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beauty-and-passion · 25 days

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TBOB PART 3: OF BILL'S SOLITUDE AND BILLFORD (1/3)

What can I say? I’ve always loved the canon ship in almost every fandom I was in.

Welcome, everyone. Welcome to the third part of my endless rambling about Bill Cipher, The Book of Bill and Gravity Falls in general. Now it’s time for the ship, so sit back and relax, because there is a lot to talk about here.

Yes, I was one of the people who shipped these two eight years ago. And I shipped them as soon as I finished watching the series, because… well, there was more than enough proof that something was going on between them.

Unfortunately, the mentality at the time was “Bill tries to kill Dipper as soon as he has the chance? True love. One trillion proofs that Ford and Bill have something going on? How dare you think that, you are a Bad Person™”.

And yes, I know I could’ve written one post years ago and tried to explain Billford back then but… it would’ve been so, so tiresome. Especially considering that pedophilia was a-okay, but Billford shippers were terrible people Because Yes.

But hey, times change, people change and TBOB gives us enough proofs even a blind person can see them. So. it’s finally time to extensively talk about this ship - this time, from Bill’s point of view.

(For the disclaimer and everything else, refer to the first post. And read the previous ones too, if you like! They will help you understand some things I take for granted here.)

<- Previoust post - Masterlist

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Billford has always been canon

The thing is: now as then, Billford has never been a ship about “and they ended up happily ever after”. There was never an intent to glorify abuse or to say that Bill and Ford had the healthiest relationship and everyone should have the same.

What was so captivating of this ship was the tragedy of it. The clearly evident infatuation. The obsession these two had for each other.

This is what pushed people (me included) to ship them: because it’s interesting. The dramatic possibilities, the angst, how deeply an obsession can go to the point you lose yourself to your partner… and yes, of course also the interesting images that can come up by imagining such different beings having something physical (if you’re not a coward and give Bill a human form). It’s not the typical fluff with a couple being lovey-dovey 24/7: it’s a lot more. There is a lot that can be explored. It’s wonderfully challenging, both on the writing plane and purely mentally.

… and yes, it's funny for crack and parodies. These two being cringe and pathetic or married and divorced at the same time is always funny.

Sure, at first we had just the show to support this ship. But oh boy, if there weren’t enough proofs already:

Ford’s house was filled to the brim with images, pictures and stuff of Bill. His goddamn windows are triangular-shaped. Not even the Vatican is filled with so many images of God - and I can assure you the windows are not Jesus-shaped.

Ford made a deal with Bill to be together “from now until the end of time”. Until the end of time. That’s basically a marriage, only even more extreme, because fuck death, we will be together until the last supernova evaporates. And before you ask: yes, it takes such a stupidly long amount of time, it’s bonkers. That’s real infatuation.

Ford consensually gave his body to Bill for possession. Just imagine the sheer trust you need to surrender your whole self to someone else. Not even a married couple can reach this level of trust. And definitely not “just friends”. Maybe BDSM couples can come a bit closer to what these two had.

As soon as Ford returned home after 30 years, Bill greeted him in a dream, called him “his old pal” and was all nice and friendly. No hard feelings, no reprimands, nothing but flattery and threats because, as we learned from TBOB, these two things go together in his head.

Bill asked Ford to join him 200 times more or less.

Bill gave Ford 200 nicknames more or less.

During Weirdmageddon, right after Ford tried to kill him with one of the things that could’ve destroyed him (the quantum destabilizer), Bill welcomed him with a smile, offered him a place among his freaks for the umpteenth time and, when Ford refused again, he turned him into his literal golden trophy wife and carried him around.

By comparison, when Preston Northwest offered his help, Bill shuffled the function of every hole in his face and ignored him completely right after.

Also: Ford tries to shoot me and fails by sheer luck? Please please please, be one of my freaks. Dipper tries to throw me a punch that will literally do nothing? Death. Bill doesn’t have double standards, nope nope.

To convince Ford to give him the equation, Bill’s first thought is to bring Ford into a private suite, serenade him and ask him to join him for… what? The 220th time?

When Ford refuses, Bill puts chains on him in the kinkiest possible way known to mankind, with an iconic image that screams of BDSM.

Somehow, all of this wasn’t enough. And so, we had Journal 3, in which:

Ford called Bill “his Muse”. Oh, my mistake: he called Bill “his blessed Muse”.

Literally lavishes Bill with compliments. So. Many. Compliments.

Says Bill will “seduce” you with never-ending flattery. Interesting verb choice here, Ford, are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell us?

Ford named a constellation after his Muse.

Once he went through the portal, instead of hiding away forever and good luck finding him, Ford held a 30-years-old grudge and decided HE would’ve killed Bill, no one else. That’s not a simple obsession between friends.

But after all of this, something was still missing.

Until now, it was quite certain that Ford had a COLOSSAL obsession about Bill. The religious fervor, the sheer trust, the depth of his grudge all made it very clear that Bill carved a deeply rooted place in his heart and mind - a place he kept for most of Ford’s life.

But what about Bill? Did he even care about Ford?

We had no idea. Sure, he showed some kind of care: he gave Ford special treatment during Weirdmageddon and seemed to value him enough to offer him a place among his freaks multiple times.

But when did this care start? Was it just because he needed Ford? What about their pre-betrayal relationship? Did Bill even care before?

The most plausible explanation at the time was that pre-betrayal Bill was simply flattered by Ford’s lavish adoration. Maybe he liked the guy a bit (otherwise, why waste time with him?) and humored him in his fervor, but nothing more than that.

But then the betrayal happened and Ford switched from adoring him to opposing him. He actively ran away, found ways to keep Bill away from his mind and came back with the sole intention of killing him.

At the time, I thought this was the moment when Bill started to be truly interested in Ford. Before Ford was just an adoring pet. Now he was more. Now he was interesting. Now he was worthy.

And that opened the door to even more angst possibilities! If Billford was just a “one-sided relationship” before, now it could’ve been the story of two beings who loved/cared about each other, but at different moments in time: Ford in the past, when Bill didn’t love him yet. And Bill in the present, when Ford wasn’t in love with him anymore. The perfect tragedy, ton of angst, love that.

But now, with TBOB and thisisnotawebsitedotcom, the tragedy that is Billford gets a new, angst layer. A beautiful, angst layer.

Because it’s not that Bill never cared about Ford or cared at the wrong moment in time: Bill cared right from the start.

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Deeply alone

One detail about TBOB that people aren’t talking too much about is the sense of solitude that permeates it. There are parts in which you can literally feel Bill’s loneliness.

One example? The Bill Tells All section. I know it’s supposed to be a funny parody, but it’s also a perfect image of how alone he is. He’s so alone, he has to be host, interviewee and audience at the same time, because no one else is willing to listen or talk to him.

And in light of the information we got about his past, I think this is an extremely important part of Bill’s character and personality.

Let’s come back to Euclydia: the anthem/poem on the website emphasizes how close people are (“LOVED ONES WILL BE EVER NEAR”), so it’s very possible Bill grew up surrounded by his loved ones.

And then, one single event and everyone disappeared. All the people who surrounded him one second ago, were gone the second after. “There was no one left but me, covered in blood, alone in the universe.”: if this line means solitude for us, just imagine how much, much stronger that same solitude would be for someone who, until that moment, has always been surrounded by others and knew no other reality than that.

That’s another level of solitude: it’s a black void of emptiness, something all-encompassing and all-consuming. It’s a hole carved inside you that nothing will fill ever again. And it was you, the one who carved it.

Of course Bill became insane. Of course he chose to find a justification for his action, by saying that he liberated his dimension and that his people were holding him back. I don’t know what he would’ve done, if he hadn’t. Probably, he wouldn’t have found a way to survive.

But he survived. He repressed his trauma, justified it and kept going towards the stars he was aiming for.

Still, that void was inside him - and we know he tried to fill it. He tried by dating a literal void, for god’s sake. And he tried by surrounding himself with people.

That’s probably why he became who he is: a flashy, flamboyant figure, someone who loves to be the center of attention, because that means having people around. It means people listening to him and being with him and surrounding him again. It means not being alone again.

I mean, just look at this book: every page has something new and interesting, every page is a different attempt to keep you involved, to keep you around and listen.

But an audience can always leave. An audience can stop being around. And that’s probably why Bill searched for someone closer, someone who wouldn’t leave him so soon.

He searched for new loved ones.

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Love and hate

Bill’s love advice put a real smile on my face, because sure, they’re funny, but at their foundation, they all share the same goal: to show to your potential partner your qualities and how you would be able to carry/provide for them and your offspring.

Why is it so funny? Because that’s exactly what every single living being does to attract a potential mate: showing off your colorful feathers, singing louder than others, fighting other rivals, showing how clever you are, using pheromones and special smells. And, for humans, something like, idk, showing how wide your hips were as proof that you would carry healthy babies. Or showing off how wealthy you are, to prove you can take care of your partner and your offspring.

Bill himself follows this mentality, considering advices like “have two of everything to show your wealth” or “show how much calcium you have (aka how healthy you are)”. Heck, he even has a seduction hat which is basically one huge phallic shape!

And, again, this makes me smile, not just because it’s a clear parody of those men who keep showing off their huge, large vehicles. But also because he usually wears a tall top hat. And how funny it would be, if a tall top hat was indeed a way to win a partner in Euclydia? What if that’s how his father got his mother? Please, I want a fanfic or Mr. Cipher entering a place with a top hat big and wide enough to win Mrs. Cipher’s heart (while not accidentally piercing through another shape). I bet it would be hilarious.

Funny love advice aside, I would also point out these two things Bill says:

Love and fear are right next to each other in the brain and, like most humans, Bill also can’t tell the difference (he doesn’t even think there is a difference)

“love is the pupa stage for hate”

The fact Bill mixes love and fear explains why he is like that in general - and with Ford too. If love and fear are the same thing, then there is no difference between flattering someone and threatening them. There is no difference between partying with his friends and scaring the shit out of them. There’s no difference between helping Ford and hurting him. And there’s no difference between allowing him to see Fordtramarine and “joking” about someone coming to steal his eyes.

Also: if “love is the pupa stage for hate”, then Ford coming back after 30 years hating him was completely normal for Bill. It was just how things were supposed to go: first he loved him, now he hates him. Still, same thing. Still worth a place among his freaks. Still worth flirting. For Bill, nothing has changed - just evolved in a natural way.

And yes, this is uber duper fucked up and great material for toxic Billford. But it also makes me think: how did Bill get this mentality? How did he manage to mix love and fear so much? When did it happen?

Inevitably, I think about Euclydia. And inevitably, I think that “the incident” is when Bill mixed the two things.

When he still lived in Euclydia, Bill clearly experienced both love and hate: his mother at least seemed to love him, the other kids didn’t. Bill doesn’t like his optometrist either and we have no clue about his feelings towards his father. Later in his life, Bill recognizes his family and his world tried to blind him/”snuff out his potential” - so, again, something more similar to hate than love.

Then, Bill destroyed his place. He had to deal with a trauma so huge (i.e. experiencing solitude for the first time in his existence), it left a void inside him. A void he decided to suffocate with lies - lies that, in the end, are just half-truths. His place was bad and his family was holding him back! But that was also the place that showed him love for the first time. His people were flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams! But among them, there was also the one who loved him right from the start.

I believe this is when the two feelings got mixed in his brain. In his attempt to justify and cope with his mixed feelings regarding the universe he just destroyed, Bill ended up mixing love and fear together and believing that love is just one stage of hate. Unable to deal with the vastity of solitude, Bill put together justifications for his actions and messed up his own perception of feelings.

The result is someone who is deeply, deeply alone and who desperately keeps searching for love to fill that void… but is unable to do that, because he cannot distinguish between love and hate anymore.

That’s why he has a lot of exes. And that’s why they’re all exes.

But hey, at least there are friends, right? Right?

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Bill’s friends are full of potential (especially one of them)

The perfect friend for Bill should be:

alone, outcasted, rejected by society, possibly an orphan looking for a purpose in life (so exactly like him)

completely devoted to him

Which you can see by yourself that this isn’t exactly how a friendship should work. The friend exactly like you can still work, but the friend completely devoted to you who should do everything you want… well, that’s not a friend. That’s not even a pet, because even pets do not follow you around with such lavish adoration.

But somehow, in the vastity of the Multiverse, Bill managed to find some friends. And oh boy, what friends:

Pyronica is a beauty queen AND she has a twin sister AND she dated Hectorgon. Cool, but not enough. I need details. But, like, a lot. Her entire story would suffice (maybe).

Amorphous Shape is invisible to most of the Henchmaniacs. How? Why? Who is she, really? Where is she from? Where is her backstory? Why isn’t it here? I need it here.

Hectorgon was a goddamn sheriff and Bill just throws it like that?! I want his backstory too! I want to know everything about him!

Keyhole hates Pyronica? Why? What happened? Where is all the juicy gossip, Bill? We need the gossip!

And most importantly: a certain someone was part of Bill’s gang. Someone with a photo that has been covered, but it’s still partially visible. And as soon as I saw it, I jumped up on my bed and asked: “Wait… is this Jheselbraum?!”

The answer is yes and thisisnotawebsite confirmed it: she was one of Bill’s Henchmaniacs. And now the right question is: how much do you want The Book of Jheselbraum, from 1 to 10?

I mean:

In the partially crossed-out part about her in TBOB, Bill says she figured something related to dimensions

In the shaman page (TBOB) there is a code: WHICH HENCHMANIAC RATTED ME OUT

In Journal 3, Ford has been saved by her, who sucked him out of the 2D world of Exwhylia

Jheselbraum told Ford that Bill’s “thirst for power caused him to destroy his home dimension - including his parents and everyone else he’d ever known” (Journal 3)

Still in Journal 3, Ford says she spoke of Bill “without anger, but with a calm, steely, clinical resolve to see his reign of terror end”.

In addition to that, let me add this part from thisisnotawebsitedotcom under the code TANTRUM:

I KNOW YOUR CRIMES, CIPHER. TAKING A NEW HOME WILL NOT MAKE UP FOR THE ONE YOU’VE LOST. WHAT YOU DID TO THE COUNTLESS SOULS OF EUCLYDIA- Cipher stopped in his tracks. YOU CHOOSE YOUR WORDS VERY. CAREFULLY. Ciphers henchmen murmured amongst each other, confused. They seemed to have heard conflicting stories about Bill’s past. “You said you liberated the people of your dimension-” LIBERATED THEM FROM THEIR BODIES! DONT LISTEN TO HIM! HE’S A BABY!

Can you see how HUGE the potential is?

What I believe for now is that:

Jheselbraum figured out what Bill really did to his home dimension (i.e. destroying everything and not “liberating” it, as he said to his Henchmaniacs)

She started to actively find ways to stop him from doing the same thing again

She “ratted him out” with Bill’s new potential puppets on Earth

Bill found out she didn’t just rat him out, but found out the truth about Euclydia too and that’s what led to her escaping

She settled closer to a 2D world - maybe to learn more about Bill, maybe because she knew Ford would’ve appeared there

And speaking of that, we have the message on thisisnotawebsitedotcom under the code SEVENEYES:

This is something someone else wrote to her. Someone who told her to escape to a crossed-out Dimension (who guesses that the crossed-out thing was the number 52?). Someone who told her it was against the rules, but it was also the only way to escape him (aka Bill).

And from her code, you can find out the other criminals found new homes as well.

In other words, we have a hidden spy story, in which someone helped Jheselbraum escape from Bill and, in turn, she helped all others escape Bill.

If you don’t want a book about her, about her story as Bill’s henchmaniac and about this whole thing, you are a huge. Fucking. Liar.

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And with that, let’s close part 1 of this umpteenth endless analysis. The next one will come soon and it will be all about Billford.

Yes, I know I already talked about Billford here, but we still haven’t talked about the details in TBOB and Bill’s perspective on it. Also, it’s always nice to talk about Billford.

See you soon~

-> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

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sidekick-hero · 4 months

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The road to hell

(steddie | teen | wc: 2.8k | tags: demon!steve, exes, reconcilation, accidental demon summoning | AO3)

I have no idea what happened, but this prompt wouldn't leave me alone so have a short, self-indulgent demon!Steve crack fic.

Eddie was not wallowing. He was not.

He’s simply spending his Saturday evening home alone, sitting on his couch and drinking expensive whiskey straight from the bottle with The Cranberries crooning in the background. No biggie.

Steve hated it when he drank hard liquor from the bottle. He always insisted on using the crystal tumblers he'd owned even before he and Eddie had gotten together. Most of their stuff had been Steve’s because Eddie had been living in a one-bedroom apartment the size of a shoebox before they moved in together, while Steve owned an honest-to-god mansion.

Eddie should’ve known they’d never make it.

Their differences had been thrilling at first, sure, but it was never meant to last. He knows that now.

If he’d only known five years ago when the officiator had asked, “And do you want to take Steven Baron Harrington to be your lawfully wedded husband?” he could’ve said no if he’d known that only three years later, Steve would smash his heart into pieces.

The worst part though? Eddie knows that even knowing what would come, he wouldn’t want to give up the three years of blissful happiness before that.

Because Steve and he? They had been happy. He knows they had been. Eddie had been the happiest man on earth until the day Steve said they needed to talk. They hadn’t really talked, after all, because there hadn’t been much for Eddie to say.

What do you say when the man you believe is the love of your life tells you that he can’t do this anymore, that he thought he could be happy with Eddie but it wasn’t working? Apparently, it wasn’t Eddie’s fault, but Steve’s.

Yeah, right.

It’s definitely Steve’s fault Eddie is drinking himself stupid on what is supposed to be his fifth wedding anniversary, if not for the divorce papers he got this morning with his mail. Ready to be signed by him, Steve’s flourished signature taunting him.

What kind of asshole sends his soon-to-be ex-spouse divorce papers on their wedding anniversary?

Eddie’s not wallowing in self-pity because Eddie is livid. He’s so goddamn pissed that Steve would do that to him after promising to cherish him, to love him. How could he have been so stupid and believed all the promises Steve had made? Promises of forever, of growing old and wrinkly together, of sharing the good and the bad times with each other.

Apparently, that has all been bullshit because Eddie’s in the middle of some horrible times and Steve’s nowhere to be seen.

Taking another big swig from the rapidly emptying bottle, Eddie stares at the photo album in his lap. It’s the album with their wedding photos and one of the very few things he had taken from their shared home before he left.

He sets the album aside and reaches for another item, something he'd grabbed by accident during the chaos of moving out. It’s a book with an ornate, leather-bound cover that had always been on Steve's bookshelf, untouched and gathering dust.

Eddie flips it open, curiosity piqued by the strange symbols and archaic script. The words look like nothing he’s ever seen, some ancient language or elaborate code. He squints at the pages, the whiskey making the characters dance.

"What the hell did you collect, Steve?" he mumbles, running his finger along the odd script. He starts murmuring the strange words aloud, half in jest, half in drunken curiosity.

As he clumsily flips through the pages, one of them gives him a paper cut. "Shit," he curses, watching a drop of blood swell on his fingertip and drip onto the book. The blood seeps into the page, the crimson drop spreading and absorbing into the parchment.

The room suddenly grows colder, the air thick with an oppressive energy. Eddie looks around, a chill running down his spine. “What the…”

Before he can finish the thought, the book begins to glow, the symbols pulsing with a dark, eerie light. The room vibrates with a low hum, and Eddie stumbles back, eyes wide with horror and disbelief.

The light intensifies, and with a sudden burst, a figure emerges from the book, surrounded by a swirling vortex of shadows. Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest as the figure materializes, taking on a familiar shape.

“Steve?” Eddie gasps, his voice a mix of shock and terror.

The figure steps forward, solidifying into a very real, very present Steve. Except… not quite. His eyes glow with an unearthly light, and dark, swirling tattoos snake up his arms and neck.

“Hello, Eddie,” Steve—or the demon that looks like him—says, a smirk playing on his lips. “Miss me?”

Eddie’s bottle slips from his hand, shattering on the floor as he scrambles away, fear etched on his face. Seeing Eddie’s reaction, Steve’s smirk fades, replaced by a look of hurt and sadness.

“What the heck is going on, Steve?” Eddie demands, his voice shaking, eyes wide with a mix of anger and confusion. “If this is some kind of…of prank then it’s not funny at all.”

Steve looks apologetic. “It’s not a prank, Eddie. God, I wish it were. This,” he says as he stretches out his arm, the palm of his hand facing upwards, “is real.”

A flame appears atop Steve’s hand, casting shadows over his not-quite-human face.

Most of Eddie was fucking terrified, but he would be lying if he said there wasn’t also a part that thought Steve looked even more beautiful like that.

“So you’re saying… What? That you’re -” He can’t bring himself to say it. It sounds insane, even in his head. Speaking it out loud would mean risking his sanity, he knows it.

“A demon? A spawn of hell? A monster? An abomination? You can choose one of these, I’ve been called worse.”

Steve says it nonchalant, giving Eddie a shrug of his shoulder and a wary twist of his mouth, but Eddie knows him. Knows his tells. His heart twinges in his chest at the sight, fingers itching to reach out and pull Steve in his arms and sooth his self-doubt and insecurities.

But then he remembers that he’s a demon, a fact he conveniently forget to tell Eddie because… Because what? Because Eddie was just a mere human, vulnerable, weak, helpless? Did Steve think he couldn’t handle the truth? Or was he embarrassed what all the other demons would think if they’d knew he was married to a mortal?

“And you kept this from me because I'm just a weak, pathetic human? Is that it? Were you embarrassed of stupid little Eddie, who has to use a lighter to get some fire?”

Steve laughs brokenly, the sound raw and bitter and Eddie’s heart tightens as Steve's laughter echoes hollowly in the room. He waits for Steve's response, his eyes searching for some semblance of truth in the demon's gaze.

"No, Eddie, it’s not that," Steve finally replies, his voice carrying a weight of regret. "I ended things because I’m a demon. We don’t belong here. I’m only allowed on Earth for as long as a deal I have with a mortal lasts. My last one was a ten-year deal, and it ended a few days after I broke things off with you."

Eddie’s eyes widen, hurt mingling with confusion. "So, you broke up with me because your deal ended?"

"Yes," Steve admits, his voice softening, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing. "It was stupid to fall for a human in the first place. I didn’t plan on it, I swear, but I couldn’t help myself. Your clumsy ass was just too irresistible."

"Shut up, you love my ass," Eddie retorts without thinking, falling back into their old banter as easy as breathing.

Steve doesn’t laugh, just looks at Eddie with liquid hazel eyes that shine with a red hue if Eddie tilts his head just so. “I do. That’s why I ended things in the worst possible way. I loved you too much to drag you into my mess so I had to let you go. I hoped that it would be easier if you could just hate me.”

Eddie’s breath catches, tears welling up. “But why didn’t you just tell me?” he whispers, the pain in his voice palpable.

"I couldn’t," Steve says, stepping closer, his eyes pleading, glistening with unshed tears. “I didn’t want to hurt you more than necessary. So, I went back to Hell.”

Eddie shakes his head, trying to process everything. “Let me get this straight. You loved me… but you left. You didn’t want to hurt me… but you decided to just tell me it’s over one day, no explanation, letting me think it was my fault. That I wasn’t good enough.”

“I had to,” Steve insists, his voice breaking. “I thought it was the only way to protect you.”

Eddie looks at him, a mixture of anger and longing in his eyes. “So, what now?”

Steve sighs, looking more human than ever despite the demonic aura. “I don’t know, Eddie. I don’t know.”

Eddie’s chest tightens, too many conflicting emotions swirling inside him. “Why, Steve? Why let me fall in love with you if this was how it was going to end?”

Steve steps closer, reaching out but stopping short of touching Eddie. “Because I’m a demon, Eddie. I’m selfish, and cruel. Loving you, having you love me back, it was the best part of my existence. Even if it had to end, those years with you were worth everything. Even if I knew it would hurt in the end, I couldn’t stop myself.”

Eddie’s tears finally spill over, and he chokes out, “You left me broken, Steve. You made me love you and then you discarded me like a broken toy, leaving me wondering what it was that I did wrong, why you stopped loving me. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

Steve’s own eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I know. I’m so sorry, Eddie. I thought I was doing the right thing not telling you. I thought… I thought it would be better for you. That you could hate me and move on.”

“Have you?” Eddie scoffs, wiping at his tears angrily.

“Have I what?”

“Moved on,” Eddie clarifies, chastising himself for the tentative hope blooming in his chest.

Steve looks down, his expression one of deep regret. “No,” he admits, “I haven’t. Not sure I’ll ever will but that was supposed to be my problem. At least before you managed to summon me with a grimoire you apparently stole from me. How did you even do that?”

“I just… took it?” Eddie has the good grace to look a bit sheepish.

With a fond chuckle, Steve’s usual reaction when Eddie was saying something silly, Steve shakes his head. “No, dummy. How the hell - pun totally intended - did you summon me from hell? That’s some serious blood magic.”

Steve looks impressed and Eddie wants to preen under it, but he also knows that it hadn’t been his magical proficiency exactly that had summoned Steve.

“It was an accident,” he mumbles, avoiding Steve’s gaze. It figured that the one time Eddie did something truly impressive, apparently, it was a drunken accident. And of course Steve couldn’t let it go, either.

“Come again? This almost sounded like…”

Burying his face in his hands, Eddie groans deep in his chest. Then he raises his arms in an exasperated gesture. “It was an accident, okay? I cut my finger on the paper. Happy now?” He adds petulantly.

Steve laughs at that. “Only you, Eddie, only you…” The way Steve looks at him with so much fondness, face soft and almost yearning, tugs at Eddie’s heart. “Actually, yeah, I’m happy your drunken ass managed something most people who tried failed at, because it means I got to see you again. I… I really missed you, Bambi.”

Eddie takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “So, what happens now, Steve? Do you go back to Hell?”

Steve looks up, his eyes filled with sorrow. “Not if I can help it. I want to find a way to be with you, Eddie. For real, this time. But I don’t know how.”

Eddie’s heart aches at the sincerity in Steve’s voice, but the hurt and betrayal still linger. “I don’t know if I can trust you again, Steve. Not after everything.”

Steve nods, understanding. “I know it won’t be easy. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. To prove that I love you, no matter what.”

Eddie looks at Steve, the love and pain in his heart warring with each other. “We’ll see, Steve. We’ll see.”

With his head in his hands, Eddie’s sat on the couch, still processing the whirlwind of revelations and emotions. Steve was back, a demon, but still the man he loved. And now, Steve wants to find a way to be with him for real. The absurdity of the situation makes Eddie’s head spin. He reaches for the whiskey bottle again, but Steve gently takes it from his hand before he can take another sip.

“Hey, I think you’ve had enough of that,” Steve says, a hint of humor in his voice. “Besides, we need you sober if we’re going to figure this out.”

Eddie blinks at him, then bursts into a half-sob, half-laugh. “This is so messed up, Steve. My ex-husband is a demon, and I summoned him by accident, and now he won’t even let me drink to deal with it because he wants me to help him find a way to stay topside. What is my life?”

Steve chuckles softly, the sound carrying a mixture of amusement and affection. “It’s certainly not what you expected, I bet.”

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the chaos of emotions swirling within him. “No, definitely not what I expected.”

As the tension begins to ease between them, Eddie gestures towards the broken whiskey bottle on the floor. “Guess you owe me a drink for cleaning up your mess,” he quips, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

Steve’s chuckle grows into a genuine laugh, the sound echoing warmly through the room. “You can hold me to that. But first, let’s figure out how to fix this.”

Eddie sighs, rubbing his temples. “Alright, demon ex-husband. What’s the plan?”

Steve looks thoughtful for a moment, then grins. "First, we need some coffee. Strong coffee. And then maybe I'll give you a crash course in demonology? See if that magical brain of yours can come up with an idea. You've always been good at thinking outside the box, and that's exactly what we're going to need."

Eddie groans, but can't help the small smile on his lips. "Fine. But if you think I'm going to let you stay here without doing the dishes, you've got another thing coming."

Steve laughs, a genuine, joyful sound that makes Eddie's heart ache with nostalgia. "Deal. Any other terms, oh, husband of mine?"

"Ex-husband. Someone decided to send divorce papers on our anniversary. I should have known you were a demon with a move like that."

All the color drains from Steve's face, his eyes widen comically. He looks so completely human now, if not for the tattoos still swirling on his skin. "Oh fuck. It's the first of May? Shit, shit, shit, Eddie, I'm so sorry! I told Vince to get the papers to you as soon as possible before I went back to hell, I had no idea he'd wait until today."

The thing is, Steve really looks devastated at the thought, his eyes begging Eddie to believe him. He knows Steve - at least he thought he did - and the man he knew wouldn't hurt him like that. Not knowingly. But he also thought that the man he knew wouldn't lie to him for years and break his heart, so what does Eddie really know? He shouldn't be trusted with life decisions, not even his own.

Suddenly he is tired of being angry at Steve. Part of him thinks this is all a dream anyway, and tomorrow when he wakes up he can go back to being angry at him and blaming him for the massive hangover he's got.

Tonight he wants to live in a world where Steve had to leave him because he's a demon and now he accidentally summoned him and is trying to help him stay here for good.

"It's okay, Steve. How about that coffee and demonology crash curse? By the way, I can't believe you never wanted to play DnD with us. You would have crushed it."

Steve gives him a grateful smile and follows Eddie into the kitchen.

"We can treat this like one of your adventures. But don't use your DM voice or whatever on me or we won't get anything done tonight."

The heat in Steve's eyes is probably hellfire, Eddie thinks as he audibly swallows. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Or, in Eddie's case, with drunken accidental summonings.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfic #demon steve harrington #human eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #my writing

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corroded-hellfire · 3 months

Text

Prompt Day 4: Eddie

Word Count: 994

Rating: G

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

CW: Language

Summary: A collection of Eddie's reaction to different parts of the book A Court of Thorns and Roses. Inspired by those wives who filmed their husbands' reactions to the books and provided me with hours of entertainment.

@corrodedcoffinfest

A sigh and the closing of a book has you looking away from your own book and over at your husband on the other end of the couch. Your eyes dip down to Eddie’s lap where your copy of A Court of Thorns and Roses lays shut. A look back up at Eddie’s face, staring towards the carpet while in thought, gives you no further clues as to why he has stopped reading.

“What’s up, Eds?” you ask.

He lets out another sigh and drops his hands to the cover of the paperback that’s balancing on his thighs.

“What the actual fuck?” he starts off. “Feyre kills a wolf—because apparently, she’s the only one supporting her family! So, it’s some faerie wolf and it’s supposed to be a life for a life kind of thing? But then this fucking creature busts down the door all viciously and then is like, ‘nah I’ll just have you come live with me instead.’ What?”

As hard as you try to contain your amusement, a small giggle slips out. You tilt your head as you look at your husband, confusion creased on his forehead.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, babe.”

“This book has some weird as shit names for creatures,” is how Eddie greets you when you step into the bedroom, just out of the shower with a towel wrapped around you.

“Says the Dungeon Master,” you tease as you walk towards your dresser. “There are no demogorgons in that book.”

“No,” Eddie counters, “just the Suriel. Nagas. The Spring Court is a goddamn death trap! And that’s even before we met this other guy who I just know is gonna cause chaos in some way later. Rhysand. Dude seems dark and I can’t say I hate it.”

You focus on keeping your jaw clenched tightly as you change into one of Eddie’s old t-shirts. If this was the other way around, Eddie would’ve already slipped up and spoiled something as big as Rhys’s role in the series, but you knew watching this all unfold before you would be well worth it.

“Feyre is getting all the feels for Tamlin, too.” Eddie looks over and gives you a cheesy grin. “Is that how you felt about me when we first met?”

“No,” you say with an over dramatic sigh. “Maybe you should’ve barged into my home and whisked me away to a magical escape room and I would’ve. But you missed your chance.”

You sit down on the couch after dinner and it’s not thirty seconds before your husband has his head in your lap and gazes at you with those doe brown eyes.

“Hello to you, too,” you say, immediately reaching down to play with his hair.

“Lucien is a cool dude,” Eddie says. “I like him a lot. I hope he doesn’t die.”

“You’ll just have to keep reading to find out,” you tease.

Eddie raises his arm in the air and it’s the first time you notice he has the book in his hand.

“Gonna start now,” he says. “I think some shit’s about to go down.”

It’s impossible not to watch Eddie’s face as he finishes up reading the first book. The man has always been one of the most expressive people you know and that includes while reading as well. His facial expressions provide grade A entertainment.

Finally, Eddie closes the book and drops it on the couch cushion beside him. He releases a long breath, followed by an even longer inhale.

“So Rhys did have reasons,” he starts, nodding his head as he speaks. “He wasn’t just the asshole we were led to believe he was. I actually think I like him the best. Tamlin’s alright and I do like Lucien a lot. But I felt more of a connection with Rhys.”

You listen to him, a smile on your face. The whole time he’s been reading the book you’ve been anxious to see what he’ll think of the end.

“A lot happens, doesn’t it?” you ask.

“Hits the ground running,” Eddie agrees. “Feyre’s tests were brutal. That worm maze was badass though! And I’m glad Amarantha is dead. God, what a bitch.”

“What part were you reading where your nostrils were flaring?” you ask with a giggle. “You looked pissed.”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then his head lifts and he snaps his fingers.

“That was when, ugh,” Eddie pauses, an irritated groan rumbling from his chest, “when Tamlin doesn’t do a fucking thing to help Feyre! Holy shit. Just sits there on the throne except when he gets to make out with her. Jesus Christ. If that were you, I would’ve been out of that goddamn seat and taking anyone down I had to to keep you safe.”

His impassioned words make your heart flutter.

“My High Lord,” you coo.

Your husband seems to like that, a smirk growing on his face as he noticeably looks you up and down.

“You know,” Eddie drawls. “I do have those pointed Elven ears. They could definitely be fae ears.”

Slowly, you push yourself up out of your chair and saunter over to the couch. Eddie leans back as you climb into his lap, straddling his thighs.

“Eddie Munson, High Lord of the Hellfire Court,” you say, wrapping your arms around your husband’s neck.

“Mmm,” Eddie hums, angling his head down to press a few kisses along your throat. “Maybe then you could wear the ears and be my Feyre, let me cover your body in paint.”

“Technically she was still a human at that point so she wouldn’t have the pointed ears,” you say softly into his ear.

Eddie’s fingers dig into your sides, tickling you until a shriek squeaks from your lips.

“Had to ruin the moment with your nerd knowledge, huh?” Eddie asks with a playful smirk.

A smug grin lights up your face as you answer him.

“About time you got a taste of your own medicine, Munson.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #corrodedcoffinfest #acotar #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #CCF

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askew-d · 6 months

Note

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "askew-d "?

hello, there! sorry for the long wait, i forgot to check my notifs :( i will do better next time. thank you for this question! i feel like i’ve waited ages for someone to ask me exactly that, lol. i could talk about well-written fanfics forever!! can i give you a hug? because this is wonderful, really.

let’s go for it! my range of fanfiction that i enjoy vary, but one thing remains: i will adore your fic, no matter the fandom, if it’s written with passion and if it contains good, poetic introspection. i love poetry. for me, if there’s melancholic tropes of any kind i’m into it. immortal character and reincarnation? give me now. supernatural elements or slice of life with doomed narrative? i’ll ignore sleep to read it. angst with happy ending? my endgame, for sure.

however, i also adore silly, comedic, cute pieces of domestic life or otherwise. i had a hard time choosing from my bookmarks for this, and i also reviewed some of my favorites, it was fun. before we continue, here are some of the tags that i don’t dive into for whatever reason: porn without plot (it personally just doesn’t interest me at all), non-con, gore, a/b/o dynamics, soulmates au. sorry if you were hoping for it! i’ll try classify them into an order of what i like most.

1. jellyfish, by mystery twin, for the haikyuu!! fandom — i read this when i was finishing high school and coincidentally the story talks about finishing high school! i have a personal attachment that makes me reread it every year. it’s some sort of tradition at this point. not to mention i love kagehina dearly.

2. teen project to change the world, by animeloverhomura, for the mo dao zu shi fandom — respectfully speaking, i would find this author and give them a big hug. their writing is spetacular! if you've never seen this one and you're into mdzs, know it's a story where the characters get to see every event from the novel and donghua, even the dead characters. they watch wei wuxian journey, can you believe it? so goddamn entertaining. promptly waiting for the next update!

3. a hundred or so hellos, by iwillstillopenthewindow, for the haikyuu!! fandom — remember i said i love melancholic stories? well, this one broke me so hard, i had to mention how i hold it with tenderness (we love things that breaks us, dont we?). this fandom manages to write the cutest, most unhinged things sometimes. even it's an anime about sports. i always get amazed by it.

4. no certainty of doors between us, by betts, for the mo dao zu shi fandom — certainly the most silly little fanfic i've ever seen, it's hilariously sweet. i want everyone to read this masterpiece because, seriously, whoever did this deserves only the best. so, so, cute. it had to be in my top 10!

5. their kindred encounters, by fireflavoredwhiskey, for the untamed rpf fandom (bjyx) — you know those kinds of shows, books, any piece of media, that tears up apart? well, this one was it for me. it's a very famous one that deserves all praise, certainly well-written and enjoyable to the core, with doses of angst, romance and beauty overall.

6. as the clouds part and clear, we finally meet again, by 12262325, for the mo dao zu shi fandom — aaaaa, i was truly torn between putting this in the third or fourth place, but i ended up putting it here. come on, i love an age difference kind of story, especially for wangxian, and this one was perfectly done. sweet and funny. the development? the yearning?? outstanding!! i read this many times already, i'll never get tired.

7. pursuit, by emleewrites, for the haikyuu!! fandom — mystery, romance, lawsuits, poker games, adventure, slice of life, AMAZING depictions and so, so goddamn well-written? that's what you're looking for in any fanfiction. the author dedicated herself entirely for this story, and, like i said, i love stories that are written with passion, you can see it pouring through every paragraph. besides, highly entertaining. i'm not very into long fics, but once i started it off, i couldn't stop. that's how addicting it is.

8. linger by the door (i’ve always been yours), by piecrust, for the mo dao zu shi fandom — epistolary?? have i mentioned how i love it?? some of the phrases in this are gold, in my bookmarks you can check some of them (i ought to make a list of my favorite fic quotes, btw, i will sure do it). through each letter i could comprehend more of wei wuxian's feelings and his internal conflict. i love feeling this connected to a character.

9. all the world is ours to take, by khrys, for the fugou keiji fandom — i have more than one favorite fanfiction for this couple. you know these kinds of developing relationship where the transition from (maybe enemies too) friends to lovers happens so smoothly that it feels like they've been soulmates first and foremost at the end? i don't even know how to explain. i just love how, when they finally are together, it's like they've been together for years. and they just... made it official? i like it. i love my mr. kambe haru.

10. he won’t tell you that he loves you, by hellshandbasket, for the house m.d fandom — i found this to be the most fitting, perfect story for this specific couple. they deserved more stories like this, but we dont see it anymore. i would hightlight the feelings realization in this one, that is so fucking real? haha in any case, it's a fanfic that i enjoyed a great deal.

that's it, i guess! i wanted to add link click fanfics also, however i barely started reading fanfictions from its fandom, i'm drowning in it lately but it's just a start. perhaps very sooon!

oh, i’m gonna finish explaining about the name! in my native language, i’ve heard someone tell me before that ‘life’s a little askew, nothing’s ever perfect’, and that quote remained in every biography of any english website i ever went to. then in literature class someday i had to write about historical women and came across this one named anne askew (i wanted to write about the mostly barely-spoken women). it was the second time i saw this word. i didn’t think of it as a proper name before, but then i had to create a nickname for my ao3 profile and thought, humn, why not just ‘askew’? the quote has been engraved in my heart anyway, so i went for it. we’re all flawed and askew. so, yeah, it just… fit? the ‘d’ here on tumblr it’s only because my surname has a ‘de morais’ in it. i also liked that it resembled ‘alaska’, the john green character i was kinda of obsessed with back in my teenager grunge phase. i don’t like these kinds of books anymore, but i guess some details stay with you. do you think it’s weird? never thought of changing.

thanks for this outstanding ask, it certainly entertained me. and hope you have a nice sleep today, big hugs coming your way! 🤍

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slicznymartwy · 1 year

Text

stand by your man

You’re not sure how much time passes, but it’s certainly been long enough for your selfish cat to have had its snack and returned.

tags: first meetings, cannibalism, thomas hewitt wears a face in this one guys, canon-typical violence, misogyny, slut shaming, fluff and angst, ambiguous/open ending, i mean to me its happy but yk, bad guys win sort of ending notes: second person pov – cis fem reader with some defined traits (tall, midsized, long hair). everything else is up to interpretation. i'm sorry if this fic seems really cruel towards thomas :( i love him i promise

read on ao3

Humid felt like an understatement on a day like today. Walking inside your little wooden shack felt like swimming in pond water, thick and stagnant. The morning wasn’t so bad but, before lunchtime, you had thrown open every window on the chance that a breeze would sweep through, even if it was only for a moment.

But there’s no wind today, which leads you and your old orange cat sitting like panting dogs out on the front porch. Your stomach growls, but you can’t imagine getting up and cooking for yourself like this. You want some soda fountain ice cream, but downtown is a long walk and the drugstore has been closed down for a few months anyhow.

Groaning, you roll onto your side and daydream about frothy root beer floats. You’re so deep in your fantasy that you hardly notice when your cat scrambles onto her feet, faster than summer lightning, and books it out the dusty yard on the heels of a field mouse.

“Goddamn it, Peanut,” you say to nobody, watching her go with a disappointed sigh. She must’ve been starving to run like that in this heat. You watch her go and go until she runs into the grass. Then you don’t see her at all.

You’re not sure how much time passes, but it’s certainly been long enough for your selfish cat to have had its snack and returned.

“Peanut?” you call out, sitting up. She’s nowhere to be seen, not even in the shady live oak a stone’s throw from the house. You stand up and walk out towards the grass, feet burning on the sun-exposed dust.

“Here, kitty kitty!” you call out, looking for movement in the fields. There is none, so you cup your mouth and try again, louder. “Here, kitty kitty! C’mere, Peanut!”

Nothing but the buzzing bugs.

Your little housecat wasn’t made for the Texan wilderness. She was getting old and preferred to spend her days napping in whatever spot was the coolest.

Wading into the tall grass, you almost want to forget about ever having a cat, but you know you could never. You love Peanut, even if she gets on your nerves.

The fields are droning with critters that you can’t even see. It’s like they’re all complaining about the heat, and you find yourself agreeing with them. You wish you had grabbed some shoes before heading out, but you’re already this far – besides, if you return home now, you’re sure you won’t want to keep looking.

You don’t know how long you walk, but the sun is high over your head when you find an old wooden fence. Trees line the property on the other side, and it sure is tempting to hide under those pretty green leaves for a while, but you’re getting more worried the longer you look for your cat. Maybe a dog or a snake got to her first.

You hop up onto the fence and swing a leg over, then the other. Standing on the bottom rung, you hold onto the post for balance. Cupping your mouth with your free hand, you shout out into the field, “Peanut!”

Thomas was bored.

They had guests two days ago, but Thomas was already finished separating meat from bone and cartilage. Before that, it had been almost two weeks since their last visitors, and he thinks he got a little too excited at the prospect of getting to butcher something.

They weren’t even handsome enough to keep. The whole thing felt like a waste.

It’s a hot day, but Thomas doesn’t mind it. It not much, but walking in the shade at least gets the sun off of him. The oaks circle their home, and he can walk in on one end and come out on the other, pretty much in the same place. He’s curious today, though.

No meat at home. He might as well walk as far as his legs will take him.

The leaves sway and rustle together quietly when the wind comes by, but even then the air feels thick. Thomas trudges along, looking for something he doesn’t know about yet. There’s movement in the brush, but he can see it’s just a fat orange cat. It bolts when Thomas stomps past it, running into a clearing of tall grass. Thomas keeps on going, searching.

Hearing a shout, he knows he’s found it.

The noise was far, but not too far to walk towards. The sound keeps repeating, and it’s a female sounding voice; today’s his lucky day since he didn’t bring anything with him. She might go kicking and screaming, but it shouldn’t be too hard to throw an unsuspecting woman over his shoulder and carry her to the basement.

Reaching the tree line, the brush and the tree limbs part to reveal you.

Tall and full bodied, he sees your legs first. They’re pressed together as you stand on his fence, and your dress rides up as you bend forward at the waist.

“Peanut!” you yell, and he realizes it’s what you’ve been yelling the whole time. You curse under your breath and wipe at your forehead. Your hair is long and it’s loose, falling down your back past your shoulders. You’re sweaty and you don’t wear any shoes. Thomas watches your curiously.

You must have given up on whatever you were doing, because you step down from the fence and lean on it, putting your forehead on your folded arms. Thomas stares. You don’t look like the usual kind of guest.

Guests were usually tourists, and although Thomas couldn’t place you, he could tell that you were local. You wore a house dress like Momma, and you didn’t wear shoes outside. You were a Texas girl, Thomas realized.

He’s not sure the last time he met a real Texas girl. Probably not since he stopped going to the doctor in town, and that was when he was still a little kid.

Thomas was torn. He’s never killed townsfolk before. Meat is meat, the annoying little Charlie in his head hollered at him, but his Momma was in there too, telling him that there wasn’t anything left of their town. Shouldn’t he try to keep their town alive? Wouldn’t that make Momma happy?

He’s still debating with himself when you turn around and startle. He’s expecting you to scream and run away from him, but you don’t. You close your eyes, cover your chest, and sigh heavily.

“I am so sorry, mister. I thought it was just me and the June bugs out here today,” you say, opening your eyes again.

You smile at him, and Thomas feels like someone’s nailed his feet to the dirt. You watch Thomas as he watches you. Your smile falls a little bit, and Thomas knows why. He was expecting it, anyways.

“I’m sorry if I’m trespassing, mister, really. It’s just that I live out that way and my cat ran away this morning. I’ve been looking everywhere for her, I thought I could get a better look of the field from up on the fence,” you explain, gesturing behind yourself as you talk. Thomas likes the way your hair moves when you turn, and even though it’s wet with sweat, Thomas's fingers itch to stroke it out of your face.

He's no genius, but he can tell you’re worried. You’re making the same worried face Uncle Monty makes when Uncle Charlie was yelling at him. He was gonna walk anyways, he tells himself, as he gestures for you to follow him.

You look surprised, but you hurry to his side as Thomas starts striding through the trees. You sigh once you’re in the shade.

“Hell of a day, today. Even the shade is hot enough to fry an egg,” you say, walking behind him. You were taller than the other girls that came around here, but still only came up to his chin. He wasn’t gonna bother waiting for you to catch up, one way or another, and strode forward.

Your daddy always used to say that you could talk a gate off its hinges, but walking with this enormous stranger, you found yourself all out of words.

He cut a massive and daunting figure, especially with that dark mask covering his nose and mouth. His clothes were dirty, with brownish reddish stains covering him and his butcher’s apron. His dark curls were unruly and stuck together from sweat underneath the straps and buckles of his muzzle.

There was no better word for what he looked like than mean, but that never scared you off before. Your grandpa was a mean-looking man too, but he was also the sweetest man you’d ever known. You just wished the guy would talk to you too, that’s all. Maybe that would make the twisty nerves in your stomach go away.

Just as your mind starts getting creative about where the stranger could be taking you, he continues past the tree shade to an open field. The grass is still tall here, but it makes rolling waves on top of mounds of dirt.

“Guess here’s a good place to look,” you say, and you trudge forward in the tall grass. The dirt is cool between your toes, and you make little clinking noises with your tongue, interrupted by the occasional, “here, kitty.”

Thomas leaves your side to look on his own. The grass here is thick, and the holes make for some nice shade. Probably pretty nice for a little critter looking to get out of the heat.

You’re bent over, inspecting one of the holes, when you hear a familiar grumpy meow. You shoot back up, glancing down in the tall grass before your eyes land on the masked giant. In his arms is your fat orange cat, looking very displeased about being out in the sunshine.

“Peanut! You found Peanut!” you cry, jumping for joy before running to his side. The man stands there, frozen in place, while you take the cat from his arms and kiss her little forehead.

“Naughty girl, running away from home like that,” you scold, patting the spot above her tail like a faux spank. It barely even lands on her, but she still meows in annoyance. You laugh a little bit and look up at the man who’s already looking at you. Your smile softens as relief makes way for gratitude.

“Thank you, mister. You’ve got no idea how much this little guy means to me. How can I repay you?” you ask, holding on tighter to your cat so she can’t jump from your arms.

He doesn’t answer. You bite your lip.

“You free tomorrow?” you change your question. The man pauses before nodding. “Meet me by the fence again, okay? Same time as today.” The man watches you blankly, but the fact that he’s helped you already puts you more at ease. You smile at him and nod with a sense of finality.

“Thanks again. I’m gonna get out of your hair now.” He stands in the sun, and as you retreat back to the shade for your journey home, you can feel his eyes on you until you’re hidden by the trees.

“He seems nice,” you say to Peanut, who cries out pitifully at being carried. It’s gonna be a long walk home, you realize, as she squirms in your arms to break free again.

Thomas isn’t stupid, no matter what people like to say about him. All things considered, though, he feels pretty stupid standing behind the oak tree nearest to your meeting spot by the fence.

He knew you were coming this time. He could have brought his chainsaw, and if that was too heavy, he could have easily grabbed a hammer or his hook. He could’ve even kept them in his pocket, if he wanted to keep his hands free for the hour long journey.

Instead, he stood weaponless behind a tree, nervous to see you again.

His heartbeat races when he hears footsteps coming from the other side of the fence. He’s finally made up his mind to turn around and leave when you finally spot him. He sees a flash of your smile before forcing his eyes to the dirt.

“Hi, mister,” you say, and just like yesterday, his feet don’t really work. “Sorry if I’m a little late, it’s only ‘cuz I was pulling this out the oven.” He looks over at you and sees the brown basket in your arms, a plaid napkin covering whatever was inside.

Thomas nears you, noticing how your long hair was pulled away from your face into a braid that disappeared behind your back. You wore the same dress, but Thomas liked the way it looked on you. It clung to your chest and loosened around your hips, but the material was thin enough that it stuck to your sweaty legs just slightly.

His attention was forced back to the basket when you put it against his chest. With an empty brain, he grabbed it with both hands from the bottom.

“It’s water pie. My nana used to make it during the Great Depression. Kinda feels like that again nowadays, huh?” you say.

You smile as you say it, but it doesn’t feel like your big smiles, like the kind you gave him when he found your cat, or like how you smiled when you saw him behind the tree.

Thomas opens the napkin to see a still warm pie in the basket, glossy with a mix of white and yellow. He’s never heard of water pie, but Momma didn’t get the chance to make a lot of desserts these days.

He walks to the shady tree, wiping a hand on his apron, and sits heavily with his back to the tree. He has to look over his shoulder to find you, and you’re still standing by the fence.

Annoyed that you’re so far away, he quickly gestures for you to join him.

You give him one of your real big smiles and jump over the fence before sitting next to him, back also to the tree. He watches you take a dull butter knife from the basket and slice the pie up. You look up at him, and he looks down at you.

“Do you eat with that on?” you ask.

Thomas shakes his head. He keeps staring at her.

“Wanna take it off?” you ask next.

Thomas shakes his head again on instinct, but once he stops, he takes another look at the pie. He remembers it being warm still. His head nods once, the movement miniscule like he doesn’t want to admit it.

“I’ll look away if it makes you feel better. Swear I won’t look,” you say. Thomas breathes weird and turns away from her before reaching up to take it off.

You hear the buckles being undone and take it as your cue to turn away from the man.

It’s another hot day today, but you wouldn’t have missed your impromptu visit even if the fields were burning. Sure, the man might be odd, but he was mysterious as all get out and you longed to know more about him. It felt a little bit like you were a school girl again, crushing on a cute boy from your class, but it didn’t matter; you promised him repayment, and you always tried your hardest to make good on your word.

You reach behind yourself blindly for a piece from the basket and accidently brush against his hand.

“Oops, I’m sorry,” you say with a little laugh, eyes trained ahead at the fence.

He takes a piece, then you take the slice next to his.

The filling is sticky and gooey, but it stuck together solid when you picked it up. You eat it slowly, savoring the memories that came with the taste, as well as the gentle breeze that picks up under the leaves.

You debate with yourself for some time about grabbing another slice but, figuring he probably wasn’t looking your way, you reach behind yourself and touch the ceramic pie dish instead. You run your hand in a circle and all you feel are crumbs.

“Well gee, mister, I’d’ve made two if I knew you’d be so hungry!” you said cheerfully, grinning as you brought your finger up to your mouth to lick it clean. It wasn’t exactly true, since you barely had the ingredients for one, but he probably already knew that, the town being in the state that it is. “I’m glad you liked it. An empty pie dish is a great compliment.”

You can hear the buckles of his mask again and keep busy by reaching for the basket behind you, folding the napkin back up. It’s pleasantly quiet before the question that’s been at the tip of your tongue since meeting the man finally springs out.

“What’s your name, mister?” you ask, still not looking at him. He doesn’t respond, and you risk glancing back at him. His mask is on, but he doesn’t look at you. It occurs to you that maybe the guy just can’t talk.

Opening the napkin again, you take out the knife and use the rounded tip to write in the dirt. It’s awkward and it’s none too pretty, but your name is clear enough to read. You look to him with a smile and hold the knife out to him, handle first.

He looks between the knife and your name on the ground before carefully taking it from your hand. You already knew his hands were massive but seeing the difference so plainly before your eyes made you blush. Tearing your gaze away from his appendages, you watch the dirt instead as he spells his name out. He writes it thickly, his muscles gouging out the dirt easily with a dull rounded tip. Thomas.

You glance up at him, and when your eyes meet, it feels like electricity.

“It’s nice to meet you, Thomas,” you say. You don’t expect an answer, but he nods anyways.

The sun was past its peak when you finally stood, brushing off your dress. Thomas met you at the fence after you had jumped over it again, basket swinging on your arm. You asked him if he could meet again tomorrow, promising another dessert.

He told himself to say no. He couldn’t picture hurting you the way he did when he first saw you, but he knew this wouldn’t be any good. He’s not the type to make friends, especially not with pretty ladies. It must be his heart controlling his neck muscles because he nodded instead. At least he got to see that smile again.

And so, he met with you again. And then again the day after. Then even the day after that one.

It was only a matter of time before his uncles and Momma realize he’s been out of the house for most of the day, but only Charlie says something about it during their family dinner. He’s loud in Thomas’ ear, and Thomas keeps his head down avoid looking at him. It makes him feel better to call him Charlie in his head. Not Hoyt. Just stupid drunk Charlie.

“You better focus on your work, boy,” Charlie threatens, steak knife pointing at him from across the table.

Thomas goes down to meet you the next day, anyways.

“Hi, Tommy,” you chirp happily, straddling the fence before hopping onto the other side. Thomas liked that you started calling him that, but he doesn’t let himself show it.

He rubs his hands on his apron to get the nerves out of his system and gives a little wave with his first free hand. You don’t have a basket today, but Thomas doesn’t mind. He’s just glad to see you.

“How’s your day treating you so far?” you ask, like you always do. Thomas shrugs, like he always does too. “Peanut misses you, I think. She wants to come with me, but always stops on the porch.”

Thomas thinks about the orange cat again. He wants to tell her that it probably just misses you, since it had been glaring at Thomas from your arms that day. Instead, he just tilts his head at you, not knowing how to gesture all that with his arms.

It’s easy to listen to you. Even when you leave open ended questions, you don’t make Thomas feel pressured to respond. He’d long since given up on pantomiming since he was a teenager, but people still annoyingly waited for his responses. You talked to him like he was an adult, and you never complained about having to deal with him.

You’re talking now, something about Peanut pushing things off counters, and all Thomas can feel is gladness. It’s been a long time since he felt it so strongly, so innocently. He kind of feels like a little kid again, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you under the shady tree in the summertime.

When he touches your hand, you cut yourself off and look up at him. It startles him a little bit, because he realizes that he had nothing he really wanted to tell you. He just wanted to touch you.

“You doing okay?” you ask him, putting your other hand on top of his. Thomas looks down at your hands and nods. He’s doing better than okay. He wants to keep feeling your soft skin on his hand.

“You sure? Looks like somethings on your mind,” you say, sounding sorry. Thomas struggles with how to tell you, which he’s sure you notice. He suddenly takes your hand in his and flips it so that your palm is facing up and your smooth delicate wrist is visible. With his calloused dirty finger, he starts to spell.

“What are you doing?” you say, standing a little straighter and watching how he made the same shape again and again. “Are you… is that a K?”

Thomas nods quickly, looking at you for a split second before focusing down again and drawing a straight line.

“That’s an I. K-I…” you look at him attentively as he gathers his courage. He writes the next two letters quickly in succession. He does it once more before you look up at him, your pretty eyes wide and shinning. “S-S. Kiss.”

Thomas is sure his face is flushed, but he nods. There’s no backing out of it now.

“Oh, Tommy,” you say, and your confusion melts into a smile. “Of course, I’ll kiss you.”

He’s still hunched over from writing on your arm, so the hand you put on his cheek doesn’t have to work much to guide him towards your lips. You’re ready to lean in when your lip brushes against his mask. You laugh softly, running your hand down from his hair to stroke along his covered cheek.

“Can you take this off?” you ask softly.

Thomas shakes his head quickly, covering your hand with his as if you might try to rip it off of him anyways. He knows you wouldn’t, but he can’t think about risking it. Not when you’re so close.

You bite your lip as you think. His own lips move under the mask, imaging what it would be like to touch yours with his. He wishes he was normal. He wishes he had one of his real masks on.

You guide him down lower and tilt your face higher up, and Thomas can feel your lips on his forehead. His eyes close instinctually. He trusts you.

You kiss the spot between his eyebrows next, and he sighs shakily. His hands move your waist, holding you gently.

Then, you kiss the bridge of his nose, and your bottom lips must brush against the edge of his mask. His stomach turns at himself, but he pushes the feeling away.

Your lips follow along the edge of the mask, kissing on the little bit of skin showing under his left eye. When you kiss his temple, your hand moves to cup the back of his head and he shudders.

“I hope you’ll trust me enough, one day,” you say softly, and he practically bends in half to hide his face in your neck. He doesn’t cry, but his throat feels tight like he might. He swallows it all back. He shakes his head softly in the crook of your shoulder, wishing he could correct you. He would bare himself to you completely today if he didn’t think you would run screaming. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to handle that.

Your hands are a soft but persistent pressure on his shoulders. When he straightens up again, he looks down at you.

You lean up suddenly, lip slotting against his mask. Your top lip brushes between his. You taste like sugar and summer air. The kiss is done quickly, but Thomas can’t open his eyes yet. He licks his lips where yours just touched him and commits the taste to memory.

“You still in there?” you ask after a long moment, and Thomas opens his eyes to see you smiling playfully at him.

Thomas smiles when he nods, and stops nodding when you lean in to kiss him again.

He’s never felt so light in his life, having said goodbye to you at the fence after another hour of listening. You even kissed him goodbye, lips touching briefly through the mask as you stood on opposite sides of the fence.

Thomas promised you tomorrow, nodding at your request to see each other again.

His good mood lasts until he gets close enough to the house to hear shouting. He sees Charlie flailing his arms like a mad man by the back of the house, yelling Thomas’s name.

“Where in the ever-loving fuck have you been?” he shouted by the garage, spit flying. Thomas hurried his gait as he neared them. Charlie was bleeding from a wound on his forehead. He steeled himself for what the furious man would sling at him next. “I’ve been screaming for you for the past fucking two hours. Jesus fucking Christ, Thomas! You know, I defend you when people call you names, but maybe you are slow. Just how fucking gone are you up there, huh?!”

Thomas glares at the dirt, imagines pushing his thumbs into Charlie’s eyes until he can’t scream anymore.

“I can’t even look at you, you fucking disappointment. I brought home two stupid as fuck tree-humpers for you, and this is how you repay me? Look at what they did to me. Look!” he grabs Thomas’ apron and shakes him, and Charlie makes him look at the cut on his head. It’s nothing, Thomas has seen him give himself worse when he’s drunk.

“Go get your toy and mow those fuckers down. They’re not getting far, not after what I done to one of them,” he mutters, looking down the dirt road where Thomas can see the distant figures of two limping people. Sighing, Thomas takes off after them, grabbing a hammer from one of the junk piles by the garage.

He didn’t think about you until well into the early morning. He is taking a break from his work, sitting outside while the rest of the family slept in their bedrooms. Blood coated his apron, and he sat on the wide porch with a heavy sigh. He thought about you, wondered how someone so nice could ever want somebody like him.

Thomas was not stupid. He knew murdering people was wrong, just like he knew he was wrong for liking it so much. And he knew he was wrong for liking you.

Rubbing his new face with both hands, he hauled himself up to walk back to the basement. He readjusted the eyeholes as he walked – he had made them too small this time. He’d have to fix that before he did anything else.

Thomas is only one step away from the trees when Charlie hollers his name from the back porch. Thomas sets his jaw and looks over his shoulder to see his uncle gesturing and shouting at him. He can’t make sense of what he’s saying, and he doesn’t really care to. He doesn’t let up, though, so Thomas forces himself to turn back around and trudge back to the house.

He stands in front of Charlie silently.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demands. Thomas has no way of answering, even if he wanted to. His arms cross thickly over his chest instead.

Charlie glowers at him, and Thomas’ stare is just as dark.

“You listen to me, boy. Now, I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, but I think I had good reason to be cross with you. Your family needs you here, Thomas. We need you to keep us safe. What if something happened to your momma?”

Thomas’ eyes glance at the house, where he knew his momma was resting comfortably. Still, the thought unnerved him. Looking back at Charlie, he sees the self-satisfied look on his face, like he knows he won.

“Be a good guard dog and guard the fucking house. Please.”

Thomas’ jaw tightened. He thought about you, walking from your home to see him. Thought about what you might’ve brought, although he wouldn’t care either way as long as you were there. But Charlie had a point. What if Charlie brought guests and they tried to hurt one of them? What if they hurt Momma?

A frustrated noise left his throat and he stomped away from Charlie back to his basement. He couldn’t think straight. The damn sun shined too brightly, and it made his head hurt. Slamming the door to the basement shut, he welcomes the darkness and sets his sights on his unfinished projects.

He only rises from his basement when the sun starts to set. A walk through the house tells Thomas he’s alone, the other members dispersing to be on their own too.

He’d been sad, passing the time while thinking about you getting stood up. Sadness in his chest, he walked to the fence anyways. He might feel better if he could just look at it and imagine how you look in your pretty dress.

At the end of his trek, he freezes as he passes the last low hanging branch. There you are, laying unconscious by the oak tree. He rushes to your side and hesitates helplessly before kneeling next to you. He holds onto your shoulders and tries to shake you awake, harsher and harsher as you don’t wake up. He’s beginning to panic when you suddenly open your eyes with a gasp. You stare up at Thomas with wide eyes. They shine in the white Texan moonlight.

“Thomas?” you whisper.

“What time is it?” You sit up and Thomas stays next to you, arms awkwardly hovering around you like you might fall asleep again. He’s breathing hard like he’s been running. “Is it nighttime already?”

Thomas nods, sighing finally once he catches his breath. Head low, he touches your arm and drags his hand down past your elbow to catch your hand. His brows are drawn, and despite his size, he seems to shrink as he clutches you like something delicate that might blow out of his hold.

He looks up when you touch his chin, gently guiding him to meet your eye.

“You okay? Did something happen?” you ask him. Thomas just shakes his head, squeezing your hand in his. He carefully turns your arm over, revealing your wrist. There, he writes down four letters. S-O-R-Y.

“Sorry? Oh, bubba, you don’t have to be sorry,” you murmur, smiling at him. “I needed a little nap, anyways. C’mere.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a little hug. He melts into you, forehead pressed against the crook of your neck.

“Sweet boy,” you murmur, hand rubbing down his spine. “It’s okay. You’re alright.”

“I should start on back,” you say after a few silent moments, your hand still rubbing comforting circles on his back. Thomas stiffens and pulls away, and he won’t meet your gaze. You don’t want to part from him tonight, you realize.

When he glances at you, you’re biting your lip.

“Unless you know somewhere we can spend the night?” you suggest softly. Thomas’s face is blank as he thinks about it, but he soon stands up and holds a hand out for you. You take it and he hauls you up, leading the way through the trees. You like how he holds your hand, all encompassing and pleasantly warm in the breezy night air.

He brings you to a barn, standing alone in an empty field. It looks out of use, but bales of hay still line some of the walls, as well as some common tools for the land. You don’t bother looking around too much – you only have eyes for your Tommy. He stands in the barn, looking around for the best spot to lay down. You know it’s wherever he is, his wide chest looks like it’ll be a softer pillow than what you have at home.

“Tommy, c’mere,” you say, finding a bed of dry hay that looks cleaner than the rest. You sit down first, laying back in the rustling fodder. Your eyes meet his as you stretch your arms above your head.

Thomas stands above you. His eyes are dark.

“Lay down with me,” you speak softly. Thomas glances out the open barn doors for a moment before giving up on whatever battle was going on through his mind. You watch him unfasten his dirty apron and hang it off one of the half stables beside them. He lays down beside you, his heavy weight making the pile unsteady. You fall into him with a little laugh, a steadying hand on his chest.

“Oops,” you say with a little smile. You’re surprised to see Thomas return it. He has such a handsome smile; you wish he would smile more for you.

Leaning up, you kiss him through his mask, hands coming up to hold his face.

He exhales heavily, it almost sounds like a moan. He tries to kiss you back, but it’s impossible through the thick leather. Sighing softly, you kiss his temple and forehead instead, trying not to seem too frantic. It’s difficult, though, as you feel your body make you aware just how badly its craving Thomas.

“Please, Tommy. Please. I wanna kiss you. Please take it off,” you whisper, lips brushing against his tanned skin.

Thomas goes stiff hearing his pleas and pulls away. You watch him go with a pout. He turns away from you slightly.

“Thomas,” you say softly. He turns away further. Sighing quietly, you touch his shoulder. “Tommy. You know it don’t matter to me how you look. Not one bit. I’m always gonna think you’re my handsome guy.”

Thomas shakes his head, but you don’t give up. Kneeling, you hug him from behind, arms wrapping up to his shoulders from underneath his arms.

“I mean it, Tommy.” You put your forehead on his warm back. “I would never think bad about you. Hell, you could kill someone and I’d find a way to defend you,” you say with a little teasing smile. You feel Thomas put his hand on your forearm, gentle and unmoving.

“I could keep my eyes closed,” you suggest quietly. Thomas turns at that and looks at you with imploring eyes. You smile at him, small and secret, and free an arm to cup his cheek. You kiss the bridge of his nose just above his mask before pulling away.

You sit up and turn away from him partially, eyes closing and hands coming up to cover your eyes. “Ok, Tommy. I’m ready.”

In the dark, you rely on sounds. It’s quiet for a moment, and then you hear the buckle of the mask being undone. You exhale shakily, your heart beating near out of your chest. He must have set it down on the ground beside them because you can feel his hands on you, one on your elbow and the other covering your hands just over your eyes.

You’ve never really been described as small, but you feel it next to him. Even without vision, his presence alone towers over you. It should be intimidating, but it only makes you feel safe.

Your lips part and you drop your hands, letting Thomas touch your face directly. It’s even better since you can now put your hands around his back and hold him close.

Despite his size, he kisses you timidly, like he’s shy you’ll shatter into pieces with too much force applied. His touch is so gentle, even as he crowds you. You kiss him back passionately, encouraging him silently with your enthusiasm. You suddenly long to be naked in front of him, to let him blindfold you and use you however he needs. You know he’d be careful with you if this is how he kisses.

“Tommy,” you murmur between kisses, hands fisting in his shirt. “Tommy, I think I love you.”

Thomas can’t answer you, but he kisses you again and again like he’s saying the same.

Weeks pass. The summer turns into autumn, but the heat doesn’t go anywhere. Thomas can’t meet every day, but he wishes he could. Tourists come by from time to time, and everyone in the family does their part to make ends meet.

You’re all alone out here, he knows from your late-night talks. On evenings where neither of you had anything to do the next morning, you and Thomas would walk together to the barn. You always clung to his arm once the building was in sight, glancing up at him from time to time with your shiny eyes. He’s pretty sure you were both a little nervous everytime, but it was a good kind of nervous. He didn’t know there could be a good kind until he met you.

Thomas holds you on the hay pile, more comfortable now with a blanket you brought from home thrown over the mound. You’re naked, and Thomas likes your soft cool skin against his own. Although you’re both covered in sweat, the night is cool and comfortable, and Thomas likes the way you rub your hand slowly across his chest.

When your stomach growls, Thomas glances at you.

“Sorry,” you say. You smile, but it looks sad. “Just hungry. It’s been hard finding stuff to eat with the town being empty.” He knows the feeling well.

He takes your arm from where it’s resting on his stomach and gently twists your wrist towards himself. H-O-M-E, he spells.

“Mine?” you ask softly, head cocking to the side.

Thomas shakes his head and points to himself.

“Yours? What about it?” you ask softly, looking up from your wrist.

F-O-O-D, he spells next. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh, Tommy. You’re too kind to me,” you say softly, and Tommy lets go of your arm so that you can hug him.

His arms instinctually go around your waist, holding you close. He wants to tell you that he’s not just being kind. He would give everything he owns to you if what he owned was worth giving. He kicks himself mentally for not thinking about getting you some food sooner, though.

“Can we go tomorrow?” you ask. He wants to bring you there today, but there won’t be any food this late. He nods, hands running down your back slowly. He can feel his rough callouses catch on your smooth skin, but you don’t flinch or move away. You never have from him. He wants you, more than he wants to butcher, more than he wants to help his family.

“I should go home,” you say. The sky is dark, but the moon is large and bright in the sky, like the sun. Thomas shakes his head.

“No?” you say, laughing a little bit. You lean back and cup his cheeks over his mask. When you smile down at him, he imagines the touch of your lips against his own. On your back, he draws four letters, S-T-A-Y.

“All night?” you ask, pushing some hair off his forehead.

He nods, eyes stuck to your lips, so close but impossible to reach in that moment.

“Won’t your family be looking for you?” you wonder. You rub your thumb along his eyebrow, soothing him into shutting his eyes.

Thomas shakes his head slightly at the question, not wanting to knock your hands off him. He’s sure Charlie will be mad, but he doesn’t care. How could he when he has you in his arms.

“In that case,” you start, moving your legs apart to straddle his hips, “I suppose I’ve got you all to myself.” Thomas watches you closely as you run your hands down his chest and past his stomach, settling just above his open belt. Neither of you get very much sleep that night.

In the morning, he takes you by the hand as he leads you through the front door. The house is quiet despite its size, which makes it seem like it should be teeming with activity and sound. The outside is grey and dusty, same as the front foyer where you stand beside Thomas. You glance around, giving him a nervous smile when you finally hear footsteps coming from the other room.

“Thomas Hewitt, where have you been all night! You had us worried sick!” an older lady says, coming through the doorway. She’s short and plump, with tendrils of her grey hair framing her face, and her glasses make her look like a schoolteacher. She stops when she sees you, clearly surprised. “Oh! You brought company!”

You smile at her, stepping forward as she comes to meet you. She grins at you and takes your hands in her own.

“Hi, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you,” you say, introducing yourself with your name.

“Oh, the manners on this one! Usually, our guests are a little more ornery!” she says to Thomas, laughing. You don’t understand what she means, but you smile graciously as she tries to lead you back to the room she was in. You start to follow her, but stumble against Thomas as he blocks your way. He shakes his head at her.

“No?” the lady questions. She looks confused, but Thomas shakes his head again. He takes your hands from her, and then you feel his arm around your shoulder, keeping you at his side. “Thomas? What on earth is going on with you?”

You’re just as confused, but you don’t want to get in between a family dispute. You look up at Thomas, waiting to see what he does next.

“Is she why you didn’t come home last night?” the woman asks. A cold sweat blooms on the back of your neck with her face falls completely, turning into a blank mask. You’ve only just met her, but you can hardly recognize her from the woman that took your hands.

“I’m Thomas’ girlfriend,” you say, your voice smaller than you intended. You try to clear your throat politely. “I care about him very much, ma’am.”

You gasp when the woman turns on you, her finger pointed at your face as she snaps, “I don’t know how you tricked my son into falling for your tricks, you whore! Hoyt!” Thomas grunts, and the noise startles you – you’ve never heard the man make a sound louder than a labored breath before. Thomas pushes you behind his back and away from who must be his mother.

“No, I’m not a whore,” you say, but your voice is so meek under her disapproving stare. You clutch onto Thomas’ arm, and you can feel his tense muscles.

Someone stomps down the stairs then, an older man in a sheriff’s uniform. Seeing the pistol on his belt, you start to shake.

“And who do we have here?” the man drawls – Hoyt, your mind supplies,

Thomas shakes his head vigorously and stands in front of you completely now, shielding you from his mother and the Sheriff.

“She says she’s Tommy’s girlfriend!” his mother cries, as if she was grieving. The man barks a laugh at that, loud and unbelieving.

“A girlfriend, Tommy! That’s where you’ve been running off to all these weeks! How much he owe you, trollop? Because he ain’t got no money to give,” the man mocks meanly, guffawing as he tries to walk around Thomas to get a better look. You shrink behind Thomas as he does his best to keep you hidden away. “Bet you found her trying to hitch a ride off the highway.”

“I lived in this town my whole life, sir. I swear I’m no hussy,” you say, voice weak and muffled against Thomas’s back.

“Oh, yeah? That mean you two are in love or something?” he says, managing to grab your forearm and pull you out from behind Thomas. You shout in pain as you’re pulled between the two men, causing Thomas to let go of you. Without your shield, you’re faced with the old man and his drunk breath. You cringe away from him when he leans into you, inspecting you like you’re just a thing.

“Just get her out of here,” Thomas’ mother mourns.

“I ain’t no hussy!” you sob, eyes closed as tears start to escape your lashes. The old man laughs in your face, and he shakes you with his grip on your arm.

“Hear that, Momma? She ain’t no hussy! So, you sleep with Tommy for free?”

“I love him,” you sob, face crumpling as you feel yourself finally break. You wish you understood what you did wrong by these people. Thomas tries to break you and Hoyt apart, but the man shoves him away despite being smaller than him.

“Love? You love him?” Hoyt almost screams with laughter. “Does she even know what you do, Tommy? She ever see you without that mask on?

“Why don’t you go ahead and take it off? Take it off, Thomas! Shouldn’t your girlfriend know what you look like?” he turns you in his arms, forcing you to face Thomas. Your heartbreaks for him, and you see Thomas duck his head down low, arms bent by his stomach as he anxiously fidgets his hands.

“Stop it, leave him alone!” you sob, trying to wrench yourself out of the man’s hold.

“Why? Don’t you wanna see what he looks like? Pretty thing like you should have a handsome boyfriend to go along with it, huh?” Desperate, you look behind you to see Thomas’s mother watching the scene unfold with a handkerchief under her nose. You cry out when the man shakes you again, his grip unforgiving for such an old man.

“You know what? Why don’t we give your girlfriend here a tour, huh Tommy? What do you say?” Hoyt asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer when he starts to drag you out through the front door and down the porch steps.

You stumble down them, almost falling out of the man’s arms, but he forces you upright again before going around to the back of the house. Thomas follows you both, and you can see the frantic way he tries to grab for you but hesitates. Even now, you know your sweet Tommy is afraid to hurt you, but you wish he would rip you out from Hoyt’s grip and stand up for himself.

At the cellar door, Hoyt lets go of one arm to push open the wooden door. You can’t see beyond where the sunlight hits the steps.

“Don’t be shy. Go see,” Hoyt says, before you’re pushed down the steps. You shout as you fall, managing to cover your head with your hands, but your body throbs in pain once you land on the cold concrete below.

You weep at his cruelty, curling in on yourself to hide away from the next blow. Instead, you can hear Thomas’s heavy footsteps down the wooden steps. His thick arms wrap around you, and he holds you tightly to his chest.

“Tommy,” you sob, pushing your face into his chest.

“Tell her, Tommy! Tell her what you do! Share your family pride!” Charlie shouts, laughing at them.

“That’s enough,” Luda Mae says quietly from somewhere behind him.

“Show her who you really are, boy, then see if she loves you,” Charlie says. Then he slams the door to the basement shut, leaving them both in darkness.

“Tommy,” you whimper through your tears, starting to lift your head out from his chest. You’re stopped by Thomas’s large hand cupping the back of your head, keeping you close. You can’t see the room, but it smells like blood and rot, and it makes your stomach churn.

You don’t ask him because he won’t be able to explain anyways. Hoyt’s words echo in your mind, and even if it makes no sense, you can understand that something is wrong here. But Thomas holds you and rocks you like a child until you have no more tears to give.

You wake up when the setting sun turns the sky orange. You rub your eyes and sit up, suddenly aware that you’re in an unfamiliar place. No one is around. Looking around the room, you see it’s a simple bedroom, with threadbare sheets. The only furniture besides your bed is a nightstand and a dresser with a missing drawer.

“Tommy?” you say out loud, but you don’t hear anything in response. You stand up and go downstairs, realizing as you enter the foyer that you’re still at Thomas’s house.

In the kitchen is the same woman from before.

“Oh, hi, darling. I figured you’d wake up soon. I realize I never introduced myself. I’m Tommy’s momma,” she says, like she wasn’t accusing you of something terrible earlier in the day. You smile weakly at her. You want to ask where Tommy is. You want to go home.

“Why don’t you sit down? You missed supper but I’ve got some leftovers still on the stove.”

You hesitate, but finally make your way to the kitchen table. Your stomach growls at the promise of food as you sit.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m sorry for before.”

“Nonsense. I don’t think any of us understood how much you meant to our Tommy.”

You smile and start to eat when she puts the bowl in front of you.

“Where is Tommy?” you ask, looking up at her.

“Working,” she sighs, smiling at you. “We had guests come by in the afternoon.”

“Like a bed and breakfast?” you ask naively. She laughs at you, right to your face.

“You’re a funny one, girl. I see why Thomas likes you. Pretty and with a good sense of humor.”

You smile, laughing shakily as you eat some of the stew. You can’t tell if it’s pork, beef, or rabbit.

“I want to see Tommy. Where can I find him?” you try again.

“He’s working, sweetheart. He made it very clear he don’t want you in the basement anymore.”

Flashes of the basement make you dizzy, and you shake your head.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, dropping your spoon in the bowl and holding your face with both hands.

She sighs gently and puts her hand on top of your head. She rubs your hair flat gingerly.

“Oh, baby. You are home. Everything’s gonna be alright now. You’ve got us to take care of you.” She lets go of you and gets back to her work from before you came down. “You just let Tommy blow off some steam first. He and Hoyt got into a little fight after he brought you to bed. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You swallow thickly as you look around the grey kitchen. You wonder what kind of work Thomas could be doing in that basement with his guests. You look at the bowl of food in front of you.

You’re so hungry.

#₊*. ⋆༘ — uli writes #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas brown hewitt #thomas hewitt #slasher x reader #slasher x you #texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre #slashers

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fandxmslxt69 · 1 year

Text

Cute Library Boys

Steven Grant x f!Reader

Warnings: Steven being too goddamn cute and fluff!! Some swearing, absolutely tooth rotting dorky-ness.

A/N: Oh my god this has been sitting in drafts for so long but I finally finished editing ahahah. Idk how I feel about it ngl, its cute and has me giggling but !!!! idk. Anyway this IS inspired by a prompt: "Going for the same book at the library" taken from @creativepromptsforwriting (Mona sent me a prompt list literally like 2 months ago thank you @whatthefishh you are too cute for this world.) ANYWAY I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY this is a peace offering before I pour my heart out into the most gut wrenching angst and coochie killing smut <3

-Clem

Synopsis: All you wanted was to have a quiet day browsing books in the library. Who knew you'd manage to find the cutest man to spend your day with right there in the history aisle?

Word count: 3541 (omg.)

Walking through the library, you gently ran your finger over the spines of the book, feeling worn out paper and leather on your fingertips. It was always relaxing, being surrounded by so many stories, real or not, lives and adventures. You skimmed through a history section, looking for a book that might be of interest, and your eyes landed on one just up ahead, with a pretty spine and a title written in gold. Your fingers jumped to it, but bumped with another hand outstretched to grab it. “Oh sorry, love! Didn’t see you there,” “Oh no it’s alright!” You grinned up to the cute man with the cute British accent. “You can have the book, I don’t mind,” “Oh no,” He shook his head. “Really, you can take it,” “No it’s fine, really, I can just order another from the system,” He grabbed the book off the shelf, handing it to you. “Love, please. I’ve already read it anyway. It’s all yours,” He smiled, a bright breathtaking smile that lit up his whole face. You hesitated but took the book from his hand, adding it to the (very heavy) bag you carried. “Memorised and all?” He chuckled. “I wish,” You grinned at him, and an awkward silence fell as you scanned the rest of the shelf. “Uh,” You cleared your throat. “Anyway. Thank you, a lot, for-” “The book,” He finished. “Yes! The book. Thank you,” He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Alright well uh…I’ll, go, thank you, again,” You rushed to say before quickly dashing off, trying not to think about how pretty he was, or how soft his eyes looked, or his beautiful curls, his soft yet clear features…

No.

You weren’t sure what the hell urged you to turn right back around and down the aisle again, but your feet carried you there anyway, and you found yourself standing right in front of the gorgeous stranger again. “Um. Hi.” You mumbled. Maybe he didn’t hear, maybe you could run be- “Hi! You’re back,” He grinned and you could feel the sunshine radiating off of him. “Yeah. Um..I don’t know I just…yknow…You seem to know your books,” You gestured to the growing pile by his feet. “So I was just..wondering if you had any recommendations? I’m in a bit of a slump, so I wanted to try something new. I mean only if you’re cool with it, if I’m bothering you I’ll just go-” He laughed, a quiet small chuckle that put a huge ass sappy smile on your face. It was contagious, his bubbly energy and cute laughs and smiles. “No it’s alright love, I’d be more than happy to give you a few suggestions, though it might just turn out to be a big ramble,” You shrugged. “Nothing beats a good book ramble,” “Wholeheartedly agree. Now,” He turned to the shelves, his soft eyes scanning the spines of the dozens of books, and he just started rambling- exactly like he said he would. On and on and on, grabbing a few books at a time and talking about them all at once, he looked over the moon to share all this knowledge with someone, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you could barely keep up with him. You just stood there watching him, probably grinning like an idiot, adding every book he put down to the growing pile in your bag. Whether the book was actually interesting or not, you didn’t care. When a cute man excitedly tells you about his favourite books in an aisle in the library, you grab every damn one of those books and you take them home.

By the time he finished going through at least a dozen books, he paused, biting his lower lip to hide a shy smile. “Sorry. Got carried away there,”

Ah shit.

“No no! It’s okay, no apology needed at all. You- it’s cute. You’re cute. When…you do the ramble thing. Cute. Yeah.” You cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up. There was a beat of silence, before he blurted out, “Steven.” “Sorry?” “Steven…my name. Is Steven. Grant. Steven Grant. It kind of just hit me that I didn’t introduce myself,” “Oh. Oh! Oh right. Oh my god.” You fumbled with your bag, trying to get yourself back in control. “This is embarrassing. I’m so sorry. I’m Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you Steven,” He laughed again. “It’s very nice to meet you too,” You nodded. How many times are you going to nod. Quit it. “So…um,” you cleared your throat, wondering if it was too late to ask for a hole to open up and swallow you whole. “Yknow..there’s um…this cafe, right down the street, and it’s really nice and they’ve got pretty decent coffee and food. I was wondering if…you know, if you’re free anyway, and not too busy or if you have something better to do I totally get it-” “I’d very much like to go to the cafe down the street with you,” Steven interrupted, and you stared at him, jaw hanging open slightly as you took in his shy smile and the light rose of his cheeks. “I mean, if that’s what you’re asking-” He rambled quickly to add. “Yes! Ah, uh, yes, that is what I’m asking,” You grinned widely, cheeks starting to hurt from how damn much you were smiling at this cute stranger in the history aisle of your local library. “Great! Wonderful, amazing. I- uh…I’ll…go check out my books? Get settled while you do yours and…” “...we can meet by the front doors?” You finished for him. He nodded quickly, his hair bouncing with each bob of his head. You nodded too, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “Okay. Okay cool. I’ll…go do my thing. And I’ll see you soon?” “Yes, absolutely, 100% yeah,” You chuckled, a few butterflies taking flight through your stomach with all his nervous blabbering.

He’s cute. Real cute, with the nicest warm eyes and a precious crooked smile, and the cutest mop of curls on his head that you desperately wanted to play with. Not to mention his adorable outfit..the cute earth brown pants and the soft sweater that definitely hugged his body in a comfy yet pleasing way.

Screwed. Absolutely, royally screwed.

After awkwardly staring (analysing) him for a solid minute as he grabbed the rest of his books, you turned and dashed to the check out desks, fumbling and mumbling about stupid cute library boys the entire way through the checkout process.

* * *

As you both left the library, a light silence falling between you, he couldn’t help but take a few glances at you, his heart picking up pace, a giddy laugh building up in his throat- this was new. All of it was so new yet welcomed. He’d be damned if he let it go to waste, whether it be a chance to make a friend, or maybe a little more.

By the time you had reached the shop, his shoulder ached from carrying his bag of books, and you looked ready to drop dead on your feet.

“I can carry your bag if it’s getting you tired,” Steven suggested softly as you entered the cafe. You frowned, hugging your bag tightly to you. “What, no. It’s okay, I like carrying my bag. Makes me feel close to my books,” You pointed to a table by the window. “Here?” He laughed, then nodded. “Yeah this works,” He took a seat, lifting his bag off of him and placing down beside him. “What do you like to read anyway?” “Oooh,” You slid into the seat, you could feel the ache in your lower back start to build. Who even had back problems at this age. “I like a good fantasy novel, and I am guilty of reading way too much romance. I also like poetry. Not a very big person in non fiction though.” “Romance huh?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips. “Scandalous romance?” You laughed, shrugging. “What, a woman has her needs, and those needs happen to be pretty men with cute accents,” “Ah right,” He nodded again, then paused. “Wait. I have an accent,” You chuckled, smiling widely. “Yes you do. A cute one too. And you’re cute. Pretty, dare I say,” His eyes widened, a blush creeping up his neck and his ears started turning red too as he looked away, averting his eyes and biting at his lower lip. Your heart did a little flip at how cute he looked when he was flustered. “What kinda books do you like, Mr. Grant?” “Hmm,” He flipped aimlessly through the menu, his eyes scanning the millions of different ways they make frappuccinos and espressos. He didn’t even drink coffee that much, he was more of a tea guy. “I like history, big fan of mythologies and stuff,” You sat up, grinning widely. “I love mythology. I was a huge sucker for them in middle school. Still kinda am, honestly,” His heart did a little thing. “Really? What kind of mythology?” You shrugged. “I was really into the Greeks, they were pretty fun and it was a good time. I like the Romans a bit too, but they’re a little boring, yknow? The Norse are wack too, which makes it funny,” You grinned. “I was just a bit obsessed. I had an Egypt phase too for quite a bit,” You could see the way his face lit up, how his eyes widened and a big smile started spreading across his face. “Egypt huh? That’s cool.” He nodded, deciding not to make a further comment lest it come off as too strong. You raised an eyebrow. “Cool? Oh come on, you totally had an Egypt phase,” “Did not!” “You so did. C’mon, tell me. I promise I won’t judge! I never could, I had attachments to those guys. You definitely know a thing or two,” He waved you off. “No..I mean, a little maybe. I’ve studied their mythologies and tales, aspects of culture and society, that’s sorta stuff, it’s not interesting really,” “Not interesting?” You scoffed. “Well I find them interesting. C’monnnn,” You nudged his leg under the table. “Who’s your favourite god?” He shook his head, a playful smile on his face. “I’m fond of Taweret. Hippo goddess, resides in the underworld and stuff. She’s nice,” “Yeah? Know her personally?” “Oh yeah, obviously. We have chat over tea all the time,” No way he was this funny. “Really? Wait, hang on,” You leaned in, “if she resides in the underworld, does that mean you’ve died before, Steven Grant?”

He liked it, he decided. The way you said his name, how it rolled off your tongue and out of your mouth so easily, and not the sarcastic way everyone else said it. Heaven, at least you remembered his name, not when half the staff at the old museum couldn’t even get Steven right. He scrunched up his face, thinking deeply. “Hmm. Let’s see. I think I might have, yeah. A few times now actually,” There it was again, the laugh that filled the entire cafe, as your shoulders shook and you threw your head back in joy. “No way, you did not,” You finally said. “I absolutely did! It’s not a good experience obviously, but yknow, an adventure,” “So you’ve like- met Osiris and stuff?” He shrugged. “Maybe,” “Oh come on. Tell me! I’ve always liked him. Given, I always like every death god, so it’s no different,” “He’s alright. Very stiff though, no personality at all, he’s all business serious,” “Well duh, he’s a king,” Steven rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean he’s got to be so boring,” You chuckled again, shaking your head in disbelief as you went back to the menu. “Any other gods you’ve met?” “Hmm.” He tapped his chin a few times, and brushed a curl of hair out of his eye. “I’ve met some night gods. They look like big ugly birds, with a big temper and zero compassion or kindness. Dress in old rags and stuff,” “You’re lying, I swear you’re lying,” “I am not! It’s true. I see one quite often actually, he’s a pain in the ass, right psycho.” “Yeah? He your best friend?” He snorted. “Absolutely not.” You tsked. “Aw, that’s so sad,” “No it’s not. I told you, he’s not right in his mind,” “Yeah but isn’t that all gods?” Steven sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, you make an excellent point, but I’m telling you, this one is bloody psycho. Murderous and whatnot.” He smiled, a big goofy smile that showed his cute dimples. You shook your head again, trying to fight back a stupid sappy grin. “You’re too funny,” “Too funny? Is that bad?” He frowned. “No! No, absolutely not. It’s nice, your jokes are actual..well, yknow, jokes. And it’s kind of nerdy.” “Oi!” He leaned in, pointing a finger at you with an air of amusement. “You just said nerdy was cute,” “It is!! It’s very cute!” “Bloody right. ‘Cause if you came for sports jokes, I’m not your guy,” You laughed. “Nope, no sports jokes for me. I just like an extra side of nerdiness,” He narrowed his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You are horrible,” “Horribly cute, yeah, definitely,” He exploded with laughter, his face all happy smile lines and precious dimples. You smiled widely, your heart doing a little skip with how gorgeous he looks, so full of laughter.

Thankfully though, before he caught you grinning like an idiot at him and trying to memorise his face, a waiter came to your table, and you managed to order your drinks without acting crazy or too dorky.

* * *

“What about Bastet? You know her?”

Okay so maybe you were still a little dorky.

“The cat lady? I mean you see her everywhere don’t you? In all the nice cat ladies by your flat or in the market!” “Okay fine Mr. Poetic, I’m asking about the goddess,”

He grinned, fiddling with the strap of his bag as you both made your way to a bus stop. “I haven’t met her, no. But I know of her,”

“Right, of course,” You weren’t sure why you humoured this idea; the possibility of divinity walking amongst man. But the ease of pretending, of imagining with him, with Steven, was something you came to realise you enjoyed too much to give up. “What about Zeus?” He frowned. “Wrong civilization,” “Oh come on, so you’re telling me you can believe the idea of gods with bird heads from the times of pyramids, but you can’t humour me with the idea of wackoo’s living on top of a mountain?” “I just don’t like them. Too chaotic,” “That’s exactly why everyone likes them,” “Okay fine, I just stay in my territory,” You shook your head, shrugging your bag back into place on your shoulder. “Okay, that’s fair, they probably don’t like each other anyway,” “Nope, definitely don’t,”

You both fell into a silence after, continuing your walk to the bus stop. “You don’t have to go all the way with me to the bus stop yknow-” You started but he just shook his head. “I don’t mind, love. Really, it’s a nice day out for a walk,” You nodded. “Okay.”

Silence fell again, and you couldn’t help but look up a little to look at him. Him with his pretty eyes and flushed cheeks. Him with his easy going smile on those nice lips. Him with the nice jawline and cheekbones that are just the right amount of sharp you just want to run your finger over it.

By the time the both of you had made it to the bus station, you had made up your mind; You were going to ask him for his number.

Only problem is…how do you ask a cute guy for his number?

You could feel the nerves start to set in as the minutes tick by, and more people pile around the bus stop. It was going to be here soon, and you’ll hop on, and probably never get his number and-

Okay calm down. You fiddled with your bag as the minutes passed, occasional small glances and nervous chuckles with Steven as he waited too, and it felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders just to ask for a series of stupid numerals. When you glanced back up at Steven for what had to be the millionth time so far, you noticed in the far distance that the bus was heading this way. Steven turns the other way then too, noticing you staring and he sighed softly. “Ah, there’s your bus,” “Yup,” He looked back at you, a soft smile on his lips. He picked at his nails, a feeling of anxiety bubbling inside of him. “So…” “So…” You continued for him, and you both laughed awkwardly. “Can I-” “Can-” You stopped, chuckling awkwardly as Steven shook his head. “Sorry love- didn’t mean to speak over you-” “No no it’s okay! My bad,” You reassured him. “Go ahead,” “No really-” He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling. “You start,” “Steven-” You started to protest (why were you even doing that) but he set you with a firm look and you sighed. “Okay. I was…yknow…going to ask. If-” You trailed off. “Yknow…” “If…? Unfortunately love, I’m very bad at guessing games. You’ll have to specify,” You sighed, rubbing a hand down my face. You took a deep breath and right as the bus stopped at your station, you blurted quickly, “Can I have your number?!” It came out in one breath, a quick sentence and Steven’s browns furrowed. You panicked, thinking maybe you had read this wrong? What if he doesn’t want to give you his number?

But then his face exploded in a wide smile, and his eyes lit up adorably and his cheeks filled with a soft blush. “Oh. My number!” He laughed, soft and clearly full of anxiety. “Yes- right yes, of course you can. Sorry it took a minute there-” He muttered, quickly digging through his bag and pulling out his phone. “Right then, quick quick before you miss your bus-”

“It’s okay,” You mumbled quickly, steering him away from the growing bus line so you could plug in his number. You did it painfully slowly, double checking each number and going over the series at least 5 times. By the time you finished exaggerating and actually putting the number into your contacts, Steven was tapping his foot anxiously on the ground as he watched the last person board the bus. “You have to hurry it’s going to close, love,” You looked up and glanced at the bus. “Oh crap-” You quickly fumbled to put your phone away and return his, but by the time you took a step towards the bus, it dinged and the door closed as it slowly started back up to drive away. "Shit,” Steven tugged at his curls. “Oh god love, I’m really sorry- maybe if we run we could catch its next stop?” Didn’t people always say make the best out of a bad situation? The bus is gone, another won’t be coming for probably another half hour, and you were not running.

But maybe…maybe this was a good thing?

You shrugged, trying to sound as upset as you could possibly gather, but even to your own ears it sounded fake. “Oh no….the bus is gone. This is horrible. What do I do now?” Steven started to say something, but then stopped, frowning a little, before his eyes widened and a smile grew across his face. “Hang on-” He stepped closer to you, his eyes glittered with humour. “You planned that, didn't you?” You gasped. “What? Me? Why would I ever want to miss my bus?” “Hmm….” He tapped a finger to his chin, thinking loudly. He leaned down then his face barely inches away from your face. “Maybe because you wanted to spend more time with me?” He has no right being cute and nervous one second and then sexy and all mischief the next. Your eyes widened, you felt your skin heat and your cheeks flush pink with how close he was. His eyes looked even prettier up close, and his lips looked so kissable. “Really?” You managed to breathe out. “You think I’m that captivated by you?” He shrugged. “Maybe.” He paused, biting his lower lip.

Fuck.

“Are you? Captivated by me?” He asked. “Hmm. Let’s see…I think your nerdiness and awkward attitude and shy personality has definitely captivated me, Mr. Grant,” His face explodes into a bright and beautiful smile. “Really? So if I asked to go on a walk right now, you’d say yes?” I hum, pretending to think it over. “I think…yes, I would absolutely say yes,” The look on his face made it seem as if he just experienced heaven. Your heart fluttered, and you knew then that you’d never ever get tired of seeing him this happy. “Brilliant. Great, alright then um..” He stood up straight again, looking around. “Let’s go?”

You smiled, gesturing to the roads bustling with people. “Lead the way,”

#moonknight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fluff #steven grant x read #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x reader fluff #moon knight #steven grant

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blueywrites · 2 years

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers.

chapter two: the lion's roar (11k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. songs for this chapter include #3-#5. all songs are mentioned by name except for Chrissy's song, which is Tinashe's 'No Drama.'

And I’m a goddamn fool, but then again, so are you

And the lion’s roar, the lion’s roar

Has me seeking out and searching for you

And I never really knew what to do

The Lion’s Roar — First Aid Kit

It's a typical Thursday evening in late February. Dusk light filters through the gauzy curtains covering the one wide window behind the big couch, the window that always casts a glare on the television when you and Steve try to watch Netflix together on lazy Sunday mornings. You have a candle burning on the coffee table, and vanilla and rose now envelop your apartment, filling each corner and cranny with cozy lushness. The couch awaits, ready for you to pour a glass of white wine before folding yourself into its plush comfort to enjoy the peace at the end of your work day.

It's a typical Thursday evening in late February, but it isn't, really. It isn't typical at all.

Steve had been nearly ecstatic when you told him the morning after your double date that you were willing to try swinging with Chrissy and Eddie, and the process had moved along quickly from there. Just as the initial discussion of the topic had felt almost like a dream, it was utterly surreal when you'd all sat down for coffee together, tucked into the corner of a coffee shop, talking over what the arrangement would look like as other cafe patrons ordered their lattes and worked their remote jobs while eating scones. The naughtiness of discussing the details of your plan to swing together in public had been strangely thrilling after the initial surreality wore off. Maybe that's part of the reason people do it, you'd realized, feeling a little like you were back in school, conspiring with your friends during study hall about how you would sneak out of your parents' house and drink in the woods together that night. Except, now, you weren't figuring out the logistics of stealing liquor from your dad's cabinet. You were laying out expectations for when and how you would fuck each other.

The rules were stipulated as follows. First, you'd only engage in sexual acts when you were all together since the arrangement wasn't for you to have open relationships— it was for mutual play that everyone could enjoy. Second, the guys would only finish inside their own girlfriends for the practical reason that, in the event of birth control failure, they wouldn't accidentally impregnate someone they weren't in a relationship with. You'd been on the pill for years, and Chrissy has an IUD, so the risk is minimal, but the group consensus was that the precaution was reasonable and sensible. You'd all also been willing to get tested for STIs simply for peace of mind.

So the rules were agreed to, and tests were taken; and when everyone had received a clean bill of sexual health, you'd all chosen a typical Thursday evening in late February to begin your first foray into this new world of sexual debauchery.

Now, Steve watches you from the bedroom's threshold, fists on hips as your hands flutter over the pillows on the loveseat, fluffing them back into shape before dropping them with hasty plops against the cushions. You spin, eyes darting over the interior of your apartment, searching restlessly for anything that may still be out of place. But you've already tidied up the kitchen island, migrated your haphazard stacks of books back onto their proper shelves, bought the grapes and the crackers and the artisan cheese, and buried your Nintendo Switch back into the decorative ottoman that conceals it from company. Steve had been in charge of drinks, and he'd set the hard liquor out on the Formica counter like a college kid's makeshift bar. You'd also let him choose the Spotify playlist because having to make yet another decision in your current state might actually put you over the edge. Plus, you doubt that your typical musical selection would set the proper mood for the evening.

Most people don't wanna listen to mournful folk when they're trying to get it on with their boyfriend's friend. In front of their boyfriend. While their boyfriend is getting it on with his friend's girlfriend.

Steve's hands are suddenly on your shoulders, and you realize that you've been squeezing the crap out of one of the pillows. "Honey, you've gotta relax," he coaxes, voice kind but tinged with exasperation. "Show the pillow some mercy."

You drop it back onto the big couch with a remorseful grimace, smoothing it out with little brushes of your fingertips before turning and facing your boyfriend. "Are you sure I look okay?" you ask, searching his face for any hint of judgment as his eyes do yet another cursory scan of your body.

You'd chosen the outfit carefully, tearing apart your closet and reassembling it before Steve had returned home from work, none the wiser to the way you'd agonized over the decision. You'd wanted something that looked nice but not too dressy; something comfortable but flattering; something that said, 'I am totally at ease with myself and this situation, and I'm ready to have some fun!' You'd settled on a pair of tight high-waisted jeans that are slimming and make your ass look good, and though you're feeling a little exposed at the way your stomach is on display, you'd paired the jeans with your favorite cropped baby tee that flatters your breasts. You'd decided to forego jewelry aside from some dainty earrings and finished off with light makeup: blush to give yourself a healthy glow, mascara, and some tinted lip balm. You'd decided against gloss since, well. Thinking about why gloss wouldn't be advisable fills you with a potent mixture of nerves and, you can't lie, a tiny flutter of anticipation.

When Steve finishes his brief assessment of your outfit, you don't find any judgment on his face, though he does look slightly pained as he reassures you again. "You look fine, babe. You look good." He sighs, scratching at his eyebrow. "You've really gotta relax, though. You're kinda stressing me out."

You pout, lower lip poking out as your eyes go soft. "Sorry," you say, and Steve pulls you in for a hug, solid arms cradling you close. You bury your nose in his crewneck, breathing salty citrus cologne as he rubs your back until you relax against him.

"It's okay," he says, muffled against your hair before he drops a kiss on the side of your head. He steps back so he can look at you but still holds your elbows, lips stretching in a reassuring smile. "It's gonna be fine. You don't have to be nervous."

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly through your nose. "Okay," you say, expressing agreement even though someone telling you that you don't have to be nervous has never actually served to make you less nervous in your entire life. Still, you flash a quick smile at Steve, pulling out of his light grip. "I'm just gonna go to the bathroom."

"'Kay," he says, sinking down onto the couch and disturbing the arrangement of pillows you've just fluffed as you shuffle off into the powder room.

You close the door behind you, the smooth R&B playing over your Bluetooth speakers more muted behind the wood. It's peaceful in this room, small and compact, and you take another bracing breath as you look at yourself in the mirror. You look good, you remind yourself, running fingers through your hair. This isn't like going to a party in college and wondering if the guy across the room thinks you're pretty. Eddie already said he finds you attractive. There's really nothing to be nervous about. And, truthfully, you don't know why you're so uneasy about this, aside from the fact that it just seems… illicit. Like something you aren't supposed to be doing.

But does that really matter when we’ve all agreed it's something we want to do? Who cares what anyone else would think?

You huff an impatient breath at yourself, a little fed up with your constant overthinking and worrying as you sit down to pee. As you do, your new panties, the lacy blue ones that match the bra you'd bought for the occasion, seem to stare at you from the cradle of your dark jeans. You're suddenly confronted with the fact that Chrissy and Eddie and Steve could all be seeing you in them soon, that Eddie might be peeling them down your thighs before the night is over. And the sight of them makes the situation so real that the haze of nervous unease in your chest expands, creeping farther until it freezes in your lungs.

You wash your hands quickly, avoiding your reflection in the mirror this time. And then, as you emerge from the bathroom, you hear a knock at the front door.

Your heart skips and thuds as Steve pushes up from the couch, and you only have a brief moment to decide whether you should join him or hang back. You choose to join him, and you both end up standing side-by-side in front of the door like a pair of reverse missionaries as he pulls it open, revealing Eddie and Chrissy.

There's a chorus of voices as you see the other couple: Steve's "Hey!", bright and casual; "What's up, man," Eddie's smoky timbre answer; and Chrissy's eager "Hi!", chirped as she reaches for you before you can even offer your own greeting.

You're enveloped by thin arms and soft, slouchy sweater as Chrissy embraces you tightly, stepping in front of Eddie, who waits in the doorway. "Your place is so cute, you guys!" She says over your shoulder, and you smile through your thank you as you gently pull back.

She hugs Steve next, and while she does, your eyes flick over Eddie— over the gray sweatshirt under his denim vest, over the tight black of his signature ripped jeans, over the thumb slung casually in his pocket, knuckles ruddy over chunky rings. His dark curls are pulled into a lazy bun at the nape of his neck, shorter pieces brushing his jaw. His whole visage tonight is more relaxed than when you'd seen him on stage and afterward— absent leather and chains but still edged with that characteristic intensity evident in his dark boots, pierced ears, and the tattoos peeking from his pushed-up sleeves.

As Chrissy lets Steve go, the guys pull each other into a one-armed hug, hands clapping a bit too hard on each others' backs as men are wont to do. It allows you to gaze at Eddie's face— soft nose, deep brown eyes, long lashes, sharp jaw, and full pink lips, which are pulled into an amiable grin as he meets Steve's gaze and their arms drop.

It's nearly a revelation, the fact that you're allowed to admit it to yourself: Eddie looks really fucking good. And as you acknowledge it, you feel your cheeks heat with what you're sure is a visible blush. It only makes your previous nerves flutter harder, moth wings kicking wildly in your stomach even as squirmy nervousness roils in your chest.

And you haven't even acknowledged each other yet.

Oblivious or mercifully without comment regarding the sudden color in your cheeks, Chrissy slides by you, blue eyes bright as she takes in your decorating. Steve follows her further inside, and absently, you hear him offer her something to drink.

As Eddie steps through the doorway, he finally meets your gaze, dark eyes just as piercing as you remember them— too piercing to keep from glancing away almost by reflex, though you bring them back to him after only a brief departure. You realize then that you should probably say something.

"Hi." The greeting comes out soft and shy, but he doesn't seem to mind; a corner of his lips pulls into a crooked smile as he hears it, one that you find utterly charming.

"Hi." He echoes you, though he's not at all shy as he edges forward into your space. And it would be weird not to hug him when Chrissy hugged you and Steve, wouldn't it?

So you do— you lift on the balls of your feet, painted toes digging into the carpet as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your face ends up pressed against the hood of his sweatshirt, his hair tickling the edge of your cheekbone, and as your favorite cropped baby tee rides up with your reach, Eddie's warm forearms wrap around the small of your back. You feel the brush of his fingers against your bare sides; they're calloused, roughened, you suppose, by manual labor and dedicated nights pouring out on stage like the first time you'd seen him. And as the rasp of his touch drags against your skin, your breath catches on smoke and musk and apples, fluttering nerves intensifying so quickly that you have to withdraw, lest you become entirely overwhelmed.

In truth, the hug had lasted maybe three seconds. Still, you feel it linger even after Steve has completed his role as dutiful host: provided drinks for your company, passed a glass of wine into your hands, and sat next to you on the loveseat, arm around your waist but body angled towards your guests. You're perched on the edge of the cushion, legs crossed at the ankles, grateful for the wine and Steve's grounding presence beside you, but it isn't enough to entirely ease the freeze inside your chest, that haze of nervous pressure that's still tight behind your sternum.

"So—" Steve breaks the silence, tone relaxed and conversational but with a hint of a smile. "Have you heard from Henderson yet?"

You watch as Eddie shakes his head fondly, leaning elbows on knees, tumbler filled with amber liquor dangling loosely from his fingers. "Kid's gonna be the death of me, Steve. I swear."

Steve smirks without malice, leaning back as he eyes his friend knowingly. "I take it he tried roping you in, too, then?"

Chrissy's nose wrinkles as she looks back and forth between the two. "What's Dustin trying to rope you into?" she asks, and Steve motions loosely for Eddie to explain, taking a casual swig from his glass as Eddie starts to talk.

It's not a subject of conversation you can add much value to— of course, Steve has mentioned Dustin Henderson often, and you've met him a couple of times now, but you don't share the familiarity the rest of the group seems to have with him. Your eyes dart back and forth as the conversation bounces from person to person, but after a while, you settle into your silence, content for the moment just to observe, offering an occasional laugh or head nod at the appropriate moments as you drink your wine.

As the conversation shifts to new topics, dry sips of wine tart on your tongue, it strikes you suddenly: Eddie's foreignness, his strangeness to you. He looks so out of place among your fluffed pillows in a way that Chrissy does not, even though he's leaning back against your couch and spreading his legs like he's been here before, taking up space in your home. He's so conspicuous, dark jeans and hair sucking in all the light in the room until you can't look away. And as you watch him talk, his black and his white are clear to see. Eddie is rough and jagged as he speaks with his hands, sharp with barking laughter, quirked brows, and wide, manic grins. But the dimple of his cheek, the kiss of his bangs against his forehead, the brown of his eyes— they're nothing but soft, belying something gentle inside, something that can't be concealed beneath all his layers of leather and chains, of smoke and ink. You can see it, that gentleness, but you don't know it. It's not familiar. He's not familiar.

And when, in the midst of a theatrical recounting of some event from the past week, Eddie's gaze flits to yours— attention all focused on you like the light he's sucked from the room is shining in those dark eyes— you feel that tug again, deep in your belly, and it flutters the smoke.

It makes you nervous.

As your unease refuses to subside, the taste of the others' light laughter turns ashen in your mouth, and you're no longer able to sit still— you need to move, to do something to distract yourself from it. Remembering your snacks— your grapes, crackers, and cheese— you pull from Steve's light grip, rising from the loveseat and carrying your wine glass with you. The music grows louder as you approach the speaker on the island, covering the sound of their continued conversation in the living room and bringing some relief as you recede into the safety of the kitchen. You tip your head back and gulp the rest of the dry wine, ignoring how the tartness makes your lips pucker, focusing instead on the warmth as the alcohol settles in your stomach, thawing the edge off that nervousness on the way down.

Clinking your empty glass onto the counter, you bend to grab a platter from one of the lower cabinets near the fridge, nearly startling when a low voice speaks from above you.

"Need some help?"

You glance up to see Eddie towering a short distance away, narrow hip leaning against your kitchen island, hand shoved casually in the pocket of his dark jeans. You straighten up with the platter, sliding it onto the island between you, eyes darting from his face to the cabinets behind you. "I'm just getting snacks ready," you explain quickly, reaching high for the box of crackers on the second shelf of an overhead cabinet, fingertips just skimming the cardboard. Your cheeks heat as you wag your fingers faster, tension growing with the awareness that Eddie is watching you fumble, tiny desperate nudges just pushing the box further from your grasp.

"Well, let me help you," Eddie replies, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he moves closer. You sigh, a quick sharp exhale of resignation as you stop reaching, holding carefully still as you feel him move closer behind you, heart thumping with renewed nerves at his approach. But what you're half–afraid of— that this is some covert attempt to make a move on you, to press his body up against the length of yours— doesn't come to pass. Instead, Eddie keeps a respectful distance, ringed hand plucking the box easily from the crowd of its brethren in your cabinet, stepping back from you as soon as he does. You turn to see him placing the box next to the platter, throwing a quick glance at you as he asks, "Want these on here?"

You blink as the rise of your nerves settles back to its baseline, swallowing to wet your mouth. "Yeah," you reply, voice blessedly even. "I have cheese," you mention, implying that he should leave some room for it as you open the fridge, reaching into the crisper drawer. "And some grapes."

"Cool," you hear him say, and it strikes you as a somewhat odd response coming from someone who is, in your estimation, actually cool. The concept that this hot frontman of a rock band would actually find your adult-ish party snacks cool is nearly enough to make you giggle with bemusement, leaving you wondering until you hear a rush of crackers tinking against ceramic behind you.

Turning back around, you see that Eddie has upended the box of crackers and dumped it entirely onto the platter. Your bemusement turns to incredulity as you eye him, dropping the cheese and grapes a little too heavily onto the counter beside him. He takes in your expression, eyes darting from your face to the platter as you stare at him. "What?" He asks, seeming genuinely baffled as to why you're looking at him like that. "Did you not want them on there?"

"No, I did," you say carefully, slowly, fighting against the amused smile twitching on your lips as his wide eyes blink at you. "Just maybe not that many crackers." He looks back at the platter again, and you add, "and maybe not in a pile. More, like, in rows…"

"...Got it," Eddie says, and you can't help the light snort that escapes as he scoops the crackers up messily into his hands, funneling them back into the box as you take out a knife to slice the cheese into thin rectangles. When he notices you laughing, you think he might say something, but Eddie stays quiet, though a corner of his lips curls in a little self-deprecating grin as he reduces the load of crackers to a reasonable volume.

You both work quietly on your tasks, the sound of R&B flowing between you in place of exchanging words. You slice the cheese diligently, though you also sneak little glances as Eddie arranges the crackers into a semblance of order on the platter, brown eyes squinty, the tip of his tongue peeking just slightly between his lips as he tries to keep his touch delicate. A sudden bright laugh cuts through the music, and you look back into the living room to see that Steve has migrated from the loveseat to the big couch beside Chrissy, sipping his drink as she throws her head back, delighted at something he's said. Her beauty strikes you— strawberry-blonde waves cascading to her collarbone, sweater slouching casually to reveal one creamy shoulder, plush sweatpants like velvet as she tucks one leg beneath her. She leans comfortably against the back of the couch, covering her mouth daintily with one manicured hand as she continues to laugh. It seems effortless, the way Chrissy carries herself, the way she dresses— like she's never had to tear her closet apart, agonizing over what she's going to wear a moment in her life.

Chrissy's blue eyes seem to sparkle as she leans forward, talking enthusiastically with your boyfriend as she rests a hand lightly on his wrist. And you don't feel jealous because you'd known what this night was going to become; it's not surprising that she'd be touching Steve like that. But you do feel that icy haze of unease spread in your chest again as you watch them. Because that tiny, insistent voice in the back of your mind, the one that never entirely leaves you, starts to catalog all the ways you differ from her.

"Hey." Eddie's voice is quiet beside you, and you suck in a quick breath, eyes darting to see him looking at you, hands now motionless and hanging at his sides. And that gentleness you'd seen in him from across the living room— it's there in his dark eyes again, in the concerned tilt to his mouth, the little wrinkle in his brow. "You don't have to do this, you know. If you don't want to."

His words are like that rush of dry wine as it slid down your throat, making the ice start to drip and melt. There's no judgment in his expression, no sense of disappointment you can detect in the set of his features. And, in fact, Eddie looks so sincere and serious that your eyes don't dart away from his gaze.

It’s then that you become aware of how near your bodies are to each other. You find it strange to be standing so close to a man you don't already know, like each hair on your arms is standing on end with the awareness of his foreignness. But he doesn't try to touch you, and he doesn't move away, either. Eddie just lets you look at him. It feels like permission, his patient stare, so you take him up on his offer. You allow your eyes to run over his face.

This close, that uncanny feeling from before is even stronger— the sense that Eddie's features are unfamiliar. So you start to learn them: the shadow on his upper lip, the little lines in the corners of his brown eyes, a silvery scar on his chin like he'd split it open before. You wonder how that happened. Your eyes drift down from his face to the pale column of his throat, and there's some razor burn on the side of his adam's apple.

During your examination of him, Eddie has regarded you calmly, waiting for your response without pressing for it. That ice melts further, trickling down to stir the smoke in your belly, to drip into that buried place inside.

Eddie smells like musk, like tobacco, weed, and delicate apples, and this time, you let yourself breathe him in, using that breath to ground you. When you're ready, you don't speak to his chest or throat. You meet those dark eyes, letting them tug at you as you tell him the truth, voice soft but sure. "I'm nervous. But I do want to."

And then you smile at him, moth wings quivering in your belly as he smiles back.

Eddie offers to carry the loaded platter into the living room for you, but you kindly decline. Still, you use the opportunity to express your gratitude before you rejoin the others.

"Thank you," you say, eyes holding his without darting away. A faint blush rises as his cheek dimples with a kind smile.

"No problem," he replies, and you think— you hope— he knows it's not just for helping with the party snacks.

You place the platter on the coffee table, sitting on the couch next to Steve as he reaches immediately for a slice of cheese, popping it into his mouth. His hazel eyes are bright with the fizz of alcohol and enjoyment of company, and you grin at him, pinching his cheeks and pecking him on the lips before he's even swallowed. He smiles back at you closed-mouthed, fingers finding your knee and giving it a fond squeeze as you lean forward to catch Chrissy's eye.

"I never got to ask you how your test went the other week," you say, warming at the way she perks knowing you'd remembered. "Did you get your grade back yet?"

"Yeah!" she replies, lips stretching with a smile, all soft and powdery and pleased. "I was so nervous going in, but Steve really helped so much. I ended up with a B!"

You brighten with the news. "That's great!" You reach for a grape, cold skin smooth and round between your fingers as you ask, "Are you taking any other classes right now?"

Chrissy leans towards you as she starts to explain the classes she's taking, and you slant closer to Steve to hear her from across his lap, eyes trained on baby blues.

"Steve—" Eddie isn't trying to interject, voice low and quiet as he leans back behind Chrissy to catch your boyfriend's eye. Your gaze flits to him briefly before returning to her, long enough to see him jerk his chin to indicate Steve should come with him. The couch shifts as they get up, and you slide closer to Chrissy, crossing your legs as you lean back against the couch. She mirrors you, eager to continue your discussion. Her sweetness rivals the fruit bursting on your tongue as she asks you about your work; you explain a little about your job, where you've been working as a medical assistant at a small pediatric doctor's office for the last two years. Chrissy gets excited then, asking you if you have any cute— or crazy— patient stories, and you both swap little anecdotes about the Karens you've encountered in each of your health service roles (generally the parents and not the kids, in your case).

Soon though, the guys' absence becomes conspicuous; as you glance around for them, you joke, "What do you think the men are conspiring about?"

Chrissy huffs a cute little snort through her nose, slanting you with a look tinged with knowing wryness. "Probably planning out how to get us out of our clothes the fastest," she replies, lips curving in a little sardonic grin not directed at you but meant to be shared with you.

You smile back, trying to be casual and match her energy, but the reminder of where this night is supposed to head has those nerves freezing in your chest again. You resist a squirm as the guys finally emerge from the bedroom, and knowing where they'd gone doesn't help quell the uneasiness that's beginning to spread again. But Eddie diverts from the couch to head into the kitchen like he's on a mission, and when Steve sinks down on the other side of you, you see that, curiously, he's holding a deck of playing cards.

Steve leans forward, dropping the cards onto the coffee table and hefting up the platter, moving it to the side table instead. He blows out your candle, and as you see that his intention is to clear space, you assist, setting the potted plant and the round decorative tray with its contents underneath the coffee table and out of the way.

"Where're your plastic cups, Steve?" Eddie calls from the kitchen, hands reaching for cabinet doors that bounce back slightly ajar as he moves from one to the next.

"Over the sink!" Steve's voice is a little loud in your ear as he ducks closer to you prematurely, looking like he wants to tell you something. You turn your head towards him, chin tilting down as you look into his hazel eyes, close enough to see all the flecks of green, brown, and amber that make them up. "Eddie told me you're still nervous," he says, voice barely a murmur as he looks at you reassuringly. "It's okay; we're gonna take things slow."

Your eyes melt as you smile, gratefulness blossoming to replace the freeze, and you press a little thankful kiss to the corner of Steve's lips. He seems pleased at your reaction, arm draping over your shoulders and pulling you close against his side as he opens the pack of cards one-handed, reluctant to let you go and make his job easier. You take it from him, starting to tug out the cards, but your hands pause as you see Eddie coming from the kitchen, carrying five plastic cups bunched together in his broad hands. His tongue tip is peeking from his lips again as he walks slowly and carefully, dark eyes trained on the bundle in his hands as you watch him approach.

The knowledge of what he'd done— that Eddie had taken Steve aside to tell him that you were nervous, that he thought you needed things slow— settles inside you like the smoke his husky singing voice conjures, billowing full and rich and heady, now more substantial than before. You can feel it fill you as he reaches the couch; his dark pants, dark hair, and dark eyes are still sucking the light from the room into him, though now it doesn't blind you— it warms you instead.

Eddie looks a little unstable as he tries to set the cups down, and your hands dart out to catch them in case they fall. But he successfully maneuvers them to the coffee table, pulling one away towards the center as you each take the rest of them.

"What are we doing?" Chrissy asks, peering down into her cup, brows scrunched skeptically as she eyes the drink inside.

The wicked grin on Eddie's face doesn't seem to make Chrissy feel better whatsoever as he replies, "Playing King's Cup and getting really fuckin' drunk, Chris."

Despite Eddie's somewhat ominous introduction to the drinking game, you don't actually get really fucking drunk. Still, by the time you've finished your cup, you're feeling loose and warm and melty as you laugh, cheering Steve on with the others as he chugs back the concoction in the King's Cup to end the game. You're all squished onto the big couch, bodies snug, so it jostles you when he shakes his head with a grimace; he pulls the cup from his lips, shoulders shuddering as his brown waves tremble with the motion. "Eddie, that was absolutely vile," he says, shooting a sour look across you and Chrissy as you lean against her shoulder, arms threaded together comfortably in a display of alcohol-aided familiarity. "What did you put in it?"

"Ah," Eddie draws the sound out, hands motioning wishy-washy in the air, eyes a little hazy now. "Little of this, little of that, you know."

Steve merely humphs, lips smacking as if to try to dispel the aftertaste. "Alright, new game," he says, eyeing you all with a mischievous crook to his brow as he slumps back, widened legs nudging into yours and pushing you further into Chrissy. He waves his hands in front of him as if presenting a new idea in front of the boss. "I call it… 'Strip or Dare.'"

Chrissy snorts, giggling a little excessively as you humor him. "What's 'Strip or Dare,' Steve?"

Steve leans forward, feigning seriousness as he answers, "Simple, honey. It's like truth or dare, except instead of telling the truth, if you choose strip, you have to take off your clothes."

Your eyebrows raise as you nod slowly, eyes wide as you huff a tiny incredulous chuckle. "So, do a dare or get naked, Steve? Is that what you're saying?" You can't deny that now, pressed between two warm bodies and with your head swimming pleasantly from the alcohol, the idea does cause a slight flutter to burst in your belly. But it also seems like too much all at once— the idea of baring yourself entirely to everyone right now.

Maybe I'm just not drunk enough.

"No, no," Steve clarifies, head bobbing back and forth as he shakes it. "Just take off, like, one article of clothing. A major article," he clarifies, leaning forward in emphasis. "Not, like, your socks or something."

You nod again, glancing at Chrissy and Eddie to assess their reactions. Chrissy grins, eyes eager as she says, "Ooh, sounds fun!" Eddie nods, too, dark eyes flitting to yours for just a moment as he shifts against the couch, nestling in as his knees widen, getting comfortable and taking up more space at the same time.

"Okay," you say, looking back at Steve. "Who's going first?"

Steve's eyes dance around the group before landing on his friend. "Strip or dare?"

Eddie huffs, rubbing his palms along the tops of his thighs, lips twisting against a grin as he pretends to think. "Hm. I dunno, Steve," he says lightly, "think I'm gonna have to strip."

You grin widely as Chrissy cups her hands around her mouth, joining in her whoops and little playful 'ow ow ow's as Eddie pushes up from the couch, walking around the coffee table with an exaggerated swagger. He's really playing it up, biting his lower lip as he rubs his hands together, and his intentional goofiness makes mirth and delight entirely consume any last remnants of your nerves.

"Hold on," Steve says as Eddie grabs the edges of his vest, pulling them out; his shoulders sway impatiently as Steve pulls out his phone, holding out a hand as if trying to ward off the performance. "One second." He taps at the screen, and suddenly the smooth pop playing over your speakers cuts out, replaced by a heavily-processed vocal bass and the tik-tik-hiss of synthesized drums.

Steve's playing 'Pony' by Ginuwine.

"Oh my God—" You and Chrissy dissolve into giggles as Eddie barks a surprised but amused laugh, head thrown back and dark eyes glittering as his smirk goes manic. He pulls the elastic from his hair, shaking his curls like a dog as you let out a hybrid woo-laugh to voice your support, knees drawn to your chest as you and Chrissy curl into each other. He peels the vest slowly from his shoulders, tossing it onto the loveseat, hands dropping teasingly to the hem of his sweatshirt. Eddie flashes just a hint of pale skin and dark hair beneath his navel, smirk widening as his eyes meet yours. You can't help yourself— you hide behind your hand, face flushing bright pink at the playful wolfishness in his stare as your giggles intensify, edged with hysteria. You peek through your fingers to watch him as he reveals more skin little by little, hips swaying jerkily to the beat— attempting to, at least.

For a frontman in a band, Eddie doesn't seem to have much rhythm off the stage. Still, though his motions aren't smooth, you find yourself relishing the reveal of each pale inch of skin, each line and curve of dark ink as they emerge for you to run your eyes over in a silent caress. Of course, you'd seen the whole picture when he was on stage, but from your distance, the tattoos had run together into a continuous tapestry that wrapped his arms and torso, one indiscernible from the next. Your eyes devour them now, picking out pieces as they emerge— a skull, a pair of snakes, a cluster of bats, what looks like it may be a broadsword, a demon, scrawls of text and other little filler pieces that you can't make out, plus one tattoo that disappears beneath the waistline of his jeans. You can't quite tell what it is.

Unfortunately, your eager appraisal is interrupted when, as Eddie has decided to peel his sweatshirt and white t-shirt off together and tug from the center of his back once they are halfway up his chest, his head and arms get stuck.

You lower your hand, feeling a smidge of concern as he wiggles and writhes, hips halting their movements so he can focus all his attention on extricating himself from the tangle of his clothing. You hear Chrissy huff beside you as he finally manages to free his head, face emerging pink from effort as it squeezes through the neck-hole of his sweatshirt, his hair scraped back until he yanks the material from the length of his curls to let it plop to the ground. Unphased, Eddie grins, holding his hands out theatrically as if to display himself to his audience of three.

"Sexy, babe," Chrissy deadpans, voice wry with fond exasperation. Though you know she's just lightly ragging on him, you can't share in her exasperation. You're struck by the wild beauty of Eddie's hair as he shakes it back into place, body all black and white again like it was on stage— and now, the cut of his shoulders, the latent strength of his biceps, the tendons of his forearms, the dusting of hair on his chest, the lean curve of his waist, covered by a healthy layer of fat— the sight of it flutters in your belly, stirring up that smoke. You know your smile and your eyes betray your thoughts, but the alcohol is fuzzing in your limbs, the couch is comfortable behind your back, and Steve and Chrissy's bodies are warm beside you, lending silent support. And when Eddie's dark eyes meet yours, his grin widening as he sees you looking, the tension of the contact feels a little delicious.

"All right," Eddie says, and when his eyes release you, you aren't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. "Who's next?"

You look around at the others as Eddie flops back into his spot beside Chrissy, not quite willing to offer yourself up. "Chris?" Steve suggests, and Chrissy leans forward, shooting a teasing look at each of you. "Well, I think I'll follow Mr. Rockstar's lead," she says, voice pitched slightly lower than usual. "I choose strip, too."

Eddie grins up at her as she stands, sauntering over with a sensual sway of her hips to the same spot he'd occupied moments before. "Can I get a better track?" Chrissy requests, and Steve purses his lips, looking through his phone again.

"How about this 'Strip Club Anthems' playlist?" He suggests earnestly, and you can't help but giggle at the absurdity of his puppy-dogishness coupled with the nature of his suggestion.

"That's just perfect, Steve," Eddie says, voice tinged with warm amusement and just the slightest edge of sarcasm. "Go for it."

Steve doesn't seem to notice, eyes locked on Chrissy's form as the song begins. You watch her, too, realizing quickly that Chrissy has decided to take a different approach from Eddie, eyes bedroom-heavy as she twists her body, running one manicured hand sensually up the soft velvet of her sweatpants.

She really knows what she's doing.

It's clear that Chrissy feels entirely at ease with stripping in front of Steve and Eddie as she teases her audience with a glimpse of her bra strap before concealing it again, flashing little glimpses of her skin meant to tantalize before she gives them the main course, slowly removing her oversized sweater, folding it almost primly with a saccharine smile bordering on foxy as she drops it to the coffee table. The black lace bra she wears underneath is more aggressive than you were expecting, but you can't deny that she looks beautiful, strawberry-blonde hair curling over the thin, dark straps. Her abdomen is trim and athletic, her skin nearly flawless, and though the size of her breasts is modest, you can tell they're shapely in the cut of her lingerie.

"Enjoy the show?" she asks, voice still pitched a little huskier than usual, and you quickly show your support with 'woo's and 'yeah's, enthusiastic for her as the guys also make noises of appreciation. Because it's not Chrissy's fault that that little whispering voice won't silence itself in your head. She's only ever been friendly and sweet and supportive in the short time you've known her, and you aren't going to make her feel bad just because you can't help but compare yourself.

Chrissy sinks back into the cushions, looking at you with blue eyes shiny from her buzz and that megawatt smile she always hands out without restraint. "Your turn," she sing-songs, and you bite your lip, shyly stuffing your hands between your thighs.

Maybe you would've chosen strip if you'd gone after Eddie, but trying to follow Chrissy? Discomfort races through your belly as you picture trying to measure up to her performance and you discard the idea almost instantly. "Dare," you say, letting a smile curve at your lips as you say it like you're making a bold choice instead of making the only choice you feel you have.

Steve speaks almost instantly, and you turn to him to see his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Babe, I dare you to let Eddie take a body shot off you."

You blink, face pinking immediately, but you try to keep your voice even as you retort, "Doesn't that mean I'd have to take my shirt off?"

"Yup." Your boyfriend looks entirely unrepentant in the face of your wry expression.

"So isn't that, like, basically the same as choosing strip?"

"You're the one who chose dare, honey," Steve reminds you, smirking as you shoot him a look. But you're not going to back down now, not after both Eddie and Chrissy completed their challenges without complaint. Plus, you'd known you would likely be removing some of your clothes before this night had begun, which was why you'd purchased your new lingerie in the first place.

"Okay," you say, getting up from the couch to face Steve. "Where?"

He jerks his chin toward the rectangular table that serves as both your kitchen and dining table. "Lay out on that. Eddie, what do you want for your shot?"

You look at Eddie then, face pinking further as you see him already staring up at you, dark eyes intense as Chrissy answers for him. "He likes tequila."

Eddie slants a glance at his girlfriend, dark brow crooking. "Are you trying to get me fucked up?"

She smiles sweetly, drawling, "Maybe…"

You hear Eddie huff good-naturedly as you shuffle past the coffee table, making room for everyone to get up from the couch and migrate into the dining area. You hop up onto your dining table, swinging your feet with little half-nervous, half-excited kicks as Steve pulls a shot glass from the cabinet, filling it to the top with amber tequila.

You feel a little awkward that Chrissy and Eddie are standing nearby, overtly aware of their gazes as they wait for you to remove your shirt. But as Steve approaches with the shot, you know it's now or never. So you peel your cropped tee off, dropping it beside you as you lay down quickly, hands resting lightly beneath the band of your lacy light blue bra. As almost an afterthought, you unbutton your high-waisted jeans, keeping your eyes on your fingers as you tug the zipper down halfway, parting the fabric to reveal your belly button and provide more space to work with.

"Cute bra!" Chrissy says perkily, and you twitch your lips into a smile as you thank her, voice only a little breathless.

"No salt, Steve? No lime? What is this?" You hear Eddie's warm, teasing voice over the R&B beat as he moves closer to the table, stopping near your left elbow. Steve stops at your other side, and you look up at him first, eyes darting from the shot glass in his hands to his face, registering the quirked brow as he grins at his friend.

"I can get you salt, but I don't have any limes. You're gonna need to suck it up, man." Steve passes the shot into your fingers as you try not to blush again at his choice of words. You keep your hand as steady as possible as you lower the shot to your abdomen, resting the cold, smooth glass on the skin above your belly button. You keep your fingers lightly wrapped around the glass, the liquid inside wavering but not breaking surface tension as you look up at Eddie expectantly, legs hanging near Chrissy's knees, sides flanked by both men.

Eddie's eyes are bright and wide, a corner of his lips tugged into a little crooked smile as he looks down at your body, and you feel that flutter again at the way his eyes drag over the expanse of your skin on display. "You don't need to hold it, sweetheart," he says cockily, smile tightening to a smirk. "I've got it."

Your eyes widen, but you obey, fingers withdrawing, hovering nearby as Eddie bends at the waist, beginning to lean over you. You hold your breath in anticipation of his nearness, eyes locked on dark obsidian as he watches you while his face draws closer to your skin.

What you hadn't anticipated, however, is how his loose hair would brush against your skin, the light touch of his curls dragging along your side as he leans all the way down to reach the shot glass.

Two things happen at once.

Though the brush of Eddie's hair is sensual, it is incredibly ticklish against the soft skin of your belly and side, and you feel your abdomen contract as you jerk with the sensation. At the same time, Eddie's lips make contact with the shot glass sooner than he'd expected because of your movement. So you both fumble the glass, tequila trickling into your belly button as you start to laugh; you feel Eddie's hot breath huffing against your skin as he chuckles at the same time that he tries to take the shot, hand grasping for the edge of the table as he half-sputters on the burn of the alcohol. The sound he makes just makes you laugh harder, knees pulling up as he drops his head, shot glass tipping sideways beside his nose as it presses lightly into your stomach.

It's so fucking awkward that it's actually really fucking funny, and you can feel him laughing as your gasps turn more hysterical. "I'm sorry," you wheeze through your laughter, and he pulls his head up then, grinning at you through his own shaking laughter. "I-I ruined your shot," you say, still chuckling as he shakes his head, chin dragging warm against your skin.

"I gotta— hold on—" Eddie chuckles, dark eyes twinkling, full lips pink and pulled into a charming grin that dimples his cheek as he grabs the shot glass, placing it to the side out of his way. "I gotta finish it."

You don't have any time to react before Eddie's mouth is on your skin, lips closing around your belly button as he noisily tries to suck up the alcohol collected there. Your whole body contracts with the force of your laugh, spine raised off the table and legs bent, head thrown back as you peal with unrestrained laughter, nearly embarrassing in its vehemence.

But Eddie is also laughing hard, shoulders shaking as he husks goofy chuckles against your skin. Your hand lands on the back of his head, lightly holding on to his curls as you laugh against each other, only calming as Steve says, voice warm with fond amusement, "You guys are a total mess."

"Yup," you say, still giggling, hand leaving the back of Eddie's head to swipe the moisture from beneath your eye. The skin where he'd been resting feels cold once Eddie lifts his head, backing up a step so he can throw his arms wide and bow theatrically. You clap for him, Chrissy and Steve joining in after a moment as Eddie straightens up, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

"And that's how you take a shot," he says, grin wide and manic while you all shake your heads at him fondly.

You rezip and button your pants before sitting up, head swimming slightly with the sudden motion. Still, it can't detract from the buoyant lightness you feel as you hop down from the table, leading the group back to the couch. You realize as you reach it that you'd left your shirt back at the dining table, but you find you don't really care; in fact, you like the way Steve and Eddie watch you as you fall back into the cushions, breasts bouncing slightly in the confines of your bra. Chrissy settles back beside you, wavy hair brushing your bare shoulder as she looks up at Eddie and Steve, who promptly pulls his sweater over his head, brown waves tousled more than normal as he tosses it onto the couch to join Eddie's discarded vest.

As they stand beside each other, now both shirtless, it's obvious that Eddie is smaller than Steve— less broad-shouldered, a little leaner compared to Steve's firm mass. Steve's chest hair is considerably thicker, too, though somehow, that doesn't make him look more masculine. You think they're both distinctly masculine, though in different ways: whereas Steve is all sturdy solidity, Eddie is lithe, all predatory sharpness. And you realize, also, that you're incredibly attracted to both of them.

As everyone stares at him, Steve looks around at the group, saying blandly, "I didn't wanna be the only one wearing a shirt."

You huff a chuckle through your nose, pointing out, "Well, you could've just chosen strip, then."

Steve grins, running his fingers through his hair, bangs falling over one eye in that perfectly messy way you love so much. "I was gonna choose dare."

Beside you, you feel Chrissy straighten up, and you glance over to see her blue eyes locked on your boyfriend. "Well then," she says, pink lips curved like a shiny bow on top of a present. "I dare you to kiss me, Steve."

With the statement, the energy in the room shifts— the playful atmosphere melts into something more loaded, sticker and thicker as Steve's eyes flick to you. And you know what he's silently asking; you know that this is when everything will officially tilt past that invisible line of demarcation. The line that marks the point of no return— the point where, though it doesn't mean that you are obligated to do this again, you know you can never go back to having left that line uncrossed.

You meet your boyfriend's eyes, and slightly, almost imperceptibly, you nod your permission.

Steve shifts forward then, movements slow and measured, and that dream-like quality from your first conversation returns as you shift over on the couch, making room for him next to Chrissy. He settles down between you, sinking back into the cushions, and your body tilts toward him with the shifting of his weight as he leans towards Chrissy, her blue eyes soft and just a little hazy from the alcohol, like you know yours and Steve's and Eddie's are. You tuck your hands between your thighs, eyes wide as you watch Steve cup her cheek with a gentle hand that you can almost feel on your own face, the gesture so familiar; your heart starts to beat faster in anticipation of what is coming. Steve continues in, and in, and in, closing the gap as Chrissy's hand lightly touches his chest.

And then you watch as their lips meet.

You blink as if the sight would clear from your vision with the press of your eyelids, but it doesn't. This is your boyfriend of three years, sitting beside you, kissing another girl on the big couch in the living room of the apartment you share, and your stomach does a strange little flip as you watch Chrissy's mouth open, lips pink and wet and pressing closer to Steve's mouth. Beneath the loose warmth of the alcohol in your system, your emotions are tangled, an amorphous, shifting mass beneath your skin. You're left just observing them blankly, entirely unsure how to react.

A shift of black and white beyond Chrissy draws your attention, and you find your gaze darting from that point of connection between her and Steve to Eddie's brown eyes. A little helplessly, you scan his expression, needing something to inform your reaction— to tell you what you should think, what you should do or say in the face of what's currently happening. And as Eddie looks back at you, face entirely calm as he looks from you to Chrissy and Steve and back again, you can feel the shifting mass begin to soothe, that instinctual rise settling like a wave breaking over the sand, receding back into the ocean.

As Eddie's calm pacifies you, you find yourself fixating on his dark eyes, long-lashed and depthless, as he looks back at you. You can feel the subtle movement of Steve's body beside you as he kisses Chrissy, the warmth of his bare side nudging against yours as he shifts his head. And then, just as abruptly as it began, the kiss ends. You look away from Eddie as Steve's skin drags against yours once more; he turns, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a passionate kiss.

You sigh into Steve's embrace as his lips meet yours, mouth warm and wet and tasting of alcohol, the familiar flavor of Steve, and the faintest hint of something sweet that you realize probably comes from Chrissy's mouth. Any insecurity you may have felt at seeing Steve kiss Chrissy— any doubt that he may not have wanted you after he'd kissed her— entirely flies from you as he pulls you closer, soft hands firm against the skin of your waist as he leans in, deepening your kiss with insistent lips. You kiss Steve back with equal enthusiasm, a low flutter beginning in your belly that he stokes with the drag of his palm up your back, the press of his thumb underneath your chin to angle your face up for him, and the breathy groan he sighs into your mouth.

Steve kisses you for a long moment, and when his lips draw away, you blink open into comforting hazel eyes, half-lidded and lust-drunk, pupils blown wide as a smile curls on his slick lips. He looks so happy and content that you feel that same contentment bloom within your own body, matching his as you smile sweetly at him, pressing one last kiss to his lips, lingering before pulling away.

You lean your cheek against the back of the couch, resting a gentle hand on Steve's arm. You know that the pretense of the game is over now, and you nod towards Chrissy with your chin— another silent offer of permission that makes Steve's eyes soften before he ducks back to you, kissing you decisively one last time as you smile again.

Steve turns from you then, warm skin shifting once more against yours. You sink back into the couch, letting the repetitive beat of the music wash over you as your limbs relax. You are languid and warm and utterly loose, and a vague smile plays at your lips as you curl your knees up comfortably, perfectly content to rest against the warmth of Steve's body until you feel the couch dip on the other side of you.

When you turn your head, your eyes find Eddie's so easily that it almost feels like instinct. He slings his arm along the back of the couch behind your head, pale skin radiating warmth against your hair, dark tattoos stark and so up close now it's almost dizzying. He's left a sliver of space between your bodies, a tiny polite distance that you promptly close when you roll towards him, lowering your legs, your thighs pressing together through both of your jeans. You rest your head against his arm, and your breath hitches as, for the first time, the skin of your side presses up against his.

Eddie's scent, the warmth of his body, and his sudden nearness are disorienting, and your head buzzes with the stimuli; but when you look up at him, his loose curls brushing your shoulder as he slants his face towards you, all that matters are the gentleness in his eyes and the smoke in his voice as he asks you, voice a hushed murmur, "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathe, and then he does.

It's odd enough that you're suddenly kissing someone who isn't Steve, but it's so incredibly, acutely bizarre that you can feel Steve's back against yours while another man's mouth descends on your lips. Your heart skips and thuds in your chest, beating a rapid tattoo as warmth surrounds you, the heat of two masculine bodies pressing up against you on either side. Yet when you feel Eddie's thumb drag featherlight over your cheek, the touch so light and delicate, your divided attention becomes no longer divided at all.

Eddie shifts the position of his face as you lean into him, nose brushing yours as he slots his mouth better over your lips. Suddenly, you notice everything: the stubble on his upper lip; the tickle of his hair against your neck; the firm but gentle way his lips move against yours, not pressing too deep, not insisting he take too much; and finally his scent, that smoke incarnate, musky and heady and mixing with delicate apples.

The intensity of the tingling flutters that erupt in your belly makes your spine straighten, pushing your body closer to Eddie's. Moth wings beat a frenzy as he moans into your mouth, a little aborted noise that he chokes back as soon as it occurs, though as you hear it, all you want is to hear it again, to make him do it again. But Eddie pulls back, and the seal of your lips breaks as he sucks in a quick breath through his mouth. You can feel his face hovering nearby, and for one fleeting moment, you're almost afraid to open your eyes, to see his expression or, the addled thought hits you, to discover that you'd imagined this entire thing.

Despite yourself, your eyelashes flutter open into a face framed by wild curls, a soft nose, full, plush lips blushed pink from kissing, and the most beautiful pair of wide brown eyes you've ever seen in your life. Those eyes dart between yours as if to assess your reaction, to check for any return of the nerves you'd been so consumed by earlier that night.

But Eddie finds none because there are none. And this time, when you're the one to brush your fingers against Eddie's cheek, you can feel him smile into your eager kiss.

Later that night, you lie on the bed you share with Steve, bleary eyes staring at the darkened ceiling and a sleepy smile pulling at your lips as you listen to the shower run in the en-suite bathroom. You and he are alone now; the night's encounter is over.

As the clock had ticked closer to midnight, things had never escalated— you'd all been content to kiss and cuddle up on the big couch until eyelids grew heavy and yawns became abundant. Eddie informed you all that he was okay to drive, and Steve had permitted it after clasping his shoulders, holding him still to look intently into his eyes, face almost absurdly sober with his insistence that he'd better not dare to get behind the wheel if he's drunk. As goodbyes were exchanged, Chrissy had hugged you just as tightly as she had when she'd arrived, if not more so, dispelling any notion that there may be awkwardness between you after having made out with each other's boyfriends. And maybe it will be different in the morning when you're sober, but right now, at the end of this night, all you feel is genuine happiness.

It seems, for all intents and purposes, that your arrangement is a success.

As you wait for Steve to join you in bed, the screen of his phone illuminates with a notification in the relative darkness of the bedroom. As you glance at it, a sudden notion occurs to you, one that, as you consider it, becomes increasingly more attractive as you think about it. So you roll over to Steve's side of the bed, tapping in his passcode— you both know each others' passcodes, having nothing to hide— and you bypass Steve's notifications, texts, emails, and so forth, intent only on pulling up his contacts list.

You press and drag your finger, letting go when you find the 'E's, eyes scanning until you locate what you're looking for: the contact card for Eddie Munson. You click it, mouthing the numbers to yourself as you roll back to your side of the bed, pulling your phone from its mirrored position on your side table and opening up your text messages.

The message you type to Eddie is simple. You don't include your name or any greeting at all. Instead, you just write, "Lacuna Coil equals," followed by three vanilla ice cream cone emojis out of five. You tap send, then follow it up with a second text: the Spotify link for the song 'The Lion's Roar' by First Aid Kit.

Intention fulfilled, you plug your phone back in, and, hearing the water shut off in the bathroom next door, you snuggle down underneath your covers. You anticipate the imminent press of Steve's freshly-showered body, which you know will lull you to sleep with its familiar comfort.

You're half-dozing when your phone vibrates once, startling you awake with a little jolt. You watch to see if it will vibrate more, but it just sits there silently until you snake your fingers out, retracting it into the warmth of your bedsheet-cocoon.

You squint against your phone's brightness, blinking to focus on the notification on your lock screen. It's from an unknown contact, just a string of numbers, but you know who it is without reading them.

Eddie's message says, 'Good lyrics. Too twangy.' He's followed it with two chocolate bars out of five.

You frown, bottom lip stuck out as your thumbs immediately tap-tap-tap against the screen, the vibrations of each keystroke under your fingers making the phone feel almost alive. You send your follow-up argument and then wait for Eddie's response. A tiny wing-flutter accompanies the sight of the three blue dots that indicate he's typing now. His reply pops up soon after, and despite its brevity, a small smile blooms on your lips.

You'd said, 'The vocals are so raw, though. You can feel her pain. I think that makes it worthy of more than two chocolate bars.'

He'd replied, 'I just really don't like country.' And then Eddie had added one more chocolate bar emoji, saying, 'Final offer for you, sweetheart.'

That dark place, buried deep inside you… you don't know it yet, but its peat is fertile, longing to grow roots. It's yearning for those roots to emerge, to leaf, to blossom up through the center of you and bear fruit.

All it needs is a little light.