Summary: On a dark and stormy night, reader comes face to face with a man she never thought she’d see again. Can she help him remember who he was and what could happen if she does?
Word Count: 23.3k (ongoing)
Warnings: description of serious injury, fear, anxiety, ptsd, anxiety, vomiting, refusing to eat, self-deprecation, threat, self-destructive behaviour, self harm, suicidal ideation, nightmares, allusions to past abuse and SA, vivid ptsd nightmares, betrayal, descriptions of torture and human experimentation, needles and scalpels, vivid descriptions of torture and injury, inhumane treatment, electrocution, grief and loss, distress
A/N: I miss the era of Winter Soldier recovery fics and I’m back on the Bucky Barnes train again so I thought I’d write one. This starts maybe a day or so after CA:TWS and the helicarriers debacle. Hopefully gonna be a bit of a series. Hope you enjoy!
Please don’t copy my work
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
*
I hope you enjoy! Please reblog and leave comments, nothing makes me happier than to hear what you think of my writing!
It's finally here!! Happy Resbang 2026, everyone! Here is my contribution, Wild Side, a Beastars AU for the Soul Eater characters.
It was so lovely getting to work with @kuhakkuart and @dumpsterr-fire as my artists, go check out their beautiful artworks here and here respectively.
Thank you so much to @resbangmod for putting together this incredible event, you guys work so hard and it is so appreciated!
Wild Side
Pairings: SoMa
Rating: R
Warnings: character death, violence, Beastars cannibalism, horniness(???)
Summary: It’s hard enough being a teenager, try adding animal instincts to the puberty mix. When a carnivore is murdered and partially devoured on school grounds, Soul the arctic wolf and Maka the lop-eared rabbit must team up to bring the murderer to justice. Beastars AU
Summary- 4.6k Alpha Steve x Little One Reader. This mission hits you in a way that brings up feelings of your past and Steve is ready to help you in any way that you need him too.
Warnings- mentions of readers trauma and hopelessness. Smut. This is an 18+ Only Blog.
A/N- Yet again, thank you everyone for being so patient with me, for reading, for sharing and for commenting. All of it is so appreciated. Thank you @yenzys-lucky-charm for always reading my stuff, throwing out suggestions and telling me to keep going. Dividers made by the wonderful @firefly-graphics. Happy Reading. 🐺🩵
Chapter 10 / Masterlist
It took hours to get the large group of hostages uncollared and relocated into nearby safe houses till they could find everyone transportation to their homes. It brought little comfort to you this time as you worked through the crowd, passing on encouraging words that they would be going home and comforting those who seemed beyond hope that there was a home to return to.
The hardest though were the kids, some so shut down that they stared ahead while you worked the collars off them. Then some sought comfort, clinging to you while burying their faces into your bloodied suit. You spent as long as they needed holding them, pressing your face against the top of their dirty heads whispering that they were safe, that it was gonna be okay.
You and the Little Wolf knew that it wasn’t going to be okay, not in the way they knew life before. And it pained you that they had to experience this cruelty, that you couldn't stop it from happening to them what had happened to you.
Steve came up behind you while you were holding one little girl, squatting down next to you and letting you lean into him while you held this sobbing shifter, lending you some of his strength like he knew you were breaking down slowly.
Out of everything you did for T'Challa's tracker, this was the hardest part of all of it. Steve reached around to let his warm hand rest on her tiny trembling back, rubbing slowly to help ease the sobbing. Your Little Wolf started crooning, which escaped from your chest where the little girl was trying to press herself into. Steve saw the tears escaping, your own sob crawling up your throat as memories assaulted you.
“Can you go to my Alpha Sweetheart?” You whispered to her, not wanting her to see you crying. “I promise he won't let anything happen to you.”
He eased his hands under the girl's arms, prying them off you and folding her into him where she turned to cling to Steve, looking so small against him. His hand cupped your face, turning you to look up at him. “Can you contact Shuri to let her know what’s going on?” Offering you a moment to step away and take a breather. Thankful you nodded, slipping away while Steve turned his attention to the girl and his rumbles took over the space around him till the cries started to go softer, sensing that the Alpha holding her was going to keep her safe.
You paused to look over your shoulder at the way Steve curled over the young shifter, mimicking how you were holding and talking to her earlier.
<He has her.> The Little Wolf was a comforting presence, easing the weight in your chest feeling her with you.
I know, He is exactly what she needs right now. He is strong enough for all of them.
<Our Alpha is strong enough for all of us.> The Little Wolf gently nipped, giving you peace of mind as you stepped away to contact Shuri.
Steve had never been more grateful for T’Challa’s prompt response, managing to find placement for all of the shifters and coordinating with Tony in either returning them home or finding them a safe place to recover till those displaced healed and were prepared to figure out where they wanted to go. Steve knew there was a list compiled of Alphas ready to offer a place in their pack, giving him peace that Sam had also added their pack to it.
You had been quiet unless needing to fill in some information, working tirelessly with red-rimmed eyes and worry lines in your brow. Steve wanted to ease them away, tug you into him so you didn't have to play strong anymore, let the quiet envelop you till you could finally stop hiding behind a brave face.
He knew you were hurting, it was in everything you were doing. Once the door to the apartment was shut and he firmly locked it from the rest of the world, he turned to see where you were.
Sitting on the edge of the couch, you tapped the bracelets together to drop the shield from your body, looking down at yourself with a grimace. “I don’t know how the hell I didn’t scare them even more looking like this.” Your clothes were blood splattered from the fight through the ship to get to them, Steve knew he must look the same.
He ignored the deflection though, knowing you were trying to direct the conversation away from the obvious. “Are you okay Little One?” He asked in a tone that although gentle, was not going to let you brush it off without an answer.
You glanced away from him, your face screwing up a moment and then smoothing back out. Sighing, you pushed to a stand. “I will be. It’s hard when there are children. It’s always the most innocent that are targeted, I was so young when it happened that I can’t even remember my life before, is that going to happen to these kids?” You sniffled as you wiped your face, glancing at your suit again. “I need to go shower.” You said abruptly before Steve could even say anything in response.
But the Alpha prompted Steve to follow, trailing behind you as you made your way down the hallway toward the apartment's single bathroom. He expected you to shut the door to close him out, but you left it wide open in invitation while turning on the hot water. He hovered in the doorway, still watching you worried. “Little One-”
“Help me, Steve.” You said as you reached behind you to undo the suit, but Steve stepped into the small space and took over unzipping it slowly to show the bare curve of your back, each slow drag down uncovering more of you. “I don’t want to be alone right now, the Little Wolf tries, but she can’t hold back all the memories.” It wasn’t a surprise to him to see all the scars even after all the time apart. So many bites and lashes from your past, his hands sliding into the fabric and easing a hand along your spine and up between your shoulder blades until he slid his hand around your throat, so easily his palm cupped around the front and fingers circled to pull you back into him where he could bury his face in the curve and inhale you deeply.
Needing to fill his senses with you. “What do you need from me Little One?” He managed to push out while you relaxed in his hold, letting the front of your suit fall off till it pooled around your hips, not having the energy to take the effort to drag it completely off.
“I need you with me, I need to forget for now what we saw and just live in a simple moment where this isn't our lives right now.” You twisted in his hold till you faced him and worked his suit open. You loved the way he did not question you at all as he watched you drag the zipper of his suit down revealing every ridge of his chiseled chest. Your Alpha trusted that you knew without a doubt this was exactly what you needed.
Your Little Wolf swirled in your mind, all these good memories with Steve pushing out some of the harder ones.
Memories of a single look across the kitchen counter while you reached over to grab something off his plate, his crooked smile making you smile back as you took a bite. You could feel how happy he was at that moment through the bond, a warm flutter in your chest.
Or how his fingers delved into your wet hair and pulled you in closer for a kiss on a summer's day, the cold lake water engulfing you both as you sank with him underneath, legs tangling together as you both bobbed just below the surface. Even with burning lungs from lack of air, neither of you could stop kissing until Steve shot you both back to the surface.
And memories of working on one of the trucks in the garage, handing him tools underneath the truck while he was pulling out a busted part to replace, both of you chatting mindlessly about nothing and everything at the same time.
The sinful image of Steve leaning over you in your nest after his knot swelled and he pressed his forehead against yours while you both simmered in a shared moment of bliss. “I love being yours Little One.”
Your hands skimmed across his bare chest after he rolled his shoulders letting the protective clothing fall away, his own hands working your suit down your legs till you had to step out of it to kick it away. Then Steve moved to his knees before you, making you smile softly to yourself because this wasn't the first time your Alpha worshipped on his knees before you. Your hand moved into his longer hair, pushing it back as large hands spanned against your waist while you stepped in closer for him. Soft brushes of his mouth skimmed across your navel, taking his time to make your belly quiver at the attention he was giving you.
From this angle you could see his muscled shoulders flexing with his movements, subtle shifts in his touch flared warmth across your body, a heat that you hadn’t felt in what now felt like another lifetime- before you and Steve had a bond broken. Your Little Wolf called for him, her song making you hum while Steve worshipped your body with his mouth, deep rumbles escaping him, his Alpha’s way of reaching for his Little Wolf. His nose pressed in against your pussy, inhaling your scent that made his pupils widen with his arousal before he pressed his teeth into your thigh, making them spread at the pleasured sting he caused, hissing out his name and tugging his hair to bring him back to where you wanted.
“Let me in Little One.” He growled, watching you with uplifted eyes as your thighs spread further to let him get closer to taste you, his tongue gliding along your pussy.
Your eyes closed at the sensation, your hold in his hair tightening sharply to keep him against you, his grip falling to your ass to pull you in closer, teasing your sensitive clit with the flat of his tongue, lapping at it while it swelled with your need, sending jolts that made your thighs shake and threaten to squeeze around his head.
Just as soon as you started getting lost in the moment, he pulled away and stood up. Making your eyes widen in surprise as he shucked the last of his clothes off while pushing you back into the steaming shower. “Steve!” You called his name as he followed in after you, lifting and pinning you back against the shower wall to have you wrap your thighs around his waist, his mouth finding yours.
You tasted yourself on him, it had you moaning and whimpering into the kiss as your body was alight like it was the first time. He broke away with a pull of your lips, nipping down your neck while you arched upward, the shower wall bracing you. Large hands kneaded your ass cheeks, squeezing and pressing you into his hardness, his cock trapped between your bodies, pressing against your belly. “Little One.” His words groaned against your breast, his teeth sinking blissfully into the softness, tugging a nipple into his mouth and taking a hard pull that made your toes curl and your nails sink into his upper back to hold onto him.
“Don’t stop.” You urged him on, rubbing yourself against him as much as you could while his hips rocked against you. “I need you to-”
“Fuck yes.” He growled out while a swipe of his tongue captured your mouth, stealing your words in his kiss, making you moan at the sensation. A hand snaked between your heated bodies, moving his cock to press between your folds, coating himself in your arousal before his thick tip pressed against your entrance.
You relished the slowness of which Steve filled you, the stretch making you hold your breath and eyes close as your forehead leaned against his, panting through it.
It felt so fucking good, your cunt squeezing him and making him groan in his relief. Your eyes searched out his, your heart racing as you saw it all in his gaze, the love, passion, and regret for all the lost time. You pressed your lips to his, a gentle bite to his lower lip that you sucked on, his gaze on you so heavy that it had taken your breath away and you needed to distract from it. Your action resulted in a loud possessive rumble coming from him, matching your kiss while he thrusts harder into you.
Steve felt himself coming back together, piece by piece. You matched his energy, letting yourself get lost against him. Your hands scratched down his back, grabbing onto him like you couldn't let go. His Alpha called for his Little One and Steve couldn't give you everything he had fast enough. Your little moans and whimpers begged him for more. His chest filled with your love once again, your eyes finding his as you rocked your hips to match him.
“I missed you so much Little One.” He confessed, his head falling forward to press against your forehead and you wrapped your arms around him, your body coming alive once again. Some of those fractures in your soul started to piece together, never the same as before, but another version of who you were and Steve loved you as fiercely as before.
Neither was this the Alpha you knew before. Studying him in between moments of your eyes trying to roll back when he shifted himself to hit you in a new spot or his kisses making your brain scatter till you had to push your fingers into his longer hair and tug your beast back so you could gasp in air. He had changed and yet, was still your Alpha.
“Eyes on me Little One.” He growled, snapping your gaze to his as your body shook with the need for relief. “I need to see you come for me, let go of all that control you command now.” You struggled, your Little Wolf a frenzied feral part of you and now you were lost to your desires, when you came, you felt like your body seized, no longer were you in control as you cried out Steve’s name, burying yourself in close and sinking your teeth into his shoulder just to keep from losing yourself.
A growl filled you, the Alpha rising out of Steve as he slammed his knot in deep, flooding your womb with him, his sharp teeth teasing the sensitive spot on your neck while grunting with each jerk of his cock. “Wherever you go, I will follow Little One” His words were graveled in tone, panting against the shell of your ear. “I belong to you, bonded or not.” He swore as his arms scooped you in closer and eased you both to the shower floor, you were tied to him still straddled in his lap and leaning against his chest, still in a post-orgasmic haze as your Alpha started to take care of you.
Fingers delved into your hair, scrubbing in shampoo and you further relaxed into him, it had been so long since you had felt this whole. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself go, knowing Steve would keep you safe in your most vulnerable moments.
The cabin light filtered into morning sunbeams over your face, effectively waking you up. But you merely turned away, burying your head into your nest, sure you were home at the cabin, the lake just outside the balcony door. “Come on Little One.” A teasing voice called you, and a gentle hand cupped your face, a calloused thumb stroking your cheek. “You said you wanted a morning run…”
“Steve?” You mumbled and immediately sensed that this wasn’t the cabin. No morning breeze filtered in from the open balcony door, no smell of cut wood or the lake filled your senses, but there was Steve. You felt the Alpha press against your back, his heavy arm draped around your hip and his legs tangled in with yours.
Moments ago had been a dream of home but this right now with Steve was real.
His warmth enveloped you as you let yourself sink into that relaxing place, where you weren’t asleep, but not quite awake. Even your Little Wolf was in a slumber, the soft ball of energy resting in your mind, at peace within your soul. You gently turned to face Steve, slowly opening your eyes still lost in your thoughts as you studied him.
Those small worry lines of his had smoothed and strays of his sun-streaked hair fell over his brow. Steve’s full dark lashes swept low, now and then his eyes twitched, but he still appeared to be asleep. He looked so similar to when you first met him in these moments although you knew he had changed as much as you had. Your fingers reached out to brush back some of his hair, his face turning closer in against you, stirring as he inhaled against your wrist before settling in once again.
Here your Little Wolf finally stretched, you felt the sensation as you mimicked her for a moment, brushing your legs up against Steve’s long muscular ones. The Little Wolf gave a yawn before turning her attention to you.
<You feel…>
At peace. You filled in, feeling the ease in your chest. Last night was hard, you had left that mission broken and Steve was there for you in the way you had needed him, letting you take the lead. Last night with the kids was so hard, it felt like Pierce’s all over again. The Little Wolf growled softly remembering a life when you were helpless against protecting yourself. Looking back on how far you had come from that day you managed to escape out of Pierce’s pack, so much had happened, both good and bad.
Steve must have felt some kind of change, his arm shifting around you and tugging you in closer against him, his chest pressing against your back and making you feel secure in his hold. His nose buried in your hair, inhaling deeply against you. “You okay Y/N?” He asked gently, you felt it more than heard it. You let yourself sink in against him.
“Yes.” You twisted in his hold till you faced him, your faces so close the tips of your noses touching, making his image blur a little, softly around the edges. “I was thinking about last night, how similar it just felt to my past.” Steve’s jaw clenched hearing you bring up your past but he kept quiet, his touch though was enough to pass on what he wanted to say. His arm tightened around you enough so that your body was pulled flush against him.
You slid your leg in through his, tangling the two of you fully together. “Thank you for being there last night. For just going with it all and not asking me if I was sure or if I wanted this.”
His hand rubbed up and down your back for a moment, seemingly like he was gathering his thoughts. A slight rumble of his Alpha escaped while his mouth pressed gently to yours. “Thank you for letting me help you.”
You sighed at the small warm intimacy shared right now, dropping your face in against his neck and hugging yourself around him. Steve’s hold tightened, shifting till he was on his back and you were draped over him, his hand resting against the small of your back to hold you steady while the other trailed his fingers up and down your spine. You felt your Little Wolf basking in the moment too, although she yearned for a shared moment with the Alpha, she was able to appreciate the connection in this way as well.
You didn’t want this to end, aching to freeze this moment in time. You pushed up off of Steve’s chest to straddle him in a sit, the blanket you had been encased under falling around your hips as you looked down at him. He looked up at you with a relaxed gaze, scanning over your face like he was searching for what you were about to say. Your heart thumped in your chest as heat flared your cheeks at your feelings.
You didn’t want this to be just these collected moments you two shared, nor did you want it to be just like before. What you wanted was a partnership with Steve and the fact that fear had made you two lose so much time already made your heart ache. You loathed the thought of not taking what you wanted, consequences of what could happen be damned. What was life if it wasn’t taking chances?
“I need to say something, Steve.” You took a deep breath, his features grew questioning. “I don’t know where we are heading or what our future will look like. I just know I don’t want to do this without you, Steve.” You admitted, your heart pounding in your chest, but your Little Wolf was a soothing presence filling your wild mind with her steady sense of calm. Steve was so quiet that it made you anxious as you stared down at him. Your hands started to fret, tangling your fingers together.
Steve reached for your hands, enveloping them in his, fingers weaving together till your palms pressed against his. “I told you I would wait, as long as you needed me to… till you were ready Little One. I choose you Y/N and whatever step we’re in, I'm here. Right here.”
It felt so good to hear him without any hesitation in his tone. You would be lying if you hadn’t held onto some doubt that Steve was all in once again.
Not that you didn’t believe him, you knew he loved you and that it hadn’t gone away even though he left. But he was so determined to keep his loved ones safe and that would be from himself as well.
“I’m happy you’re here.” You lightened your tone, leaning in to nip a kiss to his mouth. His hands slid up your spine and pressed slightly between your shoulder blades so you would press in against him, your arms circling his neck as you settled in comfortably, your thighs squeezing lightly against his waist before stretching yourself out once again. “And I don’t want to leave this bed.”
He laughed slightly, the rumble from his chest vibrating into yours. “Neither do I. I didn’t think I’m ever going to get enough of just being with you.” He admitted with a playful huff against your hair, palming your ass under the blanket still draped around you, but he pulled it back up to cover the two of you once again. “Last night Little One, you were incredible.” He started as he brushed his lips against the shell of your ear. “But I know it was hard. Do you want to talk about any of it?”
Somewhere along the time you and Steve had stayed in the apartment, it had become a little sanctuary you were grateful for. Your mind wanders over the question you finally let yourself process. “I just want it all to end Steve, it almost feels hopeless some days. We save as many as we can, but they don't ever stop. I feel like I’m not making a difference.” You felt him tense under you, but Steve kept silent to let you continue. Twisting your head to look up at him. “When I showed up at your pack, did you have any idea it would lead here?”
“No, back when you first came to our border, I had retired from this sort of work with Nick and the Howling Commandos. My focus was being the Alpha our families deserved. I always figured I would do it again, in one way or another though.” His hand cupped your face, drawing you back to him so he could kiss you, properly. The brush of his lips to yours caused a sigh to escape, giving him more of you while the kiss turned deeper with one another.
It made your body flush, welcoming him just as you always had in these moments. Your fingers traveled into his hair, pushing through his locks and gripping it tightly to hold on. Somehow Steve managed to flip you two, hovering over you as the kiss ended, panting against one another. “This time Little One, I’m so fucking glad I am with you.” Steve lifted himself enough to look at you. “And it is never ending Little One, fuck I have felt it before, so if you’re feeling that way, my Omega,” He leaned his forehead leaned against yours. “I understand.”
You hugged yourself around Steve, pulling him back into relaxing with you in the nest, ignoring the rest of the world for a little while longer with your Alpha. Your Little Wolf crooned in your mind, a sound for her Alpha. “What made you stop Steve?”
Steve shifted in next to you, scooping you to your side so your back pressed against his chest, like he couldn’t get enough of feeling you. Even now his arm was loped over your waist and skimming his fingers along your belly. “Burnout. Our troop was exhausted even though Fury gave us breaks, it just wasn't enough. Bucky was the only one who couldn't stop. After we went back to the pack, he was never fully there. But I needed to stop. Unfortunately, it didn't entirely prove to be what I was looking for. I can’t believe I ever tried to have a life with Alanna.” Your Little Wolf snarled at the thought of his ex, the murderous bitch.
<I would snap her neck again.> Your Little Wolf grumbled.
“Just so you know, the Little Wolf is turning all snappy at the mention of her.” You whispered and Steve rumbled a deep laugh, burying his face in against your neck and inhaling deeply, drawing your scent deep into his lungs, his arm circling your waist to pull you tight against him.
“I love you, getting all murdery for me.” He teased. “But Little One, the time we shared, it was the happiest I had ever been. Even with everything that happened, Pierce trying to get you back, sending us to Wakanda, the fight against Brock…” He stalled, whispering to himself. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Probably Steve, but tell me.”
“Being with you, loving you, fighting and surviving with you, it was the happiest in my life… the happiest I have ever been. All of it was with you Little One. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever willingly done.” His forehead dropped to your shoulder. “I’m Sorry, Omega…”
“Don’t be Steve.” You reached down to press your fingers through his, holding his hand. “You’re not crazy, cause everything you just said, I felt all of that too.” Lifting your joined hands, you pressed your mouth to his knuckles.
“I’m going to spend the rest of my lifetime showing you how incredible you are Little One, how fucking lucky I am to love you.”
Contains: 18+!! Heavy, graphic smut. Rough, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral sex (M/F receiving), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink if you squint, possessive!eddie, mean!eddie, slight innocence kink. Minor ghostface!steve. CANON DIVERGENT.
Trigger warnings: DUBCON, knife play, stalking, panty theft, drinking and drug consumption, emetophobia, allusions to sexual assault and child abuse, graphic depictions of murder, violence and gore. <-PLEASE HEED THESE TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!
A/N: happy All Hallows’ Eve!! 🎃 thank you so so so much to T @hotchs-bitch for leaving me 112 comments on this Google doc despite having her own 17k word WIP. I love u.
Somebody’s watching you.
Your eyes dart around the open courtyard, scanning the area for anything, anybody that stands out, but the unease rolling in your stomach dissipates as quickly as it arrives.
In the distance, you spot a tall figure lighting a cigarette under the awning of the drama block. His dark, curly hair sits at his leather and denim clad shoulders, ringed fingers bringing a cigarette to his mouth. He’s initially a cutting figure, intimidating and looming but you find yourself drawn to him in a magnetic way.
You meet his eyes briefly, your attention ripped away when a girl with short, dirty blonde hair rushes past you, splashing you with her converse. She windmills to a stop and begins apologising profusely, running back to you.
You meet his eyes briefly, your attention ripped away when a girl with short, dirty blonde hair rushes past you, splashing you with her converse. She windmills to a stop and begins apologising profusely, running back to you.
“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, I’m so sorry.” She rasps. “I totally didn’t even see that stupid puddle and now you’re soaking!”
“No harm done.” You smile, downcast. “I was already wet.”
She looks you up and down, her eyes widening at you soaking through your clothes. “I’m so sorry. Do you have, like. A ride or something? How long have you been waiting here?”
“Since class let out. I’m just waiting for the rain to clear to walk home.” You smile.
“Okay. Forget it. C’mon. You’re coming with me.” You’re being dragged away by a well-meaning hand before you can protest, leading you to a dark red BMW. “C’mon!” She insists when you drag your heels, pulling you down the hilly path to the car.
You curiously look back for the figure in the distance, but he’s gone by the time you manage to pull free of your new friend.
“I’m Robin. And that head of hair you see is Steve.” She says, motioning to the driver in a green uniform vest.
You greet Steve quickly and he mock-salutes you with two fingers, offering you a tight smile as Robin ferries you into the back of the car, quickly taking her place in the passenger side. She shakes out her hair, water droplets splattering Steve.
He squirms and wipes his face before starting the car. “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes, Robin. I’ve told you—if you want rides from me, the least you can do is be on time.”
Evidently, Robin bringing in strays isn’t new to Steve, he doesn’t seem at all irritated by an unknown girl dripping rainwater in the back of his BMW. He’s more irritated by the wait.
“Vickie needed help with a special project! Besides, class actually let out fifteen minutes ago, so technically we’re both late.”
You stifle a laugh in the backseat, and your driver’s eyes flit up to yours through the rear view mirror. “Who’s your friend?”
“That. Is actually a great question.” She muses. “We just met and I couldn’t stand to leave her out in the rain. I didn’t get your name.” She turns around to face you. “Did I?”
She seems harmless enough, a little frazzled and chaotic, but rumours about this town put you on edge. The cult-like unsolved murder of Chrissy Cunningham two months ago still sits like a layer of smog over the town, a simultaneous refusal of the townspeople to acknowledge it—or let it go.
You know the guy accused was cleared. How or why—you’re not privy to yet.
You will be soon enough.
You smile and tell Robin your name.
“Are you new to town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” Steve asks.
“Yeah, my dad took a job at that new state lab, so I transferred in.”
“I see. And where am I taking you lovely ladies today?”
Robin’s face crinkles and she rolls her eyes, a silent plea to ignore her friend and his overt-chivalry. “Do you have the video for Nance’s?” Steve nods. “Then we can go straight there.”
Your brows furrow. “I’m sorry. Where are we going?”
“Our friend Nancy hosts a movie marathon every Friday with a few other friends of ours.” She adds proudly, “Courtesy of Steve and I — we work at Family Video, over at the strip mall on Franklin and Marsh.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. You’re gonna love it, it’s great!”
“Oh, no. No, I really appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to intrude, I don’t think your friend would be too happy about somebody just, y’know. Waltzing in.” You chuckle.
“Oh, trust me. You don’t know Nancy. She loves playing hostess, and she’ll love you. Don’t worry.” Robin reassures you, pulling down her visor mirror.
Steve hums, agreeing with Robin. “She’s right. Half of Hawkins practically has a key to the Wheeler’s. Just, y’know. Don’t tell Ted.”
You smile awkwardly, settling in a little better in the backseat. You don’t interject in the conversation much, Robin thankfully takes care of that for you as she rambles to Steve about Vickie and her new boyfriend.
You’re content to let the heaters warm your skin, and to watch the rows of houses go by, cautiously relieved at the possibility of some new friends after two months of loneliness.
At the Wheeler’s, you introduce yourself politely to Mrs Wheeler, offering a smile to the distracted man in front of the TV. Steve looks at you, mouths, “Ted.” And you nod in understanding, suppressing a laugh.
Mrs Wheeler hands you a warm towel and ushers the three of you down into the basement.
“Nothing too scary.” She says pointedly, looking at Steve. “If I have to sleep in the same bed as my twelve year old son again, there will be hell to pay, Steven.”
“Yes, ma’am. I promise. Nothing too scary.”
You follow Robin and Steve down into the basement; cozily decorated with throw blankets, cushy rugs, a sofa and a loveseat bracketing a TV on the far edge. Sconces and low lamps light the space, illuminating the group huddled in front of the TV.
“Who’s ready for Halloween II?” Steve exclaims, fishing out a VHS from under his windbreaker.
“Ah, so he lives!” Says a theatric, but deep voice behind you. “You’re twenty minutes late, Harrington.”
You let the voice wash over you before you turn around. Your breath hitches when you match the voice to the same figure who was lighting a cigarette under the gym awning just a little while ago.
You study him now, up close. Shoulder length, curly hair, sharp bone structure. High cheekbones and an angular jawline, a strong neck, full, red lips and most disarmingly, big, brown eyes. He’s intense up close, but it’s not an intensity you necessarily have a desire to run from.
His brow raises at your inquisitive gaze—you’ve been staring. “This one of your strays, Harrington? Or is this Buck’s doing?”
Steve gestures vaguely before walking away, leaving Robin—Buck—to make your introduction before joining Steve too. You pull your towel closer to your body, goosebumps erupting on your skin under an intense gaze.
He extends a large hand, chain link bracelet falling around his wrist. “Hey. Eddie.”
You take his hand, warm and large, in yours, letting his fingers wrap around the back of your palm firmly. Your voice is hoarse when you tell him your name and he laughs. A throaty sound that emanates from his chest, a grin taking over his face.
He has dimples.
“Yeah, I know.”
Your heart skids to a stop. “You do?”
“Yeah? Buck just told me.” He replies, looking at you quizzically. He wraps his hands around your upper arms, manoeuvring you so he can slide past, his chest pressing against your back. His leathery, piney scent drifts to your nose. “You comin’?”
You nod meekly, watching him take a seat on the couch, legs spread apart as he adjusts his hips and sinks down in his seat. Fondness spreads through you at the awkward, oddly charismatic way he carries himself. He lays an arm over the back of the couch leisurely, opening himself up as Nancy winds the VHS.
Magnetic as he may be, there’s a shroud of something around him, something dark that extends past his appearance.
You make a resolution not to find out, to get through this year without mishap, but when Nancy takes the last viable seat, you’re left to take a seat next to the guy you promised to swear off.
Eddie stiffens when you take the seat next to him, awkwardly tensing and stealing looks. Robin offers you a comforting smile as the movie starts, and while you stay firm on wanting as much distance between you and Eddie as you can manage, the heat between you slowly builds, and the distance becomes smaller. The pull towards each other becomes heady until you’re pressed up against one another, your shoulder tucked into Eddie’s arm, your head under his chin.
You feel his heart rate spike at the jumpscares, matching yours, but where you wear fear and apprehension on your face—Eddie wears excitement.
——————————————————————————
Somebody’s watching you.
It’s a thought that crosses your mind multiple times a day, every day for around ten months now. It starts as a fleeting occurrence, something you can chalk up to anxiety, but as the days pass, the rolling unease in your stomach, and the pressure on the back of your neck becomes more insistent.
Somebody’s watching you.
It’s near constant; following you at home, through the school hallways, free periods, the mall. It’s worse at night. With fall on the horizon, the days are shorter, and in the dead of night, you feel as though there are eyes on you, crawling up your body like little fire ants.
Curtains and blinds don’t help. The feeling is heavier when you can’t see what lurks outside.
A heavy thump from downstairs tears you from a deep sleep, the sound grabbing you by the chest and slamming you into consciousness. You sit idly for a few seconds, allowing your brain to catch up and your heart to settle down before you brave breaching your covers.
You glance at the clock.
02:22.
It’s not until you’re several shaky steps towards your bedroom door that you realise what the sound was.
Somebody closed your front door.
Adrenaline courses through your veins, making sure you’re wide awake. You reach for the door with trembling hands and step outside into the lit hallway—you can’t sleep in a dark home when you’re alone.
“Dad?” You call out.
You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing for his voice to call back so badly, you almost imagine it. He’s not due back for another five days, and when you lean over the bannister to look at the entryway, and don’t miraculously see his shoes—your blood runs ice cold.
Somebody was in your house.
There’s an idiom associated with horror movies.
When you hear a strange noise, going to investigate is an almost sure fire way to get yourself killed and have your face plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s paper. But your feet carry you downstairs anyway, curiosity outweighing rational thought. You at least want to know if you need to get the hell out of your house, and with no escape upstairs, you’re safer downstairs.
The floorboards under the stairs creak with your weight as you pad down to the front door, double checking the lock. You slowly check the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen when a chilling thought occurs to you.
You freeze.
The door closing could have been a person going out.
Or a person coming in.
Ice freezes down your spine, cracking your resolve as your heart jumps to your mouth. Suddenly, the kitchen phone rings and you yelp, body recoiling at the sound.
“Hello?”
“You want to play a game?” A voice leers.
“What?”
“I’m just messin’,” replies a more familiar voice. “What are you doin’ up this late?”
“Eddie?”
“No, the fuckin’ Grim Reaper.” He deadpans. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. What are you doin’ up’?”
“Nothing. Just needed some water.” You reply absent-mindedly, filling up your glass.
You’re here, you might as well.
The water replenishing your dehydrated body kicks your brain into gear, a thought occurring to you. “Wait. Why did you call me if you didn’t know I’d be awake?”
“I saw your lights on.”
Your brows furrow. “What do you mean, you ‘saw my lights on’?”
“Relax, 21 Questions. I’m doin’ a run for one of my regulars and I was in your neighbourhood. Thought I’d drive by and see if you were all good since you were so tetchy about a week alone. Saw your lights on—gave you a call. That okay?”
You smile at his gruff gesture.
You’ve learned that about Eddie in the past ten months. He’s well-meaning, but every sweet gesture is undercut by a layer of sarcasm and gruffness. You don’t blame him for his coldness.
Despite moving to town two months after Chrissy’s death, you were quickly made privy to everything that happened, and the aftermath, you saw for yourself. Eddie, despite being cleared, still subjected to whispers and dirty looks, branded a devil worshipper and a cult worshipper and a murderer.
Graffiti on his locker, snide comments in the halls, even his business took a hit. His only saving graces were Hopper, who’d cleared him, his Uncle Wayne and your group of your friends—and to a lesser degree—you.
“Of course that’s okay.” You reply.
He makes a non-committal noise. “You doing okay, though?”
A part of you wants to tell him you’re scared, maybe have him blow off his weed run and come keep you company. There’s a safeness with Eddie, but you decide against it.
Your voice pinches when you speak. “Yeah. All good.”
A moment of silence stretches between you, almost like he doesn’t believe you. He breaks the silence finally.
“You sure?”
“Mhm.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow.” You finish and slide the phone back into the hook.
You replenish your glass of water, content to explain the slamming sound away as yet another coincidence—maybe as a dream your brain confused with reality when you were coming to.
As you set the glass on the kitchen island, your eyes catch a glimpse of something behind the roll of tissue. You slowly reach forward, moving the tissue out of the way to reveal a single flower with thin, dark maroon petals and a pink centre.
A black dahlia.
You pluck it from the countertop with a shaky breath, examining it under the light, and drop it when you feel a pull at the back of your neck, the feeling of somebody’s eyes on you returning again, making you feel uneasy.
You don’t spare the flower, nor the window behind you a second look, the glass of water left on the marble as you grab a knife and walk firmly to the couch in the living room. You draw the curtains and switch on the TV, flick through until a rerun of a movie plays on mute in the background, lulling you into as deep of a sleep as you can manage in the circumstances.
But somebody’s watching you.
——————————————————————————
You drag your body through the hallways the next morning, eyes weighed down like dumbbells and head fuzzy from the lack of sleep. You let your head rest against the cool metal of your locker to offer you some relief as your eyes close, succumbing to your exhaustion.
“Hey!” Nancy’s voice chirps. She looks at you perplexed when you jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You blink heavily and pull your locker open. “No, it’s fine. Just tired, that’s all.”
“Did you stay up late studying for Mr Haskell’s?” She asks, propping her hardback textbooks against her hip.
Shit.
“God, I wish. I actually forgot.” You sigh, grabbing your binders.
Your peripheral registers something falling out of your locker and drifting to the floor as you take out your things. Nancy’s quicker than you, balances her books on her hip and bends to pick up the item, your heart skidding to a halt when you see it in her hand.
Another black dahlia.
You feel the blood drain from your face, your stomach dropping and fingers going numb.
He was here. You’re being followed.
You feel that ominous feeling return, the feeling that you’re being watched, the crowd in the hallways offering you no solace. It feels like walking through a group of people with an invisible stab wound, nobody any the wiser of your impending doom except for you.
Nancy spins the flower from the stem, a smile taking over her face as she extends it to you. “A dahlia… nice. Who’s the guy?” She asks in a sing-song voice.
Your voice feels far away when you answer her. “There’s no guy.”
“Sure. She says sardonically. “You have flowers in your locker but no secret admirer. I want details.” As she walks away, she nods as an acknowledgement to somebody behind you.
You squeeze the flower between your hand just as a strong pair of hands pat, or rather, jostle your shoulders.
“What’s this I hear about a secret admirer?”
“Christ, Eddie. You almost gave me a heart attack.” You mutter, stuffing the flower into your pocket.
His eyes narrow as he scans your face. His gaze is intense, but it offers you an odd kind of relief— his exuberance oddly cancelling out the nauseating fear clouding you.
Leaning against Nancy’s locker with his hands in his pockets, he asks, “Why so tetchy? You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He leans in, looks down at you with a gaze that makes your skin prickle, a feeling you’ve had often during your friendship.
He taps your shin with his foot. “You know, you’re cute when you lie.”
Your breath hitches. He smells like leather and pine, and he’s tall and broad and warm, and if you leaned into him just a little, you know that some of your tension would at least melt away.
“Really, Eddie. I’m okay.” You smile, squeezing his hand.
You retract it quickly, Eddie stiffening when Carol saunters past you, accidentally tripping over Tina’s leg to bump into you with a sickeningly sweet, “sorry, honey.”
Your first instinct is to push her right back. You’d love nothing more than to pull out a chunk of her hair after what she and her asshole friends did to you. You’re smarter than that, though—she’d paint herself as the victim and you’d end up in detention with a serious mark in your permanent record.
You roll your eyes, muttering a defiant, ‘bitch’, under your breath.
“What was that about?” Eddie asks, jerking his chin towards Carol and Tommy.
“Nothing.” You clip.
He narrows his eyes expectantly, giving you yet another opportunity to reveal to him what he already knows.
Around a month ago, after a fight at a party, Steve had ended up crashing at Eddie’s for a few days after being arrested—courtesy of his ex best friend Tommy crying over a busted lip. Hopper had reassured Steve it was for appearances, that he’d be free to go as soon as his dad picked him up, secretly knowing that Tommy had most likely deserved the right hook.
Mr. Harrington though, had kicked Steve out after making his bail. It was then Steve had told Eddie about the incident at the party, about how Robin had called him absolutely furious after Tommy had tried to force himself on you.
He’d gotten a knee to the balls from you, Robin and Nancy piling on, and a right hook from Steve, but the damage had been done. By the next morning, Tina and Carol had worked their magic, branding you as the whore who tried to steal Carol’s boyfriend.
Eddie watches Tommy and Carol keenly now, an expression on his face that you’ve come to see more often recently. It’s as though the warmth drains from his eyes, leaving behind an unfeeling presence before he snaps back.
The warmth returns to his eyes as quickly as it disappears, working its way to you as if by an invisible line. “You can tell me.” He says softly. “You know you can tell me anything.”
Your chest constricts. “Eh. Apparently, I’m a whore. It’s whatever.”
His jaw ticks again. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re about as pure as they come.” He marvels, gaze lingering on your lips. His hand absently brushes some hair behind your ear, and he freezes, letting it hang awkwardly.
You huff, slapping his wrist away. “Okay. Yoda? You sound like an idiot. This isn’t the 1800’s—women have and enjoy sex, you know?”
He snaps back into his detached ruse, leaning against the locker to play with his rings. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, suggestive lilt to his voice.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me more about that?”
“Dude, you’re nasty.”
“Maybe.” His eyes darken before he inhales deeply. “Listen, I got a free period, so I’m gonna run. I have a business meeting that is most urgent and requires my utmost attention.”
“Eddie-“
He’s already walking away, his broad back heading for the doors at the end of the hall. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll be back by lunch, Sweetheart.”
You smile to yourself and reach back into your pocket, having temporarily forgotten about your present. You wish you could hold onto that feeling of safety and happiness that Eddie gives you a little longer, bottle it up and use it for when your anxiety reaches its peaks.
Being around Eddie always has that effect on you, try as you might to push it down.
——————————————————————————
“Turn on the news.” Nancy hisses through the crackly phone. “Now!”
“Christ, Nance. Do you even know what time it is? It’s barely light outside.” You grumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Forget about the time, just turn on your TV!”
“Okay! Okay, gimme a second.” You groan.
You rush downstairs for the TV remote and flick through the channels until you get to the news. On the screen, police and ambulance sirens paint the scene red and blue, police tape cordoning off a house just a few blocks from yours. You turn the volume up and catch the last few words from the reporter.
“—Tragedy rocks Hawkins once again, as the bodies of two teenagers, Carol Perkins, and her boyfriend Thomas Hagan were found butchered in the early hours of this morning.”
The words go off like a bomb in your ear, the floor giving out from under your feet as you slump down on the sofa, shakily clutching the remote.
“Holy shit. Holy shit, holy fucking shit.” You murmur.
“Yeah, you’re telling me.”
Your voice sounds tinny when you speak. “They were murdered?”
“Butchered.”
“God, I know I said I wanted to see her head on a spike but this is awful. I can’t believe somebody would do that.”
A shiver runs down your spine at your proximity to the victims—despite your vitriolic hatred for the both of them, Carol and Tommy are—were—people you saw everyday. You can’t say anybody deserves to be butchered.
“Can you meet Robin, Jonathan and me at my place in an hour? We’re gonna go get some answers.” Nancy asks.
“Isn’t that a reporter’s job? Or the PD?” You ask, alarmed.
“I wanna major in journalism, that basically makes me half a reporter already. Just meet at my place in an hour. Bring sensible shoes.”
Any room for negotiation goes out of the window as the line goes dead. You set the now clammy phone down on the hook and stay rooted in spot, staring blankly at the TV as the news reel plays out in the background.
“—Police and Fire were called to the scene at around 3:00am when Perkins’ parents arrived home to a fire. Upon their arrival, they found their home in disarray and the two teenagers dead. Hawkins PD are still combing the scene for evidence and are expected to make an announcement later this evening. One thing is for sure though, it seems that death and tragedy are never too far where Hawkins is concerned.”
You’d completely forgotten about the dark cloud that had been looming over Hawkins this past year. These new killings seem especially insidious with the anniversary of Chrissy Cunningham’s death approaching in just a few days.
Becoming cognizant of Chrissy, you want to reach out to Eddie to ask him how he’s doing following this news. You’ve no doubt that this time of year is likely to dredge up some horrific memories for him—it’s only been a year since he was labelled as the town pariah—ostracised through no fault of his own.
This won’t help.
He’ll be subjected to looks in the street again and whispers as he walks by, as though he’s a stain on the town. He’ll be scapegoated. Again.
You want to reach out to Eddie for him, sure. But there’s also a selfish undercurrent to your thoughts; Eddie’s an increasingly comforting figure in your life and you need him to knock you back on track, especially if Nancy’s going to be critiquing your journalism skills this morning.
A hit of something to get your head right.
You hit three on your speed dial, put the coffee on while the line rings and make your way upstairs.
His voice crackles through the phone and has the strangest effect by offering you almost-immediate relief. “Who the hell is this?” He grumbles, voice thick with sleep.
It makes your heart pick up pace.
You stifle a laugh. “Eddie, it’s me.”
He moans, and you picture him with mussed hair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His voice is still thick when he talks; though, much less irritable this time. “Mornin’, sunshine. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m guessing you didn’t see the news?”
“Nah. Not yet at least. Late night. What’s going on?”
“It’s Carol and Tommy. They found their bodies this morning, they were killed.” You whisper the last part in a hushed tone, like verbalising it will somehow bring the curse to you.
“Wait, what did you just say? They were murdered?” You hear rustling on the other end and assume Eddie’s making a mad dash to the living room in his boxers to turn on the TV. “Do they know who did it?”
“No, I don’t think so. Not yet—“
“—Hey, man. Turn that up?”
You pause in your doorway, brows furrowing. “Who are you talking to?”
“Harrington—he got into another pissing match with his dad a few nights ago, told him he could have the couch while Wayne was at work.”
“Christ, dude. They’re saying they were butchered.” Steve says, muffled in the background.
You straighten the edges of your bedsheets and start to pick out the sensible shoes Nancy requested, zoning in on another pair you’ll inevitably have to loan to Robin.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, I thought you already knew. I just…wanted to check in.”
Eddie pauses before he speaks hesitantly. “Check in?”
“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s coming up to a year since all of that stuff happened, and I can’t imagine this is gonna be easy for you, y’know? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
A surge of warmth spreads inside him. Rarely does he feel truly content or peaceful, especially as of late; he has enough emotional baggage to last a lifetime. But he does feel blessed to have sporadic moments of lightness—short—but always with you.
“You sayin’ you care about me or something?” He murmurs, no doubt careful to avoid Steve’s ears but you can hear the smile in his voice.
You snicker, your eyes falling to your slightly open underwear drawer. You go to close it with an absent-minded push of your hips when your eyes catch something.
Your heart plummets like a lead weight, a shot of dread piercing your chest.
“Hello? You there?” Eddie calls out, but your hands are trembling.
Stuffed in your underwear drawer, deliberately wrapped inside a pair of white cotton panties, is another black dahlia.
“Eddie, I’m gonna have to call you back.” You squeak.
His voice shifts. “You okay? Something wrong?”
“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.” You clip, the phone landing with a thud against your mattress.
You reach for the flower, gingerly unwrapping it from the white cotton only to reveal a small note tucked under the stem. Nausea claws at your stomach and invades your throat, leaving your head tingly and eyes spotty.
Black sharpie against red paper reads;
“The things we do for love. Be seeing you soon, my flower. I have some business to take care of first.”
It's as direct a threat to you as you’ve had so far, but there’s an insinuation there too. An icy thought sends chills through your veins. You may be responsible for Carol and Tommy’s deaths which is in itself a steel weight, but this note doesn’t indicate any sign of the violence stopping.
If anything, it connotes the opposite.
You can’t explain the paranoia and the flowers away, can’t live in the content grey safety of denial anymore. He was here.
In your room. Rifling through your underwear drawer. Watching you sleep.
Could he have touched you?
Are you the business he has to take care of?
Your stomach rolls, and you run to the bathroom to empty your guts into the toilet, gagging until the remnants of last night’s barely-there-dinner are gone and you’re shivering and cold on the tiled floor.
You’re hit with the feeling of somebody watching you again, pressure tugging at the back of your neck like tiny threads under your skin. Your eyes dart out of the window but you don’t see anything.
Or anybody.
You never do.
——————————————————————————
Your investigation with Robin and Nancy turns up nothing except more disturbing information, which you grimly conclude could well predict your own demise. You’re running on fumes, paranoid and scared for your life, the walk up the stairs to get into school seeming like a chore.
“Tommy went first.” Robin tells Eddie the following morning.
“What?” He asks, dodging Robin’s attempt to snatch the cigarette out of his mouth. She tries again, but he dodges again, manoeuvring you to walk between them.
“Yeah. We overheard Hopper and Callahan over the radio. He was shot in both knees first, tied to a chair, gagged, then stabbed. His insides…on the outside.”
Eddie’s face contorts, not so much in horror, but in mild disgust as he exhales a cloud of smoke. It seems Tommy had enemies in just about every circle except for his own; and despite your best intentions not to think it, you conclude that somebody finally decided to take matters into their own hands.
“And Carol? Stabbed in the back, chest, and neck. Gutted and tied to a tree. Can you believe that shit? This guy is serious.” Robin continues.
She’s managed to dig up a rubber band from inside her pocket and snaps it against her wrist, each slap against her skin housing a migraine deeper in your temple.
You wince.
“Careful, Buck. Almost sounds like you admire him. Besides, how do you know it’s a guy?” Eddie asks, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“Statistics.” Nancy interjects, clicking her locker shut. “Violent kills are almost always executed by men. That, and the fact that it would take a pretty huge guy to hog-tie Tommy, and then string Carol’s dead body up on a tree.”
“Alright.” You feel nausea rising in your stomach again. Slamming your locker shut, you squeeze your eyes closed. “Can we not? I feel sick.”
“You look it.” Robin deadpans, raising her hands in defence when you, Nancy and Eddie cut her a look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a you-look-awful way, I’m just saying you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”
Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, gently turning your face to his. “Yeah. Have you been sleeping?” He asks, cigarette tucked between his lips. His thumb runs over the delicate skin under your eyes. “You look so tired.”
You tense up at the sudden contact from Eddie, who, despite being notoriously tactile, isn't somebody you’d ever describe as affectionate except maybe with Dustin and the kids.
You allow yourself a moment of weakness to melt into his touch, his warm skin and icy rings, but your eyes dart to Robin and Nancy who share a wry look. You become aware of the droves of people staring and whispering as they go by too, and suddenly your throat feels tight.
“I’m fine.” You clip, prying yourself away from his tender touch and he reacts by awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets, hurt by the sudden change.
He knows it’s because people are staring, he just hadn’t expected you to care. You can’t handle the eyes on you—not when there’s somebody breathing down your neck.
The rational part of you knows that it’s because you’re in such close proximity to Eddie, who’s been re-subjected to dirty looks and hostile whispers since Tommy and Carol died yesterday. It seems that despite his name being cleared in good faith last year, the people of Hawkins merely needed a reason to scapegoat Eddie again, all too quick to spit the words devil worshipper and cult leader his way.
Eddie brushes the looks off, his jaw tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, shoulders tight like a coil as he takes a deep drag of his cigarette.
“Fuckin’ morons.” He mutters under his breath. “A serial killer walks the streets of Hawkins but sure…” He mock lunges at a group of lowerclassmen who flinch and disperse down the hallway, earning more looks from passersby. “Let's all gather around to stare at the freak.”
“Mr. Munson,” Higgins’ voice booms, his eyes falling to the cigarette in Eddie’s mouth. “You can either put that out, or I can put it out for you—and while I do relish in giving you detention—I no longer wish to see you roam these halls for yet another year. I’m frankly sick of seeing your face.”
“Oh believe me. The feeling’s mutual, asshole.” Eddie grumbles, a begrudging appeasement on his face. He theatrically plucks the cigarette from his mouth and puts it out against the metal rim of the bin behind you. “Guy’s a pain in my sack.”
Robin’s cackle is cut short when a sudden buzz crawls over the student body. It takes over like a swarm of bees, students yelling and clamouring in the direction of the football field. In the distance, you see Argyle and a pale Jonathan cut through the crowd, right as Mr Higgins receives a radio transmission and pushes through the horde himself.
You narrow your eyes, your group pulling Jonathan and Argyle to the side of the stampede. “What’s going on?”
“Dudes, they found another body.” Argyle tells the group.
The news hits you with the subtlety of a crashing train, leaving the words ricocheting in your ear. You fight to keep your composure, doing the maths in your head to figure out where on your shadow’s roster you fall.
“What? Who? Where? How? How do you guys know?” Nancy asks in rapid succession, grabbing Jonathan and Argyle with a hand each.
“I was walking down to take pictures out on the football field for the yearbook, and saw what I thought was a doll or a scarecrow or something. Just hanging from the goalpost.” Jonathan pants weakly.
“Yeah. Got closer and realised it was a real person. A lady.” Argyle adds, shaking his head.
Eddie huffs, leaning against his locker. “A lady?”
“Tina.” Jonathan corrects. “Somebody already tipped off the cops—Hopper pulled up right as we saw her body. She was in her pyjamas, you guys. All covered in blood.” He runs a stressed hand through his hair, bending to put his hands on his knees. “I think I’m gonna throw up.” He wheezes.
Argyle rubs his back sympathetically, while Nancy kicks herself into high gear. Rifling through her locker, she grabs her school newspaper notebook and best ballpoint pen—the kind she reserves for sleuthing and writing speeches—and turns heel.
“I swear, if you want something done right…” she mutters and she’s a flash of a perm as she scurries away, joining the now well-informed student body of the attraction outside.
The gaggle eventually dies down and gets filtered into the gym, squashed together like sardines in a can; some taking up the bleachers, some using the benches, the lowerclassmen claiming the floor as their sitting space.
Eddie tucks you into his arm on the sidelines where the rest of your friends sit in an effort to conserve space. He balances his copy of Lord of The Rings on his knee, the spine snapped, edges frayed and tattered, various motor oil stains soaked into the paper with rows and rows of annotations littering the page.
At best, it's well-loved—at worst, it’s unreadable—but it’s one of Eddie’s prized possessions and it shows.
Higgins’ voice through the speaker silences the hustle of whispering students, rumours and gossip dying down almost immediately.
“All classes are henceforth suspended until further notice. When prompted, please collect all important belongings from your lockers and proceed to leave in an orderly fashion. Police Chief Hopper also has an announcement to make—please remain where you are for now.”
Cheers for class suspension are cut short when Hopper swiftly implements a strict citywide 9:00pm curfew.
“Any citizens reported to be out after this time will be brought in by an officer and questioned before release. It is vital you heed this curfew as it has been put in place for your own safety. Please report any concerns directly to the Police Department or call 9-1-1. Thank you.”
A resigned groan makes its way through the crowd as students filter out, Tommy’s old friend group uncharacteristically quiet; haunted by the news. It tracks—the only discernible pattern so far is that the killer has a vendetta against their group of friends.
It’s your own entanglement that doesn't track.
“So. What’s the rundown?” Robin asks Nancy as you make your way down to the parking lot.
Nancy looks pale. “Tina was cut from chin to stomach through her nightgown.” She says, shakily. “But there’s more.”
Your blood runs cold. “More?”
“Yeah. It’s not confirmed yet, but I overheard Hopper telling Higgins they found another body this morning on the other side of town. They said the description matched Fred Benson.”
“The guy who did the student paper with you?” Eddie asks.
Nancy bristles. Her relationship with Fred had soured last year after he insisted on covering Chrissy’s murder, putting Eddie at the forefront. Nancy had refused—then fired him.
“Yeah.” She goes on. “Parents didn’t even know he was missing.”
Nancy’s words only stand to remind you that you too could be murdered and strung up like a carcass for the town to see—and nobody would be any the wiser until it was too late.
You should tell somebody. Anybody. But your mind stops you, a terrifying thought crossing your mind. Telling your friends could put them in danger too. Taking out entire friendship groups seems like a day’s work for this killer, and if anything happened to your friends, you’d never forgive yourself.
“I’m gonna wait for Will and the rest of those guys, make sure they’re okay, but we’ll reconvene at Nance’s?” Jonathan asks.
“Wait—you heard Hopper. There’s a curfew.” You say.
Nancy shrugs. “Safety in numbers. C’mon.”
Eddie pats your shoulder as he lights another cigarette. “I’ll catch up with you guys later—I left my briefcase inside. I’ll bring the beer to Nance’s.”
“Somebody’s gotta tell Steve, does he even know what’s going on?” You ask.
“I’ll take care of it.” Eddie says, voice thick with smoke. “I gotta swing by Family Video anyhow, it appears Keith is in the market for my recreational sleeping aids.”
Argyle gestures to Eddie who gives him the affirmative—and you shake your head. A serial killer walks the streets and your friends are making sure there’s enough weed at an unmandated ‘gathering’.
“Be safe?” You call out to Eddie.
He kicks his leg, gives you a mock salute. “Always am. You too.”
——————————————————————————
“Well. I’m just saying, y’know. There are certain rules when it comes to slashers.” Jonathan mumbles through a mouthful of chips.
“Is that what this is? A slasher?” Steve asks, adjusting in his seat.
The basement air smells like weed and cheap beer, the sourness of the salsa that Robin opened twenty minutes ago cutting through the stench. Your stomach is already in pieces with worry, talk of a slasher movie and the dank air does little to quell your nerves.
“Yeah. I mean. Think about it.” He munches. “You got a guy in a mask goin’ around, killing a bunch of teenagers, hanging them up on goalposts?”
Argyle’s content to listen, offering a grunt of agreement here and there, but he pipes up. “Yeah. Plus, y’know the whole haunted past in a small town thing. No offence, my dude.” He says to Eddie.
Eddie raises his brows, shakes his head. No harm done.
“So, these rules then. Let’s have ‘em.” Steve says. “What do you got?”
“Well. The first is that everybody’s a suspect. Everybody. That’s a given.”
“Yeah. No shit.” Steve nods, huffing a laugh.
Jonathan stands up, his eyes wide. “Now the rules to surviving a slasher movie—well. That’s a whole different ball game.”
“Go on.”
“Rule number one: never have sex.”
You catch Eddie’s eye from across the room. It’s something you’d noticed pretty much the day you met; oftentimes you’d be engrossed in something, or just happen to look up at Eddie to find him already watching you. His gaze makes your skin prickle with intensity, blood warming under your skin.
Despite being in a room full of people, your looks always seem like they’re reserved just for the two of you, an invisible string tying you to him and pulling you closer despite the physical distance remaining the same.
“—Big no.” Jonathan continues. “Sex equals death. Slasher and horror symbolism in general relies heavily on the innocent virgin as a survivor trope. Promiscuity guarantees death.”
Eddie’s gaze lingers on yours, his elbows perched on his knees, chin tucked into his chest. He looks good in this light, full lips casting a shadow, his eyes transfixed on you. You lose your nerve and look away, but can’t fight the desire to glance at him again.
He’s still watching you with almost drunken eyes that you attribute to the beer, though you know he can handle his alcohol.
“Number two: no drinking or doing drugs. It’s an extension of number one—the sin factor. It’s a sin!”
“Oh great. Guess we’re all fucked.” Steve mutters, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s bullshit, man. This isn’t a slasher and no serial killer is going to know if you’re a boring, sober, virgin.”
Eddie finally averts his gaze, picking at the frayed denim on his jeans. “Byers, you know I make my living supplying recreational substances to those in need.”
“—And Steve has deflowered every legal girl who likes men, all the way up to like, Fort Wayne.” Robin snorts, raising her drink.
“Well—not exactly.” Steve squints. “But they both make a good point. By your so-called rules, Byers; Eddie and I would’ve been the first ones to go.”
You shake your head, feeling a massive tangent coming and decide to cut out while you can. The thought of going home to an empty house fills you with dread, especially with the recent uptick in dead bodies. You can’t sleep, not when your ears pick up the smallest noises and twist them into sinister scenarios.
The wind howling through the gaps in your windows sounds eerily like somebody screaming, the floorboards settling make you see an intruder out of the corner of your eye.
You’re exhausted.
Nancy follows you upstairs, turning you by your arm. “Hey, you doing okay?”
“Yeah. It’s a little much down there.” You inhale deeply now that the air is thinner and fresher.
“You know what they get like when they drink.” Nancy laughs. “Do you wanna stay over tonight? Robin was thinking about crashing and I don’t love the idea of you at home by yourself with everything going on. Just stay with me until your dad gets back.”
You feel a wave of relief wash over you. “Actually, would you mind? I don’t really wanna be by myself.”
“Yeah!” She laughs. “Of course. I can take you to grab your stuff in the morning.”
“Thanks, Nance. I gotta double check the alarm and locks anyway, so I’ll go grab my things now.” You smile, turning to grab your keys from the bowl on the credenza.
“You sure? It’s late.”
‘Rule number 3,’ Jonathan continues downstairs out of earshot, ’never, ever, under any circumstances, say you’ll be right back.’
“It’s a few blocks away.” You reassure her. “I’ll be right back.”
——————————————————————————
Somebody’s watching you.
You feel a tug on the back of your neck when you get to the top of the Wheeler’s cul-de-sac. It becomes more insistent as you turn left on to a densely tree-lined street, which, dimly lit as usual, is eerily silent. With the exception of you and your friends, it seems the residents of Hawkins are abiding by Hopper’s mandate.
You brush the feeling off and slide your keys between your fingers, picking up pace. By the time you get to your driveway, your heart is in your mouth and you’re almost at a full sprint, nearly slipping on the corner of a flowerbed.
You’d devised a plan on the way home.
Check the alarms, downstairs windows, upstairs windows, grab your bag from the closet in the hallway and pack as you go. Simple enough.
But somebody’s watching you.
Your trembling hands make you fumble and miss the lock a few times, the key bluntly jamming against the metal. You’re finally in, about to twist the lock when a hand aggressively swipes at your arm and drags you backwards.
You yelp, stomach swooping in pure terror, blood pounding in your ears.
He’s here.
You come face to face with a bloodshot Jason, whiskey heavy on his breath. He looks desperate and frenzied in just a pair of chinos and a white polo—it’s freezing out. His presence offers you an odd sense of relief, you can tell from his appearance he’s not about to hurt you and he doesn’t pose any immediate danger.
He seems scared.
He pulls you in close, his vice grip making your skin pinch.
“Let go, Jason. What the hell is wrong with you, why are you outside my house?”
“I came to warn you.”
“Warn me? About what?!” You snap.
“About the company you keep.” He slurs darkly. “You’re not new anymore, but you weren’t here when it went down. When Chrissy died.”
You squirm, attempting to free your arm, but Jason’s grip is vicious in his trance-like state. “What the hell does that have to do with me?”
He’s here physically, but his mind is elsewhere. “It’ll be a year tomorrow. And it’s like she was never here. Like she never existed.”
Your heart sinks for him, a loss so large, so young is sure to rock anybody. But you know the other side of him—the side that radicalised half the town into hunting down Eddie. That almost killed Lucas and Erica when they tried to help.
“Look. Jason. I’m sorry about what happened, but that doesn’t explain why you’re grabbing my arm.” You grunt, trying to break free. “What does this have to do with me?”
He jostles you, shaking you hard enough that the pain radiates up your arm like a vine. “Everything! This has everything to do with you! Your friend? Eddie? I know they cleared him, said that he had nothing to do with it, but I know the truth. I know what he is.” He says, words dripping with disdain.
In a surge of defensiveness, you drag the serrated edge of your keys across his skin, drawing a little blood.
“You bitch!” He sneers, snatching his hand away. “You’ll regret that. You’ll regret not listening to me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you; don’t say I didn’t tell you what he was!” He angrily stalks off, disappearing into the tree line.
When you’d first moved to Hawkins, rumours of golden girl Chrissy dying at the hands of a satanic cult had intrigued you. Dustin had filled you in on the rest and after meeting Eddie and the rest of his innocent D&D group, you knew those rumours were a work of fiction.
“Hey!” Eddie shouts from a few feet away. He gestures in the direction of the tree line. “Was that Jason?”
“Yeah.” You mutter, gingerly touching your arm.
Eddie closes the last few feet between you, jogging to you as you open your door. “What did he want?”
“Said he saw me walking home, wanted to make sure I was okay.”
Eddie looks at you incredulously as he steps inside. “Looked intense, you okay?”
“Yeah. All good.”
Eddie’s eyes fall to the raised welts on your forearm, your hands paler from the lack of blood flow. He gently holds your wrist and brings it up to the hallway light to examine the marks.
“Did Jason do that?” He asks. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.” You sigh resignedly. “He was drinking, and he said some stuff about Chrissy’s death anniversary, I think he was just… a little out of it. Got a little overzealous.”
“Overzealous?” Eddie asks, getting closer to you. “He left a paw print. Y’know I swear, guys like him think they can get away with anything—“
“—Yeah. But I’m fine, Eddie. It looks worse than it is.” You place your hand around his and squeeze reassuringly. “Really. I’m okay.”
“You sure?“
“I swear, Eddie. I’m all good.”
Your peripheral suddenly plays a cruel trick on you, making you jump at the impression of somebody in the kitchen.
Eddie finally lets go of your hand, laughing at your reaction. “You okay? You’re really jumpy.” He asks, rubbing your shoulders as you walk into the kitchen.
“There’s a serial killer in town, Eddie. Why aren’t you jumpy?” You deadpan. “Is that why you’re here?”
He chuckles self-effacingly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah. Nancy told me you took off to grab your things and I didn’t want you to have to walk by yourself with all that stuff.” He stops you from reaching for the window with a hand on your hips, walking around you instead. “Here, I got it.”
He extends his lean body to twist the window handle, his t-shirt riding up to reveal his toned abs. Red welts—scratches—mark his stomach and a twinge of jealousy creeps up your chest when you think about how he may have gotten those marks.
“Hey!” Eddie says, snapping his fingers. “Where do you keep goin’, you good?”
Embarrassment warms your cheeks, snapping you back into reality. “Of course. I have my knight in shining armour, don’t I?” You say sardonically, rounding the island to go upstairs.
You’re halfway through the hallway before you realise you’re not being followed by Eddie; he’s since taken to standing in the doorway with a look that you can’t read.
“What is it?” You ask.
He slowly steps towards you. “I know you’re kidding, but for what it’s worth—you never have to worry about that stuff when you’re with me.” He says softly, his voice thick. “You’re always safe with me. I hope you know that.”
You share a look in the dimly lit hallway, and you don’t know what this thing is between you—the thing where you know each other best, and look out for one another, and make one another feel safe, but where touches and looks linger for longer than they should.
You don’t have a shadow of a doubt colouring your answer when you reply, knowing wholeheartedly that you believe it.
“I know.”
When you get back to Nancy’s though, the night has taken a turn for the worse. The kids sit in the living room with the rest of your friends, everybody huddled up together around the TV as the breaking news reel plays.
“What’s going on?” You ask, setting your bag by the door.
“They found another body.” Steve tells you in a hushed voice, mindful of the kids but it’s useless—they’re watching the same thing you all are.
“Higgins.” Nancy explains, approaching you and Eddie. Out of earshot of the kids, she says, “they found him tied to the same goal post they unhooked Tina off of today. His eyes were gouged out and he was stabbed in the neck. He bled to death.”
Three victims. Three victims in one day.
Nancy mirrors that thought, but all you can think about now is how much longer you can outrun the shadow breathing down your neck, seemingly getting closer every day.
——————————————————————————
Breakfast is a bleak affair.
Mrs. Wheeler does everything to make sure you eat, encouragingly puts out a spread that most people dream of, while Mr Wheeler grumbles under his breath. You watch the boys, El and Max stuff their faces with pancakes, syrup dripping down their chins, but after the morning news, you can barely stomach anything.
Youre realising after watching the morning news, that it’s becoming a twisted kind of routine to wake up and expect the news of another murder.
Today’s victim: Andy Clayton.
Jason’s best friend and yes-man; found hacked to pieces, fibres of his letterman jacket found in his stab wounds from the brutal kill. You stick close to Nancy and Robin for the rest of the day, but when you come back from investigating, you find a chilling surprise on the Wheeler’s doorstep.
Nancy giggles and ducks inside with Robin, leaving you with your gift. Four black dahlias tied together with a length of twine, a note folded in half between the stems.
“I promise it won’t be much longer until we’re together, my flower. See you soon.”
Your head instinctually whips around, your eyes scanning the street, but it’s dead silent save for the occasional passing car. You turn back to the house, ice flowing into your veins as you realise you’re a sitting duck, and staying here would put everybody else in danger too.
The Wheelers, the kids, Robin.
You tuck the note into your pocket along with the four flowers and grab your bags, lying to Nancy that you’ll be back. Your first stop is going to see Eddie to ask for some company at the police station. You make the walk to your house, drop your bags in the trunk of your car and make the seven mile journey to Eddie’s trailer.
The sun sets on your way there, casting the sky in blooms of oranges and pinks, the landscape so much more vibrant in Hawkins than anywhere else you’ve lived. Eddie’s beat up van isn’t anywhere to be seen, but the lights inside his trailer are on, you knock once out of politeness and come in anyway after finding the door unlocked.
Not that Eddie ever remembers to lock his doors.
Inside, he’s still nowhere to be seen, the only thing interrupting the silence is the hum of the energy saver light bulb in the background and the sound of a dog barking outside.
“Eddie?” You call out, clicking the door shut behind you. “You home?”
You’re met with more silence.
You glance at the small clock above the hat-lined wall.
5:30pm.
Tentatively, you take a seat on the pull out couch that Steve and Wayne have taken to sharing by now, using the time you have to contemplate how best to broach the subject of your stalker with Eddie; where to start, how much to say.
Your legs start to tingle from nerves and pent up anxiety, forcing you to your feet.
You pace the length of the living room and to the kitchen and back again. Your stomach knots and unknots, a surge of nervous energy lodging in your throat and dissipating throughout your chest.
Absently, you walk into Eddie’s room—a bomb site on a good day. As you close the door behind you, something large and black swooshes against the hook, a large coat or a cloak of some kind, probably for his Hellfire Club meetings.
You should talk to Eddie about rebranding that soon.
You smile fondly as your eyes travel over his poster lined walls, the acoustic guitar perched in the corner, the magazines on top of his nightstand. The second drawer of his nightstand catches your eye, ajar slightly because of something caught between the drawer and the frame.
You look closer, eyes narrowing when you pull a length of twine out from the drawer. You examine it curiously, holding it up to the light when a thought occurs to you.
With a hesitant hand, you reach into your back pocket to pull out the dahlias you’d received earlier that day, comparing the twine to the one in your hand. Your brows furrow as you bring both pieces of twine together, joining the two diagonal edges to fit perfectly.
It’s a dead match.
You pull out his drawer in a daze, head growing fuzzy as you rummage through his things. It’s a coincidence—it has to be. There has to be an explanation.
Ice flows into your veins when you find five black dahlias tucked neatly into a roll of newspaper, red square note paper next to it. Your head rushes with blood, the room spinning as you try to somehow refute what’s in front of you.
This can’t be what you think it is. It can’t be.
You gag and run to the kitchen to empty your stomach in the sink. It’s fruitless, your stomach turning up nothing, leaving you to dry heave and clutch the counter.
No. No, no, no.
Your hands tremble, blood rushing in your ears and pumping through your body to drive you into high gear, to get the hell out.
You dart for the door, grabbing your bag and keys, and slam face first into a black wall, your hands taking the brunt of the impact, the shock forcing you back a few steps. Your bags and keys fall on the floor, the blood draining from your body when you look up at a cloaked figure with a white mask.
You tense up, making peace with the fact that this may be your end but still hold out a small amount of hope that it isn’t who you think it is behind the mask.
Then the figure speaks, says your name in that familiar way that sends shivers up your spine.
Eddie.
Your knees buckle and you trip backwards, the pressure inside your head increasing until you can hear a high-pitched whine. Shakily holding out your hands in front of you, you see them stained crimson, an unknown person’s blood licking your skin.
It’s the last thing you see before you succumb to darkness.
——————————————————————————
A horrible weight surrounds your head and there’s a ringing in your ears when you come to. It takes a few seconds for your mind to catch up, but when it does, you jolt in your seat, your movement restricted by something binding your hands and mouth.
You start to hyperventilate.
“Hey. Hey. Calm down.” Eddie says, crouching in front of your chair, sporting a busted lip, a bruised eye and bloody knuckles. “Fuck—Calm down, I need you to breathe, okay?” He rips the tape off your mouth and you struggle against the ties, but he pulls the chair in by its arms.“Hey! Breathe. C’mon—just match my pace, alright, you’re gonna pass out again. Fucking breathe.”
He exaggerates his own breathing rhythm now that you can see his chest in just his t-shirt to let your breathing fall into tandem with his. You let yourself breathe, focusing on the air expanding in your lungs, but terror still grips you.
Eddie watches you carefully, like you’re a cornered animal, his mask pulled up, hair matted to his forehead. “I’m going to cut you loose so we can talk, okay? M’gonna explain everything, but you can’t run. Can you do that?”
Images of Carol and Tommy, Tina, and the rest of his victims flash before your eyes. Eviscerated. Bludgeoned. Gutted.
You nod, not daring to look down knowing that the rope, the chair and your skin are stained with fresh blood.
“Good.” He breathes.
He brings a bloody hunting knife to your wrists, lodges the flat edge between you and the rope, and cuts upwards, slicing you free. You plant your shaky feet to test the waters, and launch yourself forward into Eddie’s chest, knocking him out of the way to start running.
“Goddamnit!” He grunts.
You make it a grand total of two paces before Eddie easily whips you around, pinning you against the wall. His nostrils flared, he reaches into his back pocket, brandishing the knife again. A scream dies in your throat as he places the glinting silver’s blunt edge against your neck.
“I didn’t want to use this. But I told you not to run, didn’t I? Didn’t I?!” His voice thunders inside the trailer, and you flinch backwards, hyper-aware of the knife at your throat.
The change in his demeanour makes you feel insignificant, like you never mattered to him. That realisation makes a lump catch in your throat. “You’re… you’re—“
He nods slowly, wide grin splitting his face. “Yeah. I am.” He replies mockingly, flipping the mask back on. “What did Jonathan say? Ghostface?”
A part of you thought—hoped—that he would try to deny it. You’d believe any explanation he’d give you if you tried hard enough, because accepting anything else would be easier than this.
Than accepting that your best friend is a serial killer.
“Jason… man, the bastard knows how to fight,” Eddie laments, licking his busted lip behind the mask. He clenches and unclenches his bruised hands, silver rings stained with blood. “Pulled my fucking cloak off and everything—but what are you gonna do? I had a knife. He didn’t. Bled out on my clothes but he knew it was me.”
You don’t want to hear this. You can’t hear this.
You look desperately for an escape, eyes darting until you spot something that makes your stomach swoop violently, grief ripping through you at the prospect.
Steve’s white Nikes, covered in blood.
You turn to Eddie shakily, eyes wide. “Did you kill Steve?”
He softens, trailing the knife over your cheek. You’re as still as you can be despite your body feeling like it’s vibrating, knowing too well that the smallest of movements could kill you.
“So sweet. So naive. My flower.” He whispers. “You think I strung Tina and Higgins’ big ass up on those goalposts myself?”
“No…. He—Steve?” You blubber, another wave of grief washing over you. You’ve just lost two of your best friends in the space of five minutes and you don’t have the time to think about the implications. You just need to make it out alive. “Why? Why did you do this? Why did you kill those people, Eddie?”
“Because there’s only so much a person can take. I mean, a year passed since Jason sicced his merry brigade of uptight Catholics on me. They all got to move on, get college scholarships, access to trust funds and opportunities to get out of this shithole. Me? I was gonna stay here and rot.” He seethes. “I tried my best to keep it under control. To push my urges down. But then I saw Carol bump you in that hallway, and I remembered what Tommy did to you at that party. That’s when I decided to end it.”
“How do you know about that?” You shudder.
“Harrington told me everything. Y’know for someone who secretly loves killing, he protested far too much in the beginning. Though, in his defence, I think he was a little cooked after the whole Russian torture thing. It was a perfect plan, really. I killed the people on his list—he killed the people on mine. Solid alibis. No connection.”
“I never asked for this. For any of it. You don’t get to pin your sick little indulgences on me, Eddie.”
He flinches, recoils at your words. “But I did it for you. To keep you safe. Why don’t you get that?!”
Salt falls from your eyes, trails down your face until your cheeks and neck are wet, a lump in your throat. “Are you going to kill me?”
He stares in awe at the pulse visible under your neck, lightly traces his knife over it. He may not even dignify your question with a response; all he would have to do is press in and you’d bleed out right on Mr. Munson’s orange carpet.
“I told you that you’re always safe with me, do you remember that?” When you ignore his question, he uses the knife to tip your chin up and takes the mask off. “Answer me.”
His eyes soften when he waits for you to answer, as though hanging onto your words for desperate validation. You get a glimpse of the Eddie you know—knew.
Your Eddie.
“Yes.” You reply truthfully.
“So how can you ask that? How could you possibly think I’d kill you?”
“Then why stalk me? Why send me the flowers—the letters—if I wasn’t next on your list?” You sob. “You must’ve known what I’d think, that I was scared. Why did you do that?”
“Because I love you.” He whispers reverently, closing in on you. His eyes soften, and when he says those four words, it’s Eddie. Eddie, despite the blood spatter on his neck and arms. It’s why it takes your breath away, because you can’t disregard it as the ramblings of a madman.
There’s some truth to it—even if it is sick.
And you hate yourself more for wanting him.
He sheaths the knife in his back pocket, closing the distance between you. “Do you have any idea…how long I’ve wanted you? How I’ve had to keep tabs on you from afar because I was afraid of what you’d think about me? I’ve wanted you since the day you moved here, way before we ever even met.”
You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this.
Your palm makes a cracking sound against his cheek, leaving a blooming red mark on his face. “I hate you.”
His lips brush against yours. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I fucking hate you, Eddie. You broke my trust.”
“I know.”
Your fists beat down on his chest and arms, throwing punches against a solid chest. He grunts and takes the brunt of your beat down silently, your palms picking up the blood from his soaked t-shirt. It’s only once you’re reduced to tears that he stops you, encircling both of your blood-stained wrists and pulls you close to his chest.
“I hate you.” You repeat in a small voice.
“Yeah?” He asks, looking down at you.
He looks more like himself now, the version that makes you laugh, and loves to read, and has a rich imagination. The Eddie who makes your breath catch in your throat. His gaze is heated, loaded with the challenge of your hatred for him, as though he’s waiting for you to prove it.
His lips are plump and red, the divot on his chin pronounced.
“You really hate me?” He whispers. “Because I’ll let you go. You can go to the police, have me arrested, I don’t care. I just want you.”
You launch yourself at him, crushing your lips against his for a burning, all-consuming kiss. Your knees buckle at the long-awaited contact, his lips full and soft, yet demanding when they slide over yours, capturing your mouth with a bruising intensity. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him so forcefully that it makes you mewl, the soft contours of your body moulding against his harder ones, blood soaking into your pale pink dress.
You pull away, panting for breath. “I hate you.” You chant. “I hate you. I hate you.”
He kisses you harder.
Your hands tangle in his hair as his lips devour you, hungry tongue meshing with yours. He moans in pain when you suckle his bruised bottom lip, the sound going straight to your core. He frantically reaches to touch as much of you as he can, presses his body against yours to make your chest heave with pleasure.
You pull away, looking at him hesitantly.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He pleads, voice cracking. “Don’t look at me like you’re scared of me.”
“I am scared, Eddie.” You whisper, a tear escaping your eye.
“I’m sorry, baby. I meant it when I said I’d never hurt you. I just wanna take care of you. Make you feel good the way you deserve. Will you let me do that? Can I show you? Please?”
Despite your fear, you’re warming to the idea that he’s still the Eddie that checks on you in the middle of the night, the Eddie that once drove an hour at 3:00am to pick you up from a party.
You swallow. “Yes.”
His warm eyes sparkle, capture your lips in another heated kiss. He moans desperately into your mouth as your lips slide over one another, panting as he firmly runs his hands up your hips, trailing up your ribcage and to your arms. He pins your hands above your head, stretching your body out and shoves his knee between your legs.
You break away from his mouth in pleasure, the coarse denim of his jeans rubbing against your panties. Your mouth falls open, head lolling back against the wall.
“Oh, you needed this, huh?” He says darkly, rocking his knee between your legs. “You like me. And you hate yourself for it.”
You chase his mouth but he dodges, a wicked look on his face. You fist your hands in his shirt collar and pull him down to capture his full lips between yours again, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.
Eddie groans, his mind immediately jumping to how you’re capable of drawing blood for him too, even if it is his own. His cock twiches. “That’s my fucking girl.” He murmurs, dragging his thumb against his lip to wipe the blood. “You’re not as innocent as you look, huh?”
You wrap your hand around his large wrist, bring his hand to your own mouth to smear his blood on your lips. His eyes gleam, cock painfully hard. Your gaze falls to his lips, bruised and bleeding, blood in his mouth and on his chin.
“Go ahead.” He smiles knowingly.
You let the tip of your tongue trace the blood on his chin and lick upward until you trace the seam of his lips. He swallows your next breath with a bruising kiss, your lips coming together in a frenzied, sick heat, the taste of copper and warm blood coating your tongue.
He squeezes your hip with a large hand, brings you down to grind against his knee, the act debasing but you don’t care. Eddie makes you crazy, his broad build, his possessiveness; his dark side.
“C’mon. Let me see that pretty face when you cum. Go ahead. Cum on my thigh like the sick little thing you are.” He murmurs, looking down at the mess you’re leaving on his jeans. He roughly forces you to look down, his hands framing your face. “Look at that. Look at the mess you’re leaving. Soaking fucking wet and I haven’t even touched you yet, do I make that cunt leak, baby? That all for me?”
“Yeah, Eddie. For you. For you.” You chant.
“Atta girl. Cum for me now. Cum on my thigh.” He coos, rocking his leg up into you. “Let go, c’mon.”
The coil in your stomach wraps tighter around itself, Eddie’s rough words making you throw your head back in a silent moan as you finally come undone. He holds you close to him, an arm around your waist to help you ride out your orgasm, your arms around his shoulders, held in a tight embrace as he continues to grind his knee into your pussy.
“Oh that’s it, that’s my pretty fucking girl. So good for me, doing exactly as I ask you. So fucking good, baby. Just breathe—you got it. Good girl.”
His words somehow prolong your orgasm, your pussy convulsing around nothing, until all you can do is dig your nails into Eddie’s shoulders and cry.
When you come down, you’re languid, but renewed, wanting more. Both of your eyes are blown, heady with lust, and Eddie brings your mouth back to his, unable to stay away.
Cradling the back of your head, he licks into your mouth and you angle your head to kiss him deeper, hungry for more as you mewl into his mouth, scrambling against the wall. You tug at his t-shirt, pull him closer by his belt loops, and he moans at your show of control.
Sinking to your knees, you keep your eyes up and on Eddie as you watch him register your movement, his brows furrowing with exertion. He plucks his blood-soaked t-shirt off his body, drops of crimson staining his abdomen and his hands now.
You look up at him with wide eyes. He’s intimidating from this angle, tall and broad, but still lithe; ink and blood covering his pale chest and arms. You trace the scratches on his lower abdomen, shivers erupting on your skin at the realisation of how he really got them.
You kiss the still-red marks, tonguing over his v-line and lower abdomen, bluntly scratching at the smattering of hair that leads below his jeans.
He cups your chin tenderly, leaving behind blood. “Tommy begged for his life. Begged me not to kill him, but I did anyway. Made him bleed out right by the pool while Carol watched. For what he did to you.”
You should hate this. You should get off your knees and leave. But you can’t. Not when you’re one orgasm deep and you’re wet between the legs. Not when you’re about to worship this man.
You kiss his hand, then his stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses over his abs, tracing the tip of your tongue over the red scratches. You move over, scratching your nails down his stomach to mirror the other side, leaving angry red marks.
Why should Carol be the only one to get to mark him?
He hisses through his teeth, hands hovering over your head hesitantly as you lick over the fresh marks with more kisses. “What? You jealous?” He laughs.
You answer him with another swipe at his v-line, red claw marks imprinting on his skin. The tent in his pants begs to be touched, and when you rub over his hard cock through his jeans, his thighs tremble.
“Can I suck your cock, Eddie?” You ask innocently. “Please?”
“Jesus fuckin—“ He grits out, bracing against the wall in front of him. “Go ahead, baby. Take my cock out, lemme feel your mouth.”
You bite back a smile at his eagerness as you undo his belt, shakily pulling down his jeans and boxers together to free his cock. You swallow, your skin heating at the sight of his cock; average length but the girth takes you off guard, his tip red and leaking pre cum.
He looks at you knowingly, like he knows he’s going to destroy you when the time comes, but until then, he’s going to bide his time with your mouth. He groans breathily when you stroke the length of him, using both hands to twist and pull, goosebumps erupting on his skin.
“Shit, shit, shit. That’s it. Squeeze a little tighter there—ah—fuck. Oh, that’s it, baby.”
You sweetly suck on his tip, licking up his pre cum. Eddie’s abs twitch when your tongue swipes over the vein on the underside of his cock, and you make a mental note to tease him with that. His hips jerk forward on instinct, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth, his hands hovering over your head.
“Like that, Eddie? Am I doing a good job?” You ask, kissing his tip.
“Yeah, baby. Such a good job like I knew you would. Need a little more.”
You work way down the shaft, laying wet, open mouthed kisses on his heavy cock, languidly slapping his tip against your tongue. Eddie’s chest flushes with exertion. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his expression darkening when you take his hands and direct them to your head, silently asking him to take control.
“Show me what you want, Ed. Do it exactly how you wanna.” You murmur letting his cock slap your tongue.
You stay like that; mouth wide and tongue out for him to take the lead. A splitting grin takes over his face as he nods, gently gathering your hair on top of your head.
“My best girl.” He whispers.
He thrusts into your mouth slowly at first, tentatively testing the waters, but as your warm, wet mouth invites him in for more, his thrusts get deeper and more aggressive. Tears prick your eyes as his thick cock reaches the back of your throat with each rough thrust, his hands pulling your head forward.
“Fucking Christ, your mouth. So pretty with your lips stretched out around my cock, on your knees for me.”
You nod as he punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust that makes you gag around him, and you feel him twitch in your mouth, spit and precum messily trailing down your chin, covering his balls and thighs in a slick sheen.
He wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah… you’re my filthy little girl, aren’t you? Love taking my cock any way I’ll give it to you, huh?” He lightly slaps your cheek, feels the vibration against his cock and throws his head back in pleasure, his hair a halo around his head.
“So pretty, so fucking pretty—my angel. My pretty little angel. A little wider—shit—just like that.” Eddie whines incoherently when you reach up and massage his balls, slick with your saliva while he holds you in place and fucks your mouth. “Thank you, baby—fuck. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Tears stream down your face, but you’re drunk on the taste of him, your pussy throbbing with his words and needy voice. You’re galvanised knowing that on your knees, you’re capable of reducing a man as powerful and terrifying as Eddie to this.
A whining, whimpering, mess.
He withdraws from your mouth with a drawn out groan, his cock twitching in front of your face. You glance up at him, a flush spreading from the centre of his chest to his neck, his ears and cheeks bright red, lips swollen from biting them.
“C’mere.” He murmurs, dragging you up by your throat—not even with enough force to reduce your airflow—but as a possessive gesture, a means of control.
He disregards the mess on your face and kisses you in a desperate clash of teeth and tongues and heavy breaths, his cock pressing against your tummy. He swallows your moans and whimpers with a light grip on your throat as he takes the breath from your lungs.
“Let's get you off your feet, what do you say?” He rasps.
You nod, hooking your arms around his neck as he sweeps you off your feet, dark gaze burning yours. He throws you on his creaky mattress, leaving you to crawl upward as he stalks towards you like you’re his prey.
Shoving your knees apart, he strokes your calves, laying gentle kisses on your now sore knees. “You trust me?”
You take a beat, making sure to run the scenarios through in your head. “Yes.”
He reaches for a knife from his bedside table, and your skin turns red hot, equal parts desire and terror mixing like a cocktail under your skin.
“Eyes on me, okay? Just relax.” He coos, kissing your forehead. “Not gonna hurt you.”
He settles between your legs, and despite you being the one fully clothed out of the two of you, you feel vulnerable but safely kept. He scrapes the blunt edge of the knife gently down your neck, circling your pulse point. It scratches against your collarbone as he continues its descent down in your skin.
You close your eyes as he hooks it around the neckline of your dress, and you feel him stall, remember his words.
Eyes on me.
“Good girl.” He breathes when you force yourself to look at him.
With a sharp tug of the knife, he cuts a jagged line down the centre of your dress, starting at your neckline and ending just above your belly button. You startle at the sudden movement and jump slightly but a hand on your hip holds you down. Slowly, he takes the two halves of the dress and rips with his bare hands all the way down until it falls open at your sides.
“Jesus Christ, you’re perfect.” Eddie rasps, trailing the knife back upwards.
“Don’t tease, Eddie.” You whine, shivering at the cold.
“Patience, my flower. I like to draw things out.”
You stiffen, the reminder of his extra curricular activities reminding you of who he is. He dips down and places a sweet kiss on your lips to absolve you of your worries, then with a tattooed hand, drags the knife between your breasts, then to the left. The sheets in your hands are the only traction you have as he circles your nipple with the knife, flicking the bud with the metal.
“One wrong move…” he reminds you. “One wrong move, and this could end terribly for you, couldn’t it?”
You whimper, nodding.
“Good thing you trust me. Better thing that I love you.”
He trails it down your stomach, watching the goosebumps appear on your skin as he travels south, the muscles under your skin jumping at the touch. The cold metal reaches your panties, scraping over your covered mound, and despite the imminent danger, you feel yourself dripping for him.
“You’re doing really good, baby. Proud of you.”
He goes further still, careful to always use the blunt edge of the knife, but with the weapon out of sight, you’re forced to hyper focus on the sensation, figure out which part is where. You cry out when the cold metal bumps against your puffy clit through your panties, your hips bucking.
Eddie laughs throatily, a wide grin on his face. “Oh, was that good? You liked that, didn’t you? My depraved little angel.”
“Yes, Eddie. Please, I need more.”
“That’s right, you do. Well done.”
You feel tension against the waistband of your panties before it snaps, your panties cut off at the legs. Eddie pulls you up roughly, dragging your panties off you and leaving you fully exposed and open to him. Gathering them in his hand, he brings them to his face, inhales deeply as his eyes roll back into his head.
”Fucked my hand over n’ over again with the panties I took from you. Wrapped around my cock pretending it was you, whispered your name when I came. You know that?”
His words make you squirm and he laughs knowingly. Gripping your chin gently, he tells you to open up so he can slip your panties into your mouth. The salty sweet taste of you floods your mouth, your slick coating your tongue and the cotton.
“You keep nice and quiet for me, I swear I’ll make it worth your while, baby. Can you be good for me?”
He’s in control and he knows it and it makes you writhe in pleasure. You nod eagerly, pussy fluttering at the prospect of what he has planned for you.
He slaps your cheek lightly again. “Good girl. Nice and quiet, yeah?”
He yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles and brings your legs to wrap around his waist, turning you as he lays on his back, moving up the bed.
“C’mon, baby. Come sit on my face, gimme that pretty pussy.”
You hesitate, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but he takes your hands in his, pulls you forward until you're straddling his waist. “C’mon. Let me taste you, baby. Please?” He coos.
Hooking two arms around you, he moves you up until you’re hovering above his face, the change in dynamic making your insides clench.
“Please, baby. Just wanna taste you. Please? Let me kiss that pretty pussy?” He whines, tugging on his cock.
You tentatively lower yourself onto his face, the only thing visible to you now, his upper face. He latches onto your pussy immediately, sucks your clit between his plump lips and your hips buck, trying to put some distance between you and the source of your pleasure. He moans loudly into your pussy, thick tongue and full mouth messily kissing your cunt, strong jaw anchoring you.
“Such a sweet fucking pussy, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me… could get drunk on the taste of you, so fucking wet, dripping down my face—my God.” He whines, hooking his arms around your legs to keep you flush to him.
Your legs tremble around his face—his face—blissed out and so full of concentration. You lean down and push the hair off his forehead, and he moans in pleasure, sucking your clit harder as you pull slightly on his scalp.
“That’s it, baby. Grind on my face, use my tongue. Make yourself cum for me, baby. Grind on me.”
Your heart beats erratically as you slowly work your hips in circles on Eddie’s face, moans and whimpers muffled by the panties in your mouth. His hands reach up to squeeze your tits, pinching your nipples almost painfully and pleasure sparks at the base of your spine.
“C’mon, pretty girl. Make me proud. Cum for me.” He encourages, flicking your clit with his tongue. The sound of Eddie’s mouth and your wet pussy fill the room as you chase your release, melting into him while pleasure washes over you in waves.
You cum with a silent scream, head thrown back and focus on the feeling of Eddie’s hands on your tits and mouth lapping at you. You come crashing down, electricity crackling at the base of your spine as you pull on Eddie’s hair.
You fall onto your hands with blood thrumming in every single nerve ending, your hair sticking to your neck with exertion. Eddie lays a messy kiss on your clit before lifting you off him and gathers you in his arms.
He checks your face for signs of concern, but you’re utterly blissed out. Unpicking the panties from your mouth, he wipes the saliva from your chin to kiss you. You’re boneless in his arms, trusting him to hold you up, sweaty body flush against his as his mouth moves over yours. He consumes your being, wanting you from the inside out, your entire body vibrating with need, more so when you feel his cock jump between your legs.
“You’re so hard, Eddie. So thick.”
He swears under his breath as you tug at his cock, heavy and warm in your hand. He grips your throat, a smile making its way onto your lips as he regards you with a knowing look.
A look that he knows you’re his. That you’re just as twisted as he is.
He spins you around, your back flush to his tattooed chest and grips your chin to make you look at yourself in the mirror in front of you. You stroke him languidly, feeling his sticky precum coat the tips of your fingers while his fingers spread your pussy lips.
“Look at yourself.” He urges, kissing your cheek. “Look at how wrecked you are, spread out and naked for me. Look at how good we look together, my flower. Look.”
The sight in front of you makes your knees buckle. Next to Eddie’s guitar, is your reflection, blissed out with your hair matted to your face, legs spread wide while Eddie’s ringed fingers rub your clit. Behind you, Eddie watches the reflection, his tattooed chest and abdomen littered with scratches and bruises.
Both of you are stained with blood, handprints marking your throat, your hips, your tits, actual remnants of a crime on your bodies, mixing with sex.
“Keep your eyes on that mirror, baby. Whatever you do, do not take your eyes off that mirror. You got that?”
“Yeah, Eddie. Anything you want.”
He lays a kiss under your ear to soothe the sting of two thick fingers plunging into your pussy, your head lolling back. The slick coating your thighs and pussy makes it easy for him to slide in, the sting soothed by the pleasure of him hooking his fingers inside you.
“Ohh, I know you like that, don’t you, my girl? That feels good inside my pretty baby’s pussy, huh? You wanna close your eyes but you can’t, can you?” He coos mockingly, lightly slapping your cheek. “No, you can’t. Because you said you’d do anything I want. So you’re gonna stay right here…and I’m gonna finger this pretty little cunt to get you ready for my cock.”
“Eddie…” you whine, palming his cock. “That feels so good, your fingers… so thick.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
He withdraws his fingers and plunges them deep inside you with each word, drawing out your pleasure like a length of elastic; tension building and building precariously close to a snap. The heel of his palm rubs against your clit as his pace increases, a furious work of his wrist leaving you hanging onto his arm for dear life.
“Cum, baby. Come on, gimme another one, I know you can do it. Do it for me, baby, let me feel you squeeze my fingers.”
“Gonna cum, Eddie…so close.” You whimper.
You watch his biceps flex and his shiny, slick covered fingers as you come undone. You’re decidedly full, but not full enough, fluttering around his fingers wildly as he talks you through your release. Your eyes go hazy with ecstasy as you fight to keep them open, to watch his onslaught like you promised you would.
“Good girl, good fucking girl. Pretty eyes on me, yeah? Just breathe baby, you’re doing so good. So fucking good squeezing me like that. So pretty.”
When your heartbeat comes down, he kisses your cheek, holding his ring and middle fingers up to the light, your slick stretching between his fingers.
He brings them to your mouth. “Suck.” He says simply, gasping when your tongue presses against his fingers to lick the taste of yourself off him.
“Sweet?” He asks.
You nod around his fingers.
“Well done, baby. We’re not finished yet, though.”
With a large hand on your upper back, he pushes you down into his pillows, the smell of him surrounding you like a haze. His sheets are rumpled, but a welcome reprieve, they smell like him and in a way, it’s like laying on him.
Eddie’s large hands angle your hips upwards just slightly, the rest of you still face down on the mattress. You feel the blunt head of his cock slide up and down your slit, your sloppy cunt making him slip.
A sharp crack lands on your ass, making you jump, the pain soothed by a cool relief as Eddie massages the skin, pulling at it posessively. He squeezes you hard enough to leave bruises but it only spurs you on, the sick thought of Eddie possessing you, marking you—owning you—makes you drip onto his sheets.
“Eyes on me, remember?” He rasps from the exertion of controlling himself. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”
He braces himself over you with toned arms, his legs bracketing yours as he pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, agonisingly slow. His broad chest flushes a deep crimson.
You feel him slide right back out of you, and try again, his lips between his teeth. “God fuckin’ damn it, you’re so tight, pushing me right back out.” He pushes in again, and you watch him mesmerised. “Let me in, angel, c’mon. Let me inside you, gimme that sweet cunt. C’mon.” He grunts.
Every inch stretches you out, punching the air from between your lungs. You’re completely immobilised and at Eddie's mercy, trembling as he sheathes himself inside you.
You gasp when he buries himself to the hilt, impossibly full and dizzy with pleasure. “Oh my God, Eddie, that’s deep. You’re so fucking deep inside me—so fucking big.” You sob, fluttering around his cock.
He drops his entire body weight on you, pushing you further into the mattress, deliciously constricting your airflow. He pulls your arms out in front of you and interlocks his fingers with yours.
You feel his chest vibrate when he speaks, a deep, quiet rumble that kisses the shell of your ear. “Yeah? That deep enough for my baby’s pussy, hm? Stretch you nice and good?”
You watch the carnal expression on his face as he slowly starts to grind into you, the angle bumping that spot deep inside you that makes your clit jump. You’re sensitive and pliant under him but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in close and snapping his hips, muttering filthy words into your ear.
He pushes a thumb into your mouth. “Such a warm, wet, perfect cunt. The things I did for this pussy, to make you mine—God.” He grits. “You make me fucking crazy you know that? This pussy makes me crazy.”
Every inch of his body presses against yours, your skin moulding to his, sweat slicked and sticky, both of your thighs covered in your slick.
“Love your cock, Eddie. Love how you fuck me. Please, Eddie. Want more, please.” You whine, pulling his hair above you.
He builds his pace steadily, his hips snapping into your while he sets a brutal rhythm, pressing you further into the mattress. The hot friction of your nipples rubbing against his sheets and his cock set your skin on fire.
You barely register Eddie angle your hips up all the way before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you up—flush against him.
“That’s better. Look at you—fucking ruined on my cock, aren’t you? Who else can fuck you like this? Who else makes you this fucking pathetic and desperate?”
“Nobody, Eddie. Nobody. Just you, only you fuck me like this.” You choke out, legs trembling.
With an arm around your waist to keep you steady, he hooks the other around your neck, effectively putting you in a light headlock. You’re so close to your release, so dizzy with pleasure that you’re on the verge of passing out. Your head lolls against Eddie’s shoulder and your eyes roll back, your face a sight with fat tears rolling down your cheeks.
The lack of airflow increases the pressure inside of your body, fire pooling low in your stomach, making you drip .
“That’s it, that’s it, there you go, there you fucking go. You like it when I choke you don’t you, my filthy little girl. Gonna make you cream all over my cock, want it soaking my thighs and balls, baby. Give it to me.”
You can barely form words, settling for a litany of, “Yes, yes, yes. Right there, Eddie, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”
“Not gonna stop. Not until you’re crying. Now c’mon, gimme another one, let me feel this pretty pussy squeeze my cock, c’mon. Make me proud, pretty girl, cum for me.”
You hang on for dear life as he fucks you right into another orgasm, your legs trembling and pussy convulsing around him, but he doesn’t let up. Pounds you right through your orgasm, skin slapping against skin, finally letting go of your throat so you can breathe again.
“Good girl, good girl, good fucking girl, that’s it. There you go, just breathe—you got it. Just feel it, you got it, c’mon, keep going, keep going.”
White spots your vision as you ride out your orgasm and Eddie finally allows you to fall forward, draping his body over yours immediately. You pull at his hair to bring him closer, slowly grinding yourself against his cock as you come down, a panting, sweaty mess, drowning in bliss.
You angle your head to kiss him lazily, his lips leaving your mouth tingling, tongue licking into your mouth.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re really fucking intense, Ed?” You tease against his lips.
“Why? You hear somethin’?” He chuckles, kissing you deeply.
He pulls out of you, tugging at his slick cock as he turns you over onto your back. You’re both dishevelled, and desperate, chasing a higher and higher release.
You spread your legs and invite him to use your puffy, sensitive pussy, your thighs and hips covered in juices. He slides in easier this time, grinding all the way into the hilt so his pelvis bumps your clit, while his pick chain dangles in your face.
You whine, gripping the sheets for an anchor as he starts to drive into you with a rough snap of his hips.
“Eddie…” you whine. “Feel so good, so deep.” You whimper.
“Yeah?” He grins, dimple splitting his cheek. He presses his hand into your stomach, withdrawing his cock almost all the way out and slamming back inside again. “Right here? You feel me there? Nice and deep inside this pretty angel cunt, made for me to fuck, isn’t it?”
“Just for you, Eddie. Just for you.” You chant.
Your slick smears everywhere, coating Eddie’s lower stomach and happy trail, his pelvis and balls, everything a filthy, sticky mess and you’re in heaven.
You fist your hands into the pillow next to you, spot a flash of black and white. Pulling on the material, you reveal another mask, and your heart swoops nervously, your body stiffening.
“You’re okay, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of—here.” He reassures you, slipping the hood on. It takes your breath away, having to reconcile Eddie’s body with the mask, but when he grinds his cock deep inside you, you snap back. “Just me. Just Eddie.”
You reach for his shoulders and spread your legs to invite him closer, wanting to feel more of him. Eddie smiles behind the mask, knows the reaction you have to it—to him—to the implications. He hisses at the feel of your fingernails digging into his back, cock twitching at your possessiveness.
“You like that don’t you, baby? I know you like seeing me with the mask on, I can feel you fucking creaming on my cock. Makes you horny doesn’t it, knowing I killed for you? You’re twisted. Filthy.”
You whine for him incoherently, feeling the muscles in his back flex and contract as he fucks you deep and fast, his creaky bed matching his rhythm. The mask cuts off Eddie’s breathing, makes it hard to inhale properly but finally having you under him, writhing and moaning his name the way he’s dreamed of makes him whimper.
“Wanna see you, Eddie. Please. Wanna see your face.” You cry, reaching for his mask.
He dodges your hands, pins them above your head with his stronger ones. “Tell me you’re mine first.” He grunts. “Tell me you’re fucking mine.”
“I’m yours, Eddie. I’m fucking yours, I’m all yours.” You offer freely, squeezing his hands.
He slides the hood off, forehead shiny with sweat, bangs matted to his face as he drops his entire body weight on you, pinning your hands again.
“That’s right. Mine to touch. Mine to taste. Mine to fuck. All mine.”
You’re dizzy with pleasure, taking whatever he gives you, your pussy squelching with each brutal pass of Eddie’s thick cock. “All yours, Eddie.”
“Tell me I’m yours.” He pants needily, using his body to drive you forward.
“You’re mine, Eddie.” You sob, raking your nails violently down his back to prove it. “You’re mine. You’re mine, Eddie.”
His cock jumps inside you, both of you closer to your release. “That’s right. You could try to forget any of this happened. But we both know, baby. You love this too much.”
“God—Eddie. Please. Please, please…”
“Please what? You losin’ your words, now? So drunk on my cock filling you up, you can’t think straight?” He slaps your pussy lightly, clit puffy and sensitive.
He grips your throat, making your head fall back and tongue loll out of your mouth uselessly. In a moment of pure possession, he lets a trail of his saliva drip into your mouth, kisses you deeply and thoroughly until you’re seeing stars and on the precipice.
“Good thing I can think for the both of us, huh? Dunno what you’d do without me, my dumb little angel. Need me to protect you, don’t you? I know, baby, I know. I can give you what you need, don’t worry.”
You’re reduced to blissful silence as Eddie bridges the gap between you and your release, his own, right on the edge as well.
“Gonna come, Eddie. So close, please, please, make me cum. I love it, I love you. I love you. I love you—Eddie, fuck.” You sob, hanging onto his back, crescent shaped welts marking his skin.
“Gonna make you mine, baby. Gonna make all this worth it. All of it, just a little more, yeah?” He pants, rhythm turning sloppy.
“Yeah. Make me yours, Eddie. Please. Wanna be yours.”
He drops his entire body weight against you, your stomachs pressing together as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.
“Gonna cum inside this pretty pussy, baby. Make you mine forever, yeah?”
You nod, biting down on Eddie’s shoulder as you cum, locking your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. You convulse around his cock, pulling him impossibly close. Eddie moans into your neck as he reaches his release, teeth sinking into the skin below your ear as he cums deep inside you, his balls nestled against your ass.
He thrusts shallowly inside you, shuddering as you both come down, sweating and entirely ruined. Brushing the sweaty hair off your face, he kisses you deeply, pulling away with dopey eyes.
“Proud of you, baby. You did really good. Thank you.”
Your eyes grow heavy, and you’re content to lean on him on the way to the cramped bathroom, have him wash the blood off both of your bodies. You register it against the white porcelain of the bathtub as it circles the drain.
It takes a few weeks and slowly but surely, Hawkins returns back to normal. A week-long procession of back-to-back funerals are grim, your guilty conscience making you sick, but the sicker part of you wonders what else you could have Eddie do.
Two weeks after Andy Clayton’s funeral, you sit in the backseat of Steve’s BMW and watch the houses go by. You narrow your eyes, tapping Eddie on the shoulder once the white house comes into view.
“That’s the house, Eddie.”
“You sure, Sweetheart?” He asks, squeezing your hand.
“Positive. Jenny told me she saw it happen, Father Elijah with that little boy.”
“Alright. You heard her, Harrington. Let’s go.” He inhales sharply, getting out of the car.
You join them outside, tugging on Eddie’s hands, stopping him as he goes to put his mask on. “You’ll be careful, won’t you, baby?”
happened to find this fic while decluttering and decided to type it up, give it a quick rewrite, and post it since it's been embarrassingly long since I've posted any fic! tagging @roughentumble as always! divider by @firefly-graphics!
It’s Eskel who first realizes that Jaskier is missing from the great hall where they’ve all taken to gathering after supper, crowded around the fireplace to share stories from the path and compare new scars. This winter, with Jaskier in attendance, their conversations have included musical accompaniment, if only in the form of the bard re-tuning his precious lute.
But tonight there is no music, no humming, nor absentminded finger tapping. Eskel points it out in the midst of one of Lambert’s long-winded stories about the rabid manticore he had faced with just a hunting knife — a story he’s told every winter for the past decade — helpfully pointing out that the only person in the keep who would actually be interested in listening to the tale would be Jaskier.
Wondering about Jaskier’s unusual absence — and hoping to avoid suffering through the rest of this year’s exaggerated retelling — Geralt immediately volunteers to go in search of the wayward bard. He hopes he hasn’t wandered anywhere dangerous. The old keep is rife with crumbling walls and doors that best remain locked and Jaskier’s penchant for finding trouble no matter the situation would be impressive if it weren’t so exhausting.
After searching the more likely locations, namely the library and the spare room that has been aired out for Jaskier’s use, Geralt finds him on one of the keep’s battlements, leaning on a crenel as he looks out across the valley sprawled between the mountains. The entire mountain range is blanketed in fresh snow, a crescent moon as thin as a wolf’s claw hanging overhead in the indigo sky.
Fortunately, Jaskier thought to dress for the frigid weather. Within the keep, Jaskier has taken to foregoing his elaborate doublets in favor of simple linen trousers and his fancy embroidered chemises, always unbuttoned in a fashion that would be considered quite slatternly in polite company. But now he’s bundled up in thick layers of dark wool clothes, save for his cloak, specially dyed a vibrant shade of blue, just as brilliant as his eyes. Geralt tries to ignore the fact that he knows the exact hue so well.
As he steps closer, he notices a steaming tankard in Jaskier’s hands, wisps of steam curling in the air to mingle with Jaskier’s visible breath, brushing against his flushed cheeks. Mulled cider, perhaps, or maybe some of that spiced wine from Oxenfurt that Jaskier’s so fond of, insisting on lugging multiple bottles of it up the Killer.
Geralt purposely lets his feet fall louder than usual so Jaskier will hear him approaching, not wanting to startle him and send him tumbling from the side of the keep in his fright. As he draws closer, he calls, “What are you doing out here?”
“Snow gazing,” Jaskier answers simply, tipping his head to the side to flash Geralt a bright smile. There’s a light dusting of snow gathered on the top of his hair, snowflakes melting on his eyelashes, glittering in the moonlight.
“Snow gazing?” Geralt echoes, frowning. It’s rather self-explanatory, he supposes, yet Geralt can’t fathom why Jaskier would brave the midwinter cold just to stand there and watch the snow fall. Jaskier hums low in his throat, as though he can read Geralt’s mind.
“It doesn’t snow much back in Lettenhove,” Jaskier says softly, like he’s worried that speaking any louder will shatter the calm of the night. “But whenever it did, I’d watch it for hours. From my parents’ estate, I could see the lighthouse down in the Kerack harbor, and it was never more beautiful than in the snow. Suddenly, I knew why sailors adored the sight of it, the way it beckoned them home. It was my first muse, I suppose.”
With that, he turns to flash Geralt another wide grin, bumping his shoulder against the witcher’s. “But it was never as good a muse as you, of course! It never slew an entire horde of endrega to save a duchess.”
“It wasn’t a horde, it was a mated pair protecting their clutch. And it was an alderman’s daughter who fell into their nest,” Geralt corrects with a roll of his eyes.
“Well, not according to my song,” Jaskier counters smoothly. “Either way, you were very brave.”
Geralt tries not to let that simple compliment fluster him. He clears his throat and awkwardly prompts, “You were saying about your snow gazing?”
“Right!” Jaskier chirps, beaming. “When I began attending Oxenfurt, I got to see snow much more often. I’d spend hours gazing out at the snow on the river instead of focusing on my studies. Half the time, I get distracted from my own lectures when it starts to snow. If I could watch it forever, I would.”
It’s a bit odd to hear him wax so poetic about the snow. To Geralt, Jaskier’s always seemed like a creature of the spring with his sunny smiles and that ever-present scent of buttercups and bluebells. He’s always comparing his many lovers to spring blossoms and glittering gems, seems to live in the pastel colors of a flamboyant songbird himself.
Geralt had been rather hesitant to invite Jaskier up to Kaer Morhen in the first place, so sure he would turn down the offer in favor of the cozier housing at Oxenfurt, just as sure that if Jaskier did come to the keep he would wilt like a flower taken out of the sunshine, stuck stranded in a miserable keep until the pass cleared. Before he can bite his tongue, he finds himself blurting, “I’m sorry. You should be there. In Oxenfurt. Or Lettenhove. Somewhere nicer you could watch the snow from.”
“Geralt!” Jaskier laughs, cutting him off before he can continue his self-effacing ramble. He turns to face Geralt head-on, reaching out to set a hand on his arm. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. Believe me, witcher dear, there is nowhere I would rather be in this moment.”
For so long, Geralt had thought of winter as shades of gray and white, but now, staring into Jaskier’s eyes, all he can see is blue. The blue of forget-me-nots blooming amidst the snowfall, the flash of a jay’s wing in the bare branches of a sycamore, the frozen lake in the valley below, the northern lights dancing in the night sky with the stars. And in this moment, there’s nowhere else he would rather be, either.
One moment, there’s the familiar weight of Skyhold - the cold stone, the dim firelight, the half-empty bottle slipping from his fingers - and then suddenly he’s standing somewhere else.
The air hums.
Green light bleeds through everything, like reality has been stretched too thin. The ground beneath his feet isn’t quite solid. Stone, perhaps, or memory of stone. Pillars rise and fall into nothingness. The sky churns.
“The Fade.” Dorian mutters.
Of course it is.
“How very on brand.” He adds dryly, though his voice echoes strangely, like it doesn’t fully belong to him.
He turns slowly.
“Let me guess,” he says to the empty air, “A demon? Regret, perhaps? Guilt? I imagine I’ve provided ample material-”
“You always did enjoy hearing yourself talk.”
Dorian freezes.
No.
He knows that voice.
Slowly, too slowly, he turns.
Felix stands a few paces away.
Not as pale and gone as Dorian last saw him, but how he was before. Alive. Wearing that same infuriating, knowing expression.
No.
Not alive.
Dorian stares.
“...No,” he whispers, “No, absolutely not. I refuse. This is beneath even my subconscious.”
Felix tilts his head, “Charming as ever.”
“You’re dead.”
“Yes.”
“This is a dream.”
“Also yes.”
Dorian exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
“Wonderful. So now I’m being haunted by figments of my own guilt. That’s new. Usually the spirits are far less... articulate.”
Felix smiles, “If it helps, I’m flattered.”
“It doesn’t.”
Dorian looks at him again.
And Maker help him, it hurts.
“You’re not real,” Dorian says, quieter now.
Felix’s expression softens, but he doesn’t argue.
“No, I’m not.”
“Good,” Dorian mutters, “Because if you were, I’d have to question a great many things about the nature of reality, and I simply don’t have the energy.”
Felix steps closer anyway.
“You look terrible.”
Dorian lets out a hollow laugh, “Ah. There it is. The judgment. I was wondering how long it would take.”
“That wasn’t judgment.”
“Of course it wasn’t. You were always very careful about that.”
Felix studies him.
“You’ve been drinking.”
Dorian rolls his eyes, “Brilliant deduction. Shall I fetch you a medal? Or are we proceeding directly to the lecture?”
Felix doesn’t rise to the bait. Dorian has always been drinking. Since the ripe old age of 14. And yet, he's never drank like this before. Without pause. Until he's hollow inside and out.
“That isn’t helping.” he says simply.
“Neither is being dead,” Dorian shoots back.
The words hang between them.
Felix doesn’t flinch.
“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”
The Fade shifts subtly around them, pillars bending, light dimming, like the world itself is listening.
Dorian looks away first.
“Go on, then,” he says, “Say whatever profound thing my mind has conjured for you. ‘Life is worth living,’ ‘pain passes,’ ‘you are stronger than this’... all the usual drivel.”
Felix folds his arms.
“You’re trying very hard not to listen.”
“I’m succeeding brilliantly.”
“You’re not.”
Dorian exhales, frustrated.
“Then enlighten me,” he snaps, “What exactly is the point of this? Why you? Why now?”
“Because you’re slipping."
Dorian goes very still.
“I am not-”
“You are.”
“-slipping,” Dorian finishes, more forcefully, “I am coping.”
“With a bottle.”
“With everything,” Dorian corrects, “Or did you miss the part where I killed the man I-”
His voice breaks.
He stops.
Felix’s expression shifts - not pity. Never pity. Something steadier.
“I didn’t miss it.” He says quietly.
Dorian laughs weakly, “Of course you didn’t. You’re me, after all. Or some irritating fragment of me that refuses to stay buried.”
Felix takes another step closer.
“And you’re trying to bury this.”
“Don’t,” Dorian whimpers pathetically, “Don’t try to fix this.”
Felix leans against a pillar, folding his arms, “I haven’t even begun trying yet. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“There’s nothing to fix.”
“That’s rarely true.”
“It is this time.”
“I’m not leaving.” Felix insists.
Dorian gives a soft, bitter laugh, “Of course not. You were always the persistent one.”
“Charming, isn’t it?”
“No. Exhausting.”
Felix grins, “Good. Then I’ll wear you down eventually.”
Dorian turns away again, taking a long drink straight from the bottle he somehow had back in his hands.
“Bull wouldn’t have.” He says suddenly.
Felix appears on his left side, “Wouldn’t have what?”
“Stayed,” Dorian’s voice is distant, “He knew when to walk away. Or when to... change sides.”
The words fracture at the edges.
Felix steps closer.
“Dorian-”
“I can still see him."
The words come out quieter now. Less guarded.
Felix doesn’t interrupt.
“Every time I close my eyes,” Dorian continues, “That moment. The look on his face. The way he-” He swallows, “As if I’d betrayed him. As if I was the one who chose this.”
“You didn’t.”
“I killed him.”
“You had to.”
“I didn’t hesitate.”
Felix’s voice is steady, “You couldn’t.”
Dorian finally turns, and now the grief is visible; raw and sharp and cutting through whatever numbness he’s been trying to drown.
“I wanted him to stop,” he admits, “I kept thinking if I could just reach him, if I could just- Maker, it’s absurd. He’d already chosen.”
His hands curl into fists.
“And I chose back.”
Silence stretches.
The Fade hums.
“And now?” Felix asks gently.
Dorian lets out a hollow breath.
“Now there’s just... this.”
He gestures vaguely, to the broken world. To himself.
“Nothing fits anymore,” he says, “Everything feels... thinner. Pointless. Like I’m going through the motions of a life that already ended.”
Felix watches him carefully.
“And the drinking?” he asks.
Dorian huffs, “Blunts the edges.”
“For how long?”
Dorian doesn’t answer.
Felix steps closer.
“And when it comes back?”
“It always comes back,” Dorian mutters, "And I keep thinking; what’s the point of any of it, if it ends like that? If everything we build just collapses the moment it matters?”
Felix steps closer still, until he’s only a few paces away.
“The point,” he says, “is that it mattered while it lasted.”
Dorian shakes his head, “That’s not enough.”
“It has to be.”
“It doesn’t.”
Another silence.
“Do you remember,” Felix says after a moment, “when you refused to let me die quietly?”
Dorian closes his eyes.
“Oh, don’t start.”
“You stayed,” Felix continues, “Even when I told you not to. Even when I insisted I didn’t need it.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Dorian opens his eyes again, glaring.
“You were dying.”
Felix holds his gaze.
“So are you.”
The words hit like a blow.
“I am not dying.”
Felix doesn’t raise his voice.
"You’re just... disappearing.”
Dorian recoils slightly.
“I’m right here.”
“Are you?”
Dorian opens his mouth, then stops.
Because he doesn’t have a good answer.
The Fade flickers. The ground beneath them ripples like disturbed water.
Felix softens.
“I’m not here to lecture you.” He mumbles.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m here because some part of you knows this isn’t right.”
Dorian looks away.
“That part of me is deeply annoying.”
“You don’t have to fix everything,” he continues, “Not tonight. Not all at once.”
Dorian shakes his head, “That’s convenient, because I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Then don’t do that tonight. Just..."
"What?"
Felix meets his eyes.
“Stay.”
Dorian goes still.
Stay.
“I am staying. I haven't gone anywhere."
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?” Dorian demands, frustration cracking through again, “Because from where I’m standing, I am very much present, despite my best efforts otherwise.”
Felix steps closer, until they’re only a breath apart.
“Staying doesn't just mean being here right now-"
“Then explain it to me,” Dorian snaps, “Because from where I’m standing, this-” he lifts the bottle slightly “-is about the only tolerable option left.”
“And where does that end?”
Dorian doesn’t answer.
Felix’s voice softens again.
“You think this will make it quieter. The memories. The guilt. The... everything.”
Dorian’s jaw tightens.
“It won’t,” Felix insists, “It’ll just blur it. Muffle it. And when it comes back, and it will... it’ll be worse.”
“I know that,” Dorian says through clenched teeth.
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Because I don’t know what else to do!”
“Don’t drown yourself just to make it quieter for a few hours. Don’t decide that because it hurts, it isn’t worth continuing.”
Dorian’s grip tightens at his sides.
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then why say it like it is?”
Felix’s expression softens.
“Because if I don’t,” he says, “you’ll convince yourself it’s impossible.”
Dorian exhales shakily.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Then let me help you figure that out.”
Dorian laughs weakly, “You? The man who ignored his own impending death until it was practically knocking on his door?”
“Ah,” Felix smirks, “But I had excellent help. You didn’t let me do this. You didn’t let me disappear into it. You dragged me out, kicking and complaining, and forced me to face it.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I wasn’t-” Dorian cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I wasn’t like this.”
Felix tilts his head.
“You were dying. Alone. Afraid. Pretending you weren’t. Sound familiar?”
“I-"
“And I stayed,” Felix gives him no time to interrupt, “Even when you told me to go. Even when you insisted you didn’t need it.”
Dorian’s grip tightens on the bottle.
“I stayed,” Felix repeats, “So now it’s your turn.”
"It's..." Dorian's voice cracks, "It's scary."
“I know.”
“It hurts.”
“I know.”
“I miss him.”
Felix nods.
“I know.”
That almost breaks him.
Dorian looks down, shoulders trembling just slightly.
“...What happens when I wake up?”
Felix’s voice is quiet.
“You’ll still hurt.”
Dorian lets out a weak, humorless laugh, “Inspiring.”
“But you’ll also have a choice.”
“What choice?”
Felix offers a small, steady smile.
“To stay.”
The Fade begins to unravel.
The green light fractures, the pillars dissolving into mist.
Felix steps back.
Dorian’s head snaps up.
“Wait-”
Felix doesn’t stop it.
“You don’t need me for this.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Dorian cries, “You’re not the one-”
“I was.” Felix interrupts gently.
Dorian reaches out, and Felix takes his hand.
“I didn’t know how to save myself either,” Felix continues, “But you... you made sure I didn’t face it alone.”
Dorian’s throat tightens.
“This is me returning the favour."
The world is fading faster now.
Dorian takes a step forward.
“Felix-”
Felix’s form is already beginning to blur at the edges.
“Stay.” He says one last time.
Dorian wakes with a sharp inhale.
Skyhold crashes back into place around him. The bottle lies tipped on its side near his hand.
Title: caught under the mistletoe [Chapter 1]
Author: Blossomdriver
Characters/Pairings: CROW-2(oc)/Lodi
Warnings: smidgen of angst
Fandom: Destiny
Summary: CROW-2 wants to do something nice for Lodi for The Dawning.
[AO3]
CROW-2’s nonexisting heart climbs higher and higher upwards into his throat with each step through the Towers' archives. His hands shake as they clutch onto the blue and silver package, careful not to damage the contents inside.
The Warlock forces his shoulders to relax when he sees a familiar mop of black hair - the owner’s head bent over, scrolling through a datapad.
“You aren’t an easy person to track down, you know,” CROW-2 announces as he crosses the room before stopping in front of the table. And Lodi lifts his head, and CROW tries not to stare at the black and blue eyes that look up at him.
“Sorry, I’ve been a little occupied,” Lodi replies sheepishly and sets the datapad aside.
“It’s fine,” the Warlock waves off the concern before nervously thrusting the blue box he had been carrying toward Lodi’s. “Happy Dawning,”
The emissary’s eyes widen as they dart between the box and CROW-2’s face.
“Ms. Rey informed me about the celebrations.” It’s close enough for him to long for Christmas with his family. The sound of his nieces and nephews rushing down the stairs ⸺ trying to be the first one to open their gifts. While all the adults sat crowded around the table and laughed as they watched.
The the smell of coffee brewing and the tearing of wrapping paper fades into the background as he takes the gift from the Warlock.
“I didn’t know what you would like, so I modified the recipe that was for Dean Rebecca.” CROW-2 shifts the weight to his other foot.
Lodi reaches into the box to pull out a cookie, inspects it briefly, and then takes a bite out of it.
“These are wonderful, thank you again, CROW.”
“It’s the least I could do.” The Exo’s jaw slants to the side to give the emissary a smile. “I can only imagine how rough it’s been for you.”
“But I don’t have anything to give you?”
“You shouldn’t worry yourself with it; you have more than enough on your plate.”
The pair lapses into comfortable silence for a moment. Only for it to be broken as Ice pops in over the pair.
The blue flecks of the Ghost’s shell caught the light, and hanging above the triangular shell was the mistletoe projection.
CROW felt the plunge of cold throughout his system as he stared up in horror. “Ice!” CROW-2 grits out through a clenched jaw. “What are you doing!”
“Me?” Ice feigns innocence as the nodes of his shell spun. “I’m not doing anything. Eva gave me this projection, so I thought it would be nice to show it off.” Ice tilts down towards Lodi.
“What do you think?”
Lodi brings his hand to his mouth to stifle the chuckle, as well to hide the growing blush on his cheeks. “It’s uh, good to know certain traditions survived all these years.”
The Warlock reaches out and snatches the Ghost mid-air, tugging him to his chest in a swift motion. “Happy Dawning again,” and in a twinkle of blue light, the Guardian and Ghost transmit out of the archives.
It now leaves Lodi with a box of cookies and a question on his mind.
+++
“What were you thinking!” CROW yells once they are in the privacy of his ship. The warlock paces around in tight circles while fiddling with the sleeves of his robes. The Ghost watches him with each turn and lets out a long, dramatic sigh.
“I was helping because I know you wouldn’t do it yourself.”
“What made you think I wanted any help!” CROW-2 stops his pacing to glare at his Ghost. “You ruined everything!”
Ice zips straight right into CROW’s face. His single blue optic is burning with such an intensity that the Exo hasn’t seen in a long time.
“Then answer me one question: do you like him?”
CROW-2 falls silent for a long moment after. His eyes drifted anywhere else but the Ghost in front of him. Finding a corner of the room to be much more pleasant to look at.
The Exo debates with himself whether he should respond to the Ghost’s question.
He doesn’t want this to be a repeat of what happened when it was Meno who had been the one to hold CROW-2’s affection.
“And what if I do?” His tone sounded all but defeated.
“CROW,” Ice says his name softly as he floats back, giving CROW distance. “You know.”
“I know.” The Warlock is quick to cut him off. Because sometimes he can’t help the overwhelming guilt that eats away at him. Even if he and Meno parted on mutual terms. CROW still yearns for that familiar warmth.
He doesn’t want Lodi to become a replacement.
And even if their time together on Kepler had been brief in the grand scheme of things. CROW-2 can’t help but hope for something more. That maybe, maybe it was time he could get the chance to not screw things up.
Ice floats back to the Warlock, finding a place to rest in the feathers of CROW’s new robes. “Let’s give it a day, and then tomorrow, we'll apologize.”
CROW shoots up at that. “What do I have to apologize for, you’re the one who hung the mistletoe above us!”
Cracked the femurs of another poem last night. That's two in a little over a week and one was approved for amag. Either tooth pain is my creative food or I'm just in the zone or I am getting better at finding a voice.*
I'm really hoping it's not the tooth pain thing.
*Maybe I'm also better at writing than I acknowledged and working it out
