. All of you.”
“Fuck heroes!” Your voice rises to a shriek. “Fuck that! Just live!”
“I can’t.” It’s almost too quiet for you to hear. “I can’t live if I’m always running away.”
You’re fully sobbing now, hands flying up to tug at your hair as you beg him to come back to you. “Eddie Munson, if you don’t get up here right now, I will never speak to you again.”
“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Then he looks away from you and towards his doom.
“No more running,” he says.
Eddie cuts the rope.
“NOOOOOOOOO!”
The scream tears itself out of your throat with a fear and fury you did not know you possessed. You nearly rip out a chunk of your hair in your panic, fingers curling against your scalp, nails drawing blood, as you cry and beg him to come back, even as he disappears from view. You can hear the trailer door slam open as he runs out, as he decides to be the sacrifice you hoped he’d never be.
You look around the room desperately for something, anything that can get you back through. You feel dizzy from betrayal and fear, stumbling as the room begins to spin.
He told you he’d stay alive. He promised he wouldn’t try to be a hero.
Why? Why would he do this? Why, when you had told him that you needed him safe and alive and with you?
Dustin shouting your name is what snaps you back into clarity. He’s dragging a chair towards you, and once you see that he’s trying to position it below the portal you nearly tackle him in your effort to keep him from following in Eddie’s footsteps.
He tries to push past you. “We gotta go get him!”
“Listen to me, Dustin!” You grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to be still and hear what you’re saying.
“You stay here.” Your voice is rough, vocal cords strained from all your screaming. “I’m going to bring him back. I promise.”
“But I can help!” Dustin’s eyes are watery and it nearly makes you break down again, but you steel yourself and shake your head.
“I am not losing either of you tonight,” you say. “I refuse. Please, stay here.”
You don’t give him an opportunity to protest. Instead you turn and take a running leap towards the chair. You plant one foot on the seat and boost yourself upwards.
Your torso slams painfully against the side of the trailer ceiling, or whatever is left of it, twisted to facilitate this jagged tear in reality. You grit your teeth and dig your fingers into the floor slash ceiling slash whatever, muscles straining as you claw your way back into hell.
You can hear Dustin calling your name, but it’s background noise to the blood rushing in your ears. Your breath comes in gasps as you finally pull yourself into the Upside Down, but that is quickly put to an end when you fall to the floor and all the wind is knocked out of you. You feel something in your left side snap and if there were any air left in your lungs you would have screamed. Your mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish as you desperately try to pull in air. Every moment you stay here, the further away Eddie gets.
Every muscle in your body protests as you struggle to your feet, and your side sends another stab of pain that forces a choked, animalistic sound out of you. You clutch at what you hope to god isn’t a broken rib as you pick up your abandoned spear and stumble out of the trailer.
At first, your legs refuse to move any faster than a slow limp. But in the distance you can hear Eddie shouting, and a surge of fear hits you like a train. It’s strong enough that you feel like a woman possessed as you begin to run, then sprint, despite the fact that it should be impossible for your wounded body to move like this. But you do, because what’s more impossible is the idea of a world without Eddie Munson in it.
It seems like it takes forever to reach the whirling, leviathan mass of screeching bats. The sound and sight of them as they circle around what can only be your boyfriend is worse than any horror movie you’ve ever seen.
You don’t stop to think as you dive into the fray. There is no rationality to anything you’re doing now, only the sheer will to see that Eddie lives through this. You jab and slash at anything that comes near you, voice rising in a war cry as the bats do their very best to rip you apart.
When you reach him, standing right in the middle of this hell, you nearly collapse. He’s alive. More than alive, he’s still on his own two feet, and somehow holding his own. But not for much longer, not if you don’t do something.
“Eddie!” You shout, and when he whirls to face you he nearly drops his shield.
“What are you doing here?” He shouts back, not looking away from you even as he skewers a bat.
You narrowly dodge a vicious bite to the shoulder. “Keeping you alive, you suicidal bastard! Duck!”
He ducks just in time to avoid a whiplike tail wrapping around his neck. The swarm has forced you to huddle close together, side-by-side as you defend yourselves against impossible odds.
There’s no time for words anymore, though you have some very choice ones for this man. That’ll have to wait until after you slaughter all these fucking demons.
Despite your best efforts, a bat is able to bite into your shoulder and you scream, unable to angle your spear at it properly. Eddie is the one to tear it off of you, slamming it to the ground and crushing its head with his foot. Hot blood trickles down your arm. It’s only a few moments later that you have to return the favor, ripping one of the demons from where it has clamped its mouth closed around his lower leg.
If anyone saw you right now, they might mistake you for monsters yourselves. You’re both soaked in obsidian bood and gore, voices rising in cries to match the creatures you’re killing. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe sometimes, you have to be the monster to save the ones you love.
Eddie screams your name as a bat manges to wrap its tail around your neck and mouth, yanking your head back painfully. You choke soundlessly as you feel your airway being crushed, and in a moment of pure instinct, you do something disgusting and vicious and necessary.
You bite down.
You sink your teeth into flesh and nearly puke from the taste and stink of rot. But you refuse to let go, clenching your jaw tight as you can as the creature shrieks and claws at you. Right now you are more animal than girl, driven by the raw need to fight, to protect, to live.
The bat rakes deep lines across the side of your face but you do not waver, shaking your head like a dog shakes a rabbit in its jaws. You reach up with your free hand and grab it by the neck. With your teeth still burrowed deep in its tail, you pull as hard as you possibly can, and with the kind of inhuman strength that people only possess in matters of life or death, you tear the bat in half.
“Holy fuck,” you hear from behind you, and you turn around to see Eddie staring at you—not in fear, as one might expect a guy to after seeing his girlfriend bisect a living creature with her bare hands, but in pure adoration. It doesn’t last long though; there is still a battle to be won.
But there are just so many, and the hopelessness of the situation begins to wear the both of you down. You can tell that Eddie is starting to falter, and you can feel your own strikes getting more sluggish, less precise. You’re bleeding, you can barely breathe, you just want this to end, and then—
It stops.
You don’t even realize at first that the bats have stopped shrieking, that they’re falling, not flying. But when you jab at one that’s crawling across the ground and it doesn’t even react, it finally hits you, and you slowly lower your spear.
You stare up in shock and awe as the demobats fall from the sky in droves. Lifeless.
Which means their master is too.
You nearly start laughing, you’re so hysterical with adrenaline and disbelief and joy. They did it. Took a fucking century, but they did it. Oh, bless those glorious people. You’ll never be able to repay them.
Next to you, Eddie has come to the same conclusion. He stares up at the sky, then at you, and it's the utter triumph in his eyes that really makes it sink in.
You’re both bleeding, bruised, and likely have a fracture or two—but still standing. Eddie looks as if he’s about to pass out, but he still manages to give you that familiar snarky grin.
“I think we did it, baby,” he says breathlessly. “I think we saved the world.”
In a split second you’re standing less than a foot in front of him, anger flaring back up at the audacity of him to act as if he hadn’t just done possibly the stupidest thing in the history of mankind.
“Fuck you!” You scream, pounding your fists weakly against his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” But even as you spit curses at him, the anger is dissipating into relief and exhaustion. Your words slur together as you dissolve into helpless tears. Eddie grabs one of your wrists with one hand and pulls your head to his shoulder with the other, burying his face in your hair.
“You left me,” you choke out amid your sobs. “You said you’d do your best to stay alive and then you just had to be a dumbass and play hero and you broke your promise, Eddie Munson, you left me!”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and though you can’t see his face you can tell he’s crying too. “I’m an idiot, I know, I’m an idiot and you can hate me all you want but God, baby, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
And it is proof of how incredible a person your boyfriend is that even though he was right there too, even though he is just as hurt, he’s only worried about your wellbeing. He has seen all your anger, all your fear, all your viciousness that even you didn’t know you were capable of, and he still treats you like the most precious thing on Earth.
“You’re so lucky you didn’t die,” you sniffle. “Because I would’ve brought you back just to kill you myself.”
Eddie laughs softly, startling you. “Thought you said you were never going to speak to me again.”
“I lied,” you say, voice muffled thanks to the fact that your face is pressed firmly against his jacket. “Obviously.”
“Good,” he says, “because I think I’d just die anyway if you actually meant it.”
“Oh my god, shut up.”
“Gladly,” he says, and kisses you.
If the anger hadn’t all faded before, the kiss washes it away for good. Your hands come up to rest against his cheeks, gently pulling him in closer as his arms wrap around your waist, careful not to hurt your injured side. The time for ferocity is over. When you’re in his arms, you’re at peace.
You have to pull back much sooner than you’d like, because you really are still having a hard time breathing, but you’re not too upset, because now you know there will be time for as many kisses as you want in the future.
“I love you, Eddie Munson,” you say.
He smiles, and you’ve never seen anything more stunning. “I love you, beautiful girl.”
Still cradling his face in your hands, you close your eyes and rest your forehead against his, just as you did in the van.
summary: He doesn’t need to be taken care of, but you want to do it anyway. You want to hold him and tell him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to be in control all the time. That he can place his body and heart and mind in your hands and you will take him apart and put him back together with as much love as you can possibly give.
rating: 18+
read on Ao3
Love was when he came to me
begging on his bended knees
to please have pity on his heart
and let him lay me in the dirt.
—Persephone, Hadestown
Here’s the thing about Druig: he’s used to control.
It’s not surprising, given his power. He can quite literally make anyone do whatever he wants, the only exception being his fellow Eternals. Since that’s the case, you’ve never personally experienced what it’s like to be under his influence, but you’ve seen it countless times.
But here’s another thing about him: you know he grows tired of it sometimes. You know he loved his village—more than he will ever admit aloud—but it must be a lonely existence, walking among humans and knowing you’re the only one with true autonomy. He’s certainly grown rougher around the edges since the last time all of your family was together, and ever since you laid eyes on him again you’ve felt the dark tinge of guilt pressing at your conscience.
You shouldn’t have left him. You should’ve held his hand and kept him close after Tenochtitlan, even as the others went their separate ways. You shouldn’t have put your relationship on indefinite hold, because indefinite has turned into literal centuries and everything feels as if it’s brand new again. He kisses you and it tastes like the first time your lips met alongside the sunset beaches of Mexico, he calls you beautiful and you blush like it’s the first time you’ve heard such a compliment from him.
And, of course, making love is precious each time.
The others joke about how you can’t keep your hands off each other, but who can blame you after so long apart? You’ve missed him dearly, and if making up for lost time means falling into bed again and again (and again) you certainly aren’t complaining. And while you love it when he holds you down and kisses you breathless, you know that sometimes, a surrender of control is just what he needs.
That is something you’re glad to give him.
Besides, he makes such a lovely sight down on his knees. You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, legs spread so that he can fit between them. He’s got one hand on your thigh, two fingers of the other pumping in and out of your dripping cunt while his tongue circles your clit.
“So good,” you moan. “Such a good boy.”
Druig will never, ever, admit to liking being called that, not even to you, but you aren’t easily fooled and the way his entire body trembles when you say it gives him away every time. He moans into your clit and your toes curl as you fight to keep yourself from squeezing your legs too tightly around his head. Honestly, he’d probably like it, but you’ve only recently gotten back into the flow of being together, and there’s no need to rush into the more intense things so soon.
This, though, is something both of you are a thousand percent into. He loves eating you out, takes every opportunity to do so, and you consider yourself the luckiest woman in the universe to have such a wonderful lover with an equally wonderful mouth.
That mouth.
He spreads his fingers wide inside of your pussy and presses the flat of his tongue against your clit. You’ve been in this position for a while now, so you’re already wound up, and the combination of the heat and the stretch is what finally does you in.
“Oh, Druig,” you gasp. Your entire body feels as if it's on fire as you come hard around his fingers. He works you through it, only removing his fingers once you tighten your legs just enough to let him know you’re starting to feel overstimulated. But he’s still kneeling there on the floor, waiting to be good for you, and you’re sure that will have you ready to go again soon enough.
It takes you a minute to recover, but once your arms no longer feel like jelly you reach for his hands and urge him to join you on the bed.
It requires a bit of maneveuring, but you manage to get on top, swinging one leg over to the side so that you’re straddling his thighs while he leans back against the pillows propped up by the headboard. When you kiss him again, you’re delighted to find that the taste of you is still on his tongue.
“Let me take care of you,” you murmur, and you don’t just mean getting him off. You mean it in every way possible, in any way he wants. He doesn’t need to be taken care of, but you want to do it anyway. You want to hold him and tell him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to be in control all the time. That he can place his body and heart and mind in your hands and you will take him apart and put him back together with as much love as you can possibly give.
You wrap your hand around his length and begin to pump up and down, knowing the pace is just on the side of too slow. He groans, the hand that isn’t on your waist curling into the soft sheets beneath him.
“There we go,” you praise. “So good for me.”
You work him over until he’s practically shaking, watching his movements carefully. You know the signs of when he’s about to come, and as much as you’d love to see him come apart with just your hand you’ve got a much better plan for how the rest of this night should go. You’ve had plenty of time to recover from your first orgasm, and you’re aching to have him inside you.
When you draw your hand back from his cock you can see how hard it is for him to hold back a whimper of need, and it makes you smile. You’re already basically on his lap, so it only takes a bit of shifting to position yourself right where he needs you—almost. You’re close enough that he can feel the heat of your cunt but can’t enter you, not just yet. You need to hear something from him first.
“Druig,” you say, in a tone too innocent to be genuine, “do you want to fuck me?”
He scoffs, though there’s no bite to it. “You know the answer to that.”
“Ask me for it,” you say, and watch the movement of his throat as he swallows. You quickly amend your request: “beg me.”
Upon hearing that, a familiar smirk appears on his face, and you hear the words you’ve been waiting for.
“Make me,” he says.
“Well,” you sigh, feigning annoyance but unable to completely hide your delight and affection. “If you insist.”
Then you thread your fingers through his hair and pull hard. His head is jerked up and his eyes—those pretty, pretty eyes—go wide so that you can see very clearly just how blown his pupils are. He loves this just as much as you do. You move forward so that your breath ghosts across his lips, close enough to kiss but not giving him the privilege, not yet.
“You want to be inside me, right?” You roll your hips forward teasingly, and when he tries to thrust up into your warmth you tighten your hold on his hair, clicking your tongue. “You want to fuck me until I scream?”
“Oh, fuck,” he hisses. “You’re killing me, darling.”
“Cute, but not what I’m asking for,” you tease, running your free hand down his chest. “Beg me.”
With the way his breathing has gone heavy and the sweat beading at his brow, you can tell it won’t be much longer. On other occasions—by which you mean back before the split—he’d been much more stubborn, but it’s been literally hundreds of years since you’ve played these roles, so if both of you are a little less composed than usual, no one can blame you.
Just one more push, you think, and you’ll have him.
“I know how bad you need me,” you say, loosening the vice grip you have on his hair in order to comb through the strands gently. This is what he likes—this mix of harshness and sweetness. It’s fitting, given his usual attitude towards everyone except you. “And you know how bad I need you. Don’t make me wait, Druig.”
It’s saying his name that undoes him. Finally, deliciously, he gives in. “Please,” he gasps.
There it is.
Druig doesn’t say please, not to anyone but you, and you won’t pretend you don’t take great pleasure in that. But it’s also a gift, a testament to how much he loves and trusts you, how he knows you would never use this against him, and you lean down to kiss him roughly.
“Say it again,” you breathe out once you manage to pull yourself away.
“Please,” he begs. “Please, my love, let me fuck you. I’ll fuck you so good, sweetheart, please.”
And to hear such filthy words coming from his mouth, to know you’re the cause of it, well, that’s nearly enough to bring you over the edge again. You’ve kept him waiting long enough, anyway, so with another harsh bite to his lip you pull him close, grinding down against his length.
“Go ahead, Druig,” you say. “Fuck me.”
He obeys without hesitation, gripping your hips in order to urge you upward just enough so that he can slide his cock between your folds. You don’t take your eyes off of his face as you sink down onto him, committing the way his eyes roll back and the way his jaw tenses to your nearly infinite memory.
“That’s it,” you sigh as he bottoms out, his thick cock filling you up perfectly. “Oh, fuck yes.” He thrusts into you roughly, unable to hold himself back after your teasing, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “You fill me up so good, I could stay here on your cock forever.”
“Dirty mouth,” he snarks, and you grip his jaw just hard enough to hurt for his brattiness.
“You’re one to talk,” you say, and you punctuate it by rolling your hips again. Now that he’s inside you, both of you can feel everything, and whatever smart reply he might have come up with is wiped away with a quiet moan. He’s not loud in bed, never has been, so even the smallest of sounds means he’s putty in your hands. You kiss him hard, fingers still tight where they’re splayed along his sharp jaw and angular cheek.
Your hand loosens only when his pace grows faster, harder. His palms grip your waist, holding you steady as he thrusts up into you. You consider grabbing his hands with your own and holding them off to the side so that he’s only able to take what you give him, but you’re so wound up and he’s been so good that you’re content to let him do this his way.
Cupping his face in your hands, your touch turns tender as you gaze at each other. He’s gorgeous like this. He’s gorgeous all the time, of course, but especially now, when his eyes are glazed not with his power but with pleasure—pleasure that only you bring him. You’re sure that you’re wearing a similar expression, if the fond crinkle at the corners of his eyes is anything to go by.
“Hey,” you say softly, more of a gasp than a proper word. You try to catch your breath before continuing, which is not an easy task when he’s fucking you like his life depends on it. You can feel his cock hard and hot inside of you, consuming you. “Come inside of me, Druig.”
“Oh, fuck,” he growls, and comes.
You cry out as you feel his cum fill you up. The ecstasy coiling in your body reaches a crescendo and orgasm slams into you, and you swear you see white for a few seconds as you shudder through your climax. You barely realize that you’ve sunk your teeth into Druig’s shoulder, your arms flung around his back to hold him as close as possible.
You don’t let go of him even as you come down from the high, though you do remove your lips from his shoulder in order to catch his own in another breathless kiss. His arms are holding you just as tightly, and when you pull back to look at him again he graces you with one of his rare real smiles, the gentle one that precious few have ever seen.
He’s yours. You’re his. Centuries upon centuries could never hope to change that.
“I love you, beautiful girl,” he says, and what he means is we’ll never be apart again.
“I love you, too,” you say, and what you mean is I know.
summary: your boyfriend has returned from a journey you couldn’t follow him on. adjusting to this is proving difficult.
a/n: i’ve never published my writing on tumblr before so bear with me here please.
rating: 18+
read on ao3
He comes back on a Thursday.
He comes back different.
It’s not a bad sort of different, to be fair, but still. When Shang-Chi and Katy first stepped foot back in the city, visiting you with matching sheepish smiles, you didn’t know what to think. They’d disappeared off the face of the Earth for weeks and now here they were, telling you stories of fathers and dragons and rings.
Believing them is not as hard as one might expect, but of course this is the kind of world you live in now. So it’s not the believing that’s hard, but the accepting. It stings that he didn’t take you, his girlfriend of nearly six months, with him. And it’s not like that’s as long as you’ve known him, either. You’d met him two years after Katy, and even then you’d known he was special. Feelings hadn’t entered the equation for a long, long time, but once they did you couldn’t be happier.
So yeah, you’re a little hurt. More than a little, actually. Really fucking hurt. But you can’t just say that; Shang-Chi had lost his father, not to mention nearly losing his own life. You won’t be the asshole who adds onto his grief. So you try your best to manage it on your own, but each time you see him now you never want to let him out of your sight.
Even two months later, you’re still halfway afraid he will one day up and leave again.
This evening you’re having a night in at his apartment, lounging on his bed in sweats and a ratty old t-shirt watching some B-list rom-com that neither of you are really invested in. You’re not sleepy but not exactly energetic—you’d call it peaceful if it weren’t for the way your nerves seem to be twisting over themselves. His arm is around you, his eyes halfway closed, and you steal glances at him every few minutes.
You tell yourself that this fear that he will just disappear is irrational. He has sworn that if he is needed by someone again, he will not go without telling you.
It did not escape your attention that he did not say he would take you with him.
You can’t say anything about it. You promised yourself.
And yet.
His arm tightens around you minutely, and you break.
“Shang-Chi,” you say, and his attention drifts to you.
This too is new; referring to him as Shang-Chi rather than Shaun. You find yourself slipping up from time to time, but you’re getting better. It’s a nice name, and Katy has already teased him plenty about the similarities between his identities, so you don’t need to.
“What’s up?” he asks, shifting so that he’s facing you properly. His arm leaves your shoulder and you’re already regretting starting this.
“I…” you begin. “Um.” This is just as hard as you imagined it to be, but you can’t back out now. He waits patiently while you try to gather your words.
Finally, you try again. “When you left,” you say, doing your damndest to not let your voice waver, “you didn’t tell me. And I get why! I just. It.” You sigh, frustrated that this is not coming out like you wanted it to.
Shang-Chi’s face shifts, filling with shame, and you immediately hate yourself so much. “I would have,” he says, “if I had had time, I promise I would have.”
“I know,” you say quickly. “Baby, I know. And I don’t need you to apologize. It’s my fault I can’t get over it.”
Shang-Chi grabs your hands suddenly, looking into your eyes. “None of this is your fault.”
“I shouldn’t be feeling this way,” you argue. “You saved so many people. You saved the world, and I’m over here complaining because you…” Trailing off again, you try to reign in how emotional you’re getting.
“Are you mad?” he asks. “That I took Katy and not you? Because she didn’t really give me a choice, honestly, she would’ve hopped on that plane no matter what I did.”
“No, I don’t have a problem with Katy,” you say, and you mostly mean it. You’ve never been jealous of Katy—she and Shang-Chi have always been attached at the hip, that’s true, but their dynamic is closer to that of siblings than anything else. But there’s no denying they’ve been through something together that has fundamentally changed how they see each other.
And you weren’t a part of it.
So it’s not really Katy you’re jealous of, but the fact that she got to go along on this amazing life-changing adventure while you remained clueless in San Francisco.
“I just wish you had told me,” you admit. “I didn’t know where you’d gone. I thought something terrible happened.” And you think maybe something did, because he still hasn’t told you all of it. You should be more angry about that, probably. But you’ve been his girlfriend for long enough that you’re all too familiar with the fact that there are some things Shang-Chi just doesn’t talk about, and maybe never will.
“I was alone,” you whisper. “I know why you thought you couldn’t take me. But I felt so alone.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, and the guilt in his tone is almost enough to have you taking it all back, to say you were just overreacting and that he shouldn’t worry about it. “I’m sorry.” He leans over, pressing his forehead to yours, one of his favorite gestures of affection.
“I know,” you reply softly.
“I wish you’d told me earlier,” he says.
Your hands slide up to cover his. “I didn’t want you to feel bad.”
“You could never make me feel bad.” Oh, this man. How he makes your heart ache, in the best way.
“I love you,” you murmur.
You can feel his breath ghost across your lips. “I love you too.”
He pulls away from you slowly, and you’re relieved to see that he looks like he feels much better. “I know I said it before, but I really am sorry.”
“You don’t need to say it again—”
“Let me make it up to you?” He’s smiling now, eyebrows lifted.
Oh. Oh.
Well, you’ll never say no to that.
He tilts his head, silently asking permission that he knows you’ll give. You give it by sitting up straight and wasting no time in pulling your shirt over your head. Your bra is beige and has a bandaid right in the middle in order to cover the wire that has popped out of the fabric, which is not at all sexy, but he still looks at you like you’re the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and it does awful, wonderful things to your stomach. It takes a bit more maneuvering to get your pants off, and while you struggle to do that he shucks off his own clothes, leaving him in only black boxers that don’t leave much to the imagination.
You swing your leg over his lap so that you can straddle him, cradling his face in your hands and kissing him deeply. His tongue slips into your mouth and you moan, relishing in the feeling of him. His hands grip your hips and you can’t suppress the shiver that runs through you. He’s so warm, so full of life, and you remind yourself that he is here with you. He’s not leaving, not now.
You kiss and kiss and kiss for what might as well be an eternity, the way you two are wrapped up in each other. At some point you unhook your bra and toss it carelessly off the bed. His hands come up eagerly to cup your breasts. You gasp when his thumbs brush across your nipples, his touch feather-light.
You would gladly stay in his lap forever, but it seems that Shang-Chi has had an even better idea as he gently lifts you off of him and flips you both so that he’s on top, bracing himself on his elbows and looking down at you fondly. He leans down and kisses your collarbone, and you watch with bated breath as he slowly moves further down your body, trailing kisses across your breasts, down your stomach, on both your thighs. He slides his fingers under the fabric of your panties, and you lift your hips to encourage him to take them off. But he lingers, apparently content just to feel your skin.
“Don’t tease me, Shang-Chi,” you breathe.
“I would never,” he says, mock offended, and when you see the teasing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth you can’t help but play along, whining like a petulant child.
“But I want you to touch me,” you say. “Don’t you want to touch me?”
That, however, seems to ignite something in him. His dark eyes go darker. “You don’t know half of what I want to do to you,” he murmurs. Finally he drags your panties down your legs and you sigh happily. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve fucked since he’s been back, but something about tonight feels electric.
And when his mouth is finally on you, well.
“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, one hand curling into the short strands of his hair and the other grasping at the bedcovers. “Fuck yes, Shang-Chi.”
He hums against you and rubs his thumb across your clit, because he is insanely good at knowing just how to please you. Your legs tremble and with his free hand he pushes your thighs further apart, spreading you out so he can taste you better. His tongue slips inside of you and you nearly scream. It’s only for the sake of his neighbors that you try to keep your voice down, but damn is it hard when he’s tonguefucking you like this.
You have to remove your hand from his hair to slap it over your mouth when he circles your clit with his finger again, crying out desperately against your palm. His tongue is so warm inside you like the rest of him, and you know you’re going to come undone embarrassingly soon.
His hand squeezes your thigh as he hums again, sending shockwaves up your spine.
“So fucking good,” you say, muffled by your hand. “Ohh, keep doing that.”
And because he is the best boyfriend ever, he does. He licks up against your walls like he wants to devour you, and all the while his thumb does not leave your clit. Your heart and head are pounding and you grind your hips up into his face helplessly.
Orgasm hits you like a train. Your voice rises in a wail and yeah, someone definitely heard that one. Shang-Chi coaxes you through it, keeps eating you out until you’re whining from the overstimulation. When he looks up to meet your eyes, his entire mouth and chin are slick with your wetness.
“God, come up here,” you say, and he obeys. You kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue. Then, because you know he’s got to be aching by now, you press your hand to the front of your boxers and are pleased by how hard he is.
“Get those off,” you order, “and fuck me.”
“As the lady commands,” he says, and you snort at the stupid faux accent he does. Even now he makes you laugh. It’s one of the things you love about him.
He sits back to pull off his boxers and you watch him with anticipation. When he’s got them off and is completely bared to you, you reach out to pull him back down and kiss him again.
You can feel as he positions himself, ready to slide inside of you, and with how wet you still are it won’t be hard at all. Before he does, though, he breaks away from the kiss to speak close to your ear.
“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says. “I’m never going to do that to you again.”
The desperate honesty in his tone shakes you to your core. Never before have you found yourself speechless around him. You’re not sure how you feel about it; it’s a level of vulnerability you weren’t prepared for. Wordlessly, you wrap your legs around his waist.
His first thrust into you is slow, careful. It’s still enough to have you gasping into his shoulder. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, the big sap, and rolls his hips into yours. A pleasured groan leaves him, and it is so, so good to know that you can make him feel as fantastic as he does you.
But you still want more, and you know exactly how to get it.
“Shang-Chi,” you say, grinning, “you can fuck me harder than that.”
And if you know one thing about your boyfriend, it’s that he always rises to the challenge.
His next thrust punches the air out of you, and when he growls in your ear you’re nearly embarrassed to say your eyes roll back. This is possibly the most turned on you’ve ever been in your life—scratch that, it definitely is. This man unravels you.
He fucks into you steadily, holding you close to him. You do the same, arms wrapped firmly around his back in order to keep his front pressed against yours. You kiss again, even though neither of you are getting enough air right now. Honestly, the lightheadedness adds to the pleasure.
This is exactly what you needed, and both of you know it; when he’s this close, when he’s quite literally inside you, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s here to stay. He’s yours as much as you are his, and you believe his promise. You love him. God, you love him so much it seems impossible.
“Can I—” he gasps, “do you want me to—”
“Come inside,” you say, punctuated by another moan. You’re on the pill, so it’s probably fine, but you make a mental note to stop by CVS tomorrow morning. Better safe than sorry.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, and hearing him swear is what does you in. Your legs shake as you come for the second time tonight, nails digging into his back. He follows you soon after, and the feeling of him releasing inside is enough to send another wave of pleasure through you.
When you finally come down from the high, you stare up into Shang-Chi’s face and suddenly feel like crying. To avoid it you just bury your face in his neck and tug at his arms until he gets the hint and collapses onto the bed beside you.
“We need a shower,” he says once he’s caught his breath.
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Later though. Sleep now.”
“Sleep sounds good.” He pulls the covers over you both, then moves so that you are pressed tightly against his chest. And this, too, is part of what makes you adore him so. He makes you feel safe.
“I love you,” you say again, because you will never be able to say it enough.
“Love you, too,” he replies, and holds you tighter.
There is still much more to talk about, but right now as you lay in his arms, sated and happier than you’ve been in weeks, you think you can wait just a little while longer.
the way that light says “elegant solution, flawless execution, righteous retribution on the way” in ‘hurricane’ on the death note musical concept album
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