a/n: I love andrew so fucking much guys, this might turn into something, lmk if you'd like that
your relationship with andrew is not normal to say the least.
after cath's unfortunate departure, deran not so casually brings up the possibility to babysit for them from time to time, you know, if you want.
of course you do.
you adore lena, fucking hate baz's spineless deadbeat ass, and definitely want to be a stable, constant, safe presence in his kid's life when he can't be bothered to be there for her.
so you become a fixture in the cody's life without question.
you're always there.
right there.
either fixing up a sandwich or helping out with the laundry or watching a movie, attending a tea party, helping smurf cook up a sunday feast, doing homework with lena on the dining room table.
andrew can't remember the last time he walked into the house and you weren't there.
he's well aware that you're not his, that would be an absurd assumption to make, a crazy leap that even he would not make.
but then you start to do things for him.
you always have a cup of coffee ready for him when he swings by to pick lena up for school, remember how he likes his sandwiches with mayo and just a hint of mustard, add him to lena's school calendar reminders so he can attend recitals with you.
he doesn't exactly know when it starts to happen, that unmistakable and uncomfortable flutter in his stomach every time that he sees you, that deep and gnawing desire to see you smile, that raw and painful need to take care of you.
so andrew makes it a point to always be there too.
you're getting off a late shift at deran's? he's there to pick you up.
you're overwhelmed with grad school applications? he's getting you out of the house (with lena as the middle woman? girl?) and taking you out to the pier to get some fresh air.
you're tired and don't want to go home yet? he'll make up his old bed and let you sleep while he does all the chores you're supposed to do the next day.
the shift happens so seamlessly you honestly don't know what to say to people when they start asking if the two of you are dating.
because you're not?
technically.
you just...go out to dinner together.
you sneak away at every one of his brother's parties to sit in the comforting quiet of smurf's room and smoke a joint together, you giggling for hours while andrew watches over you lovingly.
you sit on the couch with him when you can't sleep because you know he won't even bother so he's always going to be up when you want some company.
he doesn't speak much because he doesn't have to.
you simply know.
and he does too.
you know he wants you to run your fingers through his hair when he bumps his shoulder with yours so you pull him down on your lap to massage his scalp while he holds onto your thigh like he's afraid you're going to disappear.
he knows you need to get something to eat when you start getting snappy with everything and anyone that isn't lena. he takes it like a champ because he knows you don't mean it, all you need is one of those disgusting burgers from the diner the two of you frequent and you'll be back to your sunny disposition in no time.
you know he's getting antsy when his jaw tightens so hard you're sure he's going to chip a tooth so you grab his hand and ask him if he can take you to the store just to get his brain focused on something else. you keep him engaged in conversation, asking him questions so he'll be forced to think about this, about you, instead of whatever's bothering him.
he knows you're a flirt by nature, talking big game to everyone that tries to banter with you (no one is every capable of keeping up with you). so when you start doing it with you, he thinks nothing of it. you're just being your normal adorable self (and also a little mean). it's when your banter becomes soft and genuine that he takes it seriously.
you know he loves you by the way his eyes sparkle every time you look into them. how his cheeks become so pink you can barely contain your smile. how he refuses to hold eye contact like a shy boy dealing with his first crush when you lean a little too close to him. you can't stop yourself every time you tease him. you're addicted to his smile too.
andrew knows you love him when you don't flinch away from him. he's bloodied and raw, crimson drops definitely destroying your carpet but you don't give a fuck as you dotingly take care of every single one of his wounds. he brings his purpling hand up to your cheek, the biggest sign of devotion he's ever given you.
Tags/warnings: Deran's friend!Reader, touch starved!Andrew (what's new), age gap (reader is mid 20s, Pope is almost 40), slow burn, friends to lovers, touchy reader, physical touch as a love language, injured!pope, a little angst cause it's Andrew, intox reader (she drinks and smokes at one of their parties and gets handsy [cute] with pope, he's a gentleman about it), Pope is just a big ol' simp, cuddling, unprotected piv sex, creampie, [inaccurate show dynamics, mostly cause I didn’t wanna deal with Cath (lover her though)]
Summary: Pope doesn't like to be touched...at least not until he met you.
a/n: my favorite touch starved boy <3
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The first time it happens it's an accident.
There’s people in his house when there shouldn't be.
The music is too loud, the bodies too hot and sweaty.
He’s standing in the kitchen like a weirdo, even he can acknowledge it.
But he truly doesn’t know what to do. Where to go.
He’s been gone for three years. He doesn’t recognize anyone anymore. Where the fuck is he even supposed to start?
It’s your meek “excuse me” that breaks him out of the spell he’s under, gaze finally sharpening as he comes back down to the present moment.
Everything rushes back to him, overwhelmingly. He’s suddenly too aware of it all, especially your timid grip on his bicep as you try to move him out of the way.
The touch doesn’t linger. It’s fleeting, unlike the reality that Pope finds himself in.
You side step around his imposing frame, a shy smile on your lips, one that makes his head spin.
You shouldn’t be nice to him, hell, you shouldn’t be nice to any asshole you don’t know. Did no one teach you—
And then you turn on the kitchen sink, gently cleaning the glass you’ve been using unlike everyone’s disposable, plastic ones.
An air of familiarity courses through him. You’re…comfortable in his home. You’re taking care of the space that no one, not even his brothers, could give two fucks about.
He can’t help but stare, his thoughts rendering him unable to look the other way, to go back to being stoic and uninterested.
If you feel him glaring you don’t let him know it, your body language remaining relaxed all the way through wiping the glass dry and standing on your tip toes to place it back on the shelf above you.
That’s when he moves.
It’s instinctual. His mother’s voice clear in his ear, urging him to help a lady in need.
He steps up, crowds your personal space yet gives you room to escape if you feel uncomfortable.
You turn to him then, your bright eyes meeting his as your fingers barely touch. He instantly forces himself to look away, afraid that he’s going to let the glass fall if he loses himself in your gaze.
“Thanks,” you mumble, shooting him another smile as you settle back down on your feet, the movement shifting you closer against his chest.
It honestly makes Pope dizzy. Feeling your warmth, smelling the faint softness of your perfume.
You don’t turn to move for the millisecond it takes for him to finish pushing the glass into place, perfectly aligned with the others.
It’s only when he too settles back down that you turn to him expectantly.
“You’re welcome.”
Pope guesses that’s what you’re looking for and he’s proven correct instantly as you bless him with another blinding smile.
His stomach does another flip.
Who the fuck are you?
Before he can ask, what he believes to be your name is called because you instantly turn towards the sound.
He commits your name to memory, such a fitting one for such a—
“Angel! There you are!” Daren breaks through the crowd like a lifeline, one that you instantly take, stepping away from Pope and towards him like a magnet.
You settle against his side like you’re meant to be there, his arm leisurely draping over your shoulders in a familiarity that makes Pope’s blood boil with a flurry of emotions he simply cannot pinpoint.
“See you’ve met Pope,” Deran notes and you turn back to Pope with wide eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” you start, tone remorseful. “I had no idea you were Deran’s brother, I would’ve introduced myself.”
You genuinely mean it and it almost causes Pope to snap at you. You don’t owe him anything.
“’s okay,” Pope mumbles instead, his gaze piercing.
“Well it’s really nice to meet you,” you hold out your hand for him to take.
Pope’s jaw clenches. He makes no effort to move, to reciprocate your kind gesture. He can see the disappointment in your face, how it falls instantly. You’re not used to being denied, to being told no, and for a second Pope almost cracks.
But he can’t. He won’t let himself do it.
No, because he knows that the second you give him even an inch of familiarity he will devour you whole.
“Don’t take it personally, angel,” Deran practically glares daggers at him. “He’s not really into that.”
Your mouth curls into a silent oh and Pope shrugs in response.
It’s all he can do to not come across as a complete weirdo instantly upon meeting you, more than he already has.
You copy him, shrugging like you’re unbothered but he knows for a fact you aren’t as your hand instantly retracts back towards you, seeking Deran’s instead.
His fingers interlace with yours like it’s second nature, overly intimate. Pope’s brows scrunch in confusion, barely. Are the two of you…a couple?
“Anyway, I’ll see you around.”
Pope gives you one last grunt of acknowledgement before Deran is pulling you away, back towards the backyard where all the action is happening.
He obviously keeps his eyes trained on you as you leave, on how your jean shorts hug your ass, how your body is sun-kissed and a little burnt from the summer heat wave, how your hair flows effortlessly.
And then you turn to glance back at him for what feels like minutes, your eyes filled with nothing but curiosity.
His eyes force him to blink then and he loses you to the crowd.
Fuck.
The next time Pope sees you, you’re back at the house for a pool day with his family. It’s a small gathering this time around, just their inner circle which apparently now includes you too.
You’re in a striking blue bikini, the color contrasting beautifully against your skin. You’re sitting on one of the lounge chairs, your legs open so a hyper Lena can settle in between them.
You can barely contain your laughter as the young girl tells you a silly story from school, your fingers working overtime to braid her long hair in one of those fancy styles that Pope could never name so that it won’t get too tangled from the pool.
Your laughter hits him like a disorienting grenade. It’s like he's never heard anyone feel joy the way you do. It's infectious, making him wonder if he’s ever actually felt a real emotion in his life.
“There, all done,” you tie up Lena’s hair and give her back a little pat before the girl practically bolts from your embrace, yelling a swift thank you before cannonballing into the pool as everyone cheers.
Andrew’s about to move forward, to settle down beside you, a pull to be near you clouding his senses.
But then Craig has to go and ruin it.
“Me next,” the oaf practically towers over you, settling down between your legs like Lena had, taking advantage of how you haven't moved.
You roll your eyes playfully but don’t complain.
Pope watches as you take his hair out of the messy bun that he’s got it in, gently scratching his scalp. His younger brother moans, causing you to stop and smack the side of his head.
Pope’s lips quirk up into a smirk. Good, set his brother’s straight.
But Craig is not deterred, simply reaching back and squeezing your thigh cockily.
It takes everything in Pope not to lunge forward. He doesn’t understand it, how protectiveness practically flares up in his chest at the sight of someone else’s grubby hands on your soft flesh.
He honestly doesn’t know how Deran lets it happen. They both know his brother so why is he letting Craig be so chummy with you?
Unless…you’re not actually together, together.
Is it possible that you’re just like this with everyone?
You finish braiding his hair then, meanly tossing it over his shoulder so that the tail end of it smacks him on the face.
“There princess,” you tease. “All done.”
Craig flinches as the band hits him, bursting out into a fit of laughter as he stands up and follows Lena’s example, splashing into the pool so hard that he ends up soaking you completely.
Lena laughs as you gasp dramatically. “You meanie!”
“Payback’s a bitch—” Craig starts, quickly correcting himself as you glare at him. “Payback, angel.”
Deran snorts, taking a swig of his beer from his spot at the other side of the pool. A spark of something is set ablaze in your gaze, a playfulness that borders on mischief.
“Oh yeah?” It takes them a few seconds to process what you’re doing as you sprint towards them, throwing yourself in the pool as close to Deran as possible.
Pope audibly snickers as you drench his youngest brother.
The backyard is set ablaze with teasing soon after, every single member of his family sans him and his mother engaging in a water fight for the ages.
Pope settles on the lounge chair that you’ve vacated, your warmth still lingering on the fabric beneath him.
He’s transfixed by you. By the ease in which you can bring lightness to his family, as though you can lift the weight they all carry on their shoulders, even if it’s just for a little while.
Another thought crosses Pope’s mind then — is it possible that you could be like this with him too?
Laughter only turns even more boisterous as you enter the living room, a baking dish in hand.
“Angel!” Both Deran and Craig greet you, your smile beaming as you round the table to say hi to Smurf first. You know the rules of this house well by now, a genuine comfort to Pope who at least doesn’t have to worry about you with his family.
He watches intently as you chat with the older woman, handing her the dish, humble enough to tell her it’s not something as grandiose as the roast she has prepared but you didn’t want to show up empty handed.
His mother smiles at you, her ego fed enough as she stands up and goes to heat it up in the kitchen.
You don’t let her comments get to you, instead you go around the table, saying hello to everyone, your touch always lingering, always soft and playful.
Deran gives you a hug, Craig kisses your cheek affectionately, Baz only gives you a nod in acknowledgement and Pope can’t help but smirk satisfactorily against his beer. You ruffle J’s hair and give Nicky a kiss to her temple.
You’re comfortable, confident, secure in your place within their family. You don’t back down to his mother, you don’t shrink away to Baz’s hesitancy, you—
Your eyes catch him staring from across the room. He’s subconsciously backed away the second he saw you come in, practically hiding in the threshold.
You give him a shy wave over Nicky’s shoulder, a gesture he reciprocates with a grunt and a barely there head bob.
Fuck, he’s even worse than Baz.
But you don’t look at him with the same disdain as you do his half-brother. Instead, something else ignites in your eyes. A challenge, almost, to chip away at the ice around his heart. But little do you know that it’s already melting away, and neither of you can stop it.
You eagerly help Smurf bring the rest of the food out before the entire family sits down around the overflowing table.
You make it a point to sit next to him, to never once let him think that his presence is unwanted, even if he refuses to give you the type of relationship that you want, that you crave.
You fill up his plate without asking him and if you weren’t so damn adorable he’d be angry about it. But he simply cannot be. He just lets you, watching silently as you tell the room a story from a crazy class you had to experience the week before.
Your hands move in tandem with your voice, making it a point to not draw attention to what you’re doing, as if serving Pope food is somehow normal. And for a second he can let himself believe that it is, that you taking care of him is how things are meant to be.
It’s only when Deran whispers something to Craig that has the two snickering that Pope finally breaks free from your spell, mumbling a quick thank you under his breath before you settle down to eat as Lena tells the table what she got up to in school over the week now.
You hum in acknowledgement, listening to his niece intently, like you actually care about her babbling, because you do.
After lunch, the crowd disperses throughout the house, the kitchen settling into a comfortable silence where Pope can finally breathe again.
He’s always relegated to clean up duty, mostly because he likes it that way, it’s something he can control.
“Where do you want these?” You ask, causing him to turn to face you from his spot in front of the sink.
He stammers for a second, blinking away the brain fog that you always seem to bring with you every time you bless him with your undivided attention.
He crooks his head towards the left side of the sink and you move swiftly, placing the stack of plates you’ve gathered into the space.
You don’t linger this time, no, you make it a point to step away as soon as you can but not before Pope feels his body shifting towards you.
Oh, you definitely know what you’re doing.
He shakes his head as he returns to his task of dishwashing. You return periodically, bringing by glasses, cutlery, baking dishes and everything else his family could’ve thought to leave behind like the animals they are.
Once the entire table is cleared, you settle beside Pope, dish towel in hand and begin drying what he's just washed.
It’s…nice.
Pope’s not used to someone actually wanting to help him but he finds himself quickly falling into the rhythm of your comforting presence.
“I never really asked,” you start conversation after what feels like a small eternity, turning to face Pope curiously. “Do you prefer Pope or Andrew?”
You ask as if it’s not a loaded question. Well, to you it isn’t, there’s no way for you to know about the weight his name carries over him. To you it’s just about making sure you’re calling him by the name he wants to be called, nothing more, nothing less.
But to Pope it’s…euphoric.
He stays silent for a while, thinking, and you let him without an ounce of judgment. You return to your repetitive motions, to working side by side, in tandem, coordinated.
Meanwhile, a storm rages waste in his brain. He’s never allowed himself to want, to put himself first, and for the first time in his life, someone is allowing himself to do just that.
But is it real? Do you actually mean it?
It’s only when he’s finished washing the last plate, handing it over to you that he finally allows himself to look your way.
“Andrew,” he mumbles before he loses the courage to. “Call me Andrew.”
You turn to him, setting down the plate atop the mountain you’ve created, nodding your understanding.
“Andrew,” you repeat back to him. “It suits you more.”
He can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck and to his ears, the heat that blooms in his chest, the way his intense gaze falters like a lovesick teenager as his mouth devolves into a dopey smile.
You don’t make fun of him for it, don’t even acknowledge it. You just stay there with him, following through with your help and leaving the kitchen spotless.
A few hours later he finds himself protectively escorting you out to your car, much to the snickers and teasing of his brothers which, thankfully, you’re not privy to as you say your goodbye to Lena and Cath.
“Bye Andrew,” you call out to him, and like a moth to a flame, he can’t help but step towards you, almost expectantly.
You hugged everyone else in his family, maybe—
Your eyes sparkle with delight as his body leans towards your again, a reaction neither of you was expecting.
You close the distance without hesitation, getting back up on your tip toes to plant a soft kiss to his cheek.
It’s over as quickly as it started, no lingering, no invading his space more than needed.
He’s certain he stops breathing, his brain short circuiting as you settle into the driver’s seat and follow Baz out of the family compound.
You’re not special. He reminds himself. She’s like this with everyone.
And yet reason doesn’t quell the pounding of his heart, the way his breathing hitches as he finally wills himself to take in a deep breath, the need to see you again.
He doesn’t see you for a while, exam season taking over most of your time and planning a new job taking up most of his.
He’s just had a disagreement with his brothers, it’s the only reason why he finds himself out by the pier, supposedly clearing his head with a walk like normal people do, but instead the voices are just getting louder and louder.
“Uncle Pope!”
Lena’s voice cuts through the noise. His gaze sharpens towards it, his frame lowering, arms opening, making space for her.
She doesn’t shy away from him, embracing him lovingly because to her, he’s just her uncle, a little weird but never dangerous.
It’s only when she steps back that Pope notices you.
You walk towards them leisurely, not wanting to break apart the cute display happening before you.
“Hi,” it’s the only thing that flows from his lips.
“Hi yourself,” you reply, placing your hands on Lena’s shoulders to keep her close to the two of you. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a family meeting all afternoon.”
Pope blinks back the shock. How close are you to his family? How much do you know?
“Ended early.”
You nod, Lena squirming in your embrace, gasping as realization dawns on her.
“Can Uncle Pope get ice cream with us?”
You chuckle at her impatience, causing Pope to huff playfully at just how adorable his niece is being.
“That’s up to him, sweetie.”
And how is he supposed to say no when his niece looks up to him with the most adorable eyes ever. “Please Uncle Pope!”
He nods. “Okay.”
Lena practically jumps into him out of joy, her tiny hand wrapping around his as she drags him towards the boardwalk shops.
You laugh behind them, jogging to catch up as she pulls you towards them, wrapping her other hand in yours.
Lena’s a bubblegum flavor fiend, extra sprinkles and gummy bears. You’re classic, rich and decadent, chocolate in a cup. Pope almost feels bad for getting a simple vanilla scoop in a waffle cone.
“Tell them to dip it in chocolate,” you whisper to him. “Trust me.”
He doesn’t know how to answer, blinking at you in surprise.
Trust me. Such a simple concept and yet…there’s still something that doesn’t let him take that leap.
But what does he know about ice cream.
So he does, he tries something new.
You smile brightly as you turn to receive your sweet treats, making sure Lena’s sitting down on one of the benches before you go up to pay.
But Pope’s quicker, pulling out a bill from his pocket and taking care of it before you can even ask the cashier how much it’s gonna be.
You roll your eyes at him when she tells you you’re too late and he can’t help but smirk victoriously.
“Thank you Andrew,” you relent, accepting your cup from his outstretched hand, your fingers gently grazing as you do.
The spark of electricity that snaps down Pope’s body is life inducing.
“You’re welcome.”
You settle next to Lena who’s munching ecstatically at her sugary confection, pink already staining her shirt.
Pope takes a seat on the other side of his niece.
He settles into the simplicity of intimacy with ease again, the gentle waves crashing up ahead, the cool afternoon air filling his senses with the comfort of saltwater.
Existing has never felt as easy as this. As something pleasant and unhurried, not having to pretend to be anything other than who he is.
Pope can’t help watch the two of you in complete awe. How you dote on Lena and how she reciprocates the action, something he’s never seen her do in the months since he’s been back.
She feels free here, not like the little girl who’s quiet and reserved with her now estranged parents. No, she’s alert and alive, playful and aloof. It makes Pope’s heart soar as he watches the two of you so effortlessly blend together, his own ice cream melting and making a mess of him soon enough.
The house is uncharacteristically quiet.
He’s the only one there, he’s sure of it. Smurf left the second she got the call that the job had gone sour and they had to split up, rushing to Baz’s because she knows Pope is too spiteful to die on her. Meanwhile J has gotten really injured and Smurf’s new baby comes first now.
It doesn’t matter to Pope. At least he tells himself he doesn’t hate himself a little more the second he hears his mother’s heels retreat down the hall, her car soon only a phantom noise as she speeds off.
Alone in the house, the quiet gets to him quickly. The typically bright and spacious home constricting in on him as he struggles down the hall to his old room.
He tries not to think about how the rough concrete walls feel against his sensitive fingertips, how the familiar pain in his side hums with the pressure of painful memories, how he’s definitely not back in that tiny jail cell after he had another psychotic break in prison and got himself thrown in solitary for another week.
No, he definitely does not think about how he was left struggling with his sanity, floating aimlessly, stuck inside his own head trying to desperately find some comfort to cling to as he curled in on himself to find a position where it didn’t hurt him to breathe.
He swings the door to his room open without thinking twice about it.
It’s early in the morning, no one’s been home since the night before, and yet, the second he comes inside, he instantly notices the way the air smells different, sweeter.
He stills, his hand not clutched to his side slowly sliding to the back of his jeans to feel the comforting weight of his gun handle. Meanwhile his eyes rake over the room, the unmade bed, the clothes—his clothes—scattered on the floor.
“Andy?” Your sweet, sleepy voice calls to him from his ensuite bathroom and he turns to it like an idiot boy with a childlike crush, eyes wide and heart practically beating out of his chest as if he isn’t currently in such devastating pain but he doesn’t dare make you uncomfortable.
Fuck, why does he feel like such a creep?
A sharp inhale springs you into action, crossing into the unlit room to take him in, suddenly wide awake it seems.
He doesn’t have the heart to stop you as your soft hands come up to inspect the gash on his brow, the purpling under his eye. Timid fingertips trace a path down his chest, landing softly over the hand at his abdomen.
You don’t say anything, don’t lash out at him, don’t flinch back in fear as you slowly lift his palm, assessing the damage. He doesn’t know why he lets you, it doesn’t make any logical sense, and yet he just melts into your hands, lets you maneuver him however you desire as he finally lets the dam crack.
You remain silent as tears stain his cheeks, as you gently pull him into the bathroom and sit him down on the edge of the tub, as you wrap your hands on the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head.
He knows you feel the gun tucked into his pants but you don’t let the shock show on your face. Instead, when you turn to discard his shirt behind you, he simply pulls it out himself, placing it on top of the counter, safety on always.
You turn to assess him then. Luckily the switchblade didn’t do too much damage, just one long enough gash that has since stopped bleeding, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to kill him.
You settle on your knees in front of him and he’s certain his heart skips a beat. You smile up at him, so unbelievably soft, like you’re trying to comfort him without touching him because you know just how uncomfortable it makes him.
And yet, he can’t help but crave your touch, like a reminder that he’s still alive, that he’s still here, with you.
He knows he can just ask. Knows he can put together a sentence, or not, just muster the courage and say please. But how can he? When not even his mother deigned him worthy of fussing over?
“You don’t have to—” another sob breaks through him and it takes everything in him not to curse and scream and scare you.
His body begins to shake, shame bubbling from his stomach across his body until he’s nothing but a quivering mess before you.
He wants to run, to hide away and never have you see him like this ever again. This was a mistake, staying here, letting you see him this vulnerable. He needs—
He’s turned to stone as you pull yourself up from sitting on your heels and lean up towards him, invading his personal space now, all the voices in his head suddenly quiet. Your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs dutifully wiping away the tears that fall.
He feels pathetic, disgusted with himself at the sight you’re beholden to. But then your sweet voice begins to shush him softly, to tell him that he’s okay, that you’ve got him, that he can let it all out, and for a second he allows himself to believe it.
Andrew Pope Cody allows himself to feel, to not hide behind what he’s been groomed to be all of his life. He breaks down and you patiently wait for him to finish so you can help him pick up all the pieces.
It’s only when you no longer feel the wetness drip against your flesh that you pull back enough to take him all in. He forces himself to make eye contact with you, to show you as much as he can that he’s alright, that he appreciates you.
You swiftly rummage through his bathroom cabinets, searching for the first aid kit you know he has. He watches you intently as you clean him up with a wet rag first, removing all the blood from his abdomen, his hands turning white as he holds onto the side of the tub for dear life.
Your tongue pokes out between your lips as you lose yourself to the task, using that glue Baz got them in Mexico to close his wound. He can’t help but smile softly at the sight, finally allowing himself to rake his gaze over your body.
For one, you’re clad in one of his old shirts, the ones that no longer fit him after prison hardened his body into a bigger size. Maybe he’s not special, but he’ll be damned if possessiveness doesn’t boil over at the mere sight of you in his clothes.
He’s already slowly losing his mind, desire threatening to make him take a leap over that invisible line he’s drawn between the two of you in his mind, and then you shift a little, showing off his boxers underneath, your bare things practically causing him to salivate.
The decision settles with him with ease, dragging him down into the depths comfortably, like a sailor that has accepted his fate because it means he’ll at least get to kiss the siren.
“There,” you hum, tracing the outline of the bandage with your fingertips before you turn to look up at him. “All done.”
“Thank you,” he manages to choke out.
“My pleasure, Andy.”
Letting you go is the hardest thing Pope has ever done. You’d insisted he needed to rest after the trauma that he’d experienced and, not wanting to be an annoying patient, he’d conceded, settling down where you had just been sleeping, the sheets still slightly warm and smelling of you.
For the first time in a long time, Pope actually slept and slept good. But the second he’d woken up, you were no longer in the house.
He thought about calling, about making sure he hadn’t scared you off, but part of him preferred it this way. He was scared of his feelings towards you, so he chose indifference.
His mood soured, however. Every little thing his brother did made him snap, every time they brought you up in conversation, every time your name entered his orbit but your body didn’t made him go crazy.
He’s aware that it’s all his fault for not checking in, for disappearing into radio silence. But in his defense, you’ve never texted before, you’ve never even given him your number for fuck’s sake! It would’ve been weird to contact you out of the blue right?
Summer is coming to an end when you finally deign him worthy of your presence again.
Deran and Craig are throwing a party. Big surprise.
The house is packed, hot and sweaty. Everyone is scantily clad, if covered up at all. Even Smurf has left the premises for the weekend so it’s just a cluster of debauchery and substance abuse.
He should’ve left, he thought about it many times. But he knows you’ll show, even if it’s just to say hello, see how quickly things are devolving, and leaving immediately.
His eyes have been trained on the entrance all night, impatiently waiting for you to walk in. It’s nearing eleven and his palms are starting to get itchy with anxiety. What if you don’t show? He hadn’t even thought about that possibility.
It’s been a few days since Deran’s mentioned you. Even longer since you’ve babysat Lena. Could something be wrong? Are you okay?
His entire body bursts with uncomfortable heat. He needs to find Deran right now, needs him to tell him your address so he can go check on you himself, needs—
A loud squeal catches his attention, swiftly turning towards the backyard to catch you swung over Craig’s shoulder, your tiny jean shorts riding further up your ass as he spins you around.
You giggle brightly, not attention seeking, just pulling everyone’s gaze towards you with the ease in which you feel joyful. He watches, entranced, as his younger brother puts you down.
Pope moves instinctively, stalking towards the living room to get a better line of sight on you. You’re at least wearing a shirt over your bikini, your beautiful skin covered from the hungry gazes of those around you. If you realize just how many men are salivating after you, you don’t let it show, not as Craig lights up a joint and passes it on to you instantly.
Something constricts against Pope’s heart as he watches you inhale deeply, a primal urge to burst through the doors, grab the joint from your hand and toss it away before bringing you into the house and hiding you away.
He settles for sitting down on the loveseat. He can keep you safe from in here, from far away, from a distance.
The house only becomes more crowded as the night goes on and he unfortunately loses track of you two hours in, only noticing the second that annoying couple in front of him moves out of the way, the warm summer air hitting him in contrast to the air conditioned interior.
He panics instantly, his eyes jumping through the hazy bodies outside as he desperately tries to find you again. He’s about to stand up, to finally make a move and search for you when your body plops down on his lap instead.
“Andy!” You shriek, an airy happiness enveloping you as you settle over this lap. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Pope swallows thickly, feeling everything all at once, his brain having trouble processing your hands over his chest, your core pressed against the bulge in his pants, your hot breath on his face.
He’s certain he’s blushing crimson but maybe you’re too intoxicated to notice.
“Were you hiding from me?”
He doesn’t answer right away, causing your pretty little mouth to get upturned into a pout.
“I knew it,” you whimper. “You do hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, angel,” the words spill out of his mouth instantly, unfiltered since his stupid brain isn’t working anymore.
Wide eyes stare at him adorably. “You don’t?”
He shakes his head.
“Then…” you huff, clearly exhausted from all the mental gymnastics you’ve been doing too. “Why didn’t you call?”
He opens his mouth to answer.
I didn’t have your number.
I didn’t know I had to.
Why didn’t you call?
But he knows it’s all lies. He knows he deliberately didn’t call.
Didn’t text.
Didn’t anything.
Your eyes flicker down to his open mouth, your own hanging open as you stare hungrily at him, your hips grinding down against him involuntarily.
He hisses at the contact, the sound so broken and foreign to him. His brows scrunch in desperation, his head angling without him noticing. And so you take the leap for him.
Your lips settle on his like a sip of water after wandering in the desert for an entire lifetime.
It takes everything in him not to kiss you back, not to run his hands over your back, not thrust his hips up into you.
He knows how high you are, knows your actions, while yours, aren’t sober ones. And he’d much rather kill himself than take advantage of you.
“Andy,” you whine into his mouth again, needy and desperate. “Please.”
He stiffens beneath you, once again gripping the chair handles like his life depends on it. You frown as the wood creaks, a wicked smile curling your lips as you realize just how much he’s holding back right now.
“You can touch me, Andy,” you whisper, your lips starting their descent from his own down to his jaw and neck.
He shakes his head softly, not cruel, not rejecting, simply stating.
If anything, it spurs you on, determined to prove him wrong, to provoke him.
He can tell as your lips lock into the base of his neck, teeth nipping meanly at his skin, desperate to leave a mark on him.
He should stop you, should pick you up and tuck you into bed. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
Instead, his eyes close in pleasure, his fists practically snapping the wood between his fingers.
You’re hungry, having been kept from touching him for so long. He’s given you an inch and you’ll be damned if you don’t steal a mile. And he honestly doesn’t care, can’t care, when the realization that you were looking for him finally catches up.
You want him.
Desperately.
Your hands roam down his arms in tandem with your hip movements, your lips trailing back up to his mouth, but instead of diving in, taking the plunge, you hover above them, your hot breath taunting him.
“You’re so pretty, Andy,” you whisper. “Need you—” you huff, frustrated. “to touch me, please.”
He shakes his head again, this time accidentally brushing his lips with yours, groaning at the fleeting contact.
“‘M not gonna take advantage of you, angel,” he presses his forehead to your cheek, almost reverent.
You let out a sigh, deep and weirdly understanding, stopping your mindless torture as his words sink in. He stares at you, his heart finally pumping blood to the rest of his body normally as it sinks with your own, the raging storm calming into a consistent thundering.
“‘M sorry,” you mumble against his chest, settling down to rest your head against the crook on his neck. “I just…” you sigh, melancholic, the words not coming to you.
“I know,” he finally lets his hands break free from his self-imposed restraints, sliding them up your legs, taking his time feeling the warmth of your exposed thighs, the comforting weight of your clothes against your skin. You hum contently, like a cat finally being given attention, practically purring against him.
He settles his touch around your body, pressing you tightly against him as you slowly doze in and out of consciousness.
“Is this good enough, angel?” He’s never felt this soft with anyone before, his jagged edges usually too sharp, drawing blood instantly. But it’s as though you’ve smoothed him down, made him into someone that’s worthy of you.
You nod against him, fingers curling into his soft shirt, most definitely wrinkling the perfectly ironed fabric and he could not give two shits about it.
He’s acutely aware of how the two of you ended up asleep together.
All he wanted was to tuck you into bed, kiss your temple and then sit across from the bed, watching you sleep all night, like a messed up version of a guardian angel.
But you’d whined oh so loudly when he tried to peel away from you, your arms wrapping around his neck, your legs tightening around his waist. He couldn’t even get his shoes off, being forced down onto the soft mattress as you rolled over on top of him.
You settled down easy after that, your even breath soothing against his neck, the patterns he kept tracing over your back lulling you even further into the depths of rest.
He’s never fallen asleep this easily before, definitely not after the peak of adrenaline you’d just put him through.
But after exactly one thousand and sixty five seconds of watching your calm face, feeling your chest rising and falling steadily, something pulled him under, his eyelids becoming so heavy he could barely register as he stopped blinking altogether.
Your squirming wakes him up the next morning.
You’ve crawled on top of him, a comforting weight over his body. That is until you started to move, seeking something to put you out of your miserable restlessness.
“What’s wrong, angel?” His voice is deep with sleep.
You lift yourself onto a sitting position, straddling his hips once more, rubbing against the growing tent in his pants.
Part of him snaps awake at the mere inkling that you’re horny, now sober and wanting to torture him for denying you yesterday. But as his eyes focus on you, he finds an even deeper feeling he simply cannot name brewing in your pretty little head.
You scratch at your shirt, the fabric constrictive, your neediness for him overwhelming.
“’s too much,” you whine and he, for some divine reason, understands what you need.
He sits up, causing you to gasp as his erection thrusts up against you.
“Meanie,” you tease, pushing him to action.
He smirks as his hands gently trail over your exposed tummy. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head in one swift movement, quickly untying your bathing suit top and tossing the offending fabric to the floor. He doesn’t give himself the time to stare, not when you’re so desperate and time is of the essence, he’ll have time to properly worship you later.
Your nipples do harden as the cold air hits them, and he cannot fight the urge to take one into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the bud before he detaches so he can pull his own shirt off.
Your breathing gets caught in your throat as you watch him, brain already shutting off at the sight of his bare body. So much more real estate for you to touch, he thinks.
And touch you do, eager hands trailing the hardness of his chest and stomach all the way down to his pants. You make quick work of the button and his zipper and he lifts his hips so he can pull them off, hesitating with his boxers—
“All of it.” You answer for him.
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm,” you whine. “Please.”
And who is he to deny you now?
In one quick movement, he’s complete bare beneath you. But you’re still not content, no, you won’t be until you’re right there with him.
He takes care of your remaining clothes then, urging you up with two quick taps to your outer thigh and just as quickly hooking his thumbs underneath your bikini bottoms.
Your heat is so close to his face, so puffy and needy, he simply must lean forward and place a kiss over your hip bone. You hum contently, body buzzing with excitement as you practically tackle him back down on the bed and return to your earlier position.
At first you don’t want anything other than to feel him, your cheek pressed over his beating heart, legs spread over his lower abdomen, practically purring as his own hands wisp over your back.
You lay like that for a while, enjoying the gentle sounds of crashing waves and birds singing outside his window. But then you turn to look at him with those round, puppy eyes that he’ll be damned to cave to for the rest of his life.
“Andy,” you plead. “Need to be closer to you.”
He knows what you mean without you having to explain yourself.
There’s just one more thing to do.
So he does, grabbing a hold of his rock hard cock and slowly sinking himself into your entrance. You wince at the stretch, eyes quickly becoming watery as he settles inside of you. He shushes you gently, shifting you slightly so he can reach your lips, crashing them with his in a sloppy, wet kiss that has you instantly melting into him further.
It’s only when he’s sheathed within you completely that you finally relax. But while you’ve found euphoria with such a simple action, Pope is anything but.
He lasts fifty three seconds before his hips begin shifting involuntarily. Your brow scrunches in confusion, pleasure shooting up your body when all you really wanted to feel was peace.
He coos at you softly. “I need to move, angel.”
You sigh, dramatically so, and he can’t help but smile brightly at your theatrics.
“May I move?”
You bury your face in the side of his neck, going limp over him. “I guess.”
He rolls his eyes playfully, wrapping his arms around you before he lifts his hips off the bed and begins to piston in and out of you.
You’re so wet it’s absurdly easy, the room quickly devolving into a choir of wet, slapping sounds and his moans harmonizing with your little whimpers. You hold onto him for dear life, relishing in the closeness that he’s affording you, and he…he’s certain that you’ve just unlocked something he’d buried deep in his psyche long ago.
A desire to long for someone.
An allowance to feel.
A chance to love again.
“An—dy fuck,” you choke. “‘M so close.”
He turns his head to press his cheek against your temple, tightening his hold on your body, possessive and claiming.
“Come for me angel,” he urges. “Let me make you feel good, please.”
You moan loudly, your body responding diligently to his plea. He can feel your body convulse above him, your walls tightening around him as a jolt of electricity snaps and you’re coming undone.
You cry against his shoulder, panting feverishly as he continues to pound into you, seeking his own release while also extending you own.
“In me please, Andy, need you—”
He doesn’t need to be told twice, burying himself as deep as he can inside of you before he’s spilling, locking you tightly against him and enjoying the feeling of joy that washes over his entire body.
He can’t stop kissing your cheek, his lips lapping up the wetness that has streaked like a devout man worshiping a gift from the heavens.
You stay like this until both your heartbeats return to their normal, synced rhythm, your nails scratching deliciously at his scalp while his own return to their soothing patterns against your back.
“Was that okay?” You ask him, finally returning to your senses it seems.
📎 men featured : logan howlett, worst wolverine, wade wilson, origins! wade wilson, remy lebeau, kurt wagner, eddie brock (& venom!!), steve rogers, tony stark, peter parker, thor odinson, johnny storm, peter quill.
LOGAN HOWLETT
The first time you curl into his side on the sofa in the mansion’s common room, he goes ramrod straight. A low growl rumbles in his chest. “What’re you doin’?”
“Cuddling,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“We don’t… I don’t…” He’s looking around like he expects Cyclops to leap out from behind a potted plant with a camera. “People are gonna talk.”
“Let them,” you mumble into his flannel, already half-asleep. He sits there, arms pinned to his sides, for a full twenty minutes before his posture finally, finally softens.
Cuddling Logan is an exercise in strategic positioning. You learn very quickly that a surprise back-hug while he’s sharpening his blades is a bad idea. You develop a system. A verbal cue. “Claws in, please.” He sighs, but you hear the soft snikt of them retracting. This is your equivalent of him saying “I love you.”
Logan runs hot, like a freshly stoked furnace. You run… normally. Cuddling him is like climbing onto a heated blanket set to ‘surface of the sun.’ You will last approximately four minutes before you start sweating. Then comes the dance: you peel yourself off, he grunts in protest, you lie on the cool part of the sheets, he shuffles over until his chest is pressed against your back again, and the cycle repeats.
He pretends to hate it when you insist on being the big spoon on the bike, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. “I can’t move my arms,” he’ll grumble over the roar of the engine. But he always rides a little slower, takes the longer way back to the mansion, and you can feel the tension drain from his shoulders against your cheek.
WORST WOLVERINE !!
The first time you try cuddling the first words out of his mouth are, “What the fuck is this? A petting zoo? I’m not a goddamn stuffed animal.” You just took a look at the blood-soaked, perpetually exhausted, emotionally unstable version of Wolverine and your brain says, ‘I can fix him. But more importantly, I can cuddle him.’
You learn soon enough that asking for cuddles results in a tirade about his tragic past and how he doesn’t deserve soft things. So you stop asking. You’ll just be sitting on the couch, and you’ll casually say, “Don’t come near me, I want to be alone right now. I’m definitely not cold or sad.” He’ll stare at you for a long moment, then silently sit down, throw a heavy arm over your shoulders, and pull you against his chest with the force of a man trying to prove a point. He will not make eye contact.
Logan hates Wade. But the one thing he hates more than Wade is when Wade is right. And when Wade sees you trying to coax him into a hug, he’ll yell, “Just let her love you, you sad, hairy avocado! Her serotonin levels are dropping and it’s making me sad, and I can’t be sad, I have a brand to maintain!” Logan will then pull you into the most aggressive, desperate hug you’ve ever received, purely out of spite.
WADE WILSON !!
cuddling with Wade isn’t a quiet activity. It comes with a full audio commentary. “And now, the viewer will see her snuggle deeper into my manly pectoral region, a region so chiseled it could cut diamonds. But wait! Is that a yawn? A yawn of contentment, or a yawn of boredom? The suspense is killing me!” You just shove your face into his chest to muffle him. It doesn’t work. He narrates your muffled protests.
You’ll be drifting off, head on his chest, when he suddenly freezes. “Hold on. Pause the cuddle session. I need to address the audience.” He looks directly at the camera that doesn’t exist. “Yes, I know. She’s adorable. And yes, I am aware of how lucky I am. No, you can’t have her. No, not me either. Get your own emotionally unstable, chimichanga-loving mercenary.” Then he resets, pulls you back in, and says, “Okay, we’re back. Where were we? Ah, yes, being worshipped.”
For the first few weeks, he refused to take the mask off while cuddling. “It’s part of the experience! The texture adds a certain… je ne sais quoi.” You didn’t push. You just started leaving lipstick kisses all over the mask. Forehead, cheek, where his mouth would be. He tried to act disgusted, but the next day the mask was suspiciously clean and he was in a remarkably good mood. He eventually started pulling it up to just below his nose for movie nights. Progress.
He knows you’re a cuddlebug. He uses it against you. You try to be mad at him for leaving his suit in the bathroom sink? He will don his softest, most worn-out hoodie (stolen from you) and sit on the couch, arms wide, and make a sound like a wounded puppy. Your anger doesn’t stand a chance. You’re cuddled up and forgiving him before you can even finish your sentence.
ORIGINS! WADE WILSON !!
This Wade is handsome, charming, and has the ego to match. He doesn’t just cuddle; he romances you into a cuddle. He’ll come back from a mission, spin you into his arms like you’re in a ballroom, and dip you for a kiss before carrying you to the couch. “A hero’s welcome,” he’ll murmur against your lips, before settling you on his lap like you’re the treasure at the end of a quest.
He is a master swordsman, and his hands show it. They are deceptively precise. When you’re cuddling, his fingers are never still. They trace patterns on your skin: lazy figure eights, the curve of your spine, the shape of your ear. He’ll be in the middle of a story about a mission with the X-Team, and his fingers will start gently massaging your scalp, and you will forget what he was even talking about.
He’s a mercenary, so his diet is 90% whatever he can get at a diner. Cuddling with him often involves him trying to eat a club sandwich with one hand while the other is wrapped around you. You’ve learned to accept the stray piece of bacon that ends up in your hair. He’ll pick it out, eat it, and say, “Waste not, want not, sweetheart.”
Cuddling is also his preferred method of decompressing from missions. He’ll lie on his back, you’ll lie on his chest, and he’ll narrate his day like it’s an old-timey radio serial. “—and then, with my sword at his throat, I said, ‘You have something I want. You have ten seconds to hand over the intel and apologize to my lady’s photo.’” He has a photo of you in his wallet. He’s not kidding.
He’s not invincible, and he knows it. This makes him hyper-aware of your safety. If you’re cuddling and he hears something outside, his arms tighten around you like a vise. “Stay down,” he’ll whisper, suddenly all business, even though it’s just a stray cat. His reflexes are so fast that you’ve never once felt unsafe. You just feel like you’re wrapped in a cocoon of swords and charming confidence.
REMY LEBEAU !!
Remy charges everything. Including his affection. When he’s happy to see you, he doesn’t just hug you; he scoops you up, spins you around, and you swear you can see a faint pink glow around his hands. “Chère, you are lookin’ like a sunset I’d like to get lost in.” He sets you down, but keeps an arm around your waist, his thumb tracing circles on your hip.
Remy’s version of cuddling often takes place in the kitchen. He’ll be cooking something that smells divine, and you’ll wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back. He’ll just keep stirring the gumbo, talking to you in a low, honeyed drawl about the Saints, or a card game, or the way the light hits your hair. He’ll occasionally feed you a piece of sausage from the pot. It’s domestic, it’s intimate, and it’s pure Remy.
You’ll be sitting on his lap, and he’ll be playing with a deck of cards, making them dance between his fingers. He’ll hold a card up. “Pick a card, chère.” You do. He doesn’t even look at it, just tucks it back into the deck, shuffles, and then pulls a single card from behind your ear. It’s the ace of hearts. “Seems de cards are tellin’ me what I already know.” He then wraps his arms around you, and the cards are forgotten, scattered across the couch.
His hands are his livelihood. They are also your downfall. When he’s cuddling you, he’s not just holding you. He’s exploring. He’ll find the spot behind your ear that makes you shiver, the small of your back that makes you melt, the inside of your wrist that makes your heart race. He treats your body like a lock he’s trying to pick, and he’s an expert thief. “Jus’ learnin’ ya, ma petite,” he’ll murmur against your neck. “Knowin’ where to find de treasure.”
Despite his charm, he’s intensely territorial. When you’re cuddling in a common area of the mansion, and someone (usually Scott) walks by, Remy doesn’t move, but his eyes follow them with a lazy, dangerous glint. His arm around you tightens almost imperceptibly. He’s not being mean; he’s just reminding the world that this specific cuddlebug is his cuddlebug.
KURT WAGNER !!
Kurt is soft. And not just metaphorically. His fur is lit like velvet. Your first instinct upon meeting him is to pet his face. He allows it, bemused. Cuddling with him is like cuddling with a living, breathing, blue plushie that smells faintly of brimstone and has a three-toed foot in your ribs. You become inseparable. You are the human to his koala, or he is the koala to your human. The roles are fluid.
Cuddling with a teleporter is an adventure. You’ll be reading on the couch, he’ll bamf in behind you, wrap his arms and tail around you, and bamf you both to a quiet rooftop to watch the sunset. He does this constantly. You’ve learned to always have shoes on. “I wanted to show you de stars, mein Schatz,” he’ll say, his tail curling around your leg while you cling to him, laughing.
Kurt is a man of deep faith and deep thoughts. Cuddling is often accompanied by whispered philosophy. “Do you not think it is a miracle?” he’ll ask, his cheek resting on your hair. “This moment. Your heart beating against mine. A gift from God, ja?” You’ll mumble an agreement, too comfortable to form a coherent sentence. He’ll smile and press a kiss to your forehead.
His tail has a mind of its own. It’s an extension of his emotions. When he’s happy, it curls. When he’s relaxed, it’s limp. When he’s cuddling you, it’s wrapped around your waist, or your leg, or sometimes it’s just… there, offering you the tip to hold like a hand. It’s become your comfort object. You absentmindedly hold the spade-tip while you sleep, and he finds it so endearing he almost can’t breathe.
Despite his growing confidence, there are moments where he pulls back. “Are you… comfortable? I know I am not… conventionally… soft.” You look at him, this beautiful, kind, blue-furred man who smells like heaven and brimstone, and you proceed to demonstrate exactly how comfortable you are by wrapping yourself around him so thoroughly that he has to teleport to get a glass of water. He never asks again.
EDDIE BROCK ( & VENOM ) !!
Cuddling is a three-party affair. It requires a pre-snug summit. “We want to watch a movie.” Venom’s voice rumbles from Eddie’s shoulder.
“I want to be the big spoon.” you counter.
“We are always the big spoon. We are the protective one.”
“Eddie, help me out here.”
Eddie, who is already a prisoner in his own body, just sighs. “Can we all just agree to not eat anyone for the duration of the movie?” Followed by a tense silence and a reluctant: “…Fine.”
Once the negotiations are over, it’s the best cuddling experience of your life. Venom forms a living, breathing, temperature-regulating blanket. You are the little spoon. Eddie is the middle spoon. And Venom is the outer layer, a cocoon of inky black tendrils that wrap around both of you, purring like a V8 engine. It’s like being swaddled by a very protective, slightly homicidal weighted blanket.
Venom has a unique way of showing affection. When you’re all cuddled up, a tendril will snake out and… lick your head. Just a long, slow, exploratory lick. “You taste of affection and strawberries. We like it.”
“Babe, your alien is licking my head again.”
Eddie, eyes closed, face smooshed into the pillow: “Just let 'im, baby. It’s easier this way.”
You will often be woken up at 3 AM by a conversation between Eddie and Venom happening inches from your face. “No, we will not let go. She is warm.”
“I gotta pee, man.”
“You will hold it.”
“I can’t hold it, the symbiote bladder situation is complicated!”
You don’t even open your eyes. You just mutter, “Venom, let him go pee. He can come back.” A pause. A tendril loosens. Eddie practically flies to the bathroom. Venom wraps tighter around you. “He is weak. You are strong. We like you better.”
STEVE ROGERS !!
You learn very quickly that Steve Rogers cuddles like he’s posing for a war bond poster. You try to drape yourself over him on the couch, and he sits there, back ramrod straight, hands in his lap, like he’s waiting for a photographer.
“Steve,” you say, your face squished against his unmoving bicep. “You know you can relax, right?”
“I am relaxed,” he says, with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb.
It takes weeks to get him to understand that modern cuddling is not a prelude to a formal proposal. He holds you like you’re made of glass. His hands are always in appropriate, PG-rated places. You once fell asleep with your head on his thigh, and he didn’t move for four hours because he didn’t want to “disturb” you. His legs had gone completely numb. He considered it a sacrifice worth making.
Like Logan, Steve runs hot, but his heat is more… controlled. It’s a clean, radiating warmth. Cuddling him is like lying next to a fireplace. He’s also incredibly solid. You can’t squirm or adjust without him noticing. You try to shift your weight, and his arms immediately tighten. “Are you comfortable? Do you need another pillow?” He’s such a caretaker that you almost feel bad. Almost.
Steve’s primary love language is acts of service, but he’s learning yours. He’ll be in the middle of reading a mission report, and you’ll just crawl under his arm and rest your head on his chest. He’ll pause, put the report down, and wrap both arms around you. “Was this what you needed?” he’ll ask, so earnestly. “Yes, Steve,” you’ll murmur. “This is exactly what I needed.” And he’ll hold you like it’s the most important mission he’s ever been given.
TONY STARK !!
Cuddling Tony is a challenge because he’s allergic to stillness. The moment you get comfortable, he’ll have an idea. “Hold that thought,” he’ll say, already trying to extricate himself. “I just realized how to fix the repulsor efficiency.”
You have a failsafe: you just tighten your grip and call out, “DUM-E, fire extinguisher!”
The little robot will race over and spray Tony with a cloud of foam. He’ll sigh, covered in foam, and settle back down. “Fine. You win. Ten more minutes.”
Once you’ve pinned him down, he uses his resources. The lights dim. The AC adjusts to the perfect temperature. The AI, FRIDAY, will play your favorite movie on a screen that descends from the ceiling.
“I’m creating the optimal cuddling environment,” he’ll say, pulling you against his chest. “It’s a statistical fact that a comfortable environment increases the duration of physical affection by 43%.”
“Did you just run a calculation on how long I’d cuddle you?”
“I ran several. This is the most efficient model.”
The arc reactor in his chest is a small, blue, glowing circle of light. It’s also slightly warm. You’ve discovered it’s the perfect spot to rest your head. It’s like a little nightlight and a heating pad combined. Tony pretends to be annoyed when you nuzzle into it. “You’re using my life-saving technology as a comfort object.”
“Mmhmm,” you mumble, your cheek pressed against the cool metal ring. “It’s very comfortable.”
He watches you for a moment, a soft, unguarded look on his face. “…Yeah, okay. It’s pretty comfortable.”
After a rough mission, Tony doesn’t really talk. He comes home, peels off the armor, and finds you. He’ll sit on the couch, pull you onto his lap, wrap his arms around you, and just… breathe. His face is buried in your hair. You don’t say anything. You just hold him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on the back of his neck. This is the only time he’s completely still, completely quiet, and completely yours.
PETER PARKER !!
Cuddling with Peter is a delicate operation. He’s been alone, forgotten, and has developed a case of touch-starvation so acute that the first time you lean your head on his shoulder during a movie, he freezes, webshooters instinctively half-raised, before his brain catches up. He doesn’t relax for the entire movie. He just… absorbs it. When you move to get up, he makes a sound like a wounded puppy.
His fingers and toes have a mild adhesive quality. When he’s relaxed and cuddling, he doesn’t always control it. You will be spooning, and you’ll try to roll over, only to find that his hand is gently, but irrevocably, stuck to your hip. “Peter,” you say, muffled by the pillow. “Your hand.”
“Sorry! Sorry!” He panics, flails, and in trying to unstick one hand, sticks the other one to your shirt, and his foot to the blanket. It takes five minutes to detach him. You both end up in a tangled, laughing heap on the floor.
His spider-sense is always on, always buzzing at a low frequency. It’s exhausting. He’s told you that the only time it truly quiets is when he’s with you. Specifically, when you’re cuddled up. He’ll come back from patrol, drop his suit in a corner, and crawl into your bed, wrapping his entire lanky frame around you like an octopus.
“It’s quiet,” he’ll whisper into your hair, and it’s the most vulnerable he ever sounds.
Peter cannot sit still. Cuddling him is like cuddling a golden retriever puppy during a sugar rush. He’ll be holding you, but he’ll also be bouncing his leg, fiddling with your sleeve, and narrating the entire plot of the movie you’re watching. “Wait, no, go back. Did he just—no, that doesn’t make sense because in issue #147, the Lizard’s formula was—” You just hold on and enjoy the ride.
For a skinny kid, he is surprisingly heavy. He doesn’t realize his own strength or density. When he decides to be the big spoon, he doesn’t just wrap an arm around you; he drapes his entire torso over you like a very affectionate, very warm, very heavy blanket. You can’t move. You don’t want to. “Is this okay?” he’ll whisper, his breath warm against your ear. “Is this… is this how you do it?” You give him a hum of appreciation up from underneath his body. It is, in fact, perfect.
THOR ODINSON !!
Thor does not understand the concept of a "gentle" cuddle. His version of pulling you into his lap is akin to a friendly giant picking up a doll. You are lifted, spun, and deposited onto his thighs with a booming, “There! Now you are comfortable, yes?” You are winded, but also deeply, deeply cozy, surrounded by muscle and Asgardian leather.
Thor’s emotions are tied to the weather. When he’s cuddling you, feeling content and peaceful, you’ll notice that the perpetually overcast sky outside your window suddenly clears, and a warm sunbeam streams in, right onto the two of you. When you have to get up to go to work, a tiny, localized raincloud forms over your head. “Do not go,” he’ll say, his arms like vices. “The mortals can wait another day.”
Thor loves to talk. Cuddling is just an excuse for him to regale you with tales of the Nine Realms. You’ll be lying with your head on his chest, and he’ll be telling you about the time he and Volstagg wrestled a Bilgesnipe. His voice is a deep, resonant rumble that vibrates through his entire body and into yours. You could listen to him for hours. You often do.
You’ve learned that braiding his hair is a form of bonding. He’ll sit on the floor, you on the couch behind him, your legs on either side of his shoulders. You’ll braid his golden locks while he tells you about his day, his head leaning back against your knee. It’s one of the few times he’s perfectly still, perfectly content. When you finish, he’ll turn and wrap his arms around your waist, looking up at you with such unabashed adoration that it makes your heart clench.
You cannot cuddle him while he’s holding Mjolnir. It’s impossible. The thing is, by Asgardian rules, also a part of him. If he’s holding it, he’s not fully relaxed. You’ve established a rule: “No hammer in the cuddle puddle.”
He’ll look at you, then at the hammer, then back at you with the expression of a man being asked to choose between his two children.
“It is my weapon, my companion, my—”
“Thor.”
“…Fine.”
He sets it on the nightstand, pouting, and immediately wraps himself around you. He forgets about the hammer within two minutes.
JOHNNY STORM !!
Johnny does not cuddle. Johnny is “too hot to handle” (his words). But you are a cuddlebug, and you are relentless. The first time you ambush him with a hug, he flames on for half a second out of pure reflex, singeing your sleeve. You just stare at him.
“Did you just—?”
“I panicked! You can’t just sneak up on a guy who is literally made of fire!”
Eventually, he learns to control it. But his baseline is still about 102 degrees. Cuddling him is like cuddling a space heater. In winter, it’s glorious. In summer, you have to keep a spray bottle nearby. He thinks it’s hilarious. “What’s wrong, babe? Too hot for ya?” You spray him in the face. He yelps, and you use his moment of weakness to wrap your arms around his neck and plant a kiss right on his lips.
Johnny is a showman. He loves being seen. And he really loves being seen with you. Cuddling with Johnny is never a private affair. He’ll pull you onto his lap in the middle of the Baxter Building’s common room, right in front of Reed and Sue. “What?” he’ll say, with a smirk. “I’m just appreciating my girlfriend.” Reed looks uncomfortable. Sue just sighs. Ben Grimm gives you a slow, deliberate thumbs up from the corner.
Johnny insists he’s the big spoon. “I’m the flame. I engulf things. I’m the dominant force.” You point out that he’s the size of a very lean, very smug string bean, and you can easily wrap yourself around him like a vine. The argument ends in a tickle fight. He loses. You are the big spoon. He’s too busy laughing to care.
PETER QUILL !!
Every cuddle session with him has a soundtrack. Peter will put on his Zune, pick a song (it’s always something from the 70s or 80s), and then pull you against him. “This is a cuddling song,” he’ll explain, as if it’s a specific genre. “It’s got to have the right vibe. Not too fast, not too slow. Good bass. Lyrics you can kinda mumble along to.” Your life is now a montage set to ELO and Hall & Oates.
On the ship, cuddling is a zero-gravity adventure. You’ll be in his bunk, which is essentially a metal alcove, and he’ll have to wrap his arms and legs around you just to keep you both from floating away.
“This is efficient cuddling,” he’ll say, his face pressed into your neck. “It’s multi-dimensional.”
“You’re just holding me hostage so I don’t float into the engine room.”
“Same thing.”
Peter cannot sit still for a cuddle without initiating a dance-off. You’ll be trying to snuggle, and he’ll start tapping your hip to the beat. Before you know it, he’s trying to twirl you around the cockpit. “Come on! Just one song! It’s a classic!” You’ll groan, but you’ll be smiling, and you’ll end up slow-dancing in the middle of the ship while Rocket makes gagging noises from the ceiling vent.
You tried to have a serious conversation with him while cuddling once. You were talking about relationship stuff, and he was listening, nodding, his arms around you. Then, you felt it. His foot started tapping. Then his leg started bouncing. You stopped talking. He was staring at a point over your shoulder.
“Peter.”
“…What?”
“Are you listening to ‘Footloose’ in your head?”
“…It’s a very catchy song.”
You sigh, accept your fate, and just hold on while he quietly hums and air-drums against your back.
For all his bravado, Peter has deep-seated insecurities about not being enough—not Earth enough, not Celestial enough, not a good enough leader. You’ve learned that the best way to combat this is with aggressive, overwhelming affection. When he gets in his head, you simply tackle him onto the nearest flat surface and wrap yourself around him like a starfish. He’ll protest for a solid minute “What are you—hey, I’m trying to brood here!” before his arms come up to hold you, and his body goes limp with a sigh. “Okay,” he’ll whisper against your hair. “Okay. This is good.”
description: you’ve always been sweet. too sweet, probably. then, eddie starts taking you on dates, putting cigarettes to your lips, and looking at you like he wants to ruin you just a little bit.
pairing: eddie x henderson!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x henderson!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, soft corruption, "good girl" energy, sweethearts you to DEATH, firsts, mutual pining, praise kink undertones, protective eddie, eddie not knowing what to do with all of this softness, "jesus christ" 24/7, shy affection, "there she is", "that's my girl", horny but sweet
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, PiV, smoking
WC: 9.9k
A/N: requested by @ihaveaspoon i hope you enjoy!!!! reblog for ya girl, if you don't mind ;) why do i lowkey love a corruption fic🫣 *proofread as best as i could, my brain hurts, sorry
People always say the same things about you.
Sweet, polite, and pretty in that soft sort of way that makes old women at the grocery store smile at you fondly and teachers immediately trust you with passing out papers.
The kind of girl who remembers everyone’s favorite candy, who waves when people let her cross the street, who still says bless you when someone sneezes, even if she doesn’t know them. Hawkins is small enough that kindness stands out, and yours seems endless.
It’s almost strange, really.
Not because you’re naive exactly, but because the world has not managed to harden you yet. You still help Dustin with his homework even after he acts like a little asshole all through dinner. You still leave little notes in his lunchbox and compliment strangers’ outfits and smile at people like you genuinely hope they’re having a good day.
And maybe that’s why nobody’s ever dated you.
Not for lack of trying, because boys definitely do. They trip over themselves around you constantly, all awkward grins and sweaty palms and invitations to the movies that you somehow never realize are dates until weeks later when Robin physically grabs your shoulders and says, “Honey, he was flirting with you.”
Your response had only been a confused blink. “He was?”
Robin had stared at you for a very long moment before muttering something about you being “a baby deer in the middle of hunting season.”
The thing is, romance has always felt like something happening around you instead of to you. Girls in your grade pass notes about kissing boys behind the bleachers while you sit beside them, doodling little stars in the margins of your notebook.
Nancy comes over ranting about Steve, and you listen carefully, chin in your palm, like she’s telling you a story from another planet entirely. Then there’s Eddie. And honestly, maybe the universe should’ve warned him first.
Because Eddie is used to people looking at him and immediately deciding what he is before he even opens his mouth. Freak. Burnout. Drug dealer. Satanist. Every adult in Hawkins looks at him like he’s one wrong move away from corrupting their children, and every girl who flirts with him does it with this expectation that he’ll play into the role they’ve already created in their heads.
But you don’t, you look at him the same way you look at everyone else: warmly.
The first time he really notices it is after Hellfire one night, when everyone else has already cleared out of the drama room except you, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, waiting for Dustin to finish arguing with Mike about some campaign detail. Eddie’s shoving books back into his bag when you quietly slide a can of Coke across the table toward him.
“I remembered this was your favorite,” you say simply.
And Eddie just stares at you. Because you remembered that. Not in a flirty way. Not trying to get anything from him. You’d just noticed him mentioning it once weeks ago and tucked the information away in that sweet little head of yours like it mattered.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
You blink at him softly. “What?”
“Nothin’, sweetheart.”
The nickname slips out before he can stop it. And the worst part is the way your entire face warms at it, ducking your head shyly like nobody’s ever called you something like that before. Which, horrifyingly enough for Eddie, might actually be true.
Steve’s living room is already loud by the time Eddie gets there.
Robin is halfway through aggressively arguing with Nancy about what movie they’re watching, Steve looks one inconvenience away from death on the couch, and somewhere in the kitchen, Dustin is complaining about the lack of “real snacks” like he personally funds the grocery shopping.
It’s warm inside the Harrington house, all yellow lighting and cluttered blankets draped over the couch cushions, the kind of easy domesticity Eddie always feels a little strange stepping into. Then he sees you.
Curled up in the corner of the couch with sock-covered feet tucked beneath you, smiling the second the front door opens.
“Eddie!” you say brightly, like you hadn’t just seen him yesterday at Hellfire. “There’s still space next to me.”
That immediately becomes the worst moment of Eddie’s entire life.
Because there is space next to you, a very obvious space. One you apparently saved for him without thinking twice. Robin notices the way Eddie visibly hesitates in the doorway and has to fake a coughing fit into her sleeve to keep from laughing.
Eddie drops onto the couch beside you with what he hopes resembles casualness. “Well, sweetheart, how thoughtful of you. Saved me from sitting on the crusty Harrington carpet.”
Steve flips him off from the recliner. “You’re lucky you were invited at all.”
You giggle softly at that, and Eddie immediately has to look away from you.
The movie starts eventually, though Eddie barely absorbs any of it. Not when you’re sitting tucked against his side close enough that your knees keep brushing every few minutes. Every time it happens, you murmur a tiny “sorry” under your breath before doing it all over again thirty seconds later, entirely unaware of the psychological warfare you’re inflicting on him.
At some point during the movie, you start reaching into the popcorn bowl in his lap instead of the one on the coffee table. Again, absentmindedly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean across him every few minutes with your soft perfume surrounding him and your sleeve brushing against his rings.
Eddie thinks he may actually be dying.
“Oh my god, this part is so sad,” you whisper at one point, turning toward him with wide eyes.
Eddie blinks. “Sweetheart, this guy has been on screen for maybe four minutes.”
“I know,” you whisper back earnestly. “But look at him.”
And Christ.
That’s another thing about you, you care about everything. Movie characters with three lines. Stray cats behind Melvald’s. Random kids crying in the grocery store. You move through the world with this unbearable softness that makes Eddie feel simultaneously protective and completely ruined by you.
About halfway through the movie, the room cools enough that you quietly reach for the blanket bunched beside Eddie’s leg. He lifts it automatically to help you pull it over yourself, only for you to immediately lift one side toward him too.
“You’ll get cold,” you murmur.
Eddie stares at you for a beat too long before slowly ducking beneath the blanket beside you. Across the room, Robin physically presses her lips together to stop herself from making a noise. Then, somehow, things get worse. Because sometime during the second movie, you get sleepy.
Eddie notices it in little ways first. The slower blinking, the way your words trail off halfway through comments. Eventually, your head tips sideways against his shoulder so naturally that it almost seems unconscious.
The entire room goes quiet for exactly two seconds. Not because of you, but because Eddie completely freezes.
You don’t even realize what you’ve done at first, already half-asleep against him beneath the blanket. Then your eyes blink open slightly, face warming the tiniest bit when you realize where you’re leaning.
“Oh,” you mumble softly. “Is this okay?”
Eddie thinks his heart physically hurts.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course it is.”
You smile at that. Small and sleepy and trusting. Then your eyes drift shut again against his shoulder like there was never a possibility he’d say no. Robin watches Eddie very carefully after that. Specifically, the way he doesn’t move for the next hour, not even once.
By the time the movie ends, you’ve wandered into the kitchen with Nancy to help clean up empty soda cans while Dustin argues with Steve over something stupid in the dining room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch like he’s recovering from a near-death experience when Robin drops into the seat beside him.
“You are so unbelievably into her,” she says immediately.
Eddie scoffs without looking at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You looked at her like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.”
That finally gets a reluctant snort out of him. Robin grins, leaning back into the couch cushions. “She likes you too, y’know.”
Eddie’s expression changes instantly. “No, she doesn’t.” The response comes too fast.
Robin’s face softens slightly beneath the teasing. “Eddie—”
“She’s nice to everybody,” he cuts in quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway where you disappeared moments ago. “That’s just who she is.”
And maybe that’s the problem, because Eddie knows what people like him do to things that are soft.
Friday afternoon sunlight spills warm through the hallway windows, catching against Eddie’s face as he leans against the lockers outside your classroom like he’s been there a while, pretending not to wait for you.
Which is exactly what he’s been doing.
You almost miss him at first while stuffing books into your bag, too focused on making sure Dustin remembered his science worksheet this morning. It’s only when someone whistles obnoxiously down the hall, and Eddie flips them off without even turning around, that your eyes finally land on him.
And immediately, your stomach does something strange. Not bad, strange, just strange. Because Eddie’s looking at you already.
Not casually either. His dark eyes lock onto yours the second you notice him, and for a moment, he looks almost nervous, which feels impossible considering this is Eddie. Eddie, who performs lunch table monologues and flirts with teachers for extra credit, acts like the entire world is his stage.
You smile anyway.
“There she is,” he says, pushing off the lockers.
“Hi,” you answer softly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Were you waiting for someone?”
Eddie actually laughs at that.
“Sweetheart,” he says, stepping closer, “you are genuinely killin’ me.”
Your brows pull together a little. “What?”
“Nothin’.” He shakes his head, grinning to himself before dragging his rings along the back of his neck. Suddenly, he looks oddly uncertain again. “Uh… actually, I was waitin’ for you.”
“Oh.” The word comes out quieter than you mean for it to.
The hallway around you buzzes with noise, lockers slamming and people shoving past each other on their way outside, but it suddenly feels very far away. Eddie shifts his weight once, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to gauge something.
Then he says, “You wanna go out with me tonight?”
“You mean…” You blink once. “Like a date?”
Eddie’s mouth twitches slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart. Like a date.”
And maybe it’s embarrassing how fast your face warms.
Not because you don’t want to go. God, you do. You think maybe you’ve wanted to for longer than you realized. It’s just that nobody’s ever looked at you quite like Eddie is right now, all careful confidence hiding something softer underneath.
“Okay,” you say before you can overthink it.
Eddie stills. “Okay?”
You smile a little shyly. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
For a second, Eddie genuinely looks stunned.
Then the slowest grin spreads across his face, crooked and warm and so unfairly pretty that you have to glance down at your shoes for a second just to collect yourself.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself.
You laugh softly. “What?”
“There’s that thing again where you say yes to me like I just asked if you wanted a pencil instead of—” He cuts himself off with another disbelieving shake of his head. “Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats, like he still can’t believe it.
He walks backward down the hallway afterward, still grinning at you in this helpless sort of way, before finally turning toward the exit. You stand there for a moment after he disappears, your heartbeat feeling strangely uneven beneath your ribs.
Then, naturally, you go find Robin.
She’s already behind the Family Video counter when you walk in later that afternoon, lazily rewinding tapes with Steve half-asleep beside her. The second she sees your face, her eyes narrow suspiciously.
“What happened?”
You blink. “Nothing happened.”
“That is not a nothing face.”
Steve lifts his head slightly from the counter. “What’s a nothing face?”
Robin points at you dramatically. “That face. That’s the face girls make before they tell you life-altering information.”
Your cheeks warm immediately. “It’s not life-altering.”
“Oh my god,” Robin gasps. “You kissed someone.”
“What? No!”
Steve snorts tiredly into the counter. Robin leans forward. “Then what?”
You hesitate for half a second before saying quietly, “Eddie asked me on a date.”
Then Robin slams both palms onto the counter so hard Steve nearly falls out of his chair. “I KNEW IT.”
Your face warms instantly beneath her stare. Steve looks significantly more awake now, too, blinking between the two of you while Robin points at you like you’ve personally validated her entire worldview.
“I told you he liked her,” she says to Steve.
Steve shrugs. “I mean, yeah. The guy looks at her like she personally invented music.”
“Oh my god,” you mumble, covering your face briefly with your sleeve.
Robin immediately softens at that, grinning as she leans her elbows onto the counter. “Aw, honey, don’t look embarrassed. This is cute.”
Cute. The word alone makes your stomach flutter strangely.
You glance down shyly, tracing your thumb along the strap of your bag. “It’s just a date.”
“Mhm,” Robin hums knowingly. “And what exactly are we wearing to this very casual, definitely-not-important date?”
You blink. “I don’t know yet.”
Steve finally sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. Tonight tonight?”
You nod once. Robin gasps dramatically. “Oh, this is serious.”
“It is not serious,” you protest immediately.
Robin’s expression turns fond in that way it sometimes does around you, all teasing melting into something softer. “Sweetie, he stood outside your classroom looking nervous and was a statue when you fell asleep on him. You’ve altered his brain chemistry.”
You hide your face again with a quiet groan while Steve laughs under his breath.
“I’m serious,” Robin continues. “I have literally never seen him act normal around anybody he’s interested in.”
Before you can answer, Robin suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait. Have you even been on a date before?”
You hesitate just long enough for her to gasp. “Oh, my god.”
“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly.
Steve blinks at you. “Like… ever?”
You shrug awkwardly. “I don’t know. Nobody’s really asked.”
Robin and Steve share a look over your head that feels deeply loaded.
“What?” you ask suspiciously.
Robin shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. I just think half the male population of Hawkins is profoundly stupid.”
You laugh quietly at that, cheeks still warm. “You guys are making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”
Robin reaches over the counter to squeeze your hand once. “No, honey. We’re making it sound exactly as dramatic as it is.”
By seven o’clock, your bedroom looks like a small tornado passed through it.
Not because you’re trying overly hard, exactly. More because every outfit suddenly feels wrong the second you put it on. Robin’s teasing voice still echoes faintly in your head every time you glance in the mirror.
"Eddie Munson stood outside your classroom, nervous."
Which is ridiculous, Eddie doesn’t get nervous. However, your stomach has been fluttering stupidly for the last hour anyway.
Eventually, you settle on something simple. Something that still feels like you. Soft sweater, jeans that fit nicely, a little lip gloss Nancy once insisted you’d “thank her for later.” By the time you finally step out of your bedroom, the house is quiet except for the television murmuring faintly from the living room.
Dustin is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach despite the fact it’s fully evening. He glances up absentmindedly at first.
His entire face lights up. “Whoa.”
You immediately laugh nervously. “What?”
“You look pretty.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you slightly off guard. Dustin sits up straighter on the couch, grinning at you in a way that suddenly reminds you painfully that he’s still your little brother underneath all the dramatics and endless talking.
“You really think so?”
“Duh.” He gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Eddie’s gonna freak out.”
Your cheeks warm instantly. “Dustin.”
“What? He likes you like… aggressively.”
You laugh softly despite yourself, smoothing your hands nervously over your sleeves. “Robin said the same thing.”
“Because it’s true,” Dustin says, like it’s obvious. “He talks about you all the time.”
That makes you blink. “He does?”
“Oh my god,” Dustin groans, dropping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You seriously have no idea, do you?”
Before you can answer, headlights sweep briefly across the front window.
Dustin notices your expression and grins even wider. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” he says delightedly. “This is amazing.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and your heartbeat feels too loud. Dustin looks between you and the front door with poorly concealed excitement before jumping up from the couch first.
“Oh, I’m answering it.”
“Dustin—”
Too late. He yanks the front door open with the energy of a child on Christmas morning.
Eddie’s standing on the porch in dark jeans and his leather jacket, curls slightly messy like he’s been dragging nervous hands through them.
He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers that look suspiciously like they came from the little stand outside Melvald’s, and for once in his life, Eddie Munson actually seems unsure of himself.
Then his eyes land on you behind Dustin, and he completely forgets how to speak. Dustin looks back and forth between the two of you with visible delight.
“Oh my god,” he whispers dramatically. “He is freaking out.”
Eddie blinks once like he’s rebooting. “Henderson, I will kill you.”
“You brought flowers,” Dustin says smugly.
Eddie ignores him entirely, still staring at you in a way that makes your chest feel warm all over again. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi.” The word comes out softer than you intended.
Eddie swallows once. Then, very carefully, he holds the flowers out toward you. “These are for you.”
“Be home by ten!” Dustin calls dramatically as Eddie leads you back toward the van.
You pause halfway down the walkway. “Since when do you give me a curfew?”
“Since now,” he says importantly, leaning against the front doorframe. “And no funny business.”
Eddie scoffs loudly without looking back. “You are literally fifteen.”
“And wiser than both of you combined.”
You laugh softly under your breath as Eddie opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow.
“Goodbye, Dustin.”
“GOODBYE. BE SAFE. DON’T GET PREGNANT.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, face burning as Eddie bursts into helpless laughter beside you.
The front door slams shut before you can retaliate further.
“Your brother is insane.”
“You encourage him.”
“Because he’s funny.”
“He’s awful.”
Eddie laughs again as the van rumbles to life beneath you. The sound settles warmly through the small space alongside the radio's quiet static, and for a little while, things feel easy.
Eddie drums his fingers against the steering wheel while he drives one-handed, occasionally glancing over at you with this small private smile that makes your stomach flutter every single time.
It isn’t until he pulls into the overlook outside town later that night that things start to shift.
The place is mostly empty this late, only a couple of scattered cars parked beneath the dark stretch of sky overlooking Hawkins. “This okay?” he asks.
You nod immediately. “Yeah. It’s pretty up here.”
Eddie’s eyes linger on your face for a second too long before he looks away again with a quiet hum. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”
Then, after a moment, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
You watch absentmindedly as he taps one loose and settles it between his lips, the flame from his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face in warm orange. Smoke curls slowly into the night air once he exhales.
You don’t know why you ask. Maybe curiosity, maybe because everything about Eddie feels a little intoxicating lately.
“Can I try one?”
Eddie freezes mid-exhale. Slowly, he turns toward you. “What?”
You shrug a little, suddenly oddly shy beneath the intensity of his stare. “Just once.”
For a second, he just looks at you. “You’ve never smoked before.”
It isn’t a question. You shake your head once. “No.”
Eddie lets out the faintest breath through his nose, eyes dragging away toward the windshield for a moment. His rings tap softly against the cigarette resting between his fingers.
And maybe this is exactly the kind of thing everyone in Hawkins expects from him. Corrupting nice girls in parked vans late at night. The thought should probably make him feel guilty. Instead, all he can think about is the way you’re looking at him right now, all soft curiosity and trust.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “you really shouldn’t ask me things like that.”
Your brows pull together slightly. “Why?”
Eddie glances back at you then, dark eyes unreadable in the low lighting.
“Because,” he says quietly, “I’m probably gonna say yes.”
Before you can overthink it, Eddie sighs softly and shifts closer across the seat, cigarette still balanced between his fingers. “C’mere.”
You lean closer instinctively, knees brushing his in the cramped space between the seats. Eddie watches you the entire time, gaze flicking once toward your mouth before he catches himself.
“This’ll probably taste awful, by the way.”
You smile a little. “You’re really selling it.”
“Just bein’ honest.”
Carefully, he lifts the cigarette toward your lips. And Christ. The sight alone nearly does him in.
You hesitate only briefly before taking a tentative inhale exactly the way he showed you. Almost immediately, your face scrunches up as you start coughing lightly into your sleeve.
Eddie laughs instantly, reaching over to rub a warm hand against your back. “Easy, easy— there she is.”
“That is horrible,” you rasp between coughs, eyes watering slightly.
“I did warn you.”
You’re still laughing softly at yourself when you finally glance back up at him, only to realize how close he is now. For a moment, neither of you moves.
The cigarette burns slowly between Eddie’s fingers, forgotten entirely now as his eyes stay fixed on yours. You can still feel the warmth of his hand through your sweater, where it rests against your back. Though the look on his face is becoming significantly less careful by the second.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod once.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Your voice comes out softer than usual, and Eddie notices immediately.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, dragging his eyes away from your mouth with visible effort.
His hand slips from your back only so he can lean farther into the seat, head tipping briefly against it like he’s trying to regain control of his own thoughts.
You watch him for a second before smiling slightly. “What?”
Eddie laughs once, but there’s no real humor in it. “You have genuinely no idea what you do to me, huh?”
Your stomach flips hard enough to make you glance away. Not because you don’t understand what he means, you do.
Maybe not fully, or with the same confidence other girls seem to have, but you understand enough to feel the tension thickening between you now. The difference is you’re not afraid of it, not with him.
“You make me nervous, too,” you admit quietly.
That gets Eddie’s attention instantly. His head turns toward you again, curls falling slightly into his eyes. “I do?”
You nod, fingers fidgeting lightly in your lap. “You always look at me like you’re thinking something.”
Eddie goes very still. Because he is, constantly.
And suddenly, he’s picturing every single filthy thought he’s had about you over the last few weeks while you sat beside him smiling sweetly like you trusted him with your whole heart.
Every moment, he’s imagined pulling you into his lap, kissing you until you forgot your own name, hearing soft sounds fall from your mouth, all because of him.
Dangerous thoughts, especially about someone like you.
“You really wanna know what I’m thinking?” he asks finally, voice lower now.
The question sends heat crawling up your neck. Still, you nod.
Eddie studies your face for another long second. Then he leans closer again, slowly enough for you to stop him if you want to. You don’t.
“You sit next to me,” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, “lookin’ all pretty and sweet all the time, and you don’t even realize what it does to me.”
Your breath catches quietly.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, almost pained, “I’m trying my best here not to ruin you.”
The word ruin sends a pulse of heat low in your stomach. His gaze darkens immediately at your reaction.
“There she is,” he says quietly, almost pleased. “That got your attention.”
Your face burns. “Eddie…”
“What?” he asks innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about him anymore. “You asked.”
You should probably tell him to stop. Instead, you whisper, “Keep talking.”
Eddie actually closes his eyes briefly at that. When he opens them again, his face slips into something soft, following something dangerous. Like the restraint he’s been clinging to all night is finally beginning to slip.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
You laugh nervously. “I thought you were supposed to be the bad influence.”
“Oh, trust me, doll.” Eddie’s hand slides slowly along your knee, warm and deliberate enough to make your pulse jump. “I am.”
The touch alone feels impossibly intimate. Not because it’s inappropriate, not because it’s even that scandalous. But because it’s Eddie.
Because he’s touching you like he’s trying very hard not to scare you away while simultaneously imagining a thousand worse things.
“You know what the worst part is?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head once.
“I don’t even think you mean to do it.”
His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your knee, and you swear he notices the exact second your breathing changes.
“You smile at me,” he continues softly, “sit close to me, remember little details that nobody should remember… and every time you do, I think maybe this is the moment I finally lose my mind.”
Your heart is pounding so hard now you’re convinced he can hear it. Especially when his eyes drop once more toward your mouth.
Eddie’s thumb is still stroking slow circles over your knee, his dark eyes locked on your mouth like he’s starving for it. You can barely breathe.
“Eddie…” you whisper, not sure what you’re even asking for.
He lets out a shaky breath, like your voice alone is undoing him. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
You don’t answer with words. Instead, you lean in the last few inches and press your lips to his: soft, uncertain, barely a kiss at all, more like a gentle brush.
Eddie freezes for half a second, then groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, careful, as he tilts his head and kisses you back properly, like he’s teaching you how good it can feel.
You make a tiny surprised sound when his tongue traces your bottom lip, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. “We can stop anytime. Just tell me.”
“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, cheeks burning. Your hands are trembling as you reach up and curl your fingers into his jacket. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut like the words physically pain him. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”
He kisses you again, deeper this time, guiding you with gentle pressure until your mouth opens for him. The slide of his tongue against yours makes heat pool low in your belly, unfamiliar and overwhelming.
You try to match him, tentative and sweet, and when you shyly suck on his tongue, he makes a broken noise and pulls you closer across the seat.
He pants against your lips while his hand stays gentle on your neck, thumb stroking your jaw, but his other hand grips the edge of the seat like he’s holding himself back from devouring you.
You kiss him harder, braver now, and he rewards you with a soft moan that goes straight between your legs. When you accidentally graze his bottom lip with your teeth, something you’ve only ever seen in movies, he jerks, fingers tightening in your hair.
Eventually, he pulls back, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Back of the van?” he asks, almost hesitant. “Only if you want. We don’t have to—”
You nod before he can finish, heart hammering. “I want to. With you.”
Eddie helps you climb through to the back, spreading out the blankets he keeps there like he’s making a nest for you. He lays you down so gently it makes your chest ache, then settles over you on his elbows, careful not to crush you.
“Look at me, baby,” he says softly, brushing hair from your face. “We go as slow as you need. Tell me if anything hurts or feels weird, okay? Promise me.”
“I promise,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek.
He kisses you again, slower, deeper, until you’re squirming beneath him.
His hands stay respectful at first, stroking your sides and waist, until you arch into him and he finally slides one under your sweater. The warmth of his palm on your bare skin makes you gasp.
“So soft,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing down the column of your throat. “So fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling when he helps you out of your sweater and bra, but not from fear. Eddie looks at you like you’re something holy, eyes reverent as he cups your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they tighten.
“Eddie—” Your voice breaks on his name when he leans down and takes one into his mouth, gentle suction and slow flicks of his tongue. You’ve never felt anything like it. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping curls, and he groans in approval.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold onto me.”
He works you open with patient fingers later, after your jeans and panties are gone, whispering praise the whole time.
“Relax for me, baby… just like that. Good girl. So wet already, fuck. All for me?”
You nod frantically, hips twitching. When he curls his fingers just right, you cry out, shocked by the sharp burst of pleasure.
“There?” he asks, voice low and pleased. He does it again, watching your face. “Yeah? You like that?”
You can barely speak, just whimper and nod. He keeps talking you through it, gentle but filthy, until you’re shaking apart on his fingers with a broken little moan.
He kisses you through it, then rests his forehead against yours while he rolls on a condom. “You sure, sweetheart? We can stop right here. I’d be happy just making you come all night.”
You shake your head, pulling him closer. “I want you. Please, Eddie.”
He enters you so slowly it almost hurts, a combination of pain and how careful he’s being, how full you feel. He stops every inch, murmuring against your temple.
“Breathe, baby. That’s it… doing so good for me. So tight—fuck, you feel incredible. Breathe, okay?”
When he bottoms out, you both moan. He stays still, buried deep, kissing you softly until the stretch eases into something warm and aching and good.
“Move,” you whisper, nails digging into his back. “Please.”
He rocks into you gently at first, then a little deeper when you start lifting your hips to meet him. Every thrust is measured, his voice a constant low rumble in your ear; praise, dirty little observations, encouragement.
“Look at you taking me so well… my sweet girl. Never thought I’d get to have you like this.”
You get bolder as it builds, wrapping your legs around his waist, experimentally clenching around him. Eddie’s rhythm falters.
“Shit—baby, do that again.”
You do, shy but eager, and he groans like he’s dying. On impulse, you tilt your head and bite his shoulder. Not hard, but just enough to leave a mark. Eddie curses loudly, his hips snapping forward harder for a second before he catches himself.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he laughs breathlessly, kissing you deep.
He reaches between you and rubs your clit in tight circles, voice growing rougher as you both get close.
“Come on, baby. Let me feel you. Want you to come on my cock—yeah, just like that. Good girl. So good for me.”
You shatter with his name on your lips, clenching around him so hard his thrusts turn erratic. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he comes with a broken moan, hips jerking.
Afterward, he stays inside you for a long moment, stroking your hair, pressing soft kisses to your flushed face.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice tender. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head, smiling shyly as you nuzzle into him. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”
Eddie laughs softly, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Yeah? Even when I almost lost my mind because you bit me?”
Eddie’s arm is wrapped carefully around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against your skin like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s allowed to. Not that you mind.
Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly come back down while his other hand plays gently with your hair. Every few seconds, he presses absent little kisses to the top of your head like he’s doing it unconsciously, like affection simply spills out of him naturally around you.
You feel him shift slightly beneath you after a minute, enough that you tilt your chin up to look at him. He’s already staring down at you, dark curls messy, lips slightly swollen, expression somewhere between completely wrecked and deeply concerned.
“…You sure you’re okay?” he asks again quietly.
The question makes your chest ache a little. Not because it’s upsetting, but because he sounds genuinely nervous about it.
You smile softly almost immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie studies your face carefully anyway, like he’s searching for any sign you don’t mean it. “Yeah?” he repeats.
“Mhm.”
“You promise?”
A quiet laugh leaves you then, small and sleepy and warm from where you’re curled against him. “Eddie.”
“What?” he says defensively, though his hand tightens slightly around your waist. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” Your fingers drift lazily along the chain around his neck while you look up at him. “I’m okay.”
Eddie exhales slowly through his nose, tension visibly easing from his shoulders. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
You smile a little wider. “You say that a lot.”
“That’s because you keep doin’ things that make me need divine intervention.”
Your laugh this time is brighter, and Eddie immediately looks at you like he’s just won something.
There’s still this almost disbelieving softness in his expression now, like he hasn’t fully processed that this actually happened. That you happened.
“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” you murmur.
His mouth twitches slightly. “Can you blame me?”
You shrug a little against him. “Maybe.”
“Sweetheart,” he says quietly, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek, “you trusted me with your first time. I think I’m allowed to spiral a little.”
Heat blooms softly across your face at the words.
“You’re really okay?” he asks one more time, softer now.
You nod against him. “Yeah.”
Then, after a tiny pause: “It was nice.”
Eddie goes completely still underneath you. Slowly, he lifts his head enough to stare down at you properly. “Nice?”
You blink innocently. “Yeah.”
A laugh bursts out of him so suddenly it startles you.
“Baby,” he says through his grin, “I am never letting you describe that as nice again.”
Your face warms instantly as you hide it against his chest with a groan, and Eddie just laughs harder, wrapping both arms around you tighter while pressing another kiss into your hair.
“There she is,” he murmurs fondly. “My sweet girl.”
The next morning feels strangely dreamy. Not in some dramatic life-changing way.
Dustin is still loudly arguing with the television before noon, the neighbor’s dog still won’t stop barking, and Hawkins still looks exactly the same outside your bedroom window.
Every time your mind drifts back to the night before, heat creeps slowly up your neck all over again. Eddie’s hands on your waist. The sound of his voice going rough when you kissed him back. The way he kept checking in afterward, like your comfort mattered more to him than anything else in the world.
You think maybe that’s your favorite part. Not the sex itself, though that had certainly been overwhelming in ways you’re still trying to process. It’s the fact that Eddie held you afterward like something precious.
The phone rings around two in the afternoon. You perk up instantly from your spot sprawled on the living room carpet, flipping through a magazine. Dustin glances over from the couch suspiciously while you practically scramble for it.
“Hello?”
A small pause. Then: “Hey, sweetheart.”
Your stomach flips immediately. You smile before you can help it, curling the phone cord loosely around your finger. “Hi.”
Eddie goes quiet for a second on the other end, like maybe hearing your voice affected him too much. When he speaks again, there’s a smile tucked into his words.
“How’re you feelin’ today?”
Warmth floods your face instantly. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Another tiny pause. “Good.”
From the couch, Dustin narrows his eyes. “Is that Eddie?”
You wave him off blindly while Eddie snorts quietly through the phone. “Your brother sounds possessive.”
“He’s nosy.”
“I heard that,” Dustin calls loudly.
You laugh softly, and Eddie goes quiet again for half a second in that way he keeps doing now, like hearing you laugh still catches him off guard.
“So,” he says eventually, voice lower now, easier. “I was wonderin’ if maybe you wanted to come to the Hideout tonight.”
“The bar?”
“Mm.” You can practically hear him lighting a cigarette through the phone. “Thought maybe I could buy you a drink. Since you’re all grown up now.”
Your face burns instantly. “Eddie.”
“What?” he asks innocently. “You are.”
You tuck your hair behind your ear shyly despite the fact that he can’t see you. “I’ve never been to the Hideout before.”
“I know.”
And for some reason, the way he says it sends warmth straight through you again. Like he enjoys being the first person to show you these things.
“Only if you want to,” he adds after a second, softer this time. “No pressure.”
You smile immediately at that. “I wanna go.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie exhales quietly through his nose, almost sounding relieved. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll come get you around eight.”
“Okay.”
There’s another pause afterward that stretches warm and comfortable between you both. Then Eddie says, quieter now, “Missed you today.”
Your heart stutters embarrassingly hard. “Oh.”
A soft laugh crackles through the receiver. “There’s that little sound again.”
“What sound?”
“The one you make when I say somethin’ that gets in your head.”
You duck your face instinctively, even though he still can’t see you. From the couch, Dustin groans dramatically. “You are smiling so weird right now.”
The Hideout smells faintly like cigarettes, beer, and old wood, the second Eddie pushes the door open for you.
It’s darker inside than you expected, lit mostly by warm amber lights strung lazily behind the bar and the colored glow from an old neon beer sign buzzing softly in the corner. A band is setting up near the tiny stage in the back while people crowd around sticky tables, laughing too loudly over the music humming through the speakers.
His hand settles lightly against the small of your back, warmth through your shirt as he leans closer so you can hear him over the noise. “You okay, sweetheart?”
You glance up at him and smile. “Yeah. It’s just different than I expected.”
Eddie grins. “What, you thought it’d be glamorous?”
“A little.”
“Aw, honey.” He nudges you gently toward the bar. “This place barely passes health inspection.”
You laugh softly under your breath, and Eddie’s expression immediately softens at the sound like it always does now. There’s still something almost disbelieving in the way he looks at you tonight, like he can’t quite process that you came here with him willingly. That you’re sitting beside him at the Hideout, of all places.
The bartender greets Eddie immediately as soon as you slide onto the stools. “Munson.”
“Hey, Frank.”
Then Frank notices you beside him, one brow lifting slowly.
Eddie catches it instantly. “Don’t start.”
Frank smirks knowingly before wiping down the counter. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What can I get you two?”
Eddie glances sideways at you thoughtfully for a second, tapping his rings lightly against the bartop. “Lemme get a beer…”
Then his eyes flick back toward you again, something amused flickering there.
“And a Dirty Shirley for her.”
You blink. “How did you know that’s what I’d like?”
Eddie shrugs casually, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You just seem like a Dirty Shirley kinda girl.”
The answer makes you laugh softly. And for some reason, Eddie looks absurdly pleased with himself over that. When the drinks arrive a minute later, you eye yours curiously before taking a cautious sip through the straw.
Immediately, your face brightens. “Oh, this is good.”
Eddie snorts into his beer. “Yeah, because it’s basically candy.”
You narrow your eyes playfully. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Nah.” His gaze drifts slowly over your face again, softer now. “Kinda fits you, actually.”
Heat creeps up your neck at the way he says it. You glance down shyly at your drink while Eddie leans one elbow onto the bar beside you, watching you with open fondness now that nobody from school is around to see it.
“You nervous?” he asks after a moment.
“A little.”
“About bein’ here?”
You shrug slightly. “I guess.”
Eddie hums quietly, eyes flicking around the crowded bar before settling back on you. “Nobody’s gonna bother you while you’re with me.”
The words shouldn’t affect you as much as they do. Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he says it so naturally, like protecting you is already instinct.
Or maybe it’s just Eddie.
“Good,” you say softly before taking another sip.
Eddie goes suspiciously quiet beside you, and you glance over. “What?”
His eyes drag slowly from your lips back up to your face.
“Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You just look real pretty sittin’ here.”
The music hums warmly through your chest now instead of pounding against it, and the second Dirty Shirley Eddie absolutely did not need to buy you has left your cheeks pleasantly warm. You’re leaning closer to him without thinking anymore, your knee pressed between his, where he sits angled toward you at the bar like the rest of the room barely exists.
Eddie’s halfway through telling you some ridiculous story about Gareth nearly setting a school amplifier on fire when you start laughing hard enough to grab onto his arm.
And that completely derails him.
He loses his train of thought instantly, eyes dropping to your hand wrapped around his forearm before slowly flicking back up toward your face. You’re still smiling at him, all sweet and tipsy, entirely unaware of the effect you have on him.
“Why’d you stop talking?” you ask.
Eddie blinks once. “You’re pretty distracting, sweetheart.”
Your face warms immediately.
“There she is,” he murmurs fondly into his beer.
Eventually, the bar starts getting louder as more people crowd in, conversations overlapping with the music until Eddie notices you beginning to glance around, slightly overwhelmed.
His hand settles instinctively against your knee beneath the bar. “You wanna get outta here?”
You look back at him immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie studies your face carefully for a second before asking softer, “Wanna come back to my place?”
And maybe it should feel more scandalous than it does. Instead, all you feel is warm trust settling low in your chest when you nod. “Okay.”
The drive to the trailer park is quiet in the nicest way.
One of Eddie’s tapes plays softly through the van speakers while warm night air drifts through the cracked windows. Your head rests lazily against the seat as streetlights pass over Eddie’s face every few seconds, catching the silver of his rings against the steering wheel.
He keeps glancing at you, not subtly either. Every time you catch him, he smiles crookedly to himself before looking back at the road.
By the time he parks outside the trailer, you’re pleasantly floaty enough that you don’t even think twice before following him up the steps. The trailer is dim and familiar from all the times you’ve picked Dustin up after Hellfire. Eddie immediately tosses his keys onto the counter before turning toward you.
“You want somethin’ to drink?”
You shake your head slightly before your eyes catch the cigarette pack sticking halfway out of his jacket pocket.
“…Can I try another one?”
Eddie actually laughs softly under his breath. “You are trouble.”
You smile innocently. “You said that already.”
“Yeah, well.” His eyes drag slowly over your face again. “Still true.”
This time, when he pulls a cigarette loose and lights it, you step closer before he even asks. Eddie notices immediately, something dark and pleased flickering briefly across his expression before he tamps it down.
“C’mere then, sweetheart.”
The pet name lands warm in your stomach now.
You lean in slightly while Eddie lifts the cigarette toward your mouth again, two fingers resting carefully beneath your chin to angle your face upward. The touch alone feels unfairly intimate, especially when his eyes stay fixed on your lips the entire time.
“That’s it,” he murmurs softly as you inhale carefully.
This time, you barely cough, and Eddie’s brows lift immediately. “Well, look at that.”
You laugh lightly through the smoke, a little proud of yourself despite how ridiculous that probably is.
Meanwhile, Eddie looks devastatingly fond. “That’s my girl,” he says quietly.
Your face flushes even more now, like that’s even possible.
“You like it when I say stuff like that, huh?” he asks gently.
You glance down shyly. “Maybe.”
His grin turns downright dangerous. “Jesus Christ.”
Then, before you can recover from that, Eddie disappears briefly toward his bedroom area. You hear drawers opening for a second before he returns holding something glass and obnoxiously large in one hand.
You blink. “What’s that?”
“A bong.”
Your expression must give you away because Eddie immediately laughs. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just weed.”
“I know what weed is.”
“Mhm.” He drops onto the couch cushions beside you, smirking slightly. “And yet you looked at it like a church girl.”
You nudge his shoulder lightly while he chuckles to himself, already packing it with practiced familiarity. Then he glances sideways at you.
“You wanna try?” There’s no pressure in his voice, just some boyish curiosity.
You hesitate briefly before nodding. “Okay.”
Eddie’s expression softens instantly into something almost unbearably affectionate. “Attagirl.”
Heat floods your face again.
A few minutes later, you’re sitting tucked against his side while he guides you through it patiently, one hand steady against your waist while the other helps position your fingers correctly.
“Slow,” he murmurs. “Yeah, just like that.”
You follow his instructions carefully, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that his mouth is barely inches from yours right now. The hit burns less than the cigarette but still catches in your throat enough to make you cough lightly against his shoulder afterward.
Eddie laughs warmly, rubbing your back. “That wasn’t too bad!”
“You make everything sound embarrassing.”
“That’s because everything you do is cute.”
Your face immediately buries against his shoulder while he laughs harder, wrapping an arm around you automatically like he can’t help himself anymore.
By the time the second hit settles in properly, you are absolutely gone.
You’re not panicking or dizzy or anything nightmare-inducing. Everything just suddenly feels unbelievably funny and soft all at once, like the entire trailer has been wrapped in warm cotton. The music playing quietly from Eddie’s radio sounds deeper somehow, and you cannot stop giggling every time he looks at you.
Which he keeps doing, constantly.
“You good there, sweetheart?” he asks from beside you, trying very hard not to laugh himself.
You stare at him for a second too long before nodding very seriously. “Your eyelashes are really pretty.”
That immediately breaks him. Eddie doubles over laughing, one hand covering his mouth while the other stays loosely around your waist to keep you upright, where you’re practically folded into his side on the couch.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “You’re high as a kite.”
You gasp softly like he’s offended you. “No, I’m not.”
“You just complimented my eyelashes like you discovered religion.”
“They are pretty.”
That only makes him laugh harder.
You narrow your eyes at him for approximately two seconds before dissolving into giggles, too, burying your face against his shoulder. Eddie wraps both arms around you automatically, then, still shaking slightly with laughter, he presses a kiss into your hair.
“Godt,” he murmurs fondly. “You’re adorable.”
You hum happily against him, completely content tucked into his chest while his rings drag lazily along your back.
A few minutes later, you start rambling, not about anything important either. Just whatever pops into your head.
“You know what’s weird?” you mumble suddenly.
“What’s weird?”
“The moon.”
Eddie snorts softly. “The moon.”
“Yeah. It just follows you around all the time. That’s weird behavior.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think the moon has behavior.”
“It does.”
“Mhm.”
You tilt your head up to look at him very seriously. “You smell good.”
Eddie visibly short-circuits for a second. “…Thanks.”
“And your hair is soft.”
“You touched my hair for like three seconds.”
“I know,” you sigh dreamily. “It was nice.”
That’s apparently the final straw. Eddie drops his forehead briefly against the top of your head with a groan. “Baby, you gotta stop sayin’ things like that before I lose my damn mind.”
You just smile at him sweetly, which does not help. Eventually, after you nearly fall asleep sitting upright against him, Eddie gently decides you need to move to the bed before your neck ends up permanently bent at a horrifying angle.
“C’mon, pretty girl.”
You blink sleepily up at him. “Hm?”
“Bedtime.”
The second he slides an arm beneath your knees and lifts you into his arms, you immediately wrap yourself around him with a soft little laugh.
Eddie steadies you against his chest easily, though his expression goes dangerously fond all over again when you instinctively nuzzle closer against his neck.
“You’re comfy.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Like a heating pad.”
Eddie nearly walks directly into the wall laughing.
The mattress dips softly beneath you a moment later as he sets you down carefully onto his bed. You immediately starfishing across it in a way that makes him snort affectionately while crouching beside you.
“You wanna sleep in jeans, sweetheart?”
You make a face. “No.”
“Okay.” His voice stays gentle. “Can I help you change then?”
You nod immediately. That feeling hits Eddie square in the chest every single time.
So he moves slowly. Helping you swap your jeans for a pair of old sweatpants and one of his oversized shirts while you continue mumbling nonsense the entire time.
“Attractive people should legally have warning labels,” you inform him seriously while he helps guide your arm through the sleeve.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm. It’s stressful.”
Eddie laughs softly under his breath. “Poor thing.”
“I’m serious.” You squint at him sleepily. “You’re very handsome. It’s distracting.”
He actually stops moving for a second. “Good lord,” he mutters weakly.
“What?”
“Nothin’, baby.”
By the time you’re finally settled beneath the blankets, your eyes are barely staying open anymore. Eddie starts to pull away toward the edge of the bed before soft fingers catch loosely around his wrist.
“Stay.”
Eddie looks down at you for a long second before his entire expression melts. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says softly, climbing in beside you. “I’m stayin’.”
By Monday morning, half of Hawkins High has already noticed the jacket.
Not because it’s particularly flashy. Eddie’s leather jacket has always looked a little worn around the sleeves, a little too big on you, where it hangs past your fingertips. But everyone knows who it belongs to. Hellfire patches and metal pins tend to stand out in a school full of pastel sweaters and varsity jackets.
You don’t even think much of it at first while standing at your locker between classes, adjusting your books against your hip as Robin practically materializes beside you with the energy of someone spotting celebrity gossip in real time.
“Oh, my god.”
You blink. “What?”
Robin gestures wildly toward your body. “The jacket.”
Your eyes drop downward like you somehow forgot you were wearing it. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Robin repeats incredulously. “That’s Eddie’s jacket.”
You shrug a little, though warmth immediately creeps into your cheeks anyway. “I got cold Saturday.”
“And he let you keep it?”
The way she says it makes you pause. “…Yeah?”
Robin stares at you for a very long moment before muttering, “That man is so far gone.”
You laugh softly under your breath, trying and failing to suppress your smile while Robin watches the entire thing happen in real time.
“Oh, you like him bad too,” she realizes immediately.
“I do not like him bad.”
“Honey, you are literally wearing his jacket. Is that not the universal equivalent of a declaration?”
Before you can answer, someone whistles from farther down the hallway.
You glance up instinctively just in time to see Eddie leaning beside the cafeteria doors, already beaming, looking at you. More specifically, at you in the jacket. The slow grin that spreads across his face afterward is downright unfair.
Robin physically grabs your arm. “Oh, he’s gonna be unbearable now.”
And she’s right. Because Eddie spends the rest of the day looking at you like he won something.
Every time you pass each other in the hallway, his eyes immediately flick toward the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands before dragging slowly back toward your face with a deeply pleased expression.
At lunch, he hooks two fingers through one of the jacket loops while passing behind your chair and murmurs a quiet, “Looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” directly into your ear.
You nearly forget how to speak afterward. By the end of the school day, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
Outside, the parking lot buzzes with engines starting and people spilling toward their cars in noisy groups while you make your way down the front steps. And there he is. Leaning against the side of his van with a cigarette resting between his lips, like he’s been waiting a while. The second he notices you walking toward him, his entire face softens.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
Eddie takes another drag from the cigarette while you stop between his knees, where he’s perched against the van door. “You survive another thrilling academic day?” he asks dryly.
“Barely.”
“Yeah? Tragic.”
You laugh quietly while his eyes drift over your face again, lingering there warm and heavy enough to make your stomach flutter. Then your gaze drops toward the cigarette between his fingers.
A slow smile pulls at his mouth. “What?”
You hesitate briefly before leaning in slightly. “Can I?”
This time, he doesn’t even tease you about it.
He simply lifts the cigarette toward your mouth automatically, eyes fixed steadily on your lips while you lean closer to take a slow drag. The smoke burns less now, familiar enough that you barely cough at all when you exhale.
Eddie watches the entire thing like he’s completely mesmerized.
“Atta’ girl,” he says quietly. The praise settles warm all through you.
Maybe it’s the nicotine. Or the way he’s looking at you. Or the fact that you spent the entire day missing him in a way that feels embarrassing to admit.
But suddenly you just want to kiss him, so you do. You lean forward softly, cigarette smoke still lingering faintly between you as your lips press against his. Eddie makes the quietest sound into your mouth.
His free hand immediately slides against your waist, pulling you closer between his knees while he kisses you back, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Around you, the parking lot continues moving in noisy blurs, but Eddie kisses you like there’s nobody else there at all.
When you finally pull back slightly, he’s staring at you with completely blown pupils.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then he lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, thumb brushing absentmindedly along your waist where it’s still holding you close.
“Who are you?” he murmurs, almost disbelieving.
Your face warms instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Eddie grins slowly, eyes flicking toward the cigarette still dangling between his fingers before dragging back to your mouth.
“Couple weeks ago you were apologizing for saying hell in front of teachers,” he says softly. “Now you’re stealin’ drags from my cigarettes and kissing me in the school parking lot.”
Heat blooms all through your chest at the way he says it. Not mocking, something more towards pleased. Like he’s enjoying watching this softer, bolder side of you emerge.
You smile shyly despite yourself. “Maybe you’re a bad influence.”
Eddie actually groans at that, dropping his forehead briefly against your shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” he mutters, “you cannot say things like that to me.”
“Why not?” you ask innocently.
Eddie’s thumb hooks beneath your chin immediately.
“Because,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges now, “you say it like you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
The warmth in your stomach deepens at that familiar tone, at the way he’s looking at you like he’s equal parts obsessed and completely doomed by it. And maybe you do understand a little more now.
Maybe that’s why your smile turns just slightly shy and knowing when you whisper, “Maybe I do.”
Eddie stares at you for half a second like you just physically struck him. Then he laughs softly under his breath, completely gone for you.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t reply with words after that, just hooks his fingers more firmly beneath your chin and drags your mouth back to his.
Eddie kisses like he’s addicted to it already, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to him while his hand slides warm against your jaw. The parking lot noise fades somewhere far into the background as he tilts his head and kisses you again and again like he can’t help himself anymore.
And when you melt closer against him with a tiny contented sigh, Eddie smiles directly into your mouth, completely, and hopelessly ruined.
badda bing badda boom.
anyyywayyyyy, hope you all enjoyed.... i have a surprise coming at 11pm >:)
description: a soft and sweet eddie fic about crying too easily, feeling things too deeply, and finally being loved gently because of it instead of despite it.
pairing: eddie x gf!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, fluff, hurt/comfort, "sensitive" reader, emotional reassurance king, soft relationship dynamics, overapologizing, subtle angst, happy ending
TW: angst, anxious/insecure themes, mention of evil ex
WC: 2.2k
A/N: requested by @beansboop i hope you enjoy! just some gentle hurt/comfort to get this week started:) reblogs are always apprecited <33
also, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all of the love on Wishbone! part 2 shall be out soon;)) love ya!!
The first time your ex called you exhausting, he did it in front of his friends, as if it were a joke.
You had been sitting in the Hawkins High parking lot after one of his basketball games, knees tucked to your chest in the passenger seat while he smoked a cigarette out the window.
You don’t even remember what upset you anymore. Something small, probably. Maybe he forgot your plans. Maybe he snapped at you after a bad game. Maybe one of his friends made a comment that stung more than it should have.
Whatever it was, your eyes had gotten glossy, your voice quiet in that humiliating way it always did when you were trying not to cry. And he laughed. Like, actually laughed.
“God damn,” he muttered, leaning back against the driver’s seat. “You are so sensitive.”
His friends snickered from outside the car, where they stood passing around beers.
You remember shrinking instantly. “I’m not trying to start anything,” you said quickly, immediately trying to fix it. “Forget it.”
“No, because every little thing turns into this whole emotional production with you.” He shook his head with this incredulous smile, as if you were impossible to understand. “It’s exhausting.”
That word lodged itself somewhere awful inside your chest. “Exhausting.” “Too emotional.” “Too sensitive.” “Too much.” “Grow up.”
After that, you started noticing how often people acted inconvenienced by your feelings. Your friends sighing when you got quiet after being teased too hard.
Being called dramatic when something genuinely hurt your feelings. Getting told to “lighten up” when jokes crossed lines nobody else seemed to notice.
Eventually, you adapted. You learned how to swallow hurt before anybody could see it. You learned how to laugh when people embarrassed you. You learned how to cry silently.
And worst of all, you learned how to apologize for having feelings before anyone even asked you to. By the time you broke up with your ex and started dating Eddie, you had perfected pretending things didn’t bother you, which was difficult because Eddie noticed everything.
It starts small.
You’re sitting with him and the Hellfire boys in the cafeteria one afternoon, tucked quietly against Eddie’s side while he argues dramatically with Dustin over some campaign detail. You mostly just listen, occasionally smiling when Eddie gets especially animated.
Then Gareth says something. Nothing cruel, technically, just teasing. “You always this quiet,” he asks you with a grin, “or is Munson holding you hostage?”
The table laughs. You smile automatically because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but Eddie feels it.
The tiny way your body pulls inward. The way your fingers stop moving against your lunch tray. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. And then, almost like instinct, you make yourself smaller.
“He's not,” you say softly before anyone can even react. “I’m just tired.” You say it like an apology.
Eddie’s eyes flick to you immediately. He doesn’t say anything then. Doesn’t embarrass you by making it a bigger deal.
He just throws an arm over the back of your chair and smoothly changes the subject, loud enough to redirect everyone’s attention somewhere else.
But later, when he’s driving you home with one hand lazily resting on your thigh, he asks quietly:
“People give you shit for being quiet a lot?”
You stare out the window. “Not really.”
“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”
That almost makes you smile. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble.
Eddie glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. “Didn’t say it was.”
A few weeks into dating Eddie, everyone starts noticing the same thing: He’s obsessed with you.
Not in a casual high school boyfriend way, either. No, Eddie hovers.
Always touching you somehow. Hand on your knee under the table. Fingers hooked through your belt loops.
Pulling you into his lap at movie nights like it’s instinct instead of thought. Looking at you constantly, no matter the circumstance. And honestly, it confuses people a little. Because you’re quiet.
Sweet, yeah. Pretty in that soft sort of way that sneaks up on people. But shy enough that most people at Hawkins High never really knew what to do with you. You spent more time listening than talking, smiling politely while louder personalities swallowed entire rooms whole.
One Friday night, you’re all crammed into Steve's living room for movie night. Robin’s upside down in the armchair, Dustin and Mike are fighting over snacks on the floor, and Nancy’s trying to get everyone to shut up long enough to actually start the movie while Steve complains dramatically about people getting grease on his couch.
You’re tucked into Eddie’s side on the floor, knees pulled close to your chest while his arm hangs lazily around your shoulders; it’s nice.
Until Robin snorts at something you say. It isn’t even intentionally mean, either.
“You apologize a lot, you know that?” she says casually, reaching for popcorn. “Like… a weird amount.”
Heat crawls up your neck instantly. “Oh,” you laugh softly. “Sorry.”
Robin bursts out laughing. “See? You literally just did it again.”
Steve groans. “Jesus, now I'm noticing it too.”
“It’s like a reflex,” Robin says, still giggling. “Like one of those little dogs that shakes all the time.”
Everyone laughs lightly. Not cruelly or maliciously, but your stomach drops anyway. Because suddenly every apology you’ve said all night feels humiliating. Every sentence is replaying in your head too loudly.
Your ex’s voice echoes automatically. Exhausting.
You shrink without realizing it, curling a little tighter into yourself. And immediately, Eddie notices. His laughter dies first, eyes flicking down toward you, brows pulling together slightly.
You feel him squeeze your shoulder gently. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Every instinct you have screams at you to fix it before you make things awkward, so you smile.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m okay.” Eddie watches you for another second, like he can see the exact moment you tucked the hurt away.
The room moves on quickly after that. Robin starts arguing with Steve about the movie choice, Dustin throws popcorn at Mike, and the conversation shifts naturally.
But Eddie stays quieter, his thumb rubbing absent little circles against your shoulder for the rest of the movie. And later, when everyone’s distracted in the kitchen, digging through Steve’s fridge for drinks, Eddie catches your wrist gently before you can follow after them.
“Hey.”
You glance up. “Hm?”
“You sure you’re alright?”
Your stomach twists instantly because he’s asking genuinely. “I’m fine,” you insist softly.
Eddie tilts his head slightly. “Robin hurt your feelings.” It isn’t a question.
You immediately shake your head too fast. “No, she didn’t mean anything by it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
You blink at him. And there’s no accusation on his face, just this quiet patience that makes something uncomfortable tighten in your chest. Because most people don’t notice when your feelings are hurt. Or they do notice, and act like it’s ridiculous.
But Eddie notices and treats it like it matters. Even now, he keeps his voice gentle. “Did it upset you?”
You stare down at your hands. “No, it’s fine, really. Promise.”
He steps closer then, hands settling carefully on your hips. “You know what I think?” he says quietly.
“What?”
“I think you spend a lotta time trying to convince people you don’t have feelings.”
Your throat tightens. Because he says it like he already knows the answer, like he’s been watching you fold yourself smaller and smaller since the day he met you.
The fight starts over nothing, which somehow makes it worse. Eddie had canceled plans. Not even completely, just pushed them back a couple of hours.
He was supposed to come over after Hellfire, but the campaign ran long, and then Gareth’s car broke down, and suddenly it’s nearly ten o’clock and Eddie’s climbing through your bedroom window apologizing breathlessly while you sit curled up on your bed pretending you hadn’t been waiting by the window for over an hour.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says immediately. “Everything got fucked up.”
And logically, you understand that, you do. But disappointment had already settled heavily in your chest hours ago, and once feelings land there, they stay.
You shrug lightly instead. “It’s okay.”
Eddie pauses halfway through taking off his jacket. That tone.
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
He studies you carefully for a second. “You’re upset.”
“No, I’m not.”
Lie. A painfully obvious one, at that.
Eddie sighs softly, moving closer. “Baby.”
“It’s seriously fine.”
Except now your voice has that awful tightness in it, the one you get when you’re trying too hard to sound normal.
Eddie notices immediately. “Hey,” he says gently. “Talk to me.”
You stare hard at your comforter instead. Because you want to. You want to tell him your feelings were hurt.
That you missed him. That you spent the last hour convincing yourself not to cry over something stupid. But experience has taught you what happens when you do that.
People get irritated. People think you’re dramatic. People get tired.
So instead, you swallow it, again. “It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.
Eddie’s brows knit together. “Clearly it does.”
You shake your head quickly. “No, seriously, it’s fine.”
His expression shifts slightly at that. “What?”
“It’s fine,” you repeat quietly. “I shouldn’t care so much, anyway.”
Something flashes across his face then. Not anger exactly, something more towards frustration. But not at you, at whatever invisible thing keeps making you do this.
“Can you stop doing that?” he says suddenly.
You blink. “Doing what?”
“This.” He gestures vaguely between you. “Agreeing with me immediately so we don’t actually talk about anything.”
Your stomach twists instantly. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” Eddie runs a hand through his curls roughly now, pacing once beside your bed. “Every time something bothers you, you act like you’re not allowed to feel it.”
You shrink a little automatically. “I just don’t wanna start problems.”
“That’s not starting problems!” His voice rises without meaning to, causing you to flinch instantly.
His face falls a little, but now you’re already spiraling internally, heartbeat climbing too fast.
“It’s fine,” you say quickly, nodding before he can continue. “It’s really nothing! I’m just being dramatic and—”
“Jesus Christ.” The words snap out sharper than he intends, and you go silent immediately.
Your eyes gloss over instantly, but you’re still trying so hard to keep yourself together that it almost hurts him to watch.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Eddie stares at you in disbelief. “Why are you apologizing?”
You shrug helplessly, arms wrapping around your stomach now.
“I just do! I get it, I do it too much.”
The sentence comes out so small and so, so practiced. Like something you’ve been told too many times.
Eddie feels sick. “Sweetheart…”
“It’s okay,” you rush out before he can continue. “Seriously, I know I get upset over dumb stuff, and I’ve been trying really hard not to—”
“Hey.” His voice softens immediately. “No. Stop.”
But now that you’ve started, it all comes pouring out. “My ex used to say I made everything into a huge emotional thing,” you admit shakily, eyes fixed on the floor. “And my friends always acted annoyed when I got upset, so I’ve really been trying not to be like that anymore—”
Your voice cracks. “I know it’s probably exhausting.”
“Baby,” he says quietly, horrified. “Who the fuck convinced you that having feelings makes you exhausting?”
You wipe angrily at your face before tears can fall, embarrassed now.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
And you do. Every eye roll. Every sigh. Every laugh. Every “it’s not that serious.”
Eddie kneels in front of you then, hands settling carefully on your knees. “You listen to me right now,” he says softly but firmly. “Feeling things deeply does not make you too much.”
Your lip wobbles immediately.
“It doesn’t make you dramatic. It doesn’t make you childish. And it sure as hell doesn’t make you hard to love.”
The first tear slips down your cheek, and Eddie wipes it away instantly with his thumb.
“I got frustrated because I want you to tell me when something hurts,” he admits quietly. “Not because I think your feelings are annoying.”
And there’s no irritation on his face anymore. Just concern, guilt, and this overwhelming softness like he’s terrified you think he sees you the way other people did.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he murmurs. “I never want you thinking you gotta earn the right to feel things around me.”
That completely undoes you. A sob catches in your throat before you can stop it, and Eddie immediately moves, pulling you into him so fast you barely process it.
“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping both arms tightly around you.
You hide your face in his shoulder while you cry, mortified, but Eddie just holds you closer. “No more pretending you’re okay when you’re not,” he says quietly into your hair. “Not with me.”
Your fingers curl weakly into the back of his shirt. “I’m trying,” you whisper tearfully.
“I know.” He presses a kiss against your temple. “And you’re doing so good, sweetheart.”
dividers by @strangergraphics
hope you all enjoyed a little sweetness:) until the next one xoxo<3
description: eddie thinks steve gets every girl he’s ever wanted, so when he finds out steve likes robin’s new roommate too, he backs off before he can get his heart broken. the only problem? you've been hopelessly in love with eddie since the moment you met him.
pairing: eddie x farirycore!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, mutual pining, jealous eddie, friends to lovers, slow burn if you squint, fluff with mild angst, love triangle (?), conscious eddie, cottagecore!reader
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, PiV, unprotected
WC: 5.6k
A/N: requested by @carolinaclouds i hope you enjoy!! <33 i proofread as best as i could, i've been studying for some stupid exam so my brain is in PAIN. anyway...reblogs are always appreciated, my loves:)) enjoyyyyyyyyyyy<3
The apartment is quiet when Robin unlocks the door, quiet enough that she immediately freezes. Because the apartment is never quiet.
Usually, there’s the hum of the refrigerator, or the upstairs neighbors stomping around like they’re rehearsing for Riverdance, or music coming from somewhere down the hall. But tonight there’s something different underneath it all, soft music drifting faintly from the bedroom she’s supposed to be sharing with a complete stranger.
Robin tightens her grip on her keys. Right, she thinks, New roommate day.
She’d almost forgotten about Keith being insufferable for eight straight hours and Steve pretending not to care about his hair getting rained on. Robin nudges the door shut behind her and kicks off her shoes, already preparing herself for awkward small talk and forced introductions.
Instead, she walks into what looks like an enchanted forest, and she actually stops dead in the hallway.
The bedroom door is open just enough for warm golden light to spill out across the carpet. Fairy lights twinkle along the walls, tangled through hanging ivy vines that drape across the ceiling. Little paper stars sway lazily overhead whenever the fan turns. Your side of the room is all soft blankets and patchwork quilts and stacks of books and tiny trinkets tucked into every possible corner.
Robin stares for a full five seconds before blurting: “What the fuck?”
Your head immediately pops up from the floor where you’re sitting cross-legged beside an open box. “Oh my God, hi!”
And there you are. You’re wearing this oversized sweater that’s practically swallowing your hands, hair messy from unpacking, surrounded by candles and records and enough decorative mushrooms to concern the average person.
Robin blinks. “You’re real,” she says.
You laugh softly. “I think so?”
“No, because I thought maybe the apartment got cursed while I was at work.”
That makes you laugh harder, bright and pretty and completely unembarrassed. Robin feels herself relax instantly.
“Sorry,” you say, standing up quickly. “I didn’t mean to completely fill the room. I just started unpacking, and then I kinda blacked out.”
Robin looks around again. Honestly? The room looks amazing, like one of those bedrooms in magazines that people pretend they casually threw together when in reality it probably took seventeen hours and emotional warfare.
“Are those stars hanging from the ceiling?”
You beam immediately, like you’ve been waiting for someone to ask.
“Yes! Okay, so technically they’re supposed to be Christmas ornaments, but I thought they looked magical, so—”
And that’s it. That’s the beginning of the end for Robin Buckley. Because ten minutes later, she’s sitting cross-legged on your bed while you excitedly explain every little thing you unpacked.
The moon-shaped lamp you thrifted for three dollars. The pressed flowers tucked into frames. The tiny ceramic frog named Ferdinand.
“Named?” Robin repeats.
You look at her like that’s the stupidest question she’s ever asked. “Obviously.” Robin snorts so hard she almost chokes.
You ramble when you’re excited, words tumbling over themselves while your hands move animatedly through the air, and Robin finds herself completely locked in. You talk about books you love like they personally changed your life. You tell stories with your whole body. Every emotion crosses your face so openly that it’s impossible not to get swept up in it.
Most people make Robin feel too loud.
You make her feel matched. At some point, you end up sitting on the floor together, eating vending machine snacks from Robin’s backpack while music hums softly through the room.
“You know,” Robin says after a while, “I was terrified I’d get assigned someone horrifying.”
You gasp dramatically. “Robin!”
“I’m serious! One time, Steve had a roommate who clipped his toenails in the living room.”
You stare at her in horror.
“See?” she says. “Exactly my reaction.”
You laugh again, smiling so hard your nose scrunches a little, and Robin decides right then she likes you, a lot. Like enough that she’s already mentally preparing how to introduce you to the rest of the group. Which, honestly, might turn out to be a mistake. Because if Robin thinks you’re charming now, she has absolutely no idea what’s about to happen when Eddie and Steve meet you.
Robin calls it an apartment warming party even though it’s really just: cheap beer, frozen pizza, three folding chairs, and whoever happened to answer their phones. Which means by seven-thirty, the apartment is full of loud voices and wet shoes piled by the door from the rain outside.
You’re in the kitchen trying to separate paper plates that are aggressively sticking together when the front door swings open. Steve Harrington walks in first. And unfortunately, he’s very pretty.
Tall, broad shoulders shoved into seemingly too-tight tan jacket, hair still annoyingly perfect from the rain somehow. He’s carrying a case of beer under one arm while arguing with Robin before he’s even fully inside.
“I’m telling you, this is not enough food.”
“There are twelve people here, Steve, not the population of Indiana.”
“That doesn’t matter—”
Then he sees you and stops talking mid-sentence. You blink back at him, and Robin immediately notices the exact moment Steve Harrington develops a crush on you. It’s physically visible.
“Oh,” Steve says.
You smile politely. “Hi.”
Robin groans quietly into her drink. “Steve,” she says flatly, “don’t.”
“What? I didn’t even do anything.”
“You’re doing the face.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
Before Robin can roast him alive, another figure shoves through the doorway behind him.
“Move your gigantic hair outta the way, Harrington, some of us are carrying important cargo—”
And then he walks in. Leather jacket damp from the rain, dark curls pushed messily out of his face, and a cigarette tucked behind one ear despite Robin threatening murder every time he smokes near the building.
Eddie looks up, sees you, and completely loses his train of thought. “…holy shit.”
Robin closes her eyes. “Oh no,” she mutters, because she recognizes that look too.
You’re still standing by the kitchen counter holding a stack of paper plates, but suddenly you feel oddly frozen under Eddie’s attention. Not in a bad way, but in a terrifying way. Like your entire nervous system just sat up straight. Eddie stares at you for half a second too long before Robin finally speaks.
“Eddie,” she says slowly, “this is my new roommate.”
You say your name softly. Eddie repeats it immediately, like he’s testing how it sounds in his mouth. God. And then he smiles at you, crooked, warm, a little shy underneath all the theatrics. And you are done for instantly.
“Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”
Robin physically watches your soul leave your body. Steve notices too, which is unfortunate for everybody involved. The night only gets worse from there, because Eddie is everywhere.
Sprawled across the couch, telling dramatic stories that make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. Talking with his hands when he gets excited, grinning every time he catches you already looking at him. And the thing is, you can tell immediately he’s smart.
Not school smart, necessarily. But passionate smart, the kind of person that collects knowledge simply because he loves things deeply.
At one point, he starts passionately ranting about some fantasy campaign he’s writing while Gareth and Jeff argue with him from across the room, and you swear you could listen to him talk for the rest of your life. Which apparently becomes very obvious, because Robin leans against your shoulder at some point and whispers:
“Oh, you are gone.”
You shove her lightly. “Shut up.”
“You have not stopped staring at him for twenty minutes.”
“I have absolutely stopped staring at him.”
Across the room, Eddie glances over at you instantly as if he felt it, then grins. You almost choke on your drink.
Later, after more people show up and the apartment gets louder, you slip away to your room for a breather because your room is softer than the chaos outside. You’re fixing one of the strings of stars above your bed when there’s a knock against the open door.
You turn, and there’s Eddie, leaning against the doorway carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s intruding. “Whoa,” he says quietly.
You smile a little. “Hi.”
“Robin said your room was cool, but she severely undersold this.”
You laugh softly. “You think?”
“Think?” Eddie steps inside slowly, eyes darting everywhere at once. “Sweetheart, this looks like a woodland creature got accepted into art school.”
You burst out laughing, and the sound alone visibly delights him.
“Oh my God,” you say. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I’m serious!” Eddie says, already wandering toward your shelves. “You’ve got little potions and shit in here.”
“They’re crystals.”
“Ah. Magic rocks. My mistake.”
You shake your head, smiling helplessly while he picks up one of your tiny ceramic frogs with absolute reverence. “This guy rules.”
“That’s Ferdinand.”
Eddie looks at you immediately. “He has a name?”
“Obviously.”
Eddie presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “You get me.”
And that’s it, that’s the exact moment you fall hopelessly, stupidly in love with Eddie Munson. Because instead of making fun of you, he lights up.
Every little thing in your room fascinates him. He asks questions about every trinket and listens to your answers like they’re genuinely important. Gets excited when you explain the meanings of your crystals. Tells you your room feels “safe in a really cool way.”
At some point, the two of you end up sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, talking while the party carries on without you.
The party finally dies sometime after one in the morning.
Jeff and Gareth leave first, still arguing over something stupid. Robin disappears into the apartment, muttering about cleaning tomorrow because “future Robin deserves to suffer, not current Robin.” And somehow that leaves Steve and Eddie alone, hauling empty pizza boxes down the apartment stairs toward Steve’s BMW.
Rainwater glistens across the pavement outside as Eddie lights a cigarette the second they step outside, leaning against the passenger door while Steve tosses the trash into the dumpster nearby.
For a minute, neither of them says anything. But Eddie’s brain is still upstairs, still stuck in your room. Your laugh. Your stupid little fairy lights. The way your eyes lit up every time he asked about something on your shelves like nobody had ever cared before. Jesus Christ.
He takes a long drag from his cigarette while Steve shuts the trunk. “So.”
Eddie immediately narrows his eyes. “Why do you sound like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like a man about to say something deeply irritating.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s this weird grin pulling at his mouth. And Eddie suddenly knows, his stomach dropping in an instant. “Oh no,” Eddie mutters.
Steve leans against the car beside him. “What?”
“You like her.”
Steve pauses, then laughs once under his breath. “Is it that obvious?”
Eddie stares out at the wet parking lot instead of answering. Because yeah, yeah, it is. Of course it is. Why wouldn’t Steve Harrington like you?
You’re pretty and sweet and charming, and you looked at people like they mattered when they talked. You had this soft, dreamy thing about you that made people want to lean closer without realizing it. And Steve? Steve always got the girl.
Not because he was a bad guy. Honestly, that almost made it worse. Steve was good-looking, kind, and dependable in a way Eddie never felt he could compete with. Eddie flicks ash onto the pavement.
“Dude,” Steve says carefully, “you okay?”
“Mhm.”
“That sounded fake.”
“Kinda was.”
Steve snorts quietly, then he says, “I dunno. I just really liked her.”
Eddie’s chest physically aches because he really liked you, too. Pathetically fast, honestly. The kind of fast that should concern medical professionals.
But the second Steve says it out loud, Eddie can practically feel himself shoving the whole thing down into his ribs where it can’t embarrass him. He laughs once instead, forcing casualness into his voice.
“Yeah,” he says lightly. “She’s cool.” The words taste awful immediately.
Steve glances over at him, and Eddie knows Steve’s looking for something there. Some reaction. Some claim. But Eddie just shrugs and opens the passenger door. Because what’s he supposed to say?
“Actually, Steve, I think I fell in love with her in approximately four minutes while she explained the lore behind a ceramic frog collection?” No fucking thank you.
Steve hesitates before climbing into the driver’s seat. “You sure?”
Eddie forces a grin. “Harrington, if I fought you every time we liked the same girl, we’d both be dead by now.”
Steve laughs at that, thankfully. But Eddie turns toward the window before he can see his face. The whole drive home hurts. Steve keeps talking about you absentmindedly, not even realizing that each thing he says is basically another nail in Eddie’s coffin.
“She’s funny.”
“Mhm.”
“And smart.”
“Tragic, really.”
“And did you see her room? It looked like a fairy exploded in there.”
That one almost makes Eddie smile despite himself. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It was nice.”
Steve glances over at him again. “You really think so?”
Eddie thinks about you sitting cross-legged on the floor under warm golden lights, looking at him like every word out of his mouth mattered.
He swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I really think so.”
But by the time Steve drops him off at the trailer, Eddie’s already making up his mind. He’s not doing this again. He’s not letting himself get stupid over someone who’s obviously gonna realize Steve Harrington is the better option eventually.
So whatever this thing is blooming in his chest, he’s gonna kill it before it gets embarrassing.
The next time everyone hangs out is at Steve’s place. Robin drags you there after work with the promise of free food and “at least three people getting into an argument dramatic enough to count as entertainment.” You spend almost the entire drive fixing your hair in the passenger mirror while pretending not to.
“Oh my God,” she says. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not nervous.”
“You’ve checked your lip gloss four times.”
“I just like to look nice.”
“For Eddie.”
You groan and shove her shoulder while she laughs all the way into the parking lot. And honestly? You’re excited to see him. Pathetically excited. Ever since the apartment party, Eddie’s been stuck in your head constantly. The way he listened to you. The way he smiled when you talked. The softness underneath all the theatrics.
You’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time replaying that night in your mind. Which is why the disappointment hits so hard when you walk into Steve’s living room, and Eddie barely looks at you. Not barely looks at you because he’s distracted, but barely looks at you on purpose.
“Hey,” you say softly when your eyes meet his.
Eddie gives you a quick smile from where he’s sitting in the armchair. “Hey, sweetheart.”
And then he looks away, that’s it. No wandering over to talk to you. No easy teasing. No immediate gravitational pull toward you like before. Your stomach sinks a little.
Meanwhile, Steve lights up the second you walk in. “There she is,” he says dramatically from the kitchen. “Thank God. Robin almost bought generic chips.”
“I did buy generic chips,” Robin calls back.
You laugh despite yourself, and Steve stays beside you basically the entire night. At first, you don’t think much of it because Steve is naturally affectionate and attentive, but after an hour, it becomes impossible not to notice the contrast between him and Eddie.
Steve sits beside you on the couch. Steve hands you drinks before you ask. Steve remembers tiny details you mentioned in passing. While across the room, Eddie barely speaks to you at all. And every time you try to talk to him, he gives you these short, polite answers before redirecting himself somewhere else. It hurts more than it should.
By the time the movie starts, you’re curled into the corner of the couch trying not to visibly mope while Steve talks animatedly beside you.
Robin notices everything immediately; her eyes narrowing toward Eddie across the room. Eddie pointedly avoids looking over. Coward.
Halfway through the movie, Steve leans closer to whisper some joke in your ear that makes you laugh. And from the recliner across the room, Eddie finally glances over. Then he stands up.
“I should head out,” he says suddenly.
Everyone looks over. Robin frowns. “Already?”
“Early shift.”
“That’s literally a lie,” Gareth says.
“Wow,” Eddie says flatly. “Didn’t know you knew work my schedule better than I did.” But he’s already grabbing his jacket.
“Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay.”
Eddie finally looks at you directly for the first time all night. And for one awful second, something vulnerable flickers across his face, something almost guilty.
“Night, sweetheart.” Then he leaves.
A week later, Steve asks you out. Not dramatically or arrogantly, he actually looks kind of nervous. The two of you are walking back toward the apartment after grabbing coffee while Robin is in class, and Steve suddenly rubs the back of his neck before blurting:
“So… would you maybe wanna go out sometime?”
You stop walking. Steve immediately winces. “Jesus, that bad?”
“No!” you say quickly. “No, Steve, oh my God.”
He laughs awkwardly. You feel terrible instantly because Steve is wonderful, truly wonderful. But he’s not Eddie. And unfortunately for you, every stupid thought in your head still somehow circles back to Eddie Munson.
You exhale softly. “Steve…”
“Yeah?”
“I really, really like somebody.”
His face falls a little, though he tries to hide it. “Oh.”
“And it’s—” You hesitate. “It’s Eddie.”
Steve stares at you, then blinks. “…Eddie?”
“I’m sorry,” you say softly.
“Don’t be.” Steve nudges your shoulder lightly. “Can’t exactly control who you like.”
Then your face brightens suddenly. “Wait.”
Steve eyes you cautiously. “That look concerns me.”
“No, listen, I have a friend.”
“Oh no.”
“She’s in one of my lit classes.”
“You’re trying to set me up?”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“Dangerous opening statement.”
“And she loves dumb movies and rambling and stupidly nice people.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “Are you calling me stupid?”
You grin. “A little.”
And somehow Steve agrees to meet her at the next group hangout. Which turns out to be the best decision of his life. Because the second your friend walks into the diner and immediately starts arguing with Steve about whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie, Steve falls catastrophically in love. Like, immediately.
Robin watches it happen in real time. “Oh my God,” she whispers to you from across the booth. “He’s gone.”
Steve is sitting there staring at your friend like she personally invented happiness. Meanwhile, your friend is laughing so hard at one of his jokes that she’s nearly crying.
“You know what?” Robin says thoughtfully. “They’re gonna get married.”
And honestly? You kind of think so, too. Which would all be great news if Eddie hadn’t spent the last three weeks completely disappearing from your life.
Eddie sees them completely by accident, which somehow makes it worse. He’s cutting through downtown after leaving the record store, headphones hanging around his neck and a cigarette tucked between his lips, when he glances across the street and nearly walks directly into a parking meter.
Steve is sitting outside the little café near campus. And across from him is a girl Eddie’s never seen before. Not just sitting, holding hands, laughing. Steve looks disgustingly happy about it, too, leaning across the tiny table while she steals fries off his plate.
Eddie stops dead on the sidewalk, and his stomach twists immediately. “What the fuck,” he says out loud.
Because no. No no no. Steve Harrington did not spend weeks following you around like a lovesick puppy just to immediately start dating another girl. Eddie’s chest burns hot, and before he can think better of it, he’s already crossing the street.
Steve notices him halfway there and grins automatically. “Munson!”
Eddie does not grin back. Steve’s smile slowly fades. “Uh oh.”
Eddie walks right up to the table, pointing accusingly. “What the hell, man?”
The girl blinks between them. Steve looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about!”
“I literally don’t.”
Eddie gestures wildly at the girl sitting across from him. “This!”
Steve stares, the girl stares, and Eddie looks personally betrayed.
“You spent all that time chasing after her, and now you’re out here cheating on her in broad daylight?”
The girl chokes on her drink. Steve’s eyes widen in horror. “What?!”
“Don’t what me, Harrington!”
“Eddie,” the girl says carefully, trying not to laugh, “I think maybe—”
“No, because this is insane behavior!” Eddie continues. “You were obsessed with her!”
Steve suddenly realizes. And then, unbelievably, he starts laughing. Like full-body laughing.
Eddie glares at him. “Oh, cool. Awesome. Glad infidelity is hilarious to you.”
Steve physically puts his head in his hands. “Oh my God,” he groans through laughter. “You are so stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
The girl beside Steve is openly giggling now. Steve looks up, finally, still laughing. “She turned me down, dumbass.”
Eddie blinks. “What?”
“She turned me down because she likes you.”
Silence, actual complete silence. Even the traffic noise suddenly feels far away. Eddie just stares at him. “…what?”
Steve looks at him like he’s witnessing a medical emergency. “She likes you,” he repeats slowly. “She literally told me she had feelings for you.”
Eddie’s brain completely short-circuits. “Nah,” he says automatically.
“Yes.”
“No, she—”
“Eddie.” Steve points at him. “The girl spent an entire party staring holes into your head.”
Eddie opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “She… what?”
Steve looks genuinely offended now. “How did you not notice?!”
Because Eddie had been so busy convincing himself Steve would win again that he never even considered the possibility that you’d wanted him back. You wanted him. Oh my God.
Ohhhhhhh, shit.
Every interaction over the last month slams into him at once. You laughing at all his jokes. You always gravitate toward him. The way your face fell every time he pulled away. The hurt in your eyes the last night everyone hung out. Eddie physically pales.
Steve watches as the realization hits him in real time. “There it is,” Steve says flatly. “That’s the face of a man realizing he ruined his own life.”
“Oh my God,” Eddie breathes.
“You stopped talking to her!”
“I know!”
“You idiot!”
“I KNOW!”
The girl across from Steve is laughing so hard she’s wiping tears from her eyes. Eddie runs both hands through his hair frantically. “Oh my God,” he repeats. “She probably thinks I hate her.”
“Probably, yeah.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Steve points down the sidewalk dramatically. “Go fix it!”
Eddie doesn’t even argue; he turns so fast he nearly trips over the curb before sprinting back down the street.
Eddie almost falls up the stairs to your apartment, seriously. He misses the second step entirely because his brain is moving faster than the rest of his body, heart pounding so hard it feels painful.
You like him. You liked him the whole fucking time. And he spent the last month acting like a wounded puppy instead of just talking to you like a normal person. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself, shoving a hand through his curls as he reaches your door.
The lights are on inside. Good, good. Eddie knocks once. Then, immediately again, louder this time because he suddenly cannot breathe properly. And the door swings open. Oh. Oh, he is so unbelievably screwed.
You’re standing there fresh out of the shower, hair still damp around your shoulders, oversized sleep shirt slipping off one side slightly. No makeup. No jewelry except the tiny rings you always wear, soft skin still a little damp.
You look sleepy. Comfortable. Beautiful in this terrifyingly effortless way that makes Eddie’s brain go completely blank. Your eyes widen when you see him standing there looking half feral. “Eddie?”
His name leaves your mouth softly, confused. Your brows knit together a little. “Hi.”
And God, that almost kills him too, because even after he’s been avoiding you for weeks, you still sound happy to see him.
“I’m an idiot,” Eddie blurts immediately.
You blink. “What?”
“I’m, like, a catastrophic idiot, actually.”
“Okay…”
“I thought you liked Steve.”
You stare at him for a second. “Oh, my God.”
“I KNOW.”
“You thought I liked Steve?”
“He asked you out!”
“And I said no!”
“Yeah, apparently everybody knew that except me!”
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you. Eddie looks so distressed standing there that it’s honestly a little adorable. His cheeks are flushed pink from running over here, his curls are windblown, and his chest is still rising too fast.
“I thought,” he says breathlessly, softer now, “I thought for one second maybe I actually had a shot with you, and then Harrington told me he liked you and I just…” He laughs once at himself. “I don’t know. I got weird.”
You stare at him because suddenly everything makes sense. The distance. The avoiding you. The weird tension every time Steve sat beside you.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
“I know, sweetheart, trust me, I know.”
“You thought I wanted Steve Harrington over you?”
Eddie grimaces. “When you say it out loud, it sounds stupid.”
“It is stupid.”
“I’m aware.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself now. And Eddie looks at you like the sight of that smile physically revives him. “I really hurt your feelings, didn’t I?” he asks quietly.
You hesitate, which is an answer enough. Eddie closes his eyes briefly like he hates himself for it. “Shit.”
Before you can respond, he suddenly steps closer. “You have any idea,” he murmurs, voice rough, “how hard it’s been not to talk to you? See you?”
Your breath catches instantly while Eddie’s gaze drops to your mouth, then back to your eyes. And when you don’t move away, that’s it. His hand slides gently against your jaw, and suddenly, he’s kissing you. Like he’s been starving for it. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks, which, to be fair, he has.
You make this tiny, surprised sound against his mouth before immediately melting into him, hands sliding up his chest to the back of his neck as he kisses you harder. Eddie groans softly the second you kiss him back.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes against your lips. “Thank fucking God.”
You’re laughing a little now between kisses, dizzy from how fast this is happening. “You are insane,” you whisper.
His hands slide carefully to your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every ounce of attention you're gracing him with. He walks you backward into the apartment without breaking the kiss, one hand still cradling your jaw like you might disappear if he lets go.
The door clicks shut behind him, and he spins you gently, pressing your back against it. “Been losing my mind over you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. “Every fucking night.”
You make a soft, overwhelmed sound and pull him closer by his jacket. He shrugs it off in one messy motion, letting it hit the floor, then his hands are back on you, sliding under the hem of your shirt, palms greedy against your bare waist.
“Eddie—”
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He kisses down your neck, open-mouthed and reverent, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. “Tell me what you need.”
You don’t even know how to answer. You just tug at his shirt until he yanks it over his head, revealing all that pale skin and dark ink. Your hands explore him immediately, tracing over every tattoo and piece of him that you can get ahold of.
He walks you toward your bedroom, never letting you get more than a breath away. When the backs of your knees hit the bed, he eases you down like you’re something precious, then follows, crawling over you.
“Look at you,” he whispers, eyes dragging over your body. Your shirt has ridden up; he pushes it higher, exposing your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breasts. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”
You laugh breathlessly, a little shy under the intensity of his stare, but he leans down and kisses the sound right out of your mouth. Then lower, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, the soft underside of one breast. When his mouth closes around your nipple, tongue teasing, you arch with a broken moan. He hums in satisfaction.
Eddie takes his time, like he’s making up for every second he wasted avoiding you. He maps your body with his mouth and hands, murmuring filthy-sweet things the whole time.
When he finally hooks his fingers in your panties and tugs them down, he actually curses under his breath at how wet you are. Two long fingers slide through your folds, circling your clit with devastating patience until your thighs start shaking.
“Eddie, please—”
“I got you.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, then looks up at you through those dark curls, eyes almost black with want.
He doesn’t tease for long. The first slow drag of his tongue has your back bowing off the bed. He groans like you’re the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth, licking and sucking with messy enthusiasm, two fingers curling inside you just right.
One of your hands fists in his hair; the other clutches at the patchwork quilt beneath you.
You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying out his name in a broken whimper. He keeps going through it, gentling you down with soft licks until you’re trembling and oversensitive.
When he finally crawls back up, his mouth is shiny, pupils blown. You pull him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and reach between you to palm him through his jeans.
He hisses, hips jerking. “You sure?” he rasps, already sounding wrecked. You nod, helping him as he desperately tries to take his belt off.
He hovers over you for a second, then smirks as he reaches to your shelf and turns Ferdinand around. “Look away, buddy,” he mumbles.
He leans back into you, kissing you gently as he settles between your thighs. He braces one forearm beside your head and looks down at you, suddenly serious beneath the hunger.
“You sure?” he whispers. “We can slow down. I’ll wait as long as—”
You cut him off with a kiss and guide him to your entrance. “I want you. Now.”
He sinks in slowly, inch by inch, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. When he bottoms out, he stays there, buried deep, just panting against your mouth.
“Fuck… you feel like heaven, baby.”
Then he starts moving, slow rolling thrusts that drag against that spot inside you with every stroke. Eddie’s mouth stays on yours, on your neck, on your chest, wherever he can reach. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head while he fucks you harder.
“Look at me,” he breathes. “Want to see you when you come again.”
You do; staring into those big brown eyes while the pleasure coils tighter and tighter. He angles his hips just right, and you shatter around him with a sharp cry, clenching so hard he curses and follows right after, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and groans your name, followed by a couple of “fuuucks” for good measure.
For a long minute, the only sound is your mingled breathing and Eddie’s rabbiting heart. Eddie collapses half on top of you, face tucked into your neck, arms wrapped around you like he never plans to let go. You’re both smiling in that dazed, exhausted kind of way, the kind that feels a little unreal.
Eddie presses one slow kiss against your shoulder. “You alive there, sweetheart?”
You giggle softly into your pillow. “Barely.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs smugly.
You snort immediately. “Don’t start.”
“I earned starting.”
“You are so annoying.”
“And yet,” Eddie says dramatically, motioning to the predicament the two of you are currently in.
You laugh again, turning your head slightly, and then you notice it. Your tiny ceramic frog statue is still sitting on the bookshelf, facing the wall.
You go completely silent, Eddie noticing instantly. “What?”
Slowly, you point toward the shelf. Eddie follows your gaze and physically freezes.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
Eddie immediately starts laughing. Not a cute laugh either, a full body, wheezing, face-in-your-neck laugh.
“I cannot believe you turned Ferdinand around!”
“He didn’t need to see all that!”
You burst into helpless laughter beneath him. “Eddie!”
“What?!” he says between laughs. “You said he had feelings!”
“He is ceramic!”
“Yeah, and he could have been a traumatized ceramic!”
You’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts now, trying to shove at his shoulder while he grins down at you completely unashamed. “I cannot believe you did that.”
“I was respecting the sanctity of your weird little frog son.”
“That is actually insane behavior.”
“Says the woman with an emotionally significant amphibian collection.”
You groan loudly into your hands while Eddie keeps laughing. Then suddenly, he pushes himself up just enough to glance toward the shelf again.
“…do you think he’s mad at me?”
You stare at him for half a second before dissolving all over again, while Eddie looks absolutely lovestruck watching you laugh beneath him.
Helllooo! I noticed your open requests so i thought I'd give it a try! I noticed you like writing about The mighty nein! Soo could you do a Caleb x reader with a kind, apologetic reader?
Like she'd apologize if she bumped into someone, if she made a bad joke, not too extremely apologetic, but enough to be noticed. I'd like to see Caleb's reactions to her apologies and later, if she bumps into someone, she apologizes, the guy is too rude and she's too kind to fight back, what will Caleb do?
Sooo yeeee... Thank you so much! I hope that you like my request and inspired you enough to write. If you don't feel like writing it, that's okay! Have a wonderful day, byeee!!!
enough of your apologies
Word count: 1928 | Masterlist |
heeeeyyy this is ninteen hundred words of this got out of control…. :P i liked this one and i like you anon you entertained me with this one. there’s everythign in here angst, hurt/comfort. also i dont like writing for the mighty nein i love it silly.
Caleb is a creature of habit— at least when he has the opportunity to be. Every night after finding a safe place to sleep, he reads; every night he sets up a wire around his room; every night he huddles close to Nott. Caleb Widogast is a creature that notices patterns; it's what he was trained to do. This rune implies that, see the order in which they’re placed, break them down, and understand. He was able to see patterns in the arcane arts and capitalize on them. Bren Ermendrud is a creature that sees. He sees the cause and effect of the world; by combining these components with these words, he will get this reaction. By doing this, he will get that.
Naturally, Caleb Widogast considers Bren Ermendrud dead, a name from the past that he regards with faraway looks and a hammering heart. But Bren Ermendrud still lives, tucked away inside the most guarded parts of his heart, the once-vicious Volstrucker now nothing but a scared boy hiding in the safe confines of his fortified heart. However, there are many occasions when Caleb finds himself allowing the curious boy to resurface—when he first met Nott, or when he watches you.
And because it’s of no consequence, watching you or not, he finds himself doing it often. As Caleb, the creature of habit who sees your own habits, as Caleb Widogast, who wants to understand the components that make you, and as Bren, who looks at you but never sees you. Upon realizing this, Caleb finds you frustrating. Your meek apologies to those around you act as kindling for this frustration. Just as he is guarded, so are you. Hiding behind a wall of apologies and kindness that is unwavering and undeserved for some.
He didn’t even see the collision happen.
He’s walking just a pace ahead of you when he hears you yelp and the near instant apology,
“Oh my gods, I am so sorry, I didn’t see you—”
“Sorry? You’re sorry, huh?” He leans down and presses his face close to yours. “Why dontcha show me how sorry you are, little thing?” Caleb turns, and though he stands as arguably the most cowardly of the Mighty Nein— next to Nott, a bit of flame curls around his fingers.
This man, if he could even be considered as such, is hulking, huge; his forearm alone is probably as big as your head. But the one thing that makes Caleb’s frustration turn into mild fury is that he has you by your forearm, your feet dangling a handful of inches off the ground.
“I otta teach ya some manners f’that.” He regards his buddies, who snicker among themselves, and Caleb doesn’t know whether he should burn just the ringleader or all of them. All drunk and looking for entertainment in anything that would give it to them.
The three other men circle to your left side, knuckles cracking, wicked grins spreading on their faces. The ring leader reels an open palm back, before his open hand can come down on your face, a dirty, calloused hand clasps your attacker's shoulders. You know this hand to be Caleb’s. Because you’ve studied them. In fact, you study all of Nein’s hands. You find that hands are honest; they tell stories of age, of hard work, of character and will. Caleb’s show you courage and cowardice, nimbleness and anxiety; they tell you stories of sorrow, grief, and pain.
So you find yourself able to recognize the hand that latches around the brute's shoulder— calloused and dirty and hurting, this is the hand that you hold when the world becomes a little too much, the hand that you hold when your chest feels tight, and the world becomes impossibly small. The hands that used to work tirelessly on a farm with only his parents, those hands that were strapped to chairs and bound in straight jackets, and the hands that run through soft orange fur.
“Let go now.” He sounds different; this voice comes from deeper inside his chest, something angrier than you’ve ever heard come from Caleb. This is chilling, a stark contrast, and a grim reminder that Caleb Widogast was once Bren Ermendrud. You inhale sharply and then grimace at the char smell that enters the air, and the smoke that rises from where his palm connects to the brute's shoulder. He screams, violent and raw, and drops you to the ground from which you skitter to Caleb’s back, hiding as best you can behind him.
You can no longer see the man, surrounded by his friends, all unsure whether to help or call for help. Caleb turns his back to the quad, grabs your biceps gently, and looks at you with unbridled concern.
“Are you alright?” He scans you over, eyes catching on your forearm, which he scowls at and grasps gingerly, and you can see now that there’s an already forming bruise, dark and ugly on your skin. He brushes a thumb over the mark, feather-light, and finally meets your gaze again, only slightly pink in the cheeks.
“I’m sure Jester can fix this.” He mutters, more to himself than you, his cerulean eyes meet yours, and for a split second, you can see anger flicker across his features, yet just as fast as you see it, it disappears.
“Wh-what did you do to him?!” One of the friends stands between the burned man and Caleb, trying to be a human shield but looking more like a shivering leaf, and this time you see it happen—you see the warm blue eyes of his darken, like a storm forming in an instant over calm seas. You see who Caleb Widogast once was.
“I would consider…… finding a new friend. You would never know what kind of trouble this pathetic man could get you dragged into.” His words aren’t acid, they’re fire, molten and broiling and begging to be trifled with, and he turns, fire already crackling in the palms of his hands. The friend falls to his rear, eyes wide with terror, and the ground beneath him softens with piss, shanking hands coming up to shield his face— yet nothing strikes him, and the fire in Caleb's palms simmers to a broiling heat. And he grabs the friend's hand, and the friend wails, fat tears rolling from his eyes and snot falling onto quivering lips, whimpering as the simmering heat of Caleb’s hand cools slowly.
“I don’t want to see any of your ugly faces around here ever again, ja?” He squeezes, and the friend squeals while nodding as quickly as he can, nearly throwing his head off his shoulders. With a final squeeze, Caleb releases the friend, who shrieks at the bits of charred skin that come off with Caleb’s hand. Without another word, Caleb turns, head tilted downward, and walks steadily over to you, hand without charred skin, grabbing your non-bruised arm.
Too shocked to even question where Caleb was dragging you off to. He doesn't look back at you, his head no longer down, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, and his other hand is curled into a fist. Fingernails digging into the callouses on his palms, crushing the charred skin that remains stuck to his hand to dust.
“I-I’m sorry, Caleb.” He stops, completely stops, both of you in a secluded little alleyway that smells vaguely like mouse piss, and he’s still, so still in fact, that it nearly looks like he’s not moving at all. You can barely see through his clothing, but you can tell his entire back is tense, and his hand around your wrist lets go.
“And why are you sorry?” He doesn’t turn; he must be mad at you for making him use his magic on someone like that. It must’ve been so hard; your heart plummets inside your chest. Now you’ve really done it.
“For making you use your magic like that,” You aggressively scrub at the tears that force themselves into your eyes, “For making you remember all those horrible things.” You keep brushing away your tears, but to no avail, the tears come faster than you can wipe them away, and your sniffling makes it absolutely clear what’s happening.
Finally, Caleb turns. And his brows are deeply furrowed, his jaw set tightly, the storm that shadows his beautiful eyes clearly visible when you see him. Tears dripping down your face onto your clothes and staining your sleeves, shudders wrecking your posture into something smaller, something that apologizes, something that is sorry.
You're taking a gasping, shuddering breath when he says it, your moniker, your title, you—instantly stilling the storming ocean. Because it’s not that he calls you by your name, it’s the tenderness that stills the raging ocean inside of you, the cadence of his tone that makes your eyes snap to him. His jaw is still clenched tight, and he remains only five feet away from you, but his brows soften, yearning, angry, and concerned. He takes a step forward, then another, and then another, and then he stands in front of you, right hand taking your own.
“Enough with your apologies.” The exterior of his sentence is stern, but what lies inside is soft, and caring, and gentle. He lets go of your hand and wraps his arms around your upper waist, tugging you into his hold— he’s warm.
For the first time in your entire life, you don’t feel like flooding him with apologies, you don’t feel like apologizing for needing help, you don’t feel the need to apologize to the world for your existence; you feel still and safe and warm. You wrap your arms around his neck, tears smearing the coat that he just bought, you feel the urge rise, the words forming instinctually on your tongue, and yet you can’t say them. Because this is Caleb, and he’s borne the weight of the world and would still refuse to accept a meaningless apology from you.
“I refuse to accept any apology from you, not for that.” You want to push out the words, say anything of meaning to him, but the hiccups and the stuttering breath are all you can manage.
“Using my magic like that is probably the most just reason I’ve ever used it.” He squeezes you, pressing his chest to yours, giving you the space not to feel sorry, not to feel bad all the time, and allowing you to, allowing his hand to press flat against your back, palms warmer than natural, but caressing your spine, melting the anxiety that’s been chilling your bones. Hands that are rough and want so desperately to hold something without hurting it, calloused and dirty hands that want to fix this. Nimble hands that want to show the world that he can love, too, despite having blood on them.
Caleb is rough and anxious, willing to hold you forever if it were to prove that you have nothing to apologize for. Caleb Widogast is calloused and dirty and broken, but wants to fix himself, not only for himself, but for you; to prove it’s possible. Bren Ermundrud wants to love you, no, Bren Ermundrud does love you, and he is violent and trained to kill, and he is human, and still that boy he once was, that still loves so dearly. Because if you love all of him, love him even when there’s a storm in his eyes, and he becomes that violent boy again, then he can love all of you as well, and he will.
The tavern was loud in the way most of your nights with the Mighty Nein tended to be—Jester’s laughter ringing bright and chaotic, Nott the Brave already halfway through another drink she absolutely shouldn’t have, and Beauregard Lionett arguing with Fjord Stone over something that had long since lost its point.
Caleb sat slightly apart from the worst of it, as he often did, a book open in his lap, though his eyes flicked up more often than he’d admit, tracking you, always you, like a quiet orbit he couldn’t break.
You were tired.
That bone-deep, slow exhaustion that crept up on you after too many days on the road, too many late nights, too much noise and movement and people. Your limbs felt heavier, your thoughts softer around the edges.
A yawn escaping your lips, sleep pulling at you as you slowly looked around the room and saw that the only open space...
Was Caleb's lap and of course, you didn’t think about it.
You just… sat.
A soft plop, settling sideways across his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for you? It was.
Warm. Solid. Familiar.
You sighed, already melting into the contact, your body instinctively relaxing against him.
But for Caleb Widogast, the world stopped.
Completely.
His spine locked, every muscle going rigid as if someone had cast Hold Person on him.
You.
Were.
In.
His.
Lap.
His book slipped slightly in his hands, forgotten instantly. His breath caught sharp, quiet, like he didn’t dare draw too much attention to the fact that his entire existence had just derailed.
“…I—”
He didn’t finish.
Couldn’t.
Because you shifted.
Just a little.
Settling more comfortably, your weight fully resting against him, your head tipping toward his shoulder.
And then you exhaled. Long. Slow.Your body going soft.
Caleb’s hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, fingers twitching like he didn’t know where they were allowed to go if anywhere at all.
“Caleb—”
Jester Lavorre’s voice cut through the noise like a knife wrapped in sugar.
“Oh my god...adorable”
He didn’t look at her.
He couldn’t.
Because if he moved if he did anything at all then you might realize what you’d done and pull away.
And he could not bear that, he did not want that, you deserve the rest.
“…Do not,” he murmured, low and strained, eyes fixed firmly on the page he was no longer reading.
Jester was already grinning. “Oh no, I am absolutely going to.”
Across the table, Yasha Nydoorin glanced over, quiet but observant, while Beau leaned back in her chair, arms crossing with slow, dawning amusement.
“…You’re not moving,” Beau noted.
“I—cannot.”
That got a snort out of Nott, who leaned over the table, squinting at him. “Why not? Wizard boy forget how legs work?”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
Because you were still there.
Still warm.
Still soft.
Still sleeping.
At some point he wasn’t even sure when you had fully drifted off. Your breathing evened out, your body completely relaxed against him, your cheek now resting against his shoulder like it belonged there.
It was like you belonged there.
And Caleb, Caleb did something dangerous.He let himself feel it.Slowly, carefully, his hands lowered.
One rested lightly at your side.The other after a long, hesitant moment settled at your waist.
Not gripping.
Not pulling.
Just…holding.
A protective, grounding touch.
“…She is asleep,” he said quietly, as if that explained everything.
“It explains why you’re not breathing, yeah,” Beau shot back.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re barely blinking.”
Nott cackled, kicking her feet against the chair.“Oh, this is so good. Look at him! He’s gonna combust!”
Jester leaned in closer, eyes sparkling.“Caleb, you know you’re allowed to enjoy things, right?”
His ears went red, he parted his lips and turned his head away. “I am not....this is not—”
His words faltered as you shifted again.A small, sleepy movement. Your hand warm and soft came to rest against his chest.
And of course, that is what did it. Caleb’s entire body went impossibly still. Because now, now you were touching him.
Not accidentally brushing.
Not passing contact.
Resting.
His breath left him in a quiet, shaky exhale.“…Bitte,” he muttered under his breath, not even sure what he was asking for anymore.
“Did he just pray?” Nott whispered loudly.
“I think he did,” Beau replied, equally loud.
Jester clasped her hands together dramatically as she tilted her head to the side. "Oh, this is so romantic! She’s asleep in his lap, he’s having a crisis, it’s perfect!”
Fjord grins leaning in. "I am never letting you live this down."
Caleb closed his eyes briefly.Trying to regain control, to ground himself, to remember how to function like a normal person.
It did not work, of course it didn't because you sighed softly in your sleep and leaned closer.
Fully settling into him.
And something in his chest broke open.It was warm, it felt...good.
“…Please,” he said, this time a little louder, though still soft, still careful not to wake you. “You will be quiet.”
Beau raised a brow. “Or what?”
He didn’t answer immediately.Just looked down at you.At the way you trusted him.At the way you had chosen him without even thinking. "I do not think you want to find out."
The teasing stopped....well, mostly.
Beau rolled her eyes but leaned back, muttering something under her breath. Nott snickered but quieted. Even Jester softened, watching the two of you with a gentler kind of mischief as Fjord groaned rolling his eyes muttering how boring Caleb was being.
Caleb exhaled slowly.His thumb moved.Just slightly.A small, absent stroke against your side as your body relaxed more.
And so he let himself relax, finally. Book forgotten, conversation ignored, the entire world narrowing down to the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your body against his, and the quiet, fragile realization that for once,just once he was allowed to have something good.
And he would sit there all night if it meant you didn’t wake up and take it away.
The True Mother ( RE8 Lords [ Alcina Dimitrescu ] x Reader )
♡ Warning(s): I need to go back through the older chapters and update the formatting, so if they look different, that is why.
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♥ Title: The True Mother
♡ Description: Ethan needs some time and you know who you need to distract.
♥ Pairing: RE8 Lords [ Alcina Dimitrescu ] x Reader
♡ Fandom: Resident Evil - Village
♥ Word Count: 3,446
♥ Current Chapter: Nine
♡ Previous Chapter: The Cold Comes In
♥ Next Chapter: TBD
♡ Story Index
“I thought I smelled something rotten.”
Even after seeing Lady Dimitrescu more times than you cared to recall, you were always surprised by her size. You tried to stay out of the woman’s way, afraid she would crush you like a tiny grape and make wine out of your blood if you got on her bad side. You had begun to wonder if she even had a good side…The only reason she hadn’t killed you on the spot was due to Mother Miranda’s orders. You doubted that even her daughters’ enjoyment of you would be enough to save you at this point. Lady Dimitrescu would just assume her daughters would get over it after so long and find another toy to play with. You had a feeling that she was right in that regard…
“I think I got lost…” With your hands behind your back, you stealthily moved to put the dagger into one of her pockets. You could not let her see that you had already gotten the dagger of Death’s Flowers successfully. There would be nothing stopping Lady Dimitrescu from just tossing you off the side of this huge turret to plummet to your death below. Splatting on the ground still might be a preferable option to what else the woman may do to you if you kept this “game” going.
“I know that you speak only lies. You think you are so good at sneaking around like a disgusting rat in my walls,” Lady Dimitrescu began to skulk closer to you, her eyes narrowed and back hunching down to meet your gaze like an angry cat, “But you are not as tricky as you wish to believe. I can hear your footsteps as if they were my own, no matter where in the Castle you are. You had plundered my home as if it were a mere tomb for you to take from. I am not so naive as to believe that there is any way you could have gotten lost while traversing in my domain.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” You continued to ramble, instinctively taking a few steps back to put space between you and the woman. Yet, as you did so, your back hit the concrete of the raised coffin where the body of the unfortunate fellow who created the dagger lay. It was sorely ironic to be killed by your own weapon. You just hoped that Lady Dimitrescu didn’t look close enough to notice that the dagger sticking out of the corpse’s chest was not the one that had been embedded in his flesh when he died. She seemed solely focused on you in the moment which was in itself both a blessing and a curse. Most of the time, you had better plans than this. It truly felt like you were going off of the cuff at this moment. Talk or die. Convince Lady Dimitrescu to spare you or become her next meal. Would Mother Miranda’s protection be enough? It would be easy enough for Lady Dimitrescu to play it up that you had died in some accident of your own design. That thought sent a shiver down your spine.
“I was just wandering around the castle and I was so lost in thought that I must have made a wrong turn.”
Lady Dimitrescu was just a few feet away from you now and her eyes looked as if they were on fire with the hatred she was staring down at you with. She had never been fond of you but at this moment, you would guess that you were the most disgusting thing she could think of. You might be even worse than a man-thing. She sneered in your direction, showing off the sharp fangs often hidden behind her red lips. You wondered if the stain was caused by lipstick or if it simply had turned that color due to all the blood she ingested, similar to the stains the sisters had around their mouths and neck. Now was not the time to ask that type of question…You would be fine with never finding out the answer to that specific query anyway.
“I don’t see what anyone finds appealing about you.” Lady Dimitrescu shot her hand down and grasped your forearm roughly, pulling you up until you were desperately trying to balance on the tips of your toes. A green herb you hadn’t secured in your pockets well enough tumbled out and onto the snow-covered stone below. If she kept pulling on your arm like this, you wouldn’t be surprised if your arm popped right out of the socket! Like a teddy bear with loose stitches. Except, a needle and thread wouldn’t be enough to put you back together again.
“The other Lords, my own daughters, even Mother Miranda seem to find some positive attribute in you and yet I find it impossible to see you as they do. Perhaps they are blind to your real nature. I am the only one who can see the truth, that you are nothing more than a vermin who should be gotten rid of as soon as possible. Exterminated with the rest of the rats.” With strength no woman should possess, she easily flung you over the side of the stone wall, causing you to dangle with her hand being the only thing that was keeping you from imminent death.
Your torso thumped against the heavy stone that made up her castle, giving you no cushioning as she slammed you against the wall. Pain shot through you and deep down your legs, though you knew you should be feeling more pain than you were. Thank whatever being was watching over you for adrenaline. How many people had adrenaline saved? You had to guess the number was a rather high one. You knew it had saved you on a number of occasions and you could only hope that this one would be added to that list. Your boots hopelessly pushed against the hard rock, as if you would be able to somehow save yourself from this situation. It was useless. If she so chooses, you are going to die like a pancake filled with strawberry jam. Splat.
To be honest, you always expected to die young. You didn’t know why you had convinced yourself of this fact but ever since you were a child, you knew your fate was not to live a long life. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism for living in the Village. It wasn’t a rare sight to see children die, whether from some outside force or internal health issues. Some parents didn’t even name their children until after the first year, in fear of the baby dying due to how common the occurrence was. Naming a baby just made it that much harder when you lost them… The Duke said the world outside the Fog was nothing like this, that there were advancements you couldn’t even begin to imagine. That children didn’t die as they did here within the Village. You had dreamed that one day, he would take you past the thick mist and show you to the wonders that you had been deprived of for so long but it seemed like that day was not to come. You were going to die. Perhaps you should try to look on the bright side: at a fall from this height, death would be swift. There were much worse ways to go when living in the Village, especially since the Lycan takeover.
“Lady Dimitrescu!” You shouted up to her, wondering if your voice really was that quiet or if it was the blood thumping in your ears that was muffling the sound, “Please, think about this! Mother Miranda said we needed to get along!”
“Mother Miranda will think you simply fell over the edge of my abode, falling to an unfortunate early end. Do you think I am so daft as to be unable to convince her of something so simple? It sounds like it could be true. She will believe me.” Lady Dimitrescu spoke but you were wondering if she was trying to convince you or herself with her words.
“Mother Miranda knows that I come here all the time. She won’t believe I just fell, I’m safe, careful. I don’t take those kinds of risks.”
“Then I can say one of the lycans or other repulsive beasts got to you.”
“And she wouldn’t be upset that you didn’t protect me? Mother Miranda knows how strong you are,” You yelled up at the woman, tossing in a slight trace of flattery in hopes that would help your case, “She will be upset that you let me die.”
There were a few quiet moments where you were just tangling off the edge, Lady Dimitrescu’s sharp nails digging into your skin. Thankfully she hadn’t used her right hand…You didn’t want to think what it would be like to have her holding onto so tightly with that wicked glove of hers.
With a sigh, Lady Dimitrescu pulled you back over the edge before roughly tossing you aside like a broken doll, falling into a heap in the corner. Her heels clicked dangerously as she walked over to the corpse and grasped at the handle of the dagger, pulling it like the Sword from the Stone. A growl left her lips as she tossed the dagger in your direction, the blade clattering to a halt by your feet. She didn’t want to hurt you with the blade…She wanted to make a statement.
It was not that she hadn’t noticed that the dagger was missing but that she truly didn’t find you to be a threat in any way. Even with the dagger designed to kill her, it was worthless in your hands.
“You say you are lost and yet, what is this?” Her voice was becoming louder and louder. You wouldn’t be surprised if the entire Village could hear her voice echoing down to them. The Castle stood high above the rest of the Village, giving the air of superiority it obviously wanted to possess. “I can assure you that this is not the dagger I used to end that man’s life. I would never use such a disgusting old thing!”
“Lady Dim-” You started to speak but she quickly interrupted you.
“Do you really think you are going to defeat me? You stole the dagger and now what? You expect to use it on me? How? Sneak upon me when I am sleeping? Stab the blade into my back when it is turned to you? ” Her voice was shrill and reminded you of the shrieking of a bat. With your hazy gaze, you swore that the woman’s pale skin was bubbling…No, not bubbling. It looked as if something was underneath the skin and moving around, creating bumps and divots all over her body. Was she like her daughters? You had never heard any rumors that Lady Dimitrescu was a host of bugs…You hadn’t heard any about the sisters either though so anything was possible at this point.
The woman was pacing this way and that as she monologues to you. Why did people feel the need to do this before killing someone? You would just kill them and get it over with…Monologuing left room for error that the victim could exploit. Would you be so lucky? Probably not but one can hope.
“You wish to use the dagger of Death’s Flowers to try to kill me? You? A tiny mortal who simply got lucky in the genetic lottery? Even that isn’t true! You are lucky only because Mother Miranda chose you. She picked you to be her special little informant. Without her blessing, you would have died out in the cold years ago, starving and pathetic. Now you are just as pathetic with your hope that you may even be able to do any damage to me.”
“And why try any of this now? You could have done it at any point but now that Mother Miranda has ordered you to do her bidding, you decide it is the right time to try to dispatch me? Do you believe that you can take my place as a Lord?” Her words were becoming more frantic by the moment and it was clear that any emotional control she may have possessed was gone. Her hands were waving in the air as she spoke as if trying to emphasize her point.
“No, I don’t want to be a lord!” You pressed your palms against the cool stone, covered in flakes of snow that seemed to be forever falling upon the castle and pushed yourself to your feet. Everything was spinning and you swore you saw two of Lady Dimitrescu, but you forced yourself to keep standing even if you wanted to fall right over. “I’ve never wanted to be a lord!”
“Then why are you doing this? Why-” Lady Dimitrescu slowly turned to look you dead in the eye, her face growing grim, “You are doing this because of that stupid man-thing, aren’t you?! You are trying to help him get his disgusting daughter back. His little girl is planned for so much more than he understands, he should be grateful to be a part of something so monumental. You will have to do so much more than get rid of me if you hope to even have a chance at retrieving his daughter.”
“Now, if I tell Mother Miranda you are working for that man-thing, she will understand why I needed to get rid of you as soon as possible.” Lady Dimitrescu turned to glance down at the Village with her dark eyes, “I will finally be rid of you once and for all. No longer will you corrupt my daughters with your ideas from the outside world. I never approved of them receiving items from the Duke during his trips but they insisted. You would always be the one to deliver the requested items. You were the one who always made my daughters feel unfulfilled with the Maidens they were given to play with. Everything has always come back to you and you ruin anything your disgusting hands can get a hold of!”
“Wow, rude…” You mumbled to yourself, shaking your head to focus your vision. Before you could do anything other than keep yourself balanced on your feet, the door that led into the castle swung open. Ethan was standing there with a shotgun in his one hand and three strange-looking sculptures in the other. While you didn’t seem to understand what those items meant, Lady Dimitrescu did as soon as she laid her eyes on them.
It was like a switch had been flipped in Lady Dimitrescu so that any rational thought was gone and she was simply being driven by her primal urges. She began to advance upon Ethan like a grizzly bear ready to take down its prey. Large, lumbering, loud. Her hands flexed at her side and the sun seemed to glint perfectly off of the blades that were attached to her right hand. You had almost been on the receiving end of those blades a few too many times than you were comfortable with and knew exactly what they could do. If she got to Ethan, he was going to be a goner.
“MY DAUGHTERS!” The wail was like that of a banshee as the woman moved towards Ethan with a purpose. Wait…Your eyes flicked down to the statues that Ethan had dropped on the ground as if taunting Lady Dimitrescu. That couldn’t be right…Right? How could they, the inanimate statues of marble, be related to the sisters in any way? Yet, something within you seemed to come to the understanding that what you saw before you was true. Ethan had killed the Dimitrescu sisters and those idols were all that was left.
There was a tug at your heart for the past, thinking of the sisters and how they had treated you. They were simply misguided by their own mother, it was hard to blame them for the terrible things they had done. That didn’t give them a pass from the consequences that were bound to catch up to them, apparently in the form of Ethan Winters, but it did leave a longing in your chest for what might have been. If they had not been raised by the vicious psychopath that was their mother, what might they have accomplished? Perhaps in a different universe, this could have all ended differently but there was no time to mourn the dead when the living still stood before you, though perhaps not for long.
Somehow, the adrenaline in you allowed you to push yourself off of the wall with one foot, running with uncoordinated steps toward the towering woman. You staggered this way and that but luckily, you had a big target. She was too focused on Ethan and what he had just shown her to be paying any attention to you. It was clear that you needed to use this to your advantage in any way you could. That included running up behind the huge woman and piercing the dagger as hard as you could into her lower back. You couldn’t reach much higher in your weakened state. You were lucky that you had even been able to stab into her down to the hilt.
As the blade pierced her flesh, you were not quick enough to stop the woman from slapping Ethan off the edge of the turret. You were certain that was going to be the end of his story but with a small grunt and thump, you came to the conclusion that he somehow had fallen onto a lower part of the castle and didn’t fall the much too far distance down to the ground. Instinctively, Lady Dimitrescu hit you off with a single swing of her arm, causing you to crumble to the ground and stay down this time.
With what happened next, you swore you had to be hallucinating. You must have hit your head when Lady Dimitrescu backhanded you. It didn’t make sense…Although to be honest, a lot of things weren’t making sense like they used to. From where you lay on the ground, you watched Lady Dimitrescu change from the woman you were used to seeing to…to a beast. You had never seen anything like it before. The closest approximation would be to say that she turned into a dragon but that wasn’t true. No, she turned into some monstrosity that easily dove off the side of the castle, aiming all of her rage at the man who had killed her daughters.
At this moment, you were thoroughly convinced that you were screwed. Fine, Lady Dimitrescu you had a chance at defeating, even if that chance was a small one. Horribly mutated dragon Dimitrescu? You might as well hang the towel in now and just accept defeat. That was what your mind was begging your body to do but deep down, you were not a quitter. She would kill you even if you didn’t fight so you might as well get a few good licks in before reaching that final curtain call.
The sound of gunfire brought you out of your daze. You needed to go help Ethan, in any way that you could even if you didn’t know how you were going to take down what lay before you. Yet, before you tried to find a way down, you couldn’t help yourself from crawling forward. Reaching out, you gently grasped the three idols individually, placing them in your pockets with the care of someone who remembered that these were once people, living people. Even if they were terrible, they still lived and breathed and loved like the rest of us. It was strange to know you had living remains in your pocket in the form of weird statues…If you lived through this, you would surely need to ask the Duke more about this situation.
Once the idols were secured in your pockets, you moved to look over the side of the castle. You saw where Ethan had fallen and was now aiming what looked to be…a grenade launcher? How on Earth did he get that?! There was nowhere in the Village where he could have- You slowly realized that you had a good guess as to who he got it from but decided to ask about the weapon later. Instead, now you focused on the sole purpose of getting down to him without breaking your own legs.
This was not going to be an easy fight, if even a fight that you had the slightest chance of winning.
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The Cold Comes In 『RE8 Lords ( Ethan Winters ) x Reader』
Happy 2023!
So, I want to put a note here very quickly just to let you know that some of the previous chapters have been/will be revised (mainly added to and fixing grammar errors)
I will be putting a Revisited On: on the Table of Contents and then the date so you can know if anything was added since you last read it. I will also put what was Revised, such as putting that +2,000 words added, Grammar Check, etc.
Also, we are going to ignore how I said the update would be soon and now it is three months later. I ended up losing my job and then getting another one so I have been busy and hectic! But here it is! The other reason that this chapter took me so long is that I prefer for these chapters to be over 5,000 words (hence the re-editing of past chapters and adding extra scenes) as I feel like it goes into more depth with the story. But, with this, I couldn’t seem to naturally get it to that point without adding a scene that I didn’t want to be in this chapter and instead, be the sole focus of the next. I hope you understand!
Title: The Cold Comes In
Description: Sometimes you have to understand that even things you have known all your life can be bad.
Pairing: RE8 Lords [ Ethan Winters ] x Reader
Fandom: Resident Evil - Village
Word Count: 3,989
Current Chapter: Eight
Previous Chapter: The Sinful Seed
Next Chapter: TBD
Story Index
You awoke to the sound of the balcony door slamming shut. The wind was howling and a cool chill quickly entered the room, sending a shiver down your spine. The uncomfortable change was enough to wake you, jolting up in the plush bed. What was going on? You rubbed the back of your hand against your eyes, trying to get any remnants of sleep out of them. Desperately reaching around with your blurry vision, you grabbed an empty cup, deciding it was better than not having anything to use as a weapon. Was it one of the Sisters? No, not with that cold air…One of the terrible creatures that lurked around the castle? Oh, man…! You could never get a restful sleep, no matter where you were. You had taken the comfort of the bed for granted.
As your vision fully returned to you, instead of seeing either of your guesses, there was a man. Wait…A man in the castle? A green windbreaker jacket and dusty blonde hair greeted you. Huh…It all looked familiar and once the fog lifted from your recently awoken eyes, you knew why. Ethan Winters? What in the world was he doing here? You hadn’t heard any hint of him the entire time you had been in the Castle today. Sure, you had been pretty occupied with the Sisters but you still would have noticed if Ethan was around. You were certain of it. Right? The Sisters would surely be able to sense his presence if you somehow didn’t. How long had you been asleep?
There was a panicked look in his eyes, gun grasped tightly in his hand. He was covered in blood and dirt, looking more like how you appeared earlier in the day, but with more injuries. You doubted that the Sisters would let him take a nice bath in the Castle like you. Haha, funny joke…Wait a minute, you still had the question of why he was sneaking into a room while you were sleeping in it! That was a little creepy, you had to admit. Even for someone who was being hunted down by every living thing around him…That didn’t give him the right to be creepy.
♡ Warning(s): This will be a bit different than the game itself. One of the main big differences is the timeline. The game occurs in a day (or a couple of days) but this will last longer overall. Ethan will be in the village for one month (approximately). This is to allow for more story development. The plot will be the same so heavy spoilers for the rest of the game! This is going to contain major spoilers for the game! .
This is going to be the beginning of a collection of one-shots surrounding the Resident Evil 8 - Village universe. The stories may follow a Harem-type trope where multiple people are interested in the reader.
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There is a tiny hint to sexual assault, but nothing in detail, and nothing happens
♥ Title: The Beginning of the End
♡ Pairing: RE8 Lords x Reader
♥ Fandom: Resident Evil - Village
♡ Word Count: 3,057
♥ Current Chapter: One
♡ Previous Chapter: None
♥ Next Chapter: A Mother and her Children
♡ Story Index
Yellow paint stained your hands as you slipped back out of the castle, using the fog as a way to hide your form. The dumb lycans would attack anything they saw moving and you didn’t feel like becoming their newest plaything today. The jacket you wore jingled softly as you deftly moved from stone to stone. The pockets were no longer bulging with ammunition or chemical solutions. No, most of your treasures had been scattered around Castle Dimitrescu. Though, there may be a trinket or two you had taken from the noble house.
The Duke had told you of a man of Winter who had come to the village in search of his infant daughter. While the larger man couldn’t go out and provide help other than offering his services, he could send you out in his stead. That was how you ended up with huge cans of yellow paint scattering your room. The color was a small indication for Ethan, the man of Winter, to attempt to help him in his travels. Hopefully, the other lords wouldn’t notice the painted areas and ruin the items meant for the father.
You didn’t need a map while on your travels as you had the entire area memorized like the back of your hand. Something that the Duke liked just as much as buying treasures was getting information. With the skill you had with slipping through the shadows, it was easy to hear little secrets not meant for your ears.
The Cold Comes In 『RE8 Lords ( Ethan Winters ) x Reader』
Happy 2023!
So, I want to put a note here very quickly just to let you know that some of the previous chapters have been/will be revised (mainly added to and fixing grammar errors)
I will be putting a Revisited On: on the Table of Contents and then the date so you can know if anything was added since you last read it. I will also put what was Revised, such as putting that +2,000 words added, Grammar Check, etc.
Also, we are going to ignore how I said the update would be soon and now it is three months later. I ended up losing my job and then getting another one so I have been busy and hectic! But here it is! The other reason that this chapter took me so long is that I prefer for these chapters to be over 5,000 words (hence the re-editing of past chapters and adding extra scenes) as I feel like it goes into more depth with the story. But, with this, I couldn't seem to naturally get it to that point without adding a scene that I didn't want to be in this chapter and instead, be the sole focus of the next. I hope you understand!
Title: The Cold Comes In
Description: Sometimes you have to understand that even things you have known all your life can be bad.
Pairing: RE8 Lords [ Ethan Winters ] x Reader
Fandom: Resident Evil - Village
Word Count: 3,989
Current Chapter: Eight
Previous Chapter: The Sinful Seed
Next Chapter: TBD
Story Index
You awoke to the sound of the balcony door slamming shut. The wind was howling and a cool chill quickly entered the room, sending a shiver down your spine. The uncomfortable change was enough to wake you, jolting up in the plush bed. What was going on? You rubbed the back of your hand against your eyes, trying to get any remnants of sleep out of them. Desperately reaching around with your blurry vision, you grabbed an empty cup, deciding it was better than not having anything to use as a weapon. Was it one of the Sisters? No, not with that cold air...One of the terrible creatures that lurked around the castle? Oh, man...! You could never get a restful sleep, no matter where you were. You had taken the comfort of the bed for granted.
As your vision fully returned to you, instead of seeing either of your guesses, there was a man. Wait...A man in the castle? A green windbreaker jacket and dusty blonde hair greeted you. Huh...It all looked familiar and once the fog lifted from your recently awoken eyes, you knew why. Ethan Winters? What in the world was he doing here? You hadn't heard any hint of him the entire time you had been in the Castle today. Sure, you had been pretty occupied with the Sisters but you still would have noticed if Ethan was around. You were certain of it. Right? The Sisters would surely be able to sense his presence if you somehow didn't. How long had you been asleep?
There was a panicked look in his eyes, gun grasped tightly in his hand. He was covered in blood and dirt, looking more like how you appeared earlier in the day, but with more injuries. You doubted that the Sisters would let him take a nice bath in the Castle like you. Haha, funny joke...Wait a minute, you still had the question of why he was sneaking into a room while you were sleeping in it! That was a little creepy, you had to admit. Even for someone who was being hunted down by every living thing around him...That didn't give him the right to be creepy.
"Ethan...?"
The man spun around quickly and raised the gun in your direction. Shit! He must not have noticed you in the room before coming in! Man, how distracted was he? Or had you been so bundled up in the blankets that you looked like a mountain of pillows? Raising your hands in the air with empty palms, you tried to appear as non-threatening as possible. It must have worked because, after a moment of the man taking in your appearance, he lowered the weapon while still keeping it unholstered. You let out a sigh of relief. No getting shot today, at least not at this moment. You were lucky he didn't automatically shoot in your direction instead of just pointing the gun. This made you wonder if he had come across Villagers in his travel...If everything that was around you was hostile, you would be shooting first and asking questions later.
" Jesus...I thought this room was empty."
"I can tell." Standing up from the bed, you moved closer to the father. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days. Perhaps he hadn't. He had huge bags under his eyes and his muscles were drooping as if it took every ounce of his energy to keep himself standing. Did he need to eat as well? He looked as though he had lost weight since the last time you saw him. It could be because of all the running was doing but you doubted that was the only reason. It was as if the Village was eating him alive. Poor guy. He really deserved the Father of the Year Award. Maybe even Parent of the Year. Did they make those?
"What are you doing in here?" You continued, crossing your arms over your chest. You didn't want it to make you look threatening but either way, he did just wake you up from a pretty deep sleep. That wasn't the most relaxing of situations. A nice sleep in a nice bed, he better have a good reason for this. You had large doubts that you would get to do this again anytime soon. Couldn't he have waited a few more hours before sneaking into the Castle?
Ethan was looking around the room as if a monster was going to jump out any second. He must be struggling with his time in the Village. He was extremely jumpy. It only made sense. You were curious about what he had been put through already. The Duke told you a few details here and there but never anything substantial. You had your own occurrences within the Village, but at least you didn't have to worry about the Lords killing you on sight. Just the monsters. What was the Village like to an outsider? It was strange enough for someone who had lived their entire life inside of it. It hadn't always been like this. There was a pang in your chest when you remembered what life had been like before the outbreak, as you called it. It still may not have been paradise but it would be considered a utopia compared to this.
"I could ask you the same thing."
"Well, I asked the question first so you owe me an answer if you want to get one from me. That's the rules."
"I'm looking for my daughter."
"I know that. I mean, why are you looking inside the Castle? Why are you in here, specifically? It isn't super easy to get inside so I doubt you just stumbled in. They don't just leave the door unlocked for bypassers to come in and get warm."
"The Duke told me my daughter was in here...."
Of course, he did. You wanted to groan, to run your hands through your hair, to do anything to show your displeasure. But, you kept that all to yourself. No need to stress this man out any more than he already was. He didn't know the truth behind the Duke and to be honest, you doubted you knew the full version yourself. He was elusive and liked to keep secrets, even from you. It was a bit hypocritical. He could keep secrets but expected you to tell him everything. Sure, you basically did tell him everything but that wasn't the point! He has the same irony that a parent had with their child.
"I guess it would make sense if Mother Miranda doesn't have her, then Lady Dimitrescu would be the next best bet. The others have never cared for a child before, even remotely. Unless you count Lady Beneviento and her dolls but that may be a bit of a stretch." As you spoke, you walked over to a pile of clean clothes resting on a fancy chair. One of the Sisters must have placed them in here while you slept. You really needed to be more aware when you were asleep. How heavy of a sleeper were you? That might be something you needed to fix.
"Now it's your turn, why are you in the castle? Are you here because the Duke is as well? Have you seen my daughter, Rose?"
"Excuse me?'
"What do you mean, excuse me? What's confusing you? I found the Duke in one of the rooms here in the castle. He said if my daughter is anywhere on the premise, the Lady's champers will be the best bet. Are you here because he is in the Castle as well?"
You wanted to question him more, initially unaware that the Duke was also in the Castle until Ethan told you. He hadn't informed you of that part of his plan. Was it part of the plan? Was there even a plan?! You had no idea at this point! Nothing was going in the way that you expected! Sure, the Duke said things were going to change but you didn't expect the changes to affect you so much. You had hoped to just sit it all out on the sidelines in the Duke's Caravan. That was what he made it sound like the two of you would be doing, that is, until Ethan Winters arrived.
"No, I wish I was. You're not the only person dealing with some rather unique problems, Ethan Winters. I'm being tossed around from Lord to Lord like a strange new toy. Mother Miranda has ordered me to do so. I'm not yet sure of her true reasoning for it." You explained before continuing,
"And the Lady Dimitrescu won't just let you go into her champers. She is a very private woman, even I haven't been able to sneak into her chambers that often. Even if you somehow do find your daughter, as long as Lady Dimitrescu is alive and kicking, she will not allow you to leave with your child. She needs Mother Miranda's approval like a fish needs water. Plus, the Sisters will do whatever their mother tells them to. Getting your daughter while any of them are still up and active is going to be near impossible. Hell, even just leaving the castle will be a challenge with the Dimitrescu Daughters and Mother still roaming."
"Then I'll get rid of the problems."
"Have you fought them yet? The Sisters are hard enough, let alone their mother. Lady Dimitrescu has never met a suitable match, save perhaps for the other Lords. Even then, I would doubt that any of them other than Mother Miranda herself and perhaps Heisenberg, would be able to take her in a fight." You didn't like the idea of Ethan fighting the Sisters, you had known them for all your life and they were the closest thing to friends that you had. Yet, recently, they had gotten worse in their behavior. They were not the same girls you knew, not anymore. It was like the Village's evil had soaked deep in their bones, the Outbreak infecting them in a different way.
At least, you forced yourself to believe that they had changed. The other option was that you had always worn a pair of rose-colored glasses around them and it wasn't until they put your life in danger that you finally took them off.
"I'm going to get my daughter back."
"I'm not saying you won't. All I'm saying is that you need a plan heading into this fight. I never said they were undefeatable; just that it is going to be a real challenge to do so. They all have incredible healing abilities, all four of them." This was going to be a hard, perhaps nearly impossible task. After having spent today day with the Sisters, here you were, speaking to this intruder about how he might be able to injure them. It made your stomach churn. Did this make you a bad person? You were just leveling out the battlefields, giving Ethan a chance to survive. He could very easily still be killed even with your tips. You were just making it fair...You had to keep telling yourself that.
Though you may not want to think about it, you knew that the Sisters were bad entities on this Earth. They always had been but recently, the dark in them began to grow. The Sisters liked you. Maybe they actually cared, or maybe they viewed you like a little pet- either way, you were an exception to their sadistic side. Even thinking that you had to remember what Cassandra had done to you just hours before. She was willing to put you in danger just to get a laugh. She saw you as a toy that could be broken and tossed to the side, potentially forever. Had Cassandra intended for you to get hurt or did she simply not care one way or another?
The other two sisters may not have been as bad to you as Cassandra but you had seen all of their dark sides, especially since the Outbreak. Daniela purposefully made Maids screw up just to watch them get punished by their mother or one of her sisters. Cassandra had a penchant for kicking anyone when she got the chance, literally. She kicked people when they were down. It was terrifying to think about what they were truly capable of - what they could do to you if they so willed it. They could break you like a twig, easily...
Bela was not excused of the Sisters' sadistic nature. She was simply more cunning when it came to her enjoyment. She liked to watch her sisters cause problems with the servants, instead of getting her hands dirty herself. She also liked to chide the workers and cause more mental anguish than anything. She got pleasure when she saw fear in the girls' eyes. It made your stomach twist and turn. If things were just a little different, what would the Sisters do to you? Would they treat you just like the Maidens and Maids? Perhaps even worse? You really didn't know what made them treat you so differently. Was it because of your relationship with the Duke?
Pulling the large shirt off of your torso, Ethan quickly spun so his back was facing you. There was a time for decorum and a time to get the job done. At the moment, there was too much to think about to worry if this man saw you in your undergarments. With the Sisters, you had been in a more relaxed state of mind and felt more vulnerable. Now, all you could think of was the mission ahead. Ethan Winters was going to need help if he was going to get out of the Castle alive. There was work to be done and if the Duke taught you anything, it was the importance of doing a job properly.
It was nice to get these stranger's clothes off of you, finally. At least you knew that no one died in your own clothes. You assumed, anyway. The Duke was always the one to provide you with your necessities, such as your shoes and clothes. Either that or you made them yourself. You had doubts that the Duke would not give you a dead man's clothes. Maybe second-hand but even that seemed unlikely. His strange sense of grandeur wouldn't allow him to do something of the sort, if possible. He was a duke after all. What did a Duke call his children, you wondered.
"You need to rest. You said that you found the Duke in one of the chambers, yes? Go back to him. He will allow you to rest in his area, which neither Lady Dimitrescu nor the Sisters will invade. I'm not sure what's up with their relationship but it is the same with all of the Lords. He has a designated area where he is allowed to reside and for some unknown reason, the Lords cannot enter said spaces. If you require food or drink, the Duke will provide it for a price."
"A price?" Ethan peeked back around to see that you had fully changed now and were pulling your huge coat on. It made you look tiny due to it being so much larger than the proper size that would fit you. One could say it swamped you.
"Yes, everything has a price."
"I don't have any money on me."
"Do you have anything that you've been picking up? Anything that may be of value?" You didn't know if that packrat mentality was just you or if it extended to others...You always were picking up things that didn't belong to you. They always just somehow found their way into your pockets. Whoops.
"I found a strange ruby ring and a really fancy bottle of wine...I've kept them in my pack, I really don't know why though..."
"That will do. Trade with the Duke, he will take care of you. Tell him that I said you get a discount. This should be enough to get you some food and ammunition. Maybe even a chem bottle for your hand. Make sure you do not eat or drink anything you find in the Castle. I could not promise it would be safe to consume. If it is, I couldn't promise it came from something other than a human. But make sure you get something to eat from the Duke and rest up, you will need it. This is going to be very draining, let us hope in only the metaphorical way."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to get you a weapon that might allow you to actually kill Lady Dimitrescu. Your little gun isn't going to cut it. When you are well rested enough, go to the Temple of Worship. There I will give you the 'Dagger of Death's Flowers'. It is the only thing that is going to allow you to kill the Lady of the Castle. It drops any regenerative powers that she may have, just like the cold does to the sisters." You were checking the pockets of your coat as you spoke, ensuring everything was still there since you took it off to rest.
"The cold?"
"Yes, due to the Sister's more unique physiology, they can not handle the cold air. Just as the dagger will break down any of Lady Dimitrescu's healing, the cold will do the same for the sisters. They also become more lethargic and slow-moving when they are in a direct shot of a breeze of cold air. You won't be able to deal with them if you aren't in a room that had outside access. You will need to use that to your advantage. If you are, run. Sometimes fleeing is your best bet until you get in a position where you have the upper hand. I will come and find you if you do not arrive at the temple in a certain amount of time."
"If you use any ammunition on the sisters before they get hit by cold air or on Lady Dimitrescu without getting the knife in her first, you will just be wasting bullets." You continued to explain. The Duke had been very strict on you knowing how to protect yourself from all of the Lords, lest the time come when you needed to. Whether you could actually perform the actions needed to hurt or kill them, was a different story. Yet, it was coming in handy now that you had to coach Ethan on what to do.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Man of Winter, I have been raised in this Village since I was born. I hate to see it be destroyed this way and though I may consider some of the residents my friends, I know that this collection of rulers will only hurt everything they touch. Something has changed within them and is only enhancing their dark side. If they control the entire Village, it is only a matter of time before they decide to expand their territory out into the rest of the world. I will not allow anyone else to have to go through this Hell because I was too scared to do something about it or felt too bad about making a decision. Before now, the Duke and I were alone. We couldn't do anything to change what was happening. But, here you are and for some reason, the Duke is convinced that you can fix all of this."
"Fix this? I'm just here to get my daughter and then leave." Ethan Winter's tone sounded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. He had been through something before, you could tell. No one else would be reacting in this way...You wondered if you would learn more about his past or if he would perish before he could tell you. You hoped the latter wouldn't be true.
"The Duke believes otherwise. I don't understand why but he says that things are changing in the Village, big things, and they all revolve around you. I don't mean to add any pressure on your shoulders...You should just focus on getting your daughter back. The changes will follow."
"How can I thank you?"
"Kill Mother Miranda and make sure she stays dead."
"I want that just as much as you. If I get the chance, I swear that I will."
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Surprisingly, you made your way to the Temple faster than you would think. You didn't know where the sisters were. You hoped that Ethan could get what he needed without running into them but you knew that was being optimistic. You tried not to think about what may happen to the Sisters or Ethan. If they ran into one another, then one of them wouldn't be leaving that room. Did Ethan even stand a chance? You had no idea...No one had ever been able to stand up to the sisters before...No one.
Your mind hurt at the implications of what you had done. Was it the right thing? This had been going through your head since you had departed from the man. These girls put their trust in you and here you were, destroying it like it was nothing. Yet...There were all the other factors to consider. This wasn't as simple as a case of right or wrong, black or white. The Sisters lived in shades of gray and you didn't know where your decision fell on the monochrome color spectrum. You knew what the Duke would say, you knew what Ethan would say. Yet...What about what the other Lords would say? The Sisters?
You were beginning to wonder if you had some type of Stockholm Syndrome from living in the Village. Sure, you didn't actually live in the Castle with the Sisters but, the situation felt similar. Deep down, you knew they were bad and would the world would be better off if they were not in it, but on the other hand, you had your good times with them. You needed to remind yourself than a victim thought the same thing about their abuser. Even if that was just to make yourself feel better about the decision that you made in the end.
Approaching the coffin, you noticed that the lid was already half-way off. It must have been knocked off by some of those flying creatures, the women-like bats...Or were they bat-like women? You had never seen one close enough to truly tell and you would be happy to keep it that way. Hopefully you wouldn't run into any while you were out here grabbing the dagger. You had a knife but that was the only weapon you had on you, save for certain items that if combined correctly, could create a make-shift explosive device. They had been for Ethan to find...You should have given them to the man before leaving but it had slipped your mind until you reached into your pocket for a flashlight and felt the items. It was too late now.
The snow was blowing around, some getting caught in your hair as you neared the stone slab. To be honest, you never came out this far in the Castle. Sure, you may have visited it once or twice but you definitely had made yourself sound more confident than you really were when you spoke to Ethan. He didn't need to know the doubt you were feeling about retrieving the dagger. Sometimes you just had to hold onto hope and in certain cases, like this, it paid off.
At least, you thought it had paid off until you heard a deep woman's voice stretching across the marble pillars.
"What are you doing out here, pest?!"
Uh-Oh. You had been so focused on the Sisters that you forgot about one rather important and large thing:
Two Demons and a Dream ( Dream of the Endless x Reader )
Warning(s): So, I love Etrigan. If you only watched the TV show, Sandman, then you would be confused as he was taken out due to being DC property. Just like how you may be confused with John Constantine. Here is a small explanation:
- John and Johanna do not exist in the same universe. Johanna (the young) was created for Netflix as they removed any DC references. If you listen/or read the original comics, you will see there are way more references such as Arkham Asylum and the appearance of the Scarecrow. I really liked both Johanna and John so my simple fix to that was to make them twins.
- Etrigan is also a DC creation and was taken out of the Netflix show, sort of. They replaced him with Squatterbloat in the series. Squatterbloat is in the comics but isn't as in-depth as Etrigan.
- Finally, Etrigan may be a little bit out of character. I just love him so much. The idea of him and John being allies (at times) comes from the movie Justice League Dark.
Aside from the DC explanation, there will also be both religious references and references to The Divine Comedy with the character Beatrice, the guide in Paradiso.
Song: Leviathan, The Girl by PhemieC
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Title: Two Demons and a Dream
Description: With your memory gone, Dream has to find a way to keep you close to him without resorting to kidnapping. Oh, and your forgotten memory of the first time you visited the Dreaming.
Pairing: Dream of the Endless [ Morpheus ] x Reader
Fandom: The Sandman ( Comics and Netflix Series )
Word Count: 5,553
Previous Chapter: A Pouch Opened
Next Chapter: Coming Soon.
Story Index
Dream hated hearing those words leave your lips. It made it impossible to come up with any other excuse as to why you were acting this way. You had forgotten him, forgotten your life, it was as simple as that. How? What could be powerful enough to do something that drastic to you?
"You don't... Remember me?"
"No, am I supposed to?"
You stared at each other in uncomfortable silence. This was not what happened after most of your jobs. No, most of the time, John would find a bar for you two to spend the next few hours in. A night out with chips and some draft beer, a perfect combination if you would say so. You really liked those nights. They were always fun. The only downside was the few instances where you drank a bit too much and were hunched over a toilet by the end of the night. Those weren't fun nights. John came up with great hangover cures though. Plus, he was kind enough to hold your hair out of the way when you threw up.
"You don't remember our past together? Your siblings? Your responsibilities?"
You can remember one of these nights where you ended up meeting a girl with ginger hair that was buzzed down really short and had different colored eyes. One green, one blue. Oh, that had been a really fun night! There was so much sweat, shots, and smiles. Somehow you convinced John to take you to a club to experience the late-night fun and you loved the energy of everyone. The girl actually kissed you at the end of the night and you swore there had been a spark! A literal spark!
"I don't have any siblings."
"That statement is simply false. You have countless kin. You are a part of a group of seven born at the same time. This does not take into account the rest of your siblings."
"No, I would have to remember that. Right, John?"
The blonde-haired man was watching the two of you, getting more jittery by the second. Would it be possible for him to teleport the three of you (including his sister), somewhere that you could take stock of the entire situation? Dream could probably just follow. He didn't know, his sister was the Endless expert.
"Shite, Love, this is as much a shocker to me as it is to you."
"Love?" Wait, had you found yourself a partner in the amount of time he had been locked up? It had been some time since you were with someone. He never liked it when you were. He just was worried about them hurting you, of course. You were a pure being and no one was going to treat you properly. Dream knew it was hypocritical with how he acted when he had partners, pushing you away as if you had burned him. You could never understand how he felt. He knew he could be extreme when he was infatuated with a lady.
"I know you're an Endless and all, but can'tcha be wrong sometimes?"
"I am not wrong on this, John Constantine."
"Brother, do not push it." Johanna set a hand on John's shoulder in warning. She didn't know what he was planning but whatever it was, it was against an Endless. No matter how powerful the two of them were together, it was nothing compared to an Endless, even when he wasn't at full strength.
"Oh, a raven!" You clapped your hands together softly as you broke off from the main three to approach the bird which stood a few feet behind Dream. As soon as John and Dream began to bicker, your attention began to drift elsewhere. Crouching down, the raven tilted its head to the side which you mimicked. Left. Left. Right. Right. Squa- Wait a second. That wasn't a normal squawk.
"You really follow your own beat, don'tcha kid?"
"Huh." Blinking, you tried to remember what you had read about these specific birds. A raven. They could mimic human speech but it was nothing like this. This was something new entirely. Wow, a talking raven! You didn't think you hit your head in that fight, you shouldn't be hallucinating right now, right? Guess you learn something new every day.
You always had a fondness for ravens that you couldn't explain. Somehow they made you feel safe. They were such clever birds and so pretty.
"Shocked? Most are. Name's Matthew. I'm a raven."
"I can see that. Well, Matthew, you should be careful to who you give your name. You don't know what they might do with it."
"Does that mean I should worry?"
"Things like your name, your hair, or I guess feathers in your case, fingernails- Huh? Oh, no, I have no bad intentions. I just know there are some witches that live in this area who may be a threat."
"That include Johanna back there?"
"Precisely! She's defeated a ton of demons because she knew their true name."
There was an itching in the back of your mind as if it was wearing uncomfortable clothing and desired to take it off. That added to the strange sense of deja-vu, your mind was spinning. It was almost like you could hear a voice, too muffled to understand but present. This didn't happen often and never to this extent. Tonight truly was a strange night.
"She is not who you think she is. That being right there has lived for millennia longer than you could imagine and will live eons past you." The Dream King was ready to take you back to the Dreaming at that exact moment with no questions asked. He could go back with you and leave the twins with no more explanation. Yet, that could be bad for your health if you really couldn't remember him. He needed to be careful. What would happen if you panicked? He didn't want you to gain a distrust for him, that would make everything far harder.
"I think I would know that if she were! She would have a ton more power! She wouldn't need me saving her ass every fifteen minutes!"
"She did open his pouch..." Johanna thought aloud, earning a sharp 'shut up!' from her twin brother. John was in denial, but Johanna could view it with more of an objective eye. She cared for you but the idea of you not being human wasn't hard to entertain. You always had a weird aura. She knew her brother could feel it too. He just was more willing to ignore it.
"I can not continue this foolery. I must acquire my helm from a demon who stole it and find a solution to the problem of entering Hell. This is wasting my time and energy."
"Etrigan could let you in. I bet he would even take you where you need to go."
Morpheus considered your words, both surprised and intrigued by your input. Etrigan, he knew of the demon but would he bring him into the depths of Hell? That was the question... He knew that Etrigan guarded one of the less-entered doors. That may be the best option. Without his helm or ruby, he would be weakened and an ambush would be disastrous. A guide would be highly beneficial.
"Quiet yourself, ya fool," John grumbled. Why did you have to be a good person who naturally offered solutions or offered to help? Ugh. The two of you truly approached situations differently.
"How are you aware of the existence of this Etrigan? If you don't have your previous memories, you should not remember the demon."
"Oh, well he worked with us on a few missions. Sometimes demons need to be punished and Etrigan is sent to retrieve them. We were hunting some on a few occasions where we ran into Etrigan and ended up working together. I like him, he is nice."
"You like him because he rhymes." John flipped his lighter open before hastily shutting it, repeatedly doing this aimless activity as he spoke. He was getting anxious.
"I mean, it doesn't hurt that he rhymes. I like to think we are friends."
"Of course, you would end up friends with a demon."
"Don't act like he isn't your friend too, John!"
"Etrigan will not be compelled to listen to me without my tools. I will require aid in convincing the demon to allow me passage. You will come with me." Morpheus felt proud of his thought process. If he could just force you to come with him, he could have more time to figure out how to bring back your memories. He could at least protect you when you were by his side.
"Wot?! You can't just kidnap her! We are busy, you know."
"John Constantine, I know you have no jobs to complete at the current moment."
"Well, you ain't taking her alone. I'm coming with you two if you're just gonna steal her away. Shite, I'll go down with you alone if it means she can stay up here."
"I have a feeling that Etrigan will feel more compelled to listen to the girl. You may join the journey but you alone will not suffice."
"I've never been to Hell before!"
"It would have been best to keep it that way," Johanna muttered under her breath, knowing it was too late to get you out of the situation now. Why did you have to sound so excited? Dream of the Endless was saying that you were going with him and no one disobeyed an Endless, even if they weren't at full power.
"Bloody hell, I hate this." John ran his free hand down his stubbled cheek as he shoved his lighter back into his pocket. This night was just getting worse and worse.
"John, you keep a close eye on her and you keep her safe, you hear me?" Johanna was gripping her twin's upper arms tightly, eyes cold as steel. She didn't spend as much time with you but she could sense a good person when she saw one. Never had she felt that amount of positivity before. A supernatural amount of positivity. The Endless may be right but if he was wrong...
"Of course, who do you take me for, that Batman? I don't plan on replacing my sidekick that easy."
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The Dreaming, 2,900 BCE
Once upon a time, there was a Virtue. A lil' Hope. A cute, young girl with a pair of golden wings too big for her. She wore a flowing white dress that ended just at her knees and an olive branch necklace. She wore no shoes but had no need as they never touched the ground. One fateful day, that Virtue would end up in the Dreaming.
All you had been doing was trying to learn how to fly. Was it too much to ask to learn without any issues? Your wings felt too big for your body and you always got tired easily, no matter how hard you practiced. How did the angels seem to do it so easily? Even the fledglings could fly as soon as they could walk. All your siblings were able to fly too, were you just a late bloomer? They liked to say you would never learn to fly, which was how you ended up in the position you were in at that moment. All you had meant to do was try to fly in place but somehow, you ended up slipping past the clouds and went plummeting down.
Was this how you were going to die? You had just learned about that concept recently. Humans died often, Angels died sometimes. No one knew where a Celestial went when they died. That scared you. Humans got a pick of several places, depending on beliefs and morality. Celestial beings...It all was a mystery. You didn't like mysteries.
"Ouff!' You grunted as you felt your body slam into something hard. It wasn't the ground...Unless the ground decided to grow wings and learn how to fly. Even it could learn how to fly before you? You wanted to scream! This wasn't fair! Peeking your eyes open, you saw green but it certainly wasn't the green of the grass.
Glancing down, you noticed the strange creature that had caught you on its back. The skin and scales were a green color and their wings were huge, flapping and keeping it stationary in the air. Sharp fangs escaped its mouth which would have been scary if it wasn't also holding a red ball covered in slobber in its mouth. It was looking up at you, going cross-eyed to view you on its back. You had no clue what this thing was. There was nothing like this up in the Silver City. How strange! You thought you had seen everything. Your Father had created everything, after all. That's what you had thought, before this. With a tentative hand, you went to stroke the scales of this reptilian creature but had to quickly wrap your hands around its neck as it soared down. Not again! You thought you had just gotten saved from becoming a stain on the ground!
The clouds cleared and you noticed a field with two small houses residing within it. There was a small pond to the side as well as a large garden in the back. It would have been a beautiful sight if you weren't busy screaming, your own wings extended behind you, the wind pushing them back with how fast you were descending. You could even feel some of your feathers getting loose and flying away, ending up who knows where. Crap, would you get in trouble? You knew angel feathers could hold great power within them, did Virtue's feathers have the same?
Right as you were about to slam into the ground, the creature pulled back to land on its feet. With luck on your side, you kept yourself from being flung off into who knows where. Your hair was standing up in every which way and don't even get started on the mess that was your wings. It would take forever to get them looking nice again. Even though you had stopped moving, you felt as though everything was still spinning. Oh my...You felt close to throwing up. Nope. Nu-uh. Not today. Not-
"Gregory, what in th-the world have you done?" A man walked over as you slid off the creature's back, flopping down on the ground with the grace of a drunken lamb. This did not make your stomachache feel any better. The man that walked over was stout, fingers fiddling with the opposite hand. "This is a child Gregory, where did you get it? Is it a-a dreamer? We are going to-to-to get in s-so-so much trouble...Cain isn't going to like t-this very much."
"Isn't going to like what very much, dear brother?" A second man appeared, sneering as he got closer. He was taller and thinner than the one from before but they shared similar facial hair. At least, it looked like they did from where you were laying on the ground, chest pressed against the dirt. Both were wearing fancy clothes, each with nice vests and trousers.
"Gregory brought u-us a present..."
The creature pushed you over with its paw, moving you from laying on your stomach to instead be on your back. Small groans of discomfort filled the air as you covered your eyes with your arm. The sun was too bright. Was this what flying was like? You didn't want to do it anymore if it was. You didn't give much thought to the two men looking down at you, taking in the strange situation. You were caught up in your own world of feeling gross. How did people fly without getting sick?
"Gregory? What have you done? You must return this child immediately!"
"Oh no, Cain. She has wings and a-a-an olive branch necklace. I think she might be a-an angel."
"I am not-!" You sat up indignantly, getting ready to yell at the man for misidentifying you when you felt a lurch in your stomach. Crap, getting up way too quickly was what did it in the end. Pushing yourself up with the aid of your wings, you bolted over to the closest bush and threw up everything in your stomach. It mainly consisted of sweets because you had no need for food and only ever ate for the enjoyment of it. Why did you have all those sweet breads before you decided to try flying? Oh no...As you felt everything leave your stomach, it was obvious that the two men and the strange creature were watching you. Your wings flexed behind you, muscles tense as you heaved. This was a strange feeling for someone who couldn't get ill.
"I'm not- Bleh!" You hunched over, holding up your index finger as if telling them to wait, "-an angel. I'm a Virtue! Virtue!"
The two men looked at each other before they glanced back in your direction. They had no clue of the difference. They were flabbergasted as to what they were to do. They hadn't dealt with any interaction with a holy being since, well, they were alive. That had been so long ago. Seeing one now didn't settle their minds and only made them feel antsy. Cain was tempted to grab the closest thing and pretend you were Abel but knew better. The Prince would surely get upset at him then. When they were alive, there were no Virtues. Officially, the Virtues were created or born, after Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden but even now, you were kept a secret.
"She is just a-a-a child..." Abel slowly walked over to you, rubbing your back as well as he could with your wings, "...And Greg-Gregory trusted her enough t-to save her. That has to mean som-something."
"Gregory could have accidentally caught her."
Cain grunted as the big beast you now knew was called Gregory shoved his head into him like a big cat. Even if the creature couldn't speak, it could obviously get its point across. Just to emphasize its opinion, it blundered over to where you were having an unpleasant time with a bush and sat down with a loud thunk. He wasn't going to be moving. It seemed that if Cain wanted to be against helping you, a child who had literally fallen into their laps, then he would be against two votes. He never got his way (Abel would argue otherwise).
"I don't know where I am. Is this a different sphere...? Nothing looks familiar...Is this Saturn? Moon? Jupiter?" You groaned out once you felt as though you had nothing left to empty from your stomach.
"None of those, you stupid child. How would you have ended up on another planet?"
"Cain! Where were y-you before sweet-sweethe-heart?"
"Not another planet, another sphere! I was in the Silver City."
"Does th-that sound familiar to you, Cain?"
"No, it sounds ridiculous. That sounds like something you would make up, Abel. I bet she is just a new creation of Lord Morpheus that he somehow lost. She's just confused and we should bring the Lord here to deal with her."
"Where am I?"
"Why, this i-is the Dreaming." Abel helped brush down your hair after it had gotten messed up even more so when you were sick. The soft touch was nice. Physical affection wasn't very popular at home. You could count the number of people who would allow you to hug them with just one of your hands. Michael said it had to do with your position and needing to be professional. You didn't care about the reasons, you just wanted a hug every now and again.
The man hummed to himself as he finished his task, nodding when he was happy with the product. Standing back up fully, he helped you to your feet and he started to push you in the direction of two cabins. They were both quaint and extended the feeling of comfort. It would be nice to relax next to a fire inside one of them. Everything was very colorful around you, better than the Silver City where everything was, well, silver!
"I bet you aren't feeling too-too-too good after that, huh? How about we go p-put the kettle on and get a good cup of te-tea in you? We may even still ha-have some biscuits that you can eat-eat-eat."
"You know my tea is much better than yours!" Cain replied haughtily, stomping as he followed the two of you. "You might as well just give her a cup of poison if you make her tea!"
You couldn't help but laugh at the two brothers, finding their bickering amusing. Everyone liked to be so serious at home, you had never seen anything like this before. You didn't even see your siblings that often, all seven of you being raised in different areas of the Silver City. In the minds of the angels raising you, they were worried that you would become dependent on each other. Even at this age, they were preparing you to have your own realm and sphere. Your realm would be where you worked and would be located within the Silver City. This was for work meant for Earth and the living. Your Sphere, which you would learn yours is called Primum Mobile or the Fixed Stars, is where certain souls would reside after they passed. Angels were in charge of the daily goings-ons and your job would be to keep it desirable and enjoyable as an afterlife.
The sound of footsteps caused both of the brothers to stop in their tracks. Abel feared it was the Lord of the land, Morpheus. He would be able to sense that something wasn't right and there was another being in his realm. What would he do if he found you, a child but not dreaming? You were not supposed to be here and Dream wasn't very fond of trespassers. Abel didn't want to see you get hurt after Gregory had saved you. He didn't want to see any child get hurt...He wouldn't think Lord Dream would do anything terrible to a child but he wasn't sure, especially a holy one. Morpheus could be hard to gauge at times.
Instead of Lord Morpheus, a woman appeared with pure white wings. Her hair hung in curls, the red catching the sun and shining like fresh roses on a Summer day. She could take someone's breath away easily and she did just that with both men. It didn't seem to cause the woman to even blink, her full attention down on you. This must be the normal reaction when people saw her.
"Beatrice!" You squealed as soon as you saw the woman approach, her shoulders relaxing as soon as you entered her sight. This wasn't the first time you almost gave her a heart attack. She was one of the main angels in charge of you. You definitely were a handful and if someone wasn't actively watching you, you somehow always would pop away and end up in trouble. Beatrice would be lucky if Michael didn't reprimand her too harshly for this. He was not happy when he heard you were missing. He had been furious. Of course, the blame fell on Beatrice, even though she was only one of the many in charge of keeping track of you.
"Where did you go? Michael sent me to come looking for you. We are not allowed to be here, you should know that. We are not welcome within the Endless' realms. If the Lord found you, oh, you could have gotten hurt terribly!" Beatrice scooped you up in her arms, shaking her head. She needed to get you a leash with how much trouble you got in. Somehow you'd get in trouble even with the leash!
"I don't think the-the-the Dream Lord would have hurt her." Abel squirms where he stands, looking around as if just by saying his name would summon him.
"Your reaction is very comforting." Beatrice couldn't help the sarcasm in her tone as she pushed your head in the crook of her neck, silencing you before you could say anything. "Well, thank you for taking care of her but we really need to be getting back before she gets in even more trouble. Michael wants to speak with her."
Beatrice gave the two men a curt nod before spreading her wings and flying up to take you back to the Silver City. This time you curled your wings so they pressed against your back, dreading the chiding you were about to get from Michael. This wouldn't be the first time and you had a good feeling it wasn't going to be the last.
"Yes, it was quite troublesome! Goodbye now." Cain huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He refused to admit that he liked having someone else in their little nook of the Dreaming, especially someone young. It really helped liven up the place. Days could get boring when everything stayed the same save for his....daily activity with his brother.
Instead, he walked into the cabin to grab the fire poker, planning on taking out his "unrelated" annoyance on his brother.
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡
Hell was hot, as expected. Large rocks and rubble surrounded you as the three of you walked toward the gate. John had gotten you all in through a secret door that he was aware of. He didn't tell you why he knew about it so you kept the questions to a minimum. He already was annoyed enough.
As you neared the locked side gate into the bowels of Hell, you were greeted by a grotesque sight. A demon sat hunched, drool running down his chin. Why did they always seem to drool? Bones from his spine broke through his skin and you doubted he could stand up straight even if he wanted to. Just the slightest of movements sent black ichor running down his back. He was standing in a puddle of whatever that liquid was.
"This is Squatterbloat, one of the many gatekeepers. He is a wimp but is still a right twat to deal with." John explained. As soon as he spoke up, the demon's head spun to stare in your direction. Blind milky white eyes reflected the firelight. Could he see you?
"Three walk toward the locked bars. Not dead, not expected. One with eyes that holds the twin stars, two who are mortal and unprotected."
"Yeah, yeah. I've heard this all before, mate. Rhyme this, rhyme that, I don't give a damn. We just need ya to open the gate for us, sounds good?" You didn't know how John always sounded so calm when he spoke to demons. It was a talent and a curse at the same time.
"You want entrance through my gate? Three travelers, all still alive. Here you are, testing your fate, but will you all be able to survive?" Squatterbloat spoke, crouching by the locked doors.
"I don't get how you guys rhyme all the time." John leaned back, hands resting on his hips, "It seems like more trouble than it's worth."
"Do not test me, man of Constantine. For I will keep these gates locked. You could leave Hell lacking your spine and I will be happy to see you be mocked."
"We come as I request council from the Ruler of Hell himself, Lucifer." Dream stepped forward, eyes dark as he stared down at the short demon. It looked like his younger sister Despair in a way. Yet, he knew he could get his sister to understand and listen to him. This thing, he had no idea. This would all be worthless if they couldn't even get to Etrigan, the first step to finding Lucifer. To getting his helm back.
"Why should I let you in, oh King of Dreams? Your power has wained to but a dull spark. Your realm is tearing at the seams, just waiting to be swallowed up by the dark." A snicker left the creature's mouth, eyes holding more confidence than you thought it had the right to. You never understood how demons were so confident. Especially to someone much stronger than them.
"Do you truly wish to challenge me, you little stain?" Morpheus growled, hands twitching at his side. Dang, you would not want to see this man when he was truly angry. That had to be a terrifying sight.
"Does the King truly wish to ignore the truth? Your helm rests in Hell, your Ruby gone. The tools you created when you were in your youth, now reduced you to nothing but a prawn."
"Excuse me-"
"HEY ETRIGAN!" Cupping your hands around your mouth, you shouted as loud as you could through the bars, interrupting Morpheus before he could go on. You thought it wouldn't hurt. There was a precaution of not saying a demon's name when you were hunting it as it could bring its attention to you before you were ready. If it worked up on Earth, why wouldn't it work here as well? You just hoped Etrigan wasn't up on the mortal plane for any reason. He did have that situation with the Blood fellow.
"Be quiet, foul wench! That servant is not needed! Leave while I need not have revenge to quench! Listen to my words and leave having them heeded!"
"Very creative." John gave a humorless chuckle, eyeing the demon who was quickly becoming angry. He hated when demons tried to mess with you mentally. You could be so hard to read sometimes, he never knew if their words affected you.
"Who dares call for Etrigan from outside the gates of Hell? Why hast thou found the need for this yell?"
A larger form lumbered forward on the other side of the locked gate, yellow scales coming into view. Morpheus had met Etrigan once or twice but only in passing when he came as an emissary of the Dream Realm. You and John on the other hand had dealt with the creature more than a dozen of times. You liked Etrigan, at least as much as you could like a demon. He had been fairly kind to you.
"Hey, Etrigan! We need to talk to Lucifer but this guy won't let us in." You offered the bulky demon a wave which was returned with a tilt of his head.
"A meeting with the high ruler? Why this now instead of coming sooner?"
"I require a council with Lucifer, it is my business. I could enter in a way that could cause more trouble but I doubt anyone would want that." Dream took a step forward, ignoring the strange hiss that came from Squatterbloat.
"You know, you kinda owe us after that last mission." John shrugged his shoulders, "Just saying, mate."
"Etrigan owes nothing to you, mere mortal man. Everything Etrigan does is all because he knows Etrigan can."
"Please? Another demon has something that isn't theirs." You began to explain before Etrigan cut in.
"A demon owns nothing, certainly not of his own. A right to their property, even if stolen from a throne."
"Well, okay," You nodded slowly, "But I do know you like messing with the other demons and whoever has Dream's helm will be so upset if they lose it. Imagine the look of failure they will have on their face."
"The girl of the Earth makes a good point. Fine, Etrigan will guide you, but be sure you do not disappoint. Squatterbloat, the lock on the gate you are ordered to open."
"But-"
"Do as I say before your entire body is broken!"
The stout demon gave a shaky nod before toddling up to the gate. Black footprints followed. He took a key, from where you didn't know, and physically unlocked the door to Hell for you. Huh, you assumed it was locked by magic and the key was metaphorical. Guess not, even Hell liked to stay old school.
The three of you walked through the threshold and officially entered Hell. As the gates slammed shut behind you, it was hard to keep from shivering at the grin on Etrigan's face. You had always interacted with the demon on Earth before, on your own turf. Now, here you were, on his. You would have to be careful even if you thought the demon would do no harm to you. What if he had been lying this entire time? The first time you met him, you had gotten into a fight. Perhaps considering a demon, a "friend", wasn't the smartest decision. You seemed to make a lot of those mistakes.
"Come now, down the rings we will have to go. What awaits you, none of us can know~."
When some of Dream's younger siblings decide humans are there to be played with and start to take their job less seriously, Dream gets stuck with the job of bringing them back in. Yet, when four of the Endless decide to go off script, Dream realizes that he will need some help getting them back on track. With some of his other siblings agreeing to help while others want to stir up even more trouble, he knows he will need to get help from outside the Endless. That is where you come in- a Virtue. But you haven't been seen since his own disappearance at least a century ago and your last interaction with Dream didn't end that well. Will Dream be able to come to terms with his own wrongs in the past and be able to ask for help or will he need a friendly feathered push? And the million-dollar question: Where are you?
Chapter 01: A Favor Called
- When Lucifer needs someone to protect his younger sister, he knows exactly who to go to. Dream finally escapes and sees just how much everything has done.
Chapter 02: The Pouch Opened
- Dream comes across the twins and finds you. Lucienne said that you had been missing for years. Why are you with these two and why don’t you remember him?
Chapter 03: Two Demons and a Dream
- Somehow, you have seem to forgotten your memories. How could that be? Dream needs to come up with some reason for the two of you to stay together. Oh, also the forgotten memory of your first visit to the Dreaming.
