#and Jane should bust out too

[rock-and-compass]

I really enjoyed Loki S2. I didn’t know what was going on half the time but it was excellently done. And now that variant Loki is safely holding time together, I really need our Loki from the sacred timeline to bust out of Valhalla and spend some quality time with his brother.

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

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Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases. 

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally. 

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room. 

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

  ‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’ 

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother. 

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas. 

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject. 

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’ 

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte. 

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises. 

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’ 

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’ 

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention. 

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly. 

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked. 

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away. 

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received. 

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework. 

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’ 

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done. 

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you. 

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming. 

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense. 

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg. 

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’  ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip. 

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited. 

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind. 

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair. 

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’ 

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever. 

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head. 

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’ 

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day. 

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head. 

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap. 

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea. 

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’ 

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’ 

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed. 

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’ 

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’ 

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick. 

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up. 

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye. 

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’ 

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks. 

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself. 

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there. 

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger. 

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ 

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that. 

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do. 

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences. 

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now? 

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores. 

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content. 

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’ 

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’ 

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine. 

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ 

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed. 

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by. 

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter. 

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better. 

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice. 

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did. 

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet. 

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought  Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions. 

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind. 

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for. 

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man. 

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’ 

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of. 

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh. 

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation. 

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance. 

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family. 

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly. 

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’ 

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone. 

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met. 

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’ 

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn. 

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’ 

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’ 

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so. 

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely. 

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for. 

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves. 

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here. 

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family. 

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit. 

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek. 

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’ 

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping. 

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think. 

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do. 

You screamed bloody murder. 

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’  you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you. 

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply. 

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired. 

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’ 

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire. 

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled. 

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname. 

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape. 

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities. 

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff. 

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it. 

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment. 

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture. 

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste. 

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide. 

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot. 

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner. 

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’ 

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’ 

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms. 

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet. 

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie. 

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’ 

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you. 

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you. 

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off. 

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you. 

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’ 

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied. 

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you. 

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire. 

‘Yes, mother.’ 

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words. 

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss. 

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time. 

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.” 

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted. 

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours. 

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio. 

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone. 

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did. 

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio. 

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens. 

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave. 

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

[volturissideslut]

How do you think the guards (maybe cauis if you have the time) would react to a human mate who is like a really heavy sleeper like where you could wake them up have an entire conversation and if the mate falls back asleep they forget the entire interaction happened. I hope that makes sense :)

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝖌𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖉

As always, I write from the film not the books, so the twins are aged up

Alec

isn't really bothered, amused at best

is confused as to why you sleep do heavy and become so delerious but has honestly forgotten everything about being human and just assumes that's this is normal human behaviour and goes with it

sometimes will use this to his advantage when he has to tell you things that he really doesn't want to tell you

"Darling, darling wake up" *aggressive shaking that has him concerned you might break* "I have to go on an errand next week, I'll be gone for a month though"

and your just like "ok" because it doesn't even compute in your mind that your even awake right now let alone he's leaving in a week for a month- it's all too complicated

then next week rolls around and he's leaving and he like "I told you???" >:) "oh you must just not remember"

Jane

Honestly a little annoyed by the whole sleep memory loss thing

what do you mean you can wake up, have a conversation with her, fall back asleep and forget absolutely everything?

eventually just leaves notes instead because she needs to tell you things there and then (she's a bust person, you know?) and would prefer to have you remember

humans are annoying (lovingly)

Demetri

He's torn between finding it funny and finding it cute

will purpously wake you up to tell you random things that make no sense or speak a different language, chuckle at your confusion, wait for you to wake up properly then have a conversation about it

the way you react to him is hopelessly adorable no matter what the reaction yiu have is

only time this backfires is when you get a noyes at him for waking you up every 20 minutes

or when he can't wake you up in the first place

Felix

Is genuinely concerned

like he can hear your heartbeat so he know your alive but your just passed out completely and isn't sure if this is normal or not

should he call a doctor? he doesn't really want to interact with Carlisle honestly, but he will for you just as a procaution

yiu will have to explain to hin sleep patters, REM cycles and how some people are naturally really deep sleepers

he'll get it and lay off but still be minorly concerned

as for the memory loss, he won't even try and have a conversation with you whilst you're tires just because he feels bad and wants to let you rest so it's not even something he knows about

[kittenofdoomage]

Nothing Left To Say

Summary: You let it lie too long, and now it’s time to move on. It’s escaping unnoticed that’s the problem.

Prompt: Endverse!Dean, at the camp, busted

Pairing: Endverse!Dean x female!reader

Word Count: 2190

Warnings: angst from the outset, smut, breakups, cheating, no HAEs here

Ao3 Link

It hadn’t been as hard as you thought it would be. Once you’d made the decision, you had made sure your responsibilities were passed on to someone else, and ensured that everyone would be alright without you. After that, it was simply a case of packing your things, which didn’t take long when your whole life fit into one duffel bag.

“Guess I won’t have to worry about carrying too much,” you mumbled, pulling the zip closed over the light bulge of your only sweater. Hoisting the bag onto your shoulder, you slipped out of the cabin’s bedroom, heading for the door through the kitchen.

He was waiting for you, half-bathed in shadows, the dim light of the only lamp giving the whole room a feeling right out of a horror novel. You skidded to a stop a few meters away from him, watching as he lifted his head, your hasty escape busted before you’d had a chance.

His eyes flicked from your face to the bag dangling at your side, one eyebrow arching. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice calm but strained.

Holding your chin up, you swallowed the nerves down, dragging the strap further up into a more secure position. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

There was no reaction on his face; no anger, no amusement, nothing. It unsettled you. But you hadn’t been sure what to expect from Dean for years now. He’d changed, become harder, colder, when he lost Sam. You both knew it. You just didn’t talk about it.

“You’ll die out there,” he said, his casual manner chilling you to the bone. Did he even care if you did?

You shrugged. “Better than dying here.”

A flinch. The tiniest of movements, but you knew you’d gotten to him and it gave you a tiny thrill of satisfaction. Just a taste of the pain he’d caused you.

He moved, and you jumped at the sudden step. The reaction made him freeze, and then you saw something else - hurt - cross his features. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he accused, voice softer now, filled with pain.

You could feel tears in your eyes. “You already did,” you whispered brokenly, sniffing to try and stop the anguish in your throat. “I knew, Dean. I knew the whole time. About Risa, Jane, Marie… I knew and you lied to me. Told me it was another recon meeting. Weapons training. And just because it’s the end of the world doesn’t mean I don’t have a choice.”

Dean didn’t say a word, not even to defend himself. There wasn’t much point in denying it now.

“I kept thinking I could make it better,” you sighed. “But you’re never gonna change. Since…” You sucked in a breath, unable to say the words you were thinking. Since you lost Sam. “Since Detroit.” Meeting his gaze, you kept control of your composure, fisting your hands at your sides. “I don’t think you’re capable of love anymore.”

His jaw clenched. You didn’t want to see how his rage came out, and you didn’t want to drag it out any longer.

“Take care of yourself,” you mumbled.

“Can’t we talk about this?” he asked suddenly, the coldness evaporating. Your shoulders dropped, and you gave him a pitiful look.

“There’s nothing left to say,” you replied gently.

The only thing left was walking out the door. You just had to make it past him.

Every step was shaky and the closer you got, the more you saw the anguish on his face, but he didn’t move, watching you with glassy eyes. As you moved past, his hand shot out, grasping the top of your arm in a firm but not painful grip. “Please,” he whispered, turning his head to let you see the pain in his eyes. “They meant nothing to me.”

You inhaled sharply, searching his face for the truth. “Do you love me, Dean?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “If I said I did, would you stay?”

“Just asking that,” you forced out through gritted teeth, “means that if you did, you wouldn’t mean it. So no.”

“I can’t let you leave,” he murmured softly.

“Let me go,” you demanded, pulling at his hold, scowling when he didn’t release you. “Dean!” 

Your bag hit the floor as you tried to escape, only he was stronger. In an attempt to free yourself, you twisted, but he anticipated it, shoving you hard until your back hit the wall, sending an empty picture frame clattering to the floor. In the next second, you found yourself caged in by Dean’s arms and your heart pounded in your chest as he stared at you.

He hadn’t been this close in weeks. The smell of him was intoxicating, and you remembered better times, when he’d touch you like you were the only woman in the world for him. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you released an involuntary moan, pressing your hands against his chest. The moan was followed by the tiniest whisper of his name, and he struck without hesitation, crushing his mouth against yours, forcing you harder against the wall. You responded in kind, fisting the material of his shirt, gasping as he ground into you.

It was probably a stupid idea but you ignored the sensible side of your brain, too desperate to be touched to think about it. You knew you should have stopped it at the first kiss, then the second, or when his fingers curled up underneath your shirt, popping buttons as he went, except you didn’t stop there, undressing him as quickly as he was undressing you.

Your shirt and his ended up tangled on the floor, and he pulled you from the door, making it as far as the table before his hands were tugging at your pants. You kissed over and over, breaking apart only to remove clothing, and your impatience had his pants around his ankles and his cock in your hand while your jeans dangled from one leg. There didn’t seem to be a place for any words, and when Dean sank two fingers into your wet heat, you cried out, desperately trying to stroke him as he fucked the thick digits into you.

Grunting his name, you rocked against him, ass scraping against the wooden tabletop. He panted into your mouth, working you into a frenzy, pulling back just to watch your face twist into a mask of pleasure. “Cum for me,” he murmured, mouthing at your jaw.

You were almost blind from the bliss in your veins; your hand dropped as your concentration lapsed but he didn’t stop. He kept you grounded with slow strokes as you fell over the edge,  and when you began to settle back into your bones, you felt him, hard, nudging at your entrance.

His eyes locked on yours as he sank into you, and you swallowed down a cry at the penetration, clinging to his shoulders. One of his hands slipped down to cup your ass, the other steadying you as the shoulder as he sank deep and held himself there. It struck you with sorrow when you looked into his eyes, realizing how much you’d missed this, but knowing that you needed more.

He kissed you again, starting to rock into you. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself the indulgence of his touch, of being connected to him, enjoying the warm buzz lingering in your head from your first orgasm, already feeling the beginnings of a second. Dean had always known just how to make you quiver, but it was soured by the knowledge that you weren’t the only one.

Pushing those thoughts away, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, tangling your fingers in the unruly short hairs at the back of his head. He groaned against your lips, both hands on your ass now, slamming into you with enough force to make the table shake. Your noises were muffled until you needed to breathe, inhaling hard and exhaling with a drawn out moan as you started to cum again.

When you were almost through, he withdrew, manhandling you onto your stomach across the table, barely sparing a second before he was sinking into your warmth again. At this angle, his strokes drove you onto tiptoes, and you scrambled for purchase as your brain short-circuited with pleasure. Dean growled, hands on your hips, driving into you harder and harder until you were screaming his name.

Finally, he choked out a single “fuck” and thrust deep. Warmth spread out from where his cock kissed your cervix, trickling down until it was dripping onto your thighs. You went slack, cheek against the table, listening as Dean grunted and pulled away, expecting him to dismiss you.

His hand slipped around your wrist, tugging you up. You stumbled, falling right into his arms, and another kiss. “Come to bed,” he whispered, nuzzling your cheek.

You hesitated, glancing at your bag. One bout of great sex didn’t fix the problems between you but when you looked into his eyes, he looked so earnest, and so like the Dean you loved.

“Okay,” you murmured, offering him a weak smile.

He smiled back, and you knew you’d be gone by morning.

He was on his back, snoring lightly, one arm underneath your pillow, the other draped across his chest. Like this, with his features relaxed, you could see the young hunter you’d fallen in love with, the one who had smiled. The only man you’d ever loved.

It felt like an appropriate way to say goodbye. He didn’t need to be awake.

Dressing quickly, you found your bag where it had been abandoned, quietly hoisting it onto your shoulder as you went for the door, glancing back nervously in case Dean had woken up. Satisfied you could sneak away without his notice, you slipped out of the door, closing it carefully so it didn’t slam.

On the horizon, the sun’s first rays were beginning to turn the night sky pink. You stepped down carefully from the cabin, wary of the squeaky step at the bottom, then headed down the path. At this hour, you shouldn’t have expected anyone but the sentries to be awake, but naturally, you encountered another obstacle to your freedom, laying in the grass with nothing on his feet and a lit joint in his hand.

“You’re leaving.”

Castiel’s statement was slurred, and you briefly wondered what he was high on tonight. “Yeah,” you replied. “Are you going to stop me?”

He chuckled, rolling his head toward you. “The stars put on quite a show tonight,” he grinned, holding out the joint. “You sure I can’t persuade you to watch with me?”

You smiled fondly at the former angel. “Take care of him, Cas.”

He regarded you for a second, pushing up into a seated position. “There’s nothing out there, you know.”

“Turns out there’s nothing here either,” you sighed. “I’ll be okay.”

With no further argument, you turned your back on Cas and headed for the gates. The sentries didn’t stop you, so you hurried out of the camp and onto the road, heading south. In truth, you hadn’t decided where you were going to go yet, but you had family in California, and there was always the hope someone else had survived.

It grew lonely quickly in the next few days. You took to humming songs, forcing yourself to remember lyrics to take your mind off of how tired or hungry you were. Sleeping was a tricky prospect, requiring a good hiding place if you wanted true rest, and you had to scout any potential safe areas as you went. Though you didn’t encounter many Croats, you remained alert, keeping your machete close in an effort to conserve your limited ammo.

A week after you had left, a storm rolled in. You found sanctuary in a gas station, lucking out on a full stockroom that hadn’t been plundered. As the thunder and lightning raged outside, you ate Twinkies and snatched a brief few hours of calm in the lockable room.

It was dark when a sound disturbed you from outside. You woke and sat up, machete already in your hand as you listened for whatever was making the noise, assuming that at worst it was a Croat, at best, a raccoon. Getting to your feet, you crept to the door, unlocking it as silently as possible before peeking out.

There was nothing you could see. The wind blew an empty chip packet across the floor, and the moonlight shimmered on the shelving as the storm clouds moved on. You gripped your weapon, stepping out with a hope that your raccoon theory was correct.

And then he stepped out. Dressed in a crisp white suit, eyes glowing a subtle red as he smiled. He breathed your name like a prayer, a smile on his face that didn’t seem to fit right. You felt the cold wrap around you like a ghostly embrace. Dean’s voice echoed in your head.

You’ll die out there.

Lucifer’s smile didn’t waiver. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

Please consider reblogging with a comment or gif or keyboard smash 😁 thank you for reading!

[quinloki]

TikTok Top

Inspired by @swampstew's Killer Cook - which you should seriously go read, it's a fantastic set up. It's a completely different vibe from this one-shot, but it's Damn Good Writing and World Building and I think you'll love it as much as I do.

Fem Reader x Eustass Kid

Word count: 3,682

CW: BDSM, hook-up, rope, safe sane and consensual, does NOT result in a relationship, language, degradation (name calling),

[This picks up from the end of the first chapter of Killer Cook (go read it!) ]

PunkNeverDied69: You can’t afford my tastes. UnderstatedGrin: They might not be able to, but I know I can. PunkNeverDied69: What makes you so sure, doll? UnderstatedGrin: If you’re brave enough to find out, I can prove it.

KillerCook: Take this to DMs or something, but get out of my comments *both* of you.

The parameters you laid out were simple. Lunch at a local popular cafe. Your treat, all he has to do is arrive first. After all you know what he looks like, but he doesn’t know what you look like. No strings, no expectations - if it was a bust before the food was cold, so be it, and if it turned into a one night stand, then that's fine too.

You were both adults, so long as he wasn’t already seeing someone you weren’t concerned about how things unfolded. He was hot, yes, but oddly you were drawn more to his personality and the sound of his voice. Everything else was just some delightful bonuses.

He looked a little out of place in the cafe, but only because the cafe didn’t suit him. For how you imagined he preferred to dress when he went out he had kept things fairly low-key. The black t-shirt didn’t have any extra print on it, and the jeans fit him well, all the way down to black spike studded combat boots.

That fiery hair of his was a well-placed mess, and he seemed to be ignoring the looks his scar and prosthetic caused. Considering the different ones you had seen in the videos, he was going pretty low key across the board.

You sat down across from him and watched his face go through a series of emotions. He looked around after a moment and then looked back at you.

“Fuckin’ with me already, doll?” He asks, a little irritation in his voice despite his grin.

“Hardly,” you reply with a small smile. “I warned you my appearance was going to clash with what you expected.”

You had light makeup up on giving you that natural look, and your hair was pulled into a mostly tight bun at the curve of your head, instead of down by your nape. You wore a white blouse with a sweater vest over it, and a knee-length pencil skirt with a pair of Mary Jane’s. The added effect of your rimless glasses made you look  like the least dangerous thing for a hundred miles at least.

A waitress came over to take your order and you prompted Eustass to order whatever he pleased. By the time he was done he had ordered almost half the menu, but it was okay - this was the game anyway. The push and pull. Your desire to lure him in, his desire to piss you off.

Gods you loved that attitude of his.

You spoke about Killer and the cooking channel while you waited for the order to arrive, and you’re surprised to find him talking more about his friends than himself. He talks gruffly, but fondly, about Heat and Killer both, and even admits that there’s another guy named Wire who hasn’t yet accidentally wandered into the kitchen, but helps with editing.

After the food arrives you prompt Kid to enjoy it, sipping the tea that you had gotten for yourself. It wasn’t that you couldn’t sit here and pack away food with him, but you didn’t want your nerves to do anything embarrassing with a heavy meal.

He’s a few bites in when you shift in your chair and he looks over at you. You must look a little uncomfortable despite your efforts, and there’s a flash of concern on his face before he swallows and looks away.

“If you really can’t swing the bill, you’re allowed to speak up or something.” He grumbles.

“Oh no, the bill is not an issue. Neither is anything you’ve done.” You say evenly, unbuttoning the collar of your blouse slowly as he turns toward you. You pull the collar aside just enough to show lines of rope and a knot sitting over your collarbone. “I simply tied things up a little snug, is all.”

Kid nearly drops the sandwich he’s working on. You can see a brief tinge of pink cross his cheeks before it’s replaced by a beautifully wolffish grin.

“Think you got my number, girlie?” He asks, going back to the sandwich.

Your smile is slight and you keep your eyes downcast as you speak. “Perhaps. Should I shoot my shot and you can tell me if I’ve hit or kissed?”

Eustass grunts a laugh before swallowing. “Fire away.”

“I think you’re fiercely loyal and supportive of your friends. You push the boundaries of what can be posted to TikTok because you want Killer to shine as much as you know he can. You’d probably never forgive yourself if you accidentally got him banned though. You’re also more of a classical music and pop kind of guy, but you know people already judge your appearance as is, so you lean into the whole rock and heavy metal - which isn’t a complete loss, cause you like that music too.” You take a sip of tea, noticing that he’s stopped eating and is looking at you. You look at him over the edge of your glasses. “I also bet you’re quite the dom, but that might be my own personal hope winning out over anything else.”

There’s a tense quiet moment between you and you simply hold his gaze with a soft smile.

“What makes you think I like classical music?” He asks after a moment, leaning back and regarding you with some amusement.

“You got in trouble with TikTok because you attributed a song to the classical score it used, and not the song itself.” You answer evenly. “I’m going to assume it was because they didn’t even change anything from the original score and then didn’t give any credit. Which, I mean, good show and all, but that’s how I sorted it out.”

“That’s some pretty creepy levels of paying attention.”

You shrug. “I set this up with the intention of inviting you over, if I wasn’t going to be sure what kind of person you are, then why bother at all?”

“Planning on inviting me over? Mouse I could snap you in half effortlessly, why would you invite me to your home?” His voice is grumpy but there’s an amused smirk on his face. “You could’ve opted for a hotel or something.”

“It’s cause of Killer, actually.”

“Huh? The fuck does he have to do with inviting me to your home?”

“Killer’s on screen a lot. Live. Candidly. Not just popping in to do taste tests and flex all those lovely muscles you’re fond of.” Your soft smile is a little more mischievous. “Anyway, I can’t imagine someone like him would put up with trash. You might be a real bastard, but I don’t believe you’re someone who would do unforgivable things to me unless I gave you reason to.”

Kid’s quiet for a moment, regarding you so intently you’re almost uncomfortable. He shrugs, finishes what he was eating, and flags down a waiter to get some to go containers. Chugging the rest of his drink he gets your address and tells you to head home.

He’ll be there, and you should be ready for him.

.

.

.

.

Kid arrives at your house twenty minutes after you, and after you let him in he takes his boots off in the entryway, giving you a sideways glance for a second.

“That your idea of getting ready for me?” He questions, his head tilting toward a box of condoms on the counter.

“Yes,” you admit, taking a few steps back to give him room. “I don’t know what else I could’ve done. The clothes are disposable, and, well, I don’t know that you won’t still leave after you see my room.”

Your confidence is faltering a little at this point. Every prior relationship had turned tail and ran away from you when you had been candid about your particular appetite. If Eustass was the same as everyone before him, he was going to put his boots back on and leave as soon as he saw your collection.

Kid starts to say something but sees the look on your face and pauses. “Fine, show me this terrifying room of yours.”

You lead him over and open the door, letting him walk in without you. The four poster bed already has cuffs set up on it, and your closet was open to show off the toys and accessories you had inside, everything from gags to whips to paddles to more rope and cuffs. There were noise canceling headphones and blindfolds as well, and a small assortment of body stockings.

There was an extensive collection of plugs, dildos, vibrators and clamps, and safety equipment to cut binds or pre-weaken items so you could break free on your own if needed to.

Kid walks all around and takes everything in before looking back at you. “Kinda went all in, didn’tcha?”

“Yeah.” You hate how small your voice sounds, but people leaving at this point happens so often you can’t bring yourself to hope.

“Well, what’re your safe words?” He asks, and the sinking feeling in your stomach does a 180 so fast you almost aren’t sure what to do with it.

“Ah.. um… j-just colors.”

“Red, green, yellow?”

You nod.

He steps toward you and reaches out, grabbing your chin and tilting your gaze up to his. “First time?”

You look away. “Yeah, no one, uh, ever stayed after this point.”

“Their loss,” he says, turning your head to pull your gaze back to his. “When I ask for a color, you tell me where you’re at - if it’s all new to you, you can use yellow to mean you’re exhausted. Red is to make it stop - I don’t care what the reason is, or when. If I gotta jerk off in your bathroom because you couldn’t make it, then that’s how it goes. We clear?”

You nod. “We’re, uh, green.”

Eustass grins, and while it’s a positive look, there’s something in it that makes you nervous. “Take that sweater off and we’ll get started.”

You pull the sweater vest off, and catch the pleased look on his face as it becomes glaringly obvious there’s a rope harness under the blouse. He pulls you against his body, feeling the ropes between the two of you, and grabs your hair roughly, tilting your head back and causing you to gasp.

“Any hard no’s before we start?”

Those golden brown eyes had you captive more than his hand in your hair. “I mean, no blood no foul is the best I have right now.”

Kid licks his lips and leans down, barely a breath away from your lips. Before he can say anything you grin.

“I bet I’d look good in that lipstick.”  You manage with a light nervous chuckle.

Eustass captures your lips and the jolt of pleasure that strikes you makes your whole body squirm. You steady yourself against his chest and moan softly as his tongue steals air and sense from you, deep in your mouth before you had even realized your lips had given entry.

He pulls you into the room, standing you by the bed. Breaking the kiss enough to change where his hands are he resumes kissing you as he pulls the blouse open roughly, sending buttons scattering in all directions. You squeak as he pulls it off unceremoniously and starts to toss it aside.

He regards it for a moment, giving you a chance to catch your breath, face already hot and red. Using the blouse he ties your arms behind your back, kissing your neck and trailing his tongue along your shoulder, letting your shaky gasps out into the air.

You feel him put a part of the blouse in your hand and close your fingers around it. You could pull it and free yourself, and the consideration for your safety only made you hornier.

His arms shift as he continues to tease your neck, pulling sweet little mewling sounds out of you before he moves to the other side, sucking your skin hard and pinching your nipples between his fingers at the same time. The pleasure and pain short circuit your reactions, and your pleasurable moan turns into a swear as you take a step back.

You’re gasping and your legs are already shaking and Kid’s looking at you with an amused grin.

“Not like just using toys, is it?”

“N-no, it’s not.” You admit, body shivering with anticipation.

“Too much?”

You shake your head. “G-green, I’m green. Haa, in more ways than one.” You admit softly.

“Then get your little whore ass back over here.” Eustass says, a commanding tone in his voice that sends a chill down your back. You step back toward him, face flushed red, and stick your chest out toward him without further prompt.

“Green maybe,” he says, clearly referencing your experience. “But well educated. Does the little newbie whore wanna cum for me?”

You nod, “I want to - haa-nngh!” Your words are cut short as Eustass pulls on the rope between your thighs, digging it into your clit.

“Look at me when you beg bitch.” He demands and the shiver that runs you through - more from his tone than his words - forces a shaky sound out of you. You can see the delight on his face before you can speak up.

“I-I want to cum a-against your cock.” You beg, your face painfully red as you manage to look at him through the whole thing before looking away.

“Mmm, let’s see if you can earn that privilege.” He muses, pulling the pencil skirt off and letting it pool at your feet. He helps you step clear of it before turning you around and shoving you onto your bed, chest down, ass in the air as you barely manage to keep your feet under you. “I want to hear a color from you after each one of these, doll.”

“O-okay,” you answer a little shakily, fairly certain you know what’s coming.

“That should be a ‘yes sir’ at the least.” He says, his right hand cracking sharply against your ass.

The sweet sting turns pleasurable quickly and you gasp at the sensation - knowing it was coming did you no good.

“G-green, sir, and ah, h-harder, please.”

“Mm, listen to you.” His left hand comes down harder, the exacting control he has over the prosthetic leaves a delicious, and heavier, sting against your skin.

After every smack you say green, even if a couple times you need to catch your breath or struggle against a moan to speak.  After nearly a dozen solid smacks you let the first yellow pass your lips.

Eustass’s hands grab your bright red ass cheeks and squeeze them, eliciting a nearly orgasmic sound from you as the strange mix of pleasure and pain push into your body.

“You’re legit turned on by this,” he says practically purring the words. “Your cunt’s just drooling down your thighs. I’ll give you credit, you are a delightful little toy. Fuck I want to shove my cock down your throat and see how much you’ve practiced with those monster dildos, but we’ll see how fast you recover from this first.”

You hear and feel the safety scissors as Kid cuts the rope that is soaking in your slit, and moves it away.

“Color?”

“Green, green! Just p-please don’t stop!” You gasp into the mattress, the words collapsing into a cry of pleasure as hot fingers find your clit. His fingers slip and slide against your soaking pussy for a couple seconds before his prosthetic steadies you.

“Don’t squirm so much,” he says with a chuckle. “I can’t keep my fingers on your clit when you move so much. Keep your hips up.”

“T-trying… legs are… I’m gonna c-cum!” You can feel the rush of pleasure threatening to overtake you when there’s a sharp snap against your ass.

“You wanted to cum around my cock, don’t go creaming on your own, doll.” He says, pulling his fingers from your clit. You could hear the wrapper break and then a moment later you could feel him.

You hadn’t seen the size of him since things started, but he felt impossibly large. Maybe it was because you weren’t in control like you were with your toys, but you shift your hips against the tip, trying to help lubricate the beast before it tears you open.

“Used to taking this on your own terms, aren’tcha, ya little size princess? Well, not this time. You keep those hips up and still.” He commands, and you comply despite your concerns. “There we go, don’t worry, I’m not going to break you.”

He leans down over you and can feel the warmth of him against your back, and the heat of his words tickle your ear.

“You're entirely too fun to break in the first round, girlie.” He promises you as he begins to push into you. His face stays near yours as he pushes deeper. Slowly and without pause.

Most of the toys you had, had some give to them, but Eustass was more like metal than flesh, as he stretched you wider than you had ever done to yourself. It took all you had to stay still as he pushed in so achingly slow, relishing in the twitches and gasps coming from you.

“Don’t you dare cum from just this,” he demands, and you can feel your body responding, regardless of your own will. “I’m about to make all your little toys useless. Or at least useless in your hands.” He muses, leaning back as his hips push flush against your thighs.

“Holy fuck, look at you taking all of me like a godsdamned champ.” He grabs your hips and pushes himself deeper by pulling you against him and the sensation forces a broken moan from you as one of your leg curls. “Oh I am going to fuck you mindless, little mouse.”

You gasp at the name and hide your face in the mattress, arms flexing against the ropes, legs already shivering before he’s even started.

“Like that, huh?” He pulls back and little and thrusts heavily into you. “Keep being a good girl, and maybe I’ll call you mouse more often.”

Your legs aren’t holding you up as Eustass grips your hips and snaps into you over and over. Pleasurable sounds leak from both sets of your lips, some of them soaking into the mattress, some dribbling down your thighs. Once he finds a spot that makes you practically growl in pleasure he hits that spot over and over and you couldn’t hardly make any sounds as the powerful orgasm crashes into you.

You couldn’t even beg for permission.

You hadn’t ever brought yourself to such a hard orgasm, and you hear Eustass hiss as you clench and spasm against him. He mutters a curse under his breath, pushing you further onto the bed and lifting you up enough to get your knees on the mattress.

Your body crumpled under you, but Eustass leans into you and the bed. He gives you enough of a reprieve, pushing into you slowly, to let your senses return a little.

“Where’re you at, little mouse?”

“G-green, for the love of fuck, d-don’t stop!” You gasp, pushing back into him. “I’ve n-never - that was am-ma-mazing - hnnngh!!”

“Flattery will get you pretty far, at least when it’s like that.” He grins, pounding into you again from the new angle. The bed is taking most of the punishment, as his hips smack into your thighs and push you into the mattress.

You can’t care about the bed, or much of anything else. You squirm and wiggle under him and the inability to escape fuels your pleasure, pushing you toward a second orgasm quickly.

“Haa-ngh, fuck, K-Kid, I’m gonna… can’t -.”

“Scream for me.” He demands, reaching around and pushing his fingers into your clit.

You gasp and let loose a short string of swears before your entire body curls and the orgasm nearly breaks you. You cry out something, and you're vaguely aware of Eustass cumming with you as he growls your new favorite nickname before slamming into your needy body roughly.

You’re a little disappointed he needed to wear the condom, the idea of his pleasure leaking out of you was turning you on, even if you weren’t sure why. It probably had a little bit to do with the gaping empty feeling as he pulled out of you, you’re shivering at the sensation of it and the odd hollowed out feeling that lingered.

“Let me get you out of those ropes and get you cleaned up.” He says after taking a second to catch his breath. “How ya feeling?”

“Exhausted,” you admit with a chuckle as the ropes are loosened. “All my muscles are mush. Exhaustion aside, that was fucking amazing.”

Eustass rolls you onto your back to undo the knots on the front. “Good. Nothing feels bad?”

“Mm, in what way?”

“No weird pain, no pang of regret?” He asks. “Whatever it is, it’s best to talk it out now instead of later.”

“Hm.” You consider things for a moment. “Aside from a bit of rope burn, nothing feels off physically. Mentally, er, no. No regrets. I’m glad to have done this, but er, how do I find people like us?” You ask with a sheepish grin as he helps you sit up.

Eustass snorts. “Let me help you get set up on a kink-friendly dating website after a shower.” He says, helping you stand. “Friends?” He questions, raising a brow.

“Friends.” You admit with a smile.

“Good, so rule #1, if anyone you hook up with ignores your safe words, you tell me.” Kid says, ruffling your hair before he practically carries you into the bathroom.

[ssukidesu]

Inextricably Knotted (an Inukag + Jane Eyre AU) [Chapter 7]

Summary: Kagome Higurashi was orphaned as a baby and raised by her cruel aunt until the age of ten, after which she went to school and learned the art of service and self-suppression. Now eighteen, Kagome takes a job as the governess of Shippo, the young ward of the great and mysterious Lord Inuyasha Taisho.

But as Kagome gets to know her bemusing master, a ghost seems to haunt his estate, hinting that there is a long-lost secret hiding on the third floor.

(Read on AO3)

tag list: @heynikkiyousofine @xanthippe-writes

Chapter 7: Portraits and Wings

The presence of guests at Jidai-Ju Hall persisted into the following weekend. The days were not much changed—Shippo received most of her attention, even though she received very little of his. Despite his fascination with the goings on of the company, Kagome managed during most lessons to wrench some productivity out of him.

During the evenings, Kagome would sit as she was bid among their company silently. Her presence clearly disconcerted everyone—except him who ordered it, as he instead preferred to ignore her altogether. Kagome would pretend not to notice as she read lines of whatever book she chose to accompany her that night, with varying degrees of success. 

The group would often play games—cards, billiards, darts, guessing games, and so on. Tonight—which was a misty Saturday night that hinted at spring's approach—it appeared the game of choice would be charades.

It was Mr. Taisho’s idea. “Let us test the skill of our silence,” he had proclaimed dramatically as he came into the parlor last, as he always did. The room bustled in anticipation, and during the commotion, he walked over to grab a book off the shelf adjacent to Kagome’s seat. 

“Will you play?” he asked simply, gaze flicking to her face for a brief moment.

Surprised by the address, Kagome only shook her head.

To her relief, he did not insist. He returned to the heart of the room and declared himself the partner of the woman of the hour. 

Lady Yura sported a fine dress of pale blue, floral buds of beads and lace decorating the sweetheart bust and form-fitting sleeves. Her short hair was distinctly straight, and a dainty white ribbon worked to frame her face as a headband. The other women in the room donned similar, though less remarkable, attire. The men wore typical vests and shed their coats once the fire’s heat permeated the room. Mr. Taisho shared the fashion. 

The other pairs were named: Kagura with Ayame—the young demoness with brown hair—and Naraku with Kouga—the unfortunate recipient of Ayame’s too-frequent affections. In the last few days, Kagome had learned that both Ayame and Kouga were wolf demons, and Naraku and Kagura were some other type seemingly unassociated with a specific animal. But whatever they were, they were indeed kin of some sort, though the precise kind evaded Kagome still.

With the parties ready, Mr. Taisho opened the book, which housed charade prompts. “Who would like to go first?” he asked.

“I think we should, dear Inuyasha,” said Yura. “Someone must show everyone how it’s to be done.”

As Kagome’s grasp of the nuances between each relationship deepened, she found Yura’s air of confidence surprisingly fragile. The woman’s beauty proved unmatched; however, whenever her desired devotee did not fully satisfy her with their attention, her expression became strained, and her smile fabricated. And worse for her, Kagome thought for certain that Mr. Taisho noticed, too.

Perhaps more than anyone else, Kagome watched her master as he navigated through the weeds and waves of whatever bog this party was proving itself to be. But he did not miss a beat—every joke, he built upon masterfully; every flirt, he returned with charm. And yet, Kagome was becoming less and less convinced of the truth of her master’s affections for the woman. 

When she first arrived, Kagome bristled and flinched at Mr. Taisho’s smiles and trifles with Lady Yura. But Kagome’s observations—once she gained the courage to allow them—revealed that their companionship was quite hollow. 

And this was not merely the hopeful opinion of a naive girl. Kagome watched herself just as carefully, and she was confident that she was seeing with the undeceived eyes of a self-controlled woman: indeed, Kagome saw that Lord Inuyasha was going to marry Lady Yura—for rank, for family. But not for love. 

And this game of charades, with all of its coquetry and costume and comedy, was nothing more than the ironic pastime of the larger parody between the players. 

What frustrated Kagome the most was that, where Lady Yura failed to genuinely please Mr. Taisho, Kagome saw where she would have succeeded. Lady Yura was all too upfront: where she brushed the master’s shoulder, a subtle smirk would have proven more effective. Where she feigned bashfulness, a statement of distant confidence would have won. With the certainty of a woman, Kagome now knew what her heart had felt from the beginning: it was she who understood Mr. Taisho best. He was not to them what he was to her. They were akin to each other—more than any pair with so different experiences could be. Kagome was certain that she and Mr. Taisho shared more sympathy in a single passing glance than Yura could manage wrangling out of an entire evening.

And with all of this, Kagome remembered his words to her so many months ago: You’ve never felt jealousy, have you, Miss Higurashi? Of course you haven’t—for that would require that you experience love, first. When the day finally comes that you feel the prick, you’ll learn that one can only feel jealousy when the person usurping your love is truly better than you.

Kagome indeed did not feel jealous of Lady Yura. But the heartbreak was no easier. Perhaps if the woman had been a lady of grace and kindness, of wit and wisdom, Kagome would have been capable of blessing the union with all her heart. But it was the inferiority of Lady Yura—her inability to earnestly charm him—that kept Kagome discontented with her impending union with her master. Because he was going to marry her anyway.

Thus, she sat silently in her seat and watched as Mr. Taisho and Lady Yura, now dawning half-complete costumes relating to whatever their prompt was, enacted some sort of ceremony. The lady wore a white curtain about her body over her dress, and she draped a corner of it over her head and face like a veil. Mr. Taisho had restored his black coat to his person and added his top hat to the mix, and he filled his hands with the contents of a now-vacant flower vase and offered them to her on bended knee. 

“Proposal!” cried Ayame.

“Love,” said Kouga.

“Groom!” tried Kagura.

“Bride,” concluded Kouga.

Naraku sat absently, seemingly uninterested in the game.

The two actors signed that Kouga’s latest answer was the first word in the phrase. They then disappeared behind the makeshift curtain to prepare their second performance. In the interim, Kagura leaned over to Naraku from her place beside him for a curt whisper, most likely a rebuke for his lack of enthusiasm. He met her scowl with equal fervor. 

When Mr. Taisho and Lady Yura returned, their appearances had changed. Some Middle Eastern fabric had been retrieved and fashioned into scarves, which draped about the lady’s head and the master’s neck, respectively. The pair proceeded to mimic the Genesis meeting of Rebecca and Eliezer at the well—another allusion to matrimony. The only things missing were the camels.

“Bridewell,” said Kouga pridefully, and the players assented. Kagome smiled at Kouga’s obvious self-satisfaction, and she flicked her gaze to Mr. Taisho, who also seemed amused by his friend's joyous victory. Her master’s dark brows quirked, and his lips twitched into a subtle smirk. 

It was then the turn of the two gentlemen, who halfheartedly managed to perform “French Ballroom” with an abundance of proud jabs at the invoked inferior country. Ayame and Kagura somehow enacted “Aurora Borealis”, the revelation taking many hard minutes of struggle from all parties.

The game ended around midnight. Kagome could not have guessed the time, as she felt so far from sleepy that she wondered if she would get any rest at all after retiring. She kept picturing Yura in her blue dress, fingers pressed against Mr. Taisho’s shoulder as they conferred together during the other pairs’ performances. 

Kagome would not paint tonight, the mess seeming burdensome, but she could make do with the colored pencils that Lady Kaede had brought her alongside the paints. She began at her own desk, her draft sketches swirling and scraping on the first white page. But soon, the window above her space was abandoned by the moonlight. She had only one candle to spare, and though it had another couple of hours remaining, it was not enough. 

It was likely around one thirty. Everyone would be asleep, she assured herself. Kagome gathered her materials—the pages pressed between her arm and torso and the pencils clenched in her right fist—and gripped her candle. She departed from her room and turned down the westward hallway. She came upon her desired place—a large bay window that would bear moonlight for another hour or two. Its cushioned bench was large and would fit her easily. She settled herself, placed her candle on the sill, and continued her work. She completed the final version of the first piece—its flawless face, shining black hair, and pale blue dress filling the page masterfully—only thirty minutes after; she filed it beneath her new page and began working again. She would not use color for this one.

Kagome did not know how much time it took, but she was soon finished with her own portrait. She raised and compared the two—submitting to her purpose in drawing them. Lady Yura’s was titled: “An Accomplished Lady of Rank.” Her own, which brought a cringing curl to her lip and an emptiness to her chest, was titled: “A Governess, Disconnected, Poor, and Plain.” Kagome exhaled, satisfied with her efforts in humbling her recent illogic.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” inquired a voice from beyond the raised portraits.

She managed to smother her squeal of surprise. Lowering the papers and inhaling deeply, she admired Mr. Taisho’s curious face and ruffled sleeping clothes—his white shirt again open near the collar, exposing the top sliver of his muscled chest, and loose red pants—akin to his red coat, she noticed. As frightful as his appearance often was, there was a beauty to his ruggedness, to his long hair and wrinkled shirt, to his broad shoulders and strong legs. But she was forgetting herself—forgetting already the lesson to which she had dedicated the last few hours.  

She cleared her throat and brought her legs closer to herself. “Just drawing. I couldn’t sleep. And you?”

“I walk the grounds sometimes, when I’m restless. Such is part of my duties as lord here, anyway.”

“I see.”

A beat. “Can I look at them? Your drawings.”

Kagome swallowed hard, panic swelling in her chest. “I don’t know…”

Her hesitance brought a challenging look to his face. “Come on, where’s the harm? Have you made something horrible? Intimate, perhaps?”

“All my works are intimate.”

“Yes, but none have been so much so that you’ve hidden them from me before.”

“And how would you know that?” she shot back. “If I’m hiding some, by necessity you would know nothing about them.”

His smile was wolfish. “Ah. An admission?”

Kagome scowled. “A criticism of logic.”

Air left his nose in a puff. “Do you mind if I light a cigar? You’ve your creature comforts; I’d like my own.”

“I don’t mind,” she said.

He sat himself on the other side of the bench, situating his legs so that they mirrored hers. Kagome suddenly felt bashful about her slipperless feet. He seemed to notice them simultaneously, and she slid them backwards to hide them somewhat under her night gown. He made no comment, himself having bare feet, opting instead to place his cigar between his lips and pull a match from his pocket. The movement jostled the sleeves of his shirt, and Kagome noticed a single thin bandage wrapped around his forearm—exactly where he had been burned. Kagome would have asked him how it was possible that he had not fully healed after so many weeks, but the words would not form. The match’s fire erupted passionately when it scratched against his flint, then soothed to a subtle flicker. Once its duty was fulfilled, Mr. Taisho snuffed the flame. The first ring of smoke obscured his piercing gaze like a ghostly curtain.

Kagome peaked back down at the portraits in her lap. She pulled Yura’s out from beneath her own and studied it. What would be its effect on her master? The curiosity came upon her like a muse. “I don’t mind if you see this one,” she said finally, pulling it out and handing it to him.

He looked surprised at her acquiescence, his golden eyes flicking down to the paper only after he was assured by the certainty on her face. A moment passed before he spoke. “A beautiful picture of Lady Yura. You’ve captured her essence, certainly.”

Her toes curled beneath her dress. “But do you like it?”

His eyes flicked up at hers for only a second, a strange lilt in his brow forming at her inquiry. “As well as I like the person whom it depicts.”

Kagome puzzled at the riddle. She didn’t dare question his meaning further with words; instead, she felt a sudden courage unfolding in her ribs. “If I show you the other one, would it receive a more detailed review?”

Inuyasha smiled, then released a puff of smoke from his pursed lips. “If you wish.”

Wordlessly, Kagome unsheathed the second page from her lap and handed it to him. His clawed fingers took hold.

The silence was unbearable. She bit her lip and shrunk down to hide herself between her shoulders and behind her knees. Her elbows dug into her ribs like a clamp.

When he looked up, the reproachful disappointment on his face made her feel her own adolescence more than she had in years. When he spoke, his voice was slow, calculated. “The one of Yura was nothing short of perfection. This one, on the other hand… I must withhold my praise.”

She could have thrown up. Averting her eyes to the window, she focused on the moon as it peaked and wove through wispy clouds. “Why?”

“Because this is the only work of yours I’ve seen that houses a lie.”

Her head whipped back to face him. His look was serious, if not a little irritated—probably mimicking her own. “And what lie is that?”

Inuyasha retained his harsh expression, but he leaned forward till his elbows draped over his knees. “You dishonor yourself.” He brought a hand to brush an orphaned lock of hair from her face, reminding her that this was the second time he’d seen it down. His voice quieted for their increased proximity. “Do you want to hear my criticisms in greater detail?”

Kagome felt her jaw clench. She remembered the purpose behind her two drawings, and she could not help but feel that he was spitting on her efforts of self-preservation. Her words were clipped. “You may find fault with it, but a piece cannot be criticized for reflecting an artist’s thoughts and feelings. Such is the nature of art.”

His eyes seared into her own despite their focus out the window. His voice carried a firmness that reminded her of a lost friend. “A romantic attitude. But while an artist may claim immunity to mechanical criticism for such reasons, they cannot claim immunity to criticism of the perceptions themselves that produced the piece. No one is ever immune to being critiqued for their thoughts and feelings. In fact, it is these things alone that are worth criticism. All else—social rank, familial history, physical characteristics…” he paused, finally succeeding in regaining her strangely watery gaze, “…are arbitrary. Wasn’t it you who said you cared far more about judging me for the characteristics of mine you couldn’t see?”

As if struck dumb, Kagome only nodded. He tilted the page to make it visible to her, and she relented, leaning forward to join his scrutiny.

He spoke slowly, “Here, you’ve intentionally emphasized the slightest trace of defect and neutered every point of expression that gives life and light to your countenance. You’ve drained your color, dulled your eyes. Your lips have been dried out. Your lashes thinned. I have not once seen this expression on your face; even now, as annoyed as you are with me, your cheeks are alive, your eyes large with lighted emotion. Your lips…” His gaze traced her physiognomy as he spoke. Reorienting himself at her eyes, he concluded, “And you’ve left something out.” 

When he didn’t elaborate, she bemoaned her curiosity and took the bait. “What have I forgotten?” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.

His smile was half tender, half menacing. “Your wings.”

Kagome couldn’t help the tension-relieving laugh that escaped her upturned lips. Whatever he said about the color in her face, she was sure it was growing now. She folded her arms and situated her unburdened legs to cross beneath her. “My wings are retractable. I save their exhibition for times when they’re needed.”

He was pleased with her play, and he scooted forward to chase her, knees bent and closing in like a cage around her. “Oh? And what sort of times are these? I would love to see them one day.” His posture had him so forward that his face was a mere foot from hers, their lines of sight equal. The smell of his cigar, forgotten in his fingers, curled around her nose.

Kagome’s smile grew, but something in her words pierced her own heart. “Impossible. If I’ve unsheathed them, I’ve done so for flight. I’d be gone long before you could notice.”

His eyes carried a strange emotion. “And what of my traps? The invisible nets I’ve splayed out in the sky to catch runaway fairies?” At the word catch, he again intertwined his finger with a lock of her hair.

“You of all people should know that you cannot confine such creatures.”

“I said nothing of confining,” he began, leaning in even closer. Kagome watched his mouth intently, gaze locked on the points of his teeth past his lips. He continued with a whispered sardonic lilt, “I only wish to study one of God’s highest creations. After which, if she wishes to go, I’ll pack her bag myself out of good will. But only after appealing intently for her permanent residence, and sulking petulantly at my failure.”

Kagome was sure she’d turned scarlet now. She pushed his left knee with the tips of her fingers, breaking his cage. She ignored the rough intake of his breath at the contact. She cleared her throat and said, “I’m afraid I can script our play no further, Inuyasha. I was never one for theater.”

“Nor I,” he said with a grin, seemingly pleased at her using his name. His finger relinquished her strands. After a moment with no response from her, he added, “No more of this.” He dropped both papers back into her lap. “If you’re going to steal my supplies, you’ll be sure to not use them for blasphemy. I order you to fix it.”

“I’d much rather destroy and forget about them altogether, sir. Additionally, though I am your employee, I don’t see the propriety of such commands that have nothing to do with my employment as Shippo’s governess.”

If he noticed her jocular tone, he didn’t show it. “I’m not commanding you as an employer.”

Kagome’s mouth sealed shut. She waited for him to explain his meaning, but he never did, opting instead to kiss his cigar once more. His golden eyes had caught fire, their glow outshining that of the candle on the sill, whose flame flickered from the easy draft and made their shadows sway together. Scared of his elaboration should she invite it, Kagome decided that the late hour demanded her retirement, even if it meant ripping her away from this dreamlike exchange. “As you wish.”

She saw the irritation on his sharp features at her obvious self-censorship. But he let it go. He reclined to his original place leaning against the wall. “You’re tired. If you’ve any desire to sleep tonight, you must go this instant.”

If he meant it innocently, his frustrated expression and clenching fists did not help depict it. Kagome felt a ghostly finger trace up her spine at his gaze, which fought to force its way into the depths of her own to assess its secrets.

Gathering up her things, Kagome stood, holding her papers flush to her chest to hide her unbound breasts which had before been protected by her dress’s loose drape. “Goodnight, sir. You might consider trying to sleep again, as well.” 

“I’ll consider it,” he said, eyes flicking down to her bare feet and the lower half of her shins, now exposed by her night gown. 

Blushing bright, she bowed her head in goodbye. “Till morning,” she said.

[arrolyn1114]

1 Year Anniversary "Why Can't You See What You're Doin' To Me?"

According to my AO3, tomorrow, Sept 20, will mark 1 year since I posted chapter 1 of this WIP. Crazy how time flew. When I first started, I thought it was probably going to be a one shot or maybe only a few chapters at most, I never thought it would be 36 chapters and counting. It's been quite a journey to say the least. Before Elvis busted through my writer's block last year, I had little faith in myself that I could write a long story with an intricate, detailed plot since I had been dealing with a long bout of awful writer's block. But, here we are, 1 year later and I have proven to myself that I can in fact write more than just short one shots.

I'm so thankful for every single one of my readers, y'all are amazing and wonderful. I have appreciated and loved every single bit of feedback/interaction that has been sent my way either on AO3 or on here whether it was kudos, likes, reblogs, comments, all of it. Feedback is what keeps us writers going, especially on the hard days where we struggle with self doubt or imposter syndrome. So thank you, thank you very much. ❤ And my quiet readers who might be shy or nervous to interact please know that I appreciate you just as much. I have been a quiet, shy reader too in the past so I understand and that's why ALL of my readers mean the world to me.

I've also been the shy, quiet writer and recently was dragged out of my hermit shell kicking and screaming (kidding, well, only a little kidding haha) and encouraged to be more social on here by some of my fellow amazing and talented writers in this fandom and for that I am so grateful. So thank you especially to @thatbanditqueen, @peskybedtime, @shakerattlescroll, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @from-memphis-with-love, @whositmcwhatsit for inviting me to participate in writing prompt games and just over all encouragement, y'all are MVPs. Also kudos to @shakerattlescroll 's Canva skills since she made the WIP's cover art.

All that said, once I have finished this WIP, I want to know how much interest there is in more stories with Elvis and my OC Jane. I have already done one for a writing prompt game and I had a lot of fun with that so I would love to do more. I know a couple of my readers have expressed interest in more stories as well. So dear readers, tell me:

(Reader tag list under the cut, as always, let me know if any changes or updates need to be made, thanks!)

@xanatenshi, @karel-in-wonderland, @peskybedtime, @alienelvisobsession, @shakerattlescroll, @deke-rivers-1957, @louisejoy86, @artlover8992, @windsofthesea, @gayforelvis, @elvispresleygf, @notstefaniepresley, @lovininapinkcadillac, @dkayfixates, @jaqueline19997, @presleyenterprise, @crash-and-cure, @literally-just-elvis-fics, @wildhorseinkansas, @tacozebra051, @lookingforrainbows, @kaitaesupremacy, @powerofelvis, @ashtag6887, @myradiaz, @richardslady121, @elvisrealgf, @genetakovicluvr, @thetaoofzoe, @lawdymissclawdy68

@j-v-9-2

@mspoisonivey

@aaron57070

@rainyday10-4

@rocknroll50sep

@dream-in-x-dream2

@sasural

@satisfy-the-crave

@velvetelvis

@sillybookmarks

@everythingelvispresley

@elvisgirly

@1dluver13xx

@thedaisymaisy

@amydarcimarie

@from-memphis-with-love

[myownau]

Alone Tonight

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

18+ MDNI

Summary: Your best friend is getting married tonight.You should be happy for him, and you are but… you’re also kind of in love with him.Luckily you meet someone at the wedding just as love lorn as you are.Maybe you won’t really have to be alone tonight.

Word Count: 9914

Warnings: strong language, terribly written smut, size kink, suit kink?, breeding kink, daddy king, angst, fluff, strong language, canon upside down, unprotected p in v, use of y/n, lots of nicknames, reader called a whore at one point, that’s all I think???

A/N: hello 😅 this is the first fic I’ve written in around 10 years, so please go easy on me. I’ve also never ever ever written smut before. I’m a little insecure about posting this because I’ve been silently admiring all of the incredibly written fics on here and y’all are such amazing writers!! So anywayyy, I’ve also posted it on AO3 as well, I’ll add a link at the end if you’re interested in reading there. Thank you for reading!

You don’t know why you’re here. Who convinced you this was a good idea? Oh right, it was Will. You could never say no to that kid. Jonathan being your best friend at college, and you having no contact with your family anymore, it made sense that you’d follow him home for every holiday. Just like that, Will was the little brother you never had and always wanted. Jane was like a little sister to you as well, but you were closer with Will.

This, however, was even harder than you thought it would be. You loved him. Jonathan that is. Obviously, he was your best friend. But it was more than that. You were IN love with him. Of course, you’d never tell him that. You’d never hurt Nancy like that.

She’d come to be a good friend of yours too. Picking you and Jonathan up from the airport, taking you out on girls nights when Jonathan wanted alone time with his family, trying to be your wingman when guys would look your way at the bar. She was just a beautiful person, inside and out. You could see why Jonathan loved her. And when he asked her to marry him on the Hemlock Cliffs in Hoosier National Forest, you were there to take the pictures. Memories set to film forever.

Your heart ached in these moments, but they were the only family you had and you loved them too much to run away. So even though you tried to make excuses to get out of going, you were here, sitting on a white bench 4 rows back at their beautiful outdoor wedding. Because Will convinced you it was the right thing to do. That kid. He was too intuitive for his own good. You could tell he knew how you felt about his brother, but you also knew he’d never spill your secret. Just like you’d never spill his.

——

The vows were made. The bride was kissed. The cake was cut, and you were glued to your seat in the reception hall. The majority of guests were either eating dessert and mingling, or busting a move on the dance floor. Including Will who was timidly dancing near Mike and Jane after you all but forced him to leave your side.

But you, you were looking around the room, trying to find any sort of distraction to keep you from thinking too hard. Your eyes had welled up several times in the night but you refused to let them spill. There was no point. And you were happy for them really, it was weird. You were mourning your love but you were happy that two people you cared about were living their fairytale.

As your eyes danced across the dark room you noticed someone. Standing alone in a dark corner of the room, drink in hand. He was taking large gulps and staring at the dance floor like it kicked his puppy.

Sad man? At a wedding? Sounds like good company. You grabbed your camera, putting the strap around your neck and walked over to him. The closer you got the more you could actually see his features and, oh goodness, you were fucked. He was gorgeous. Long, thick, unruly brown hair. The manliest square jaw you’d ever seen, smooth like he just shaved. Tall, and thin but you could tell there was muscle under his suit. And you didn’t notice until you were right up on him but he was covered in the most beautiful freckles with a light splattering of moles. Your heart jumped when he looked up at you.

“Hi” you said smiling, offering your hand to him “I’m y/n”

He put his drink down on the nearest table, then took your hand and shook it “Steve” he replied.

“Steve,” your smile only grew “You look like a Steve” there was no point not flirting. He was pretty and you were sad. And he looked sad too. Why not be sad together?

“What does a Steve look like?”

“Like you” you laughed, knowing it was the most obvious and dumbest answer. You thought you’d probably heard it somewhere before but you didn’t much care.

“Good one” he smirked, picking his drink back up and staring at the dance floor again. You thought, he was probably trying to dismiss you, wanting to wallow alone, but you weren’t having it.

“So, who are you here for? The bride or the groom?”

“Technically?” He cleared his throat “I guess both? We went to high school together. All of us. But really I’d say, I’m here for Nance.”

His eyes shot to the floor, jaw clenched, adams apple bobbing lightly. “You know her better?”

“We uh, we used to date actually.” He admitted, finishing off his drink and placing the cup back on the table.

Bingo. You could see it, in his mannerisms, in his eyes. He still loved her. “You still love her.”

His eyes shot up to your face. He looked worried all of the sudden, he looked like you just told him his nana died and you were the one who killed her. “No” he whispered “no I don’t.”

“Yeah…” he was down bad. But so were you. “You do. But that’s okay” you put your hands up in a defensive position “I won’t tell anyone I promise” you mimed locking your lips and throwing away the key.

He cleared his throat again “thank you.” And as if realizing you weren't going anywhere, he finally turned fully towards you. He brushed his hair back out of his eyes and looked you up and down. “So who are you here for then?”

“Both, technically” you repeated his words back to him, smirking when he caught on “but really I’m here for Jonathan.”

He looked at you and waited for what he thought you might say, seeing the look in your eye that he felt in his heart.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure” you could barely hear him over the music.

“I’m in love with him.” Your eyes welled up again but you pushed them back as best you could, taking a deep breath “so. You’re not alone.” You smiled softly at him. He smiled back, just as soft. Grabbing your hand and squeezing for just a short moment before letting go. He was warm. You wished he would have held on a little longer.

“How did you meet Jon?”

“We go to college together.” You looked around the reception hall, finding Jonathan happily holding Nancy close as they swayed to the music “although I wonder if he’ll go back now that he’s married.”

“I’m sure he will. Nance is a stickler for education. Even if it’s, camera education.”

You laughed at his description of your college degree “You know I’m also getting a camera education?”

“No kidding, is that why you have a camera around your neck?”

“Yes! Actually it is! Wow, you are observant! Pretty and smart. We’ve got ourselves a double threat!”

He giggled along with you, biting his bottle lip. “So why aren’t you taking pictures? You’ve got the camera…”

“Well, I didn’t want to work the event, since they’re my friends and all. But I always want to be ready in case I see something inspiring.”

“Inspiring eh? So you don’t take pictures of like, models?”

“Why? Are you offering to be my model?”

“No no” he huffed a laugh “definitely not.”

“I mean you are very beautiful, come on let me take some pictures of you pretty boy.” You giggle putting the camera in front of your eye and flashing him with the flasher attachment “Pose for me.”

Steve throws his hand up in front of his face and tries to push the camera away as it flashes in his eyes “Stop that,” he laughs. You put the camera down leaning with your hand on his shoulder as you laugh with him “See, now you’ve wasted all that perfectly good film on pictures of my hand.”

“Nah, it was just the electronic flasher, no actual photos were taken, although now I kinda regret it because you do have very nice hands.” You wink at him. He looks down at his shoes, blushing and trying hard not to smile. You give him a gentle nudge with your shoulder “Come on Steve. You’re allowed to have fun. Even if the love of your life just happens to marrying someone else.”

Steve looks up at you, face solemn as he remembers the reason he’s here tonight. Lost in the moment with you for the last few minutes. “Yeah, you’re right” the corner of his lip tips upward and you count that as a win.

“I know I’m coming off a bit… aggressive. Or I don’t know. Optimistic? But I’m honestly feeling pretty fucked up too.” You look down, your smile gone, a serious expression taking over. “And I know it’s not the same, because Jonathan and I never dated. But I feel like, unrequited love might be on the same level of painful. Different. But it still hurts.” You take a shuddering breath and try to smile again. “So I say screw that. No more sorrow for what will never be. Let’s live and be in the moment. What do you say big guy?”

His face lights up, he looks at the ceiling as if in disbelief that you’re real. His fingers reach out towards yours, just tickling finger tips. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

“Yes!” You fist pump the air, a little dramatic but you just want to make him smile. You take the camera strap off from around your neck and grab his hand, pulling him to the dance floor.

He follows behind you, hand in hand, a little hesitantly “I’m not a very good dancer.”

“First of all” you turn towards him, grabbing both his hands and putting them on your waist. “I don’t believe you.” He laughs at that, shaking his head. “And second of all, you’re lucky because I’m a FANTASTIC dancer.” A total lie but he’ll find that out soon enough.

He hesitantly places his hands on your hips, and with the same hesitation you put your hands on his shoulders. You sway, full arms length apart like you’re at a middle school dance. Laughing at how stiff his arms are on your waist “How old are you Steve?”

“I’m 22” he says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Then hold me like a man” you step up closer to him, knee almost slipping between his legs. Your hands leave his shoulders, slipping down to his broad chest.

He sharply inhales, looking around the room like he’s looking for a chaperone to swoop in and scold him. But like a good boy, he wraps his arms more tightly around you, gripping the back of your dress tightly before letting go again. Tapping your back with his hands nervously before laying them flat. “Is that uh, is that, that better?”

You’re looking up at him from your much much closer position and humming in approval “yeah” you whisper. The truth is, it’s too good. Your hands are pressed into his chest and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart. From this close you can smell him. His soap and his expensive cologne. You want to rub your nose into his neck but you don’t know him well enough for that yet. You’re rocking with him to the music. Feeling the rhythm of the beat as you make slow circles.

You slide your hands up his chest and push them into the hair at the nape his neck. He looks down into your eyes, he looks a little dazed and you feel it too. Like the air is thicker than it was before and you’re sneaking glances at his lips. His perfect lips, with the most attractive cupids bow. You can see the gears turning in his head as he looks at you. “What’re you thinking about” you break the silence.

He takes a deep breath, letting out slowly through his nose. “I’m thinking that, I don’t want to be alone tonight.” He whispers, loud enough to be heard by you and only you “I’m thinking that you are so incredibly beautiful” you watch his adams apple bob again, like it’s hard for him to say these things, “I’m thinking that you were sent to me on one of the hardest days of my life so far, by my guardian angel” he gently presses his nose to your nose, rubbing against you with the softest of motions “and I’m thinking that I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your breath stops short in your lungs. Hearing all the things that you were thinking too. “You won’t hurt me.” You whisper against his slightly parted lips “I don’t want to be alone either.”

You push up on the balls of your feet, closing that small distance between your faces and pressing your lips to his tender kiss. You pull back just slightly, let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. A jolt of arousal shooting straight to your core. Looking up at him, you can see the heat in his eyes too.

Using the hair you’re still holding onto on the back of his neck, you pull him back to your lips for a searing kiss, pushing past his lips to feel his tongue on yours. And before you can even comprehend what’s happening you see a flash to your left. You both break apart and jump back. When your eyes readjust from the flash you see the actual hired photographer smiling at you with a thumbs up.

Your jaw dropped and you look over at Steve who is just as stunned. When you realize your rendezvous born of mutual pain has been captured on film and will be immortalized in the photo album of both your unrequited loves wedding album, you can’t help but laugh. Doubling over and grabbing for Steve’s arm to keep you from falling. Steve covers his face with his hand, smoothing it through his hair again, and laughing like he just got in on the joke.

You're clutching your stomach, cheeks hurting from smiling. “Come on,” you say, lowering your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “Let’s get out of here.” You’re once again pulling him behind you, but this time it’s out the door, only taking a brief detour to pick up your camera from the table.

“My place or yours?” He asks.

“Your place, I don’t live here remember?” You smile up at him.

“Oh right” he looks around the parking lot “so I’m guessing you don’t have a car either?”

“Nope.”

“Okay good. We won’t have to come back for it then in the morning.” He gives you a wicked grin before grabbing you by the hips and pulling you in for an intense kiss. It’s all tongues and teeth and you can’t help the moan that escapes the back of your throat. You can feel all of him pressed up against you, but it’s not enough.

Without a word he’s picking you up, you squeal but wrap your legs around his waist like you’ve done it a million times. Your mid thigh dress rides up, leaving your clothed core vulnerable against his fancy dress shirt. “I knew there were muscles under that suit.” Your words are more breathy than intended. “I can’t wait to see them.” He groans at your words and walks as quickly as he can to his car with you wrapped around his waist.

“Can’t say things like that right now or I’ll fuck you in the back of my car instead of on my California king.”

“Ooo I knew you were a rich boy,” you chuckle “I could tell when I smelled that fancy cologne on you.”

“Oh yeah?” he said finally reaching his bmw. He placed you back down and opened the door for you “just wanted to go home with a rich guy, huh?”

“Mm no, I wanted to go home with a handsome, funny, strong guy. Rich is just a bonus.”

He smirked closing your door and walking around to get in on his side. Once he sat and turned the car on, he looked over at you again with a serious expression “well that’s good. Because I’m not rich. I live in a one bedroom apartment, in a tiny town, and Im the manager at the Family Video. My parents, they are rich. And they’re kind of the awful. So sometimes, they try to buy my love with weird random expensive gifts. But me? I’m nowhere close that. I’m a loser. Thats why I knew I’d never be good enough for Nancy. Why she didn’t pick me.”

You look at him from the passenger seat. Deep frown on your face. “You’re not a loser.”

“You don’t even know me” he whispered, huffing a humorless laugh without looking at you.

“I know enough.” You get up on your knees in your seat, reaching out to him with your right hand. You place it on cheek and pull his face to look at you. “I haven’t known you for very long, but I know you’re not a loser. A loser wouldn’t have been so kind to someone calling them out for pining for the bride at her wedding.” You looked between his eyes “a loser would’ve decked her for being so forward and like kind of rude.”

“You weren’t rude,” the side of his lip quirked “you were just being real.”

You smoothed your thumb on his jaw and licked your lips. “I’m so tempted to just, crawl into your lap right now and prove to you what a fucking winner you are.”

He surged forward, driven by your words, kissing you deeply. You moaned openly into his mouth, pressing your thighs together. Chasing any kind of friction you could get as your arousal built.

You didn’t want to pull away but you were also getting pretty desperate for him, and you really didn’t want to fuck in a car at the reception of your best friends wedding. “How far do you live from here?”

“Like five minutes”

“Oh that’s the best news I’ve heard all night, let’s go.” You sat back down properly in your seat, trying hard not to look at the growing bulge in Steve’s pants.

—-

Steve opens the door to his apartment, hands shaking slightly as he hangs his keys on the hook by the door. Both of you take your shoes off and leave them on the rug by the door. He looks over at you as if waiting for your approval.

Your eyes are taking everything in. It’s small but clean. And it feels like home. The ambiance is warm. Small lamps on side tables by his worn leather couch. Plants in pots scattered around the room and hanging by the windows. Framed photos placed lovingly around the room. You walked in, smile on your face as you walked over to the nearest photo. It looked like a family photo but it was just a bunch of teenagers.

Steve walked up behind you, placing one hand on your hip and the other he used to point out each person “Thats Lucas, Max, and Dustin.” He looked at your side profile “and I think you know the rest of them.

“Nancy” you pointed “Jonathan, Will, Mike and Jane. But I don’t recognize this guy. He is really handsome though, could you introduce m-“ he cut you off with a quick kiss to the neck and you squealed and giggled as he grabbed you with both arms. He held you close from behind and you melted in his arms.

“Yeah I’ll introduce you.” He leaned in again, smoothing the hair off your neck before coming in to nip at you. You breathed out a low hum.

“Well where is he? I’m ready to meet this guy.” You pushed you ass into his ever growing erection and he hissed at the contact.

He let go of your waist and grabbed your hand. “Come on, he’s right through here.”

—-

The moment the door closed he was on you. Pushing you up against the door and attacking your mouth like he would die if he didn’t get his tongue on yours. You pulled him by his belt loops, craving more contact. He growled into your mouth, grinding his clothed cock against you. “Fuck,” you moaned into his mouth. He pulled back to look at you, eyes black with lust “I haven’t been this worked up in,” you took a second to think but your thoughts were too muddled with thoughts of getting Steve naked “Years.” You whispered up at him.

“Me either” he shook his head, reaching down between you and loosely gripping the bottom of your dress. You nod at him in approval and he pulls it over your head. “Fuck” he moans looking down at your bare chest and cunt.

“The uh” you cough, a little embarrassed “the dress fabric wouldve, uh wouldve showed my panty lines and well I mean, the straps are just these little strings so obviously I couldn’t wear a bra either” you can’t stop rambling. And he’s listening, like actually listening.

“You’re really fucking cute.” His fingers trace up your side, you’re shuddering under such light touch. “And so hot. Like so hot. I don’t know how I got so lucky” he emphasizes the last word with a pinch to your nipple. You mewl grabbing his arm to keep you on your feet. “Bed” he orders kissing you once and pulling you over.

You walk over to the side of the bed and sit, fully exposed as he stands in front of you. You open you legs for him to stand between them. He’s still fully clothed. “Take this off, I want to see you.” You help him push the suit jacket off his shoulders, and get to work unbuttoning his shirt. “I may or may not have a suit kink” you mumble looking at the toned expanse of his stomach. Reaching out to touch the moles that have come into view. You want to kiss each one you find, but that would take too long. You bite your lip hard at the sight of his chest hair. Running your hands up his chest to run your fingers through it.

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles “so you want me to keep this on for you?”

“No, no” you lean forward and bite the softness of his tummy right under his belly button. “Maybe just the pants for now.”

He starts pulling of his shirt, seeming a little unsure. You’re not sure why until he pulls it off fully, determination written all over his face. Large white and light pink scars decorate his sides. They’re not ugly but you can tell he’s a little self conscious about them. You reach up with both hands trickling your fingers slowly down his sides. Looking up at him with your face pressed against his stomach “You are stunning.”

The air shifts again, thick with anticipation and arousal. He grabs you by the hips and pushes you further up onto the bed, crawling over you and settling himself between your legs.

He grinds down on you experimentally, his suit pants rough fabric rubbing against your clit and the moan that escapes you is almost pornagraphic. You’ve been worked up for what feels like hours now and this was the first bit of real friction you’ve gotten. Your pussy clenches hard around nothing. Your moan only encouraging him to continue as you kisses you hard. He starts working kisses and bites down you throat and chest. Leaving little purple marks along the way.

Cupping your breasts in his big hands, he looks you dead in the eye as he sucks the right one into his mouth. Your hips buck up into him unintentionally when he nips at the nub. Gasping into the air. Your hands fly to his hair pulling just a little too hard but he moans and pushes himself down into the mattress, searching for friction. Mm he must have liked that.

He looks like a lust filled mess. Hair in every direction, lips wet and swollen. You pull him back up to you by the hair. Biting his lip and pulling. “You like it rough huh?”

“Mm yeah” you’re writhing beneath him.

He pins your arms above your head, continuing to grind his clothed clock against your bare pussy.

“Mm you want me big boy?” You breathe. Steve stops for a second. Looking at you with this look in his eyes. This look like he’s known you, like hes been in love with you for years and you don’t know what to do with that. It feels almost to intimate. Too beautiful. Like you’re not about to have a one night stand to forget about the wedding. Like you’re about to make slow, passionate love.

He leans down, nuzzling his nose into yours and whispers “when you say stuff like that” he presses the softest kiss to your lips “you remind me of someone. Someone I used to know.”

Your brows furrow, you’re a little lost. “Oh?” Your chest is still heaving, heart rate excellerating as you start to worry.

“Yeah. A really good friend. It’s a good thing, I promise.” He smiles as he starts to trail kisses down your neck. Biting when he gets to your pulse point. You whimper against him and he kisses the spot, hot and sloppy. “He was outgoing and funny and sweet, like you. And he’d use those same type of nicknames. Always truly himself.”

His hips are meeting yours in a gentle rhythm and you’re starting mewl with every thrust. Wanting to cry out for the ache in your empty hole. “He sounds like a great guy.” You pull your hands out from Steve’s grip and go straight to unbutton his pants. The dress pants are soaked with your arousal.

“He was.” Steve smiles down at you. You stop trying to pop his button when says that. It becoming clear that this friend is no longer wandering this earth. Your chest grows tight. He’s kissing you again but your hearts not in it. Until he’s biting your lip and pulling it. He lets go and smiles with his teeth biting at his bottom lip “I told you. My guardian angel brought you to me.”

A tear escapes your eye before you even realize you were about to cry. Steve wiped it away with his big beautiful hand and rubs it down your cheek, looking at you with such adoration. You’ve never been looked at this way. Granted you haven't really dated much but you just met this guy tonight and it’s hard to understand this undeniable connection you have with him. “Steve,” you whisper, barely audible over your heartbeat “I need you.”

“I’m here” he starts trailing kiss down your chest and you know he’s about to go down on you but your past the point of waiting.

“No, I need you right now.” He stops his ministrations and looks up at you unsure. “I need you to fuck me, right now.”

“Fuck, okay” he sits up and climbs off the bed unbuttoning and kicking of his pants and boxer briefs in one go. The first look at his cock leaves you breathless.

“Oh shit” you breathe out quickly, “never wear those pants to bed again, hiding that monster is a tragedy.”

Steve looks dumbfounded but breaks into a laugh “what happened to your suit kink?”

“I take it back. I take it back so fast, fuck. Never wear a suit again. Only ever be naked, here. With me.”

“So you like what you see?” His grin is so wide and so beautiful.

His member bounces of its own accord slapping against his belly button as he crawls back up the bed and over you again. “I’m obsessed.” You know you’re stroking his ego but you don’t care “I’d call animal control on the beast but I don’t want to loose my opportunity here.”

“What are you even saying?” He’s smiling so hard you swear you’re discovering his dimple for the first time.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry I was just so taken off guard when you whipped out that 2 liter like it was the most normal thing in the world to have a cock bigger than my forearm. Fuck me.” You giggle against his lips. He kisses you deeply. Getting lost in the feeling of his mouth.

“I plan to,” he whispers “condom?”

“I’m clean. And on birth control.”

He hums into your mouth, “good. Me too. And I want to feel all of this.” He reaches down between your bodies and grabs himself, lining his fat head with your hole. “Are you ready me?”

“Well shit I hope so. I might need surgery in the morning but I want you to destroy my pussy.”

He groans at your words, cursing under his breath as he pushes past your barrier. You both let out a load moan. Finally feeling each other the way you’ve been dying to since you kissed on the dance floor.

He’s slowly pushing into you inch by inch and by now you’re thinking you might regret not letting him go down on you, but when he hits the special spot inside of you… you change your mind. You arch you back groaning. Your fingernails digging into his shoulders. He’s not even all the way in but you’re gushing around his thick length. “You okay?” He asks, concern filling his eyes.

You nod quickly “more, ah, more than okay. Please don’t stop.”

He presses his forehead to yours when he bottoms out. You feel so full. More full than you ever thought was even possible. Every bit of your cunt feels the pressure of his cock and the pleasure of it is causing your legs to tremble already. He kisses you once, gently. Just a peck. Rubbing his nose against yours and then tucking his head into your neck. “You’re so fucking tight.” He grunts.

Your eyes are filled with tears of pleasure and they start to spill as you laugh a little, “I feel like, I feel like anyone would feel tight to you with this mighty hog.”

He huffs a laugh into your neck, biting at your pressure point. He hums in agreement “Maybe. But I’m not fucking anyone.” He pulls out a little bit and thrust back into you hard and fast pulling a noise from you you’ve never heard before. “I’m. fucking. You.” He thrusts between each word and you forget everything you’ve ever said. As he starts to set a rhythm you completely forget your name, who you are, where you came from. All you can think about is your impending orgasm. All you can hear are the moans escaping both your mouths and the slapping of his balls against your slick covered ass.

Steve pushes up, holding himself with both arms as he looks down, watching himself fuck into you. “Look at that” he says smoothing his hand over your lower torso.

You pick your head up to watch and you're not expecting what you see. “Oh my..” you gasp “I didn’t know that was possible.” You see his tip poking up from inside you. The sight of it brings a deep heat to your core and you’re starting to feel the cord tighten. You drop your head back down to the soft duvet as he continues thrusting into you.

“I wonder if I just..” he starts to say but stops and presses his palm against your lower stomach, essentially pushing the head of his cock further into your vaginal wall and holds it there. You can’t help it, it feels unbelievably good and you scream. You scream so loud you can’t believe the sound came from you and you cum on the spot. The edges of your vision go white and you think you’re going to pass out. Electricity rushing through every part of you body. It takes you a second to recover and remember what was happening. When you do you look up and see Steve red faced and sweaty and looking far too sexy. “Fuuuck” he groans thrusting into you harder. “Oh shit you’re gripping me so tight I don’t think I can l-last much longer.”

It feels so good, the sensitivity is almost overwhelming but you don’t care for him to stop. You want him to cum inside you. You don’t realize until this moment but you NEED to be filled by him. “Mm yeah Daddy you gunna cum?” You whimper. He cursed under his breath and moves his arms under your knees, folding you in half as he pushes into you with unrelenting force. You keep talking, his thrust breaking up your words and making it hard to understand, but he does “Gunna fill up my aching pussy with your cum? Put a fucking baby in me and make everyone jealous that I got your fat cock all to myself.” He moans louder, fucking into you faster but his hips start to falter and you know he’s getting close. “You like that? You like when I call you Daddy? Thinking about your cum dripping out of me? Wanna cum inside my pussy and go back to the wedding with it dripping down my legs?” And that’s what does it. He cums hard, pushing deep inside of you and thrusting once, twice more.

He collapses on top of you. Completely spent. And you smile against his hair. Wrapping your arms around him, petting his hair and caressing his back. “You really do want kids don’t you, big boy?”

He laughs against your chest “what gave me away?”

“Well, could be all the photos of all the kids around your apartment and you saying you're not close to your parents. So that tells me your family is one you made. And usually people with made families like big families of their own.” You hug him closer to your chest. “But more than that, your dick twitched when I called you Daddy. And twitched even harder when I told you to put a baby in me.” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Mm” he leaned up on his elbows, releasing the pressure of you holding all his body weight. “You’ve got me all figured out, huh? All that just from one look around my place and sex?”

“Psychology is a prerequisite. See, we do more than take pictures at camera college.” You bite you lip, looking up at him as he hovers over you, his soft cock still resting in your bruised cunt.

He kisses you so gently, he kisses you like this isn't a one night stand. Like you’ve been in love for years and he can’t get enough of you. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. You feel more relaxed and open than you have in years. Since before you even met Jon.

After a few minutes of this, Steve leans back and sighs heavily. Removing himself from your center. You feel his cum start to spill out of you, but he uses two fingers to stuff it back into you. He really does have a breeding kink, you think. You hum in satisfaction, “you want me to put my legs up on the headboard? Make sure these swimmers have a chance?”

He smirks at you, a little sadness in his eyes as he gets off the bed to get dressed. “Don’t tease me now.” He opens his dresser and throws you a pair of boxer briefs. “Put these on, I’m not ready for my swimmers to drip down your legs yet.” He smiles recalling your dirty talk. “This too. Although I’ll be sad to cover up so gorgeous tits.”

“Whatever you say, Daddy” you slip on the underwear, biting your lip. You throw on the yellow sweater he hands you just as quickly.

“I could get used to that.” He thinks for a moment. Leaning against his dresser in just his underwear. “You look really good in my clothes.”

“Well,” you say, playing with the loose threads at the end of his sweater, “you look really good, out of your clothes.”

He snorts, “should’ve seen that coming.”

You’re both quiet for a beat. It’s comfortable. Still reveling in your activities. Until, Steve clears his throat. “So, uh, y/n. Where uh, do you live?”

“Everywhere, nowhere. Santa Barbra, California is where Brooks Institute is though. So I guess that’s where I live for now. Did Jonathan never tell you about where he went to school?”

“Nah, we’re really not that close.”

“Oh.”

“California. That’s really far.” He looks down at his feet.

“Yeah,” your voice comes out a little sadder than you were expecting, you inhale deeply “yeah, it is. But, I’m only one semester away from graduation actually. So. Who knows after that. I could go anywhere.” You look up at him suddenly feeling shy. “Could go to New York, or Florida, or I don’t know… Indiana.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles up at you.

“Yeah! I mean why not?” You get up off the bed and stand in front of him, leaning back to sit on the end of the bed before him. “I mean. I know a little something about found family. I’m not close to my real family. The Byers-Hopper clan welcomed me with open arms and they’ve been my family since the moment we met. So my only family is… here.”

Steve nods like he understands. Watching you with glossy doe eyes.

“Plus, there’s this really handsome guy I met at a wedding in Indiana. And I mean, I’ve only known him for like, a few hours but he’s really cool and he really helped me in a tough time in my life. And he’s like really good in bed, although he doesn’t really have to try. I mean you should see this guys dongle. It’s HU-“ Steve cuts off you rant when shoves his mouth onto yours, smiling and laughing against your lips. “Oh my gosh stop” you say pushing him away and laughing “you’re going to ruin my chances with the guy from the wedding!”

He grabs your arms and kisses you again, but this time you let him. Falling easily into the kiss. His lips are so soft and you try to commit the feeling and taste to memory. “You are,” he huffs “unbelievable.”

“Yeah” you put your palm on his cheek, pushing some hair behind his ear. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“You might change your mind after I wake you up in the middle of the night with my loud, obnoxious snoring.” He nuzzles into the hand on his face, kissing your palm.

“Mm, so you wanna wake me up in the middle of night?”

He laughs, backing up to lean on the dresser again. “You really do just hear what you want don’t you?”

You put your finger on your cheek like you’re thinking about it really hard, “mmm… yes. I guess I do.” The light in the room is low and warm and as you're admiring the soft look on Steve’s face, the lean muscle of his chest and arms, you can’t help but want to take a picture. “Hey, I know you said you didn’t want to be my model…”

“Oh geez” he smirks, shaking his head.

“Hear me out, hear me out. You look incredible in this lighting. I want to immortalize this night. Can I? Even if it’s just for us. Never to see the light of day or the inside of my working portfolio” you snicker, “you just look too good, I can’t pass this moment up.”

He licks his lips, and nods “Okay, okay sure.”

You get up from the end of the bed and stand in front of him, leaning up on your tippy toes and grabbing his chin with your index finger and thumb, “Don’t move” you whisper into his parted lips, kissing him as you go to leave the room.

You pick up your camera from where you dumped it on the leather couch. You probably should have laid it down with more care, but you didn’t much care in the heat of the moment.

You give it a quick once over, seeing that everything’s fine. Thankfully. You throw the strap over your head and start walking back to the bedroom. When you look up, you notice a photo on the bookshelf against the wall by his bedroom door. You hadn’t noticed it before, being so preoccupied by Steve’s mouth. The picture is a blown up yearbook photo of young man with long curly hair complete with bangs. He has, quite frankly, a dazzling smile. You wonder who this is, having not seen him in the group photo by the door. But that’s a question for later. Right now it’s time for you to take someone else’s photo.

You take one last look at the picture and head back into the bedroom. Steve is still exactly where you asked him to stay. “Good boy.” You whisper in his ear, nipping at his lobe. He grunts his approval as you jump up onto the bed.

“So, uh, what do you want me to do? Like do you want me to pose or something?” He looks nervous.

“No baby I want you to stay exactly as you are, but you’re all cramped up and nervous looking now” you chuckle “loosen up handsome. I want that post-coital glow back.”

“Post coital glow?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Yeah! Where you’re all hopped up on endorphins and just blissed out and lose.”

“How do I do that when I know you’re about to take a picture of me?”

You pull the strap of the camera off of your neck and drop it on the bed. “You want me to come over there and loosen you back up?” You slide off the bed again, walking over to him.

He still looks nervous “how’re you going to do that?”

You place your fingertips gently on his toned stomach, slowly trickling down down down. Goosebumps are popping up all down his tummy and arms. His breath becoming uneven. Your left hand drags down his thigh and right hand lightly grips at his half chubbed cock. You look him in the eye as you grip him a little harder in your hand, “are you still nervous now?”

His forehead comes to lean on yours, “no” he whispers on your lips.

You kiss him gently, stroking him halfheartedly. “What do you feel right now?”

“I’m feeling,” his breath stutters from his chest, “like I want to bend you over and fuck you into my mattress.”

“Mmm good, keep that feeling” you peck him on the cheek and run back to the bed. You jump up on it, sitting on your knees and grabbing your camera. “Oh yes. Yes. This is perfect, keep that fucked out expression.”

“I thought you wanted post-coital glow.”

“Yeah, we can take more like that later, but right now I’m loving this look. It’s like you want to eat me alive and I love it.”

A small moan slips from his lips, “I do”

You take a series of photos. Full body, just his face, just his body. His hands death gripping the dresser he’s leaned against. His predatory eyes. His juicy wet lips. The fucking monster bulge that’s growing wildly in the his boxers briefs… that one is just for you. Definitely. You want that one framed and hung in your closet. The more photos you take the harder it is to focus, you feel yourself becoming more wet as the seconds pass. “You are… unbearably attractive.” you whine.

“Please tell me you’re done because I don’t think I can stand here another second while you're straddling my bed in my clothes.”

“Oh fuck me, okay yes yes I’m done.” You take the camera off and gingerly place it on the side table. “Come take me, pretty boy.”

That’s all he needs to hear and he’s pouncing. “I need to taste you baby, please let Daddy eat you out this time.”

You’re nodding so hard you’re getting dizzy. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

He groans deep in his throat, “it’s going to be a long night.”

—-

The next morning you wake up to an empty bed, the smell of bacon and coffee filling the space. You look over at the clock on the side table and groan. It’s 11am already and you never told Joyce or Hopper or anyone you were leaving or where you were going or that you wouldn’t be going home that night. They’re probably worried sick thinking you wandered off drunk and fell in a ditch somewhere.

You stretch your arms and back as best you can on the bed. Throwing the covers off, you slide off the bed. Immediately noting your cunt throbbing. It was a long night. And you did tell Steve you wanted him to destroy your pussy. He did his job, and he did it well. 10/10, 5 stars, Excellency Award, Employee of the month.

You walk sluggishly out into the main area, seeing Steve in front of the stove, dish towel thrown over his shoulder. Now that you’re in the open space you hear the quiet kitchen radio playing ABBA. Steve moves his hips to the sound, singing along slightly out of tune “gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight…” he still hasn’t noticed you as he slips a piece of bacon into his mouth and continues to hum the song. It’s so domestic it almost hurts.

You slide up beside him and he smiles when he notices you, bringing you into his side for a half hug while he has to focus on not burning the rest of the bacon. “Good morning, beautiful” he says after a moment. He turns off the burner and kisses the top of your head.

“Good morning handsome” you smile up at him. “Anything I can help with?”

“Nope, I’ve just finished up. How do you take your coffee?”

“Cream, 6 sugars” you cover your face with your hand.

“6… 6 sugars?” He looks baffled but prepares your coffee anyway. “Sugar fiend.”

“Coffees like, kinda gross without it. I just ugh, I just love sweet things” you’re smiling so hard your cheeks start to hurt.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Yeah… but you like it” you poke him in the side.

“I really do actually.” He’s looking at you in that way again. The way that makes you feel like you’re in love and have been for a century. You’re starting to crave that look. It’s like you’ve been starved all this time and never knew until he fed you. “Here’s your coffee, now go sit on the couch and I’ll bring you your breakfast.”

“Thank you” you take the coffee in one hand, and pull him in for a soft peck with the other hand. “Oh wait, can I use your phone? I don’t want Hopper sending out a manhunt thinking I’ve gone missing.”

“Oh no you’re good, Will called earlier. Said he figured you’d be here since everyone saw us leaving together.” He looks up at you through his messy hair, “guess we were pretty obvious” he blushes.

“I’m not mad about it” your cheeks feel hot but you cover it by sipping your warm coffee. “Okay, good. As long as they know I’m alive.”

You walk around the island to the living room and set the cup of coffee on the coffee table. But you don’t sit right away. Instead you’re drawn again to the bookshelf with the yearbook photo.

You’re still analyzing it when Steve walks in with your plates. He sets them down by your coffee and joins you by the bookshelf. He wraps his arms around your waist and sets his chin on your shoulder. “That’s the friend I was telling you about” he whispers “his name is Eddie.”

“He was incredibly beautiful.” You whisper just as low.

“Yeah” he chuckles, but there’s no joy in it “Inside and out.”

You clear your throat, starting to get choked up “H-how did he umm” you swallow hard “how did he die?”

He sighs, pulling you harder into his chest. “It’s a long story for another time, but he was a hero. And he saved my life. He saved a lot of people’s lives.”

You turn around in his arms, gently caressing his sides “is that how you got these?”

He presses his face into your hair, you can tell he’s getting emotional thinking about it. “Sort of. What caused these scars, is what killed him. It’s a lot to explain. And maybe I will one day. But it’s too much for now.”

Tears silently roll down your face, “you were in love with him too, huh?”

He looks you in the eyes, choking on a wet laugh “How do you do that?”

You look down, away from his wondrous gaze. “I don’t know, I guess I can just read people really well.” You shrug.

He pulls your chin up with two fingers and gives you a sloppy wet, teary kiss. He pulls back and looks you in the eye again, searching. “I didn’t know him that long. But yeah, I think that, given the chance, I would have loved him.”

You nod, brow furrowing. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get that chance.”

He presses his palm to your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek. “So, it doesn’t scare you? That I… that I could’ve loved a man?”

You huff a laugh, brows raising “Not at all. We can’t help who we love.” You press your palms to his hairy chest, fingers gripping loosely at the hair there. “I think you and I both know that. Hints our night together.”

He licks his lip, shaking his head, “Guardian. Fucking. Angel.”

“What?” You laugh.

“You were definitely sent to me, by a guardian angel.” He kisses you on the tip of your nose and you can’t help but to smile at that “or shit. Maybe Eddie sent you to me himself.”

You look back over your shoulder at the photo on the shelf. You can almost feel him winking at you. A chill runs down your spine. “Yeah” you look back at Steve “I definitely think it was him.”

“What, are you communicating with him now?”

“Yeah” your expression goes very serious “he told me to call you sweetheart.”

All the blood drains from Steve’s face, he goes stiff and his face looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Oh no way, did he call you sweetheart?? I was just guessing because you said he called you all these little nicknames I kept using.”

“That-that was a joke?” He mumbled “you were so spot on I…”

“Oh shit Steve I’m so sorry. It was just a joke, oh man what an insane guess.”

“Don’t do that again” he pushes his hand through his messy hair.

“Yes sir.”

“Fuck, I’m all frazzled now.”

You grab him by the arm and pull him to sit on the couch, “come on then, let’s eat breakfast. I’ve got a lot of questions to ask about you.”

“Oh no,” he rubs his hand over his face.

“Oh yes, I want to know everything about you mystery man. Because so far as I can tell, Nancy messed up letting you go.”

He pulls you into his chest, running his fingers through your hair. “ I could say the same. Jonathan has no idea what he missed out on. But honestly, I’m really glad he did though. Because I’m selfish as hell and I want you all to myself.”

—-

Four months later

“Hello, Steve Harrington speaking.” Steve answers the phone the same way every time. And it gives you butterflies every time.

“Hello Steve Harrington. This is y/f/n y/l/n speaking” you giggle.

“I was hoping it’d be you.”

“Who else would it be? Who else calls you? Is it other girls? Are you seeing other girls behind my back Mr. Harrington?”

He laughs hard, covering the mouth piece so he doesn’t blow out your eardrum “Hundreds of girls, calling out at all hours. I can’t sleep with all the ladies I’m drowning in.”

“Okay, see I was joking. But I fully believe it when you say that because you a massive co-“

“Yes yes alright” he sniffs “to what do I owe the pleasure of todays call Ms y/l/n ?”

“Well, I want to first thank you again for allowing me to use that photo I took of you in your bedroom for my senior art show.”

“You are welcome baby girl. If it wasn’t so artfully taken, by such a beautiful woman, I never would have agreed.”

You smile broadly into the receiver “Mmhm yes yes, well, you’ll never believe this, big boy.”

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“That photo won 5 local awards, an offer to be hung at an exhibit in San Francisco and I was offered a book deal. They want me to create a book of my photography Stevie. Me.” You’re practically buzzing.

“Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. Y/n. I’m so proud of you. We’ve got to celebrate!”

“Thank you baby. I’m so happy I could fly. And it’s all thanks to you.”

“No way, I definitely can’t take the credit here. It was all you and your incredible eye. I’m just grateful I could be your muse.”

“And you will continue to be my muse… that is, if you still want me to move to Indiana.”

“I would love nothing more. Please say you will and that you’re coming soon.”

“How does 2 weeks sound?”

“Not soon enough”

“Thank goodness,” you sigh in relief, “because I’m actually here now.”

“What?!” Steve almost drops the phone, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

“Yeah” you take a deep breath, your chest is tight with emotion “I wanted to surprise you. I just got here, and I couldn’t wait. I literally just walked in the door not 10 minutes ago.”

“Where? Where are you? I’m coming right now.” Steve looks around the room, searching for his pants and grabbing his keys off the hook by the door, phone precariously pressed between his ear and shoulder.

“I’m at the Byers-Hopper residence, my new home. I’m staying in their basement until I can get on my own feet.”

“I’ve never been happier to live in such a small town. I’m leaving now sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

“I can’t wait.”

—-

3 years later

Byers-Hopper Residence

Nancy and Jonathan walk in, hand in hand and you’re genuinely so happy to see them. You greet them at the door hugging each of them “hey! So good to see you! I’m so glad you could make it.” You tell them, grabbing Nancy’s hand and squeezing it.

“Wouldn’t miss it” Jonathan said, patting your shoulder.

“Well get on in there and mingle! Steve’s out back at the grill. There’s beer in the cooler and chips on the table.”

“Oh beer sounds amazing right now. It’s such a hot day.” Nancy says fanning herself.

“A scorcher.” You wink at her.

—-

Once everyone’s arrived you make your way to the back yard, beelining straight for Steve. He’s wearing his classic kiss the cook apron and you don’t mind if you do.

“Hello handsome” you push up on your toes and kiss his cheek.

“Hello my love,” he turns to you fully and presses his hand to your swollen tummy, “and hello to you too my little love.”

7 months along and you’re still not over how sweet it is when Steve addresses your baby bump. You pull his chin to you, kissing him gently. “I love you, you know that?”

He breaths a laugh “I’d hope so. Wouldn’t want to be married to someone who didn’t love me.”

You bite your lip, “yeah well. I just like to remind you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He kisses you again. So soft and sweet. You just can’t believe how lucky you are.

“Alright lovebirds, enough mackin, let’s eat!” Hopper calls from the fold out table surrounded by the family you’ve made. And unfortunately, Steve’s terrible parents.

—-

“I was just so shocked when I heard you were already pregnant, I mean you’d barely been married a year.” Steve’s moms voice is shrill.

“Oh yeah” you put on your best fake laugh, “I wasn’t surprised at all. Your son has a breeding kink. He’s wanted me fat and pregnant since… well probably since we met.”

She stares at you, mouth agape, obviously in shock.

“And I mean, have you seen your son's penis? Sure like when he was a kid I’m sure but did you know it was going to get so big?”

She blinks at you and tries to stutter a response.

“That thing is massive. I didn’t stand a chance with that semi trunk pounding into me. I think he actually just like, came straight into my uterus once. Like busted right past my cervix and came right on my eggs. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t get pregnant sooner.”

She put her hand on her terrible husband's arm, “Let’s go. I can’t stand to be here any longer. Your son married a whore.”

“A whore?” You mock outrage, “I’m only a whore for your son, which is allowed, hints the ring.” You point at it, wiggling your left fingers to watch the ring sparkle in the dimming sunlight.

Steve just smiles and waves “Bye mom and dad! We’ll let you know when our bundle of joy arrives.”

“Great thanks.” His dad shoots back, exiting through the front door.

“Well” Hopper huffs, “that was horrific. But you’re not my biological children so I think the trauma of hearing that will affect me a little less than your parents Steve.”

“Sorry Hop. You weren’t supposed to hear that.” You can’t help but laugh.

“Well then you probably shouldn’t have said it so loud” Will comments.

“Alright fiiine, I won’t speak publicly about my amazing, insane, adventurous, mind blowing sex life in public anymore.” Everyone groans at the excessive adjectives, Steve again just laughing silently, only ever encouraging you. “But when you all stop getting boners, or your sex lives get boring, don’t come running to me for stories tips or tricks. And definitely don’t look at my photo album.”

“We won’t, trust me.” Mike rolls his eyes.

“Hey Mike, did I see you sne-“ you start.

“Hey hey y/n what uh, have you come up with any baby names yet?” Mike cuts you off, finishing with a nervous cough.

You look at Will's frozen expression and wink at him. “We have. Go ahead baby, I’m ready to announce it if you are.”

Steve pulls you close, one hand around you, the other sitting on your belly. “We’ve decided to name him Eddie.” He kisses your hair.

Eddie Harrington. You know it’s cliche to name your baby after someone like this, but the man saved your husband's life. And his family. And the town. And after you’d heard the full story of what happened to them all, you knew you didn’t have any other choice. Steve’s hero, his almost love, his guardian angel. Yeah, you know it's the right choice.

Edward William Harrington. You can’t wait to meet him.

[anthrofreshtodeath]

#10 sounds like a good one

#10 is "Surprise Encounter" - I dig it! Here we go.

___

Jane doesn’t love going to the doctor. She tends not to show up unless something’s wrong, or if it’s a checkup she guilts herself into attending. She gets her teeth cleaned religiously every four to six months because she’s never forgotten the horror stories of teeth falling out that her mother threatened her with when she was a kid. She’s barely got a general practitioner and she should have regular check-ins with her physical therapist she hasn’t seen in like three years.

She really doesn’t love it. 

Especially this kind of doctor - the lady doctor. That’s what her catholic ass calls it, because for some reason the catholicism makes her unable to say the word gynecologist? She doesn’t question the logic because it guards her against the anxiety that is always there. And you know? She’s here, she thinks when the elevator in the parking garage dings her to the third floor, and that’s what matters. 

Maura had told her about Doctor Hillenbrand, a Harvard-educated OBGYN who specializes in fertility, but sees patients for all their gynecology needs. Maura had quite kindly intimated that Doctor Hillenbrand also is very good with patients who have experienced trauma, which makes Jane want the ground to swallow her up, even now. But, it’s been awhile since her last pap smear, and… sigh. She needs to go. Might as well go to the woman Maura raves about, Maura herself sees, and get it over with. 

So Jane ambles down the hall of the ritziest medical building she’s ever been in, and looks for suite 321. She finds it, and grips the golden doorknob, pushing in with a fortifying exhale. The waiting room boasts buffed, ridiculously shiny tile, thriving plants in each corner, and no television in sight. Fancy. It’s pretty empty, too, at two in the afternoon; there’s no one here, except for one woman filling out paperwork over by the -

Oh. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. “Nope, nope,” Jane says it out loud as she backs toward the door.

It’s Maura. Maura, of fucking course, is the only other patient in the waiting room. She glanced up as soon as Jane spoke, and now she’s on her feet. “Jane! Jane, wait!”

And now Jane freezes, because no way in hell is she seeing the doctor at the same time as Maura, but she also can’t refuse anything Maura asks. So she stands there. “Really? Of all days? Today - really?”

“Would you please sit down?” Maura asks, motioning toward herself in the middle of the room. The receptionist looks up, but decides she is uninterested when Jane trudges slowly forward.

“I should go,” she grumbles despite letting Maura lead her by the wrist back toward the leather-padded chairs. “This was-”

“Don’t say it was a mistake,” Maura admonishes. “Doctor Hillenbrand is excellent. Why are you here?”

Jane heaves herself into the seat next to Maura, who adjusts her own blazer and crosses her legs under the skirt of her yellow dress. She half faces Jane, and it compels Jane’s body to relax. Jane sinks into the knees-spread, feet-planted, hands folded in her lap while her elbows sit on the arm rest type of posture she often adopts. She sucks her teeth. “Check-up,” she answers. “I’m a half hour early. You?” Maura blushes instead of replying, and immediately Jane brings herself to attention. She shoots up, hunches her back so she can turn towards Maura, who looks away. Jane busts out the big guns, and puts her hand on Maura’s knee. “Maura? What’s up?”

At first her palms sweat and her stomach drops - is something wrong? But then Maura licks her lips in thought, and a sigh brings her back to Jane. “I… I am here for an ultrasound,” Maura confesses. 

Jane’s left eyebrow climbs up as her stomach plummets again. “Are you, uh… are you pregnant?” Maura isn’t seeing anyone. Not that Jane knows of. But Jane’s not a dummy, either - she knows Maura scratches an itch when she needs to. This could be that.

Until it’s not. “No! No,” Maura says. She waves her hand for extra emphasis. “I’m not. But…” her eyes well up, and Jane rushes her other hand to Maura’s back, running wide, slow swaths across it. She can’t help it. She doesn’t want to help it, because the affection calms Maura down enough to continue. “But I’ve been keeping something from you,” Maura tells her. 

“A secret man?” Jane guesses, with hurt written all across her pursed, upturned lips. A mockery of a smile. 

Maura breathes out a mockery of a laugh. “No. There is no man. Not even the prospect of one, which is why I’m here,” she says. Then she pokes her head around toward the front of the room. “Shouldn’t you get your paperwork? If it’s your first time, there will be a lot of it.”

“Nice try, but no. You’re not wigglin’ outta this one so easy,” Jane says. This time her smile is a little more real. “They can wait. So, will you just tell me what the hell’s goin’ on?”

“I’m scheduled for a retrieval,” says Maura, the words whooshing out over a near whisper. “I’ve found a donor and I’m going to freeze my fertilized eggs, if this ultrasound bodes well.”

Jane gapes, her jaw opening then closing a few times before she shakes her head. “You were serious about that? I always thought… well I don’t know what I thought. I guess I didn’t have to think about it.”

“I was serious about it. And as my window closes, I want to be able to retain all options. I want to do this, Jane. I, I want to be a parent. And soon,” Maura tells Jane.

Jane scrunches her face in thought. Maura’s eyebrows upturn in open confusion in response. “Can I make a comment? Or, maybe, uh, ask a question?” asks Jane.

Maura is extra confused, but she puts her hand over Jane’s on her knee. The middle finger of her left hand has a chunky ring on it that scrapes Jane’s knuckle. It’s pleasant because it’s Maura. “Y-yes. Yes of course you can. I think you’ve earned the right.”

“Well, it’s just… babymakin’ is a touchy subject. I don’t wanna hurt you,” Jane starts.

Maura is so moved that a few tears fall and she grasps Jane’s face in both her hands. “You’re not going to hurt me. What do you want to know?”

Maura’s breath flows and ebbs so close to Jane’s nose and it is somehow sweet and minty at the same time. Jane wants to taste it? The thought rattles around in her head, and it’s not the first time, Jane will admit to herself. She wants to taste it, but she puts that on the shelf for another, less vulnerable time. Gone is her embarrassment when Maura bites her own lower lip, replaced by surety. By a need to keep Maura safe, even if it's from some nebulous feeling like sadness. “Well… you’re an established, wealthy professional,” Jane begins, and Maura’s brow goes up again. This time it’s accompanied by a hopeful smile, small and timid. Jane continues. “And I know you don’t… there isn’t a guy. But there’s me, and my family. We’d love the hell out of a tiny you. If you really wanna do it, why wait?”

Maura did not expect this question: her mouth drops open like Jane’s did just a few minutes ago, and Jane feels that hand clench around her own. “You… why wait to have a baby?”

“Yeah,” Jane answers, wondering if she’s said something monumentally stupid. It’s been known to happen. “Maybe it wouldn’t look conventional, but I don’t see the point in waiting around for some guy who might be Mr. Right, or who might not.”

“You mean that,” Maura asks though there’s no question mark at the end of it. 

“Yeah I mean it,” Jane asserts. The more time goes on, she realizes that she’s said something kind of smart. Or at least right. She puts her hand by one side of her mouth and adopts a stage whisper. “And to be honest, what good are men with babies anyway?”

Maura laughs, hiccupping and wet. Eyes crinkled, genuine. Her thumbs, when they rub back and forth, feel amazing under Jane’s perpetually tired eyes. “Not half as good as you’d be, I imagine,” says Maura. Her voice is low and intimate. 

“Oh hell no. Couldn’t touch me,” Jane brags, only half-kidding. For Maura’s kid, she’d be Super Mom. Or, shit - not mom. Super Aunt. Super Somebody. She’d show up like she’s never shown up before, and that’s saying something.

“Ditch your appointment?” Maura asks. Jane smirks in conspiracy. She knows what she’s being asked and yet she waits for Maura to elaborate anyway. Of course Maura does. “Come to mine? It’s scheduled for, well five minutes ago, and I have some important questions to ask, apparently. And I might need you to hold my hand.”

“You got it,” says Jane. She leans in and hugs Maura with the arm near her back, stopping before the embrace to kiss her on the temple. “I didn’t wanna come anyway.”

[greenerteacups]

Why is your Draco such a poetic little dude? Like, seriously, is he reading regency romance novels on his summer hols? This kid is only 14 and he's just busting out the most killer lines that will ruin Hermione for anyone else ever... Does he have any idea what he's doing? I actually do want to know... lol, should I be picturing him reading Shakespeare and Jane Austen and making notes? He's only going to get more powerful with age too, isn't he?

I mean, I literally have him reading Emma in third year. Not for nothing, but it's been established multiple times that he reads novels as a hobby, and mostly classics (those being the easiest to find, and also the kinds of books that Hermione is likely to share with him from the muggle world, since she's trying to put her best foot forward and sell him on muggle culture). Additionally, Narcissa references Proust with the expectation that Draco knows what she's talking about, which hints at the kind of fiction that would be available to him in the Manor library.

He's also not like, talking in couplets or anything. For the most part, he just talks in fairly elevated language of a young adult. He was homeschooled by Narcissa and raised mainly in the company of adults, so he has fairly elevated diction as a consequence of adopting the speech-patterns of his environment. You can also see this in how the purebloods talk to each other, the cultural references they make — Theo in particular has an affection for the Greeks — and what characters or works they expect each other to know. References like those are how I tried to build a "canon" of pureblood culture and literacy.

And, finally: on a Doylist level, I write him that way because it's fun for me, and I prefer it. Moreover, since it's in third person, there's an open question as to how much is *actually* Draco's direct thoughts versus a poetic interpretation of the wibbly-wobbly inarticulated sensations that exist inside someone's head. Some of it is a literal interpretation of his thoughts; some of it's a figurative translation for the sake of the story.

[jardin-de-limaginaire]

Hello! Idk if you’re requests are open but if they are would you be able to write Jane doe/penny lamb x gn or transmasc reader?? Kinda like before the accident reader and Jane hang out in the bus together then do their own things around the fair like wining eachother gifts or going on couple/duo rides?

My requests are always open! Of course, I'll write that scenario. For all my Mischa lovers, I'm sorry for not feeding you any Mischa content, I promise after this request that I'll post more Mischa content soon!

Anyways, here's your order of Jane Doe/Penny lamb where she goes in the tunnel of love and wins gifts together with her boyfriend, (Y/N). (I'll make (Y/N) transmasc as the request suggested)

We're also almost at 100 followers, and I'm literally so happy. I started taking writing requests on this blog with 10 followers, and I'm already almost at 100! Idk how to thank you guys enough for this! Also, happy new year!

(Tw: none!)

Word count: 972 words

The tunnel of love (Jane Doe/ Penny Lamb x transmasc!reader)

(𝓨/𝓝)'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥

Today was a very exciting day for me. You might wonder why, and the answer is really simple yet a little childish. Today I'm going to a fair together with my choir buddies and my girlfriend, Penny, from the request of Father Marcus.

I was trying to keep my excitement very hard, but it was still very obvious that I was enthusiastic about this event. Ever since I was younger, I've always been excited to go to Fairs, Carnivals, Circuses, you name it. I used to beg my parents to take me to them right before the grand opening. I mean, who wouldn't be excited to go to a special event, especially if you lived in a small town like I lived in.

"Hey, (Y/N)? What are you thinking about?" Asked my girlfriend, Penny. She was the first person that I came out to as being trans, and she made me feel the happiest when she gladly accepted me. I smiled at her, feeling joyous about the fair.

"I'm just really happy that we're going to the fair! Aren't you excited too?" I asked her.

She nodded, with a smile on her face. "Of course I am! Who wouldn't be when you can have fun together with your partner and friends?"

"Yeah! You're right!" I laughed as "Angeleyes" by ABBA was playing in the background. We all began singing, except for Penny. I looked at her confused, but she just smiled at me.

Once we arrived, I was in awe. Unlike the last years, the fair was bigger and looked like it was full of people of different ages and sizes.

"So kids, I'll let you all ride whichever rides you want. Be sure to come back here before 06:30 PM, when we have to go back to the school building!" Father Marcus said.

"Yes sir!" We all exclaimed at him as we went different ways. Father Marcus smiled at us, before going to a hotdog stand that was near the entrance. I took Penny's hand, and we began looking for something fun that we can do.

"So, what do you want to do first?" Asked Penny, as I took a map of the fair to look at the rides that we can ride. My eyes immediately landed on "The cyclone" ride, the gem of Uranium's fair. People even came from all over the world, just to ride "The Cyclone". I never went on it, but I and my friends made a plan that we'll go on it last.

"Hm...How about we first go to..." I looked to see what kind of ride or place we could go to. I looked to my right and saw a winning prize game with pokemon plushies. Eureka!

"How about we go to the pokemon prize game? I can get you a plush if you want!" I suggested. Penny smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, We can get matching plushies!" She giggled. I took her hand, and we walked to the pokemon prize game, which was a bust-a-balloon game. The man at the stand gave us 5 darts, and we had to aim at the balloons so that we can get a prize.

Penny used 2 darts, and I used 3 darts. She surprisingly popped 2, meanwhile, I also popped 2.

We were both given two matching Shaymin plushies, and we smiled at each other.

"What should we name them..." Asked Penny as we were walking to the cotton candy stand.

"How about...Hmm..." I began looking at the stands so that I can get an idea. My eyes landed on a popcorn stand and a nachos stand. "How about Nachos and Popcorn?" I laughed.

"Haha! That's a funny idea! Fine then, Nachos and Popcorn will be their names." Responded Penny, hugging Nachos.

"Ooh! Wanna go to the tunnel of love?" I wiggled my brows as a joke as I pointed at the tunnel of love ride.

"Actually, that sounds fun!" Giggled Penny. "Let's go!" She said as she took my hand and we ran to the tunnel of love.

Once we got there, we paid the two people at the stand, and we got in a boat. The place looked like those tunnels of love that you'd see in cartoons. The tunnel was heart-shaped, and there were statues of iconic couples from history, like Romeo and Juliette, Aphrodite and Ares, and many more. It made me giggle a little from how funny the decorations were. They were all pink and tacky, but it made the place have a personality.

The only thing that seemed off was the "Keep your hands inside the boat" that was very big and bold. Ok then, Mr. Obvious, I'll keep my hands inside the boat.

"This was a bad idea-WOAH!" I yelled as the ride began working. At first, the tunnel looked dark, but there were animatronics there to bring the mood, but which made it actually look more hilarious than romantic.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally exited the ride. Instead of kissing or anything, we both were laughing at the decorations there.

"Thank you (Y/N)! I wouldn't have had a fun time if it wasn't for you!" Said Penny as she gave me a small peck on the lips. I blushed a little, and she began giggling.

"Oh, it's almost time when we need to go on the Cyclone like we promised to the rest of the group!" I panicked as I took my flip phone out and looked at the time. "Tag, you're it!" Laughed Penny.

"Hey!" I began laughing as I began chasing her. This day surely was the best one yet, even if we're just getting to the best part.

𝑅𝑒𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑔 >> 𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒 (𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈)

[queeniecook]

April 18 - Part 1

“We should go do something.” Liberty tells her half sister, Annalise. The vampire doctor had just finished her shift at the hospital. Back when she was human, she would have been exhausted and ready for bed. Yet still, Annalise doesn’t really want to go out. 

“Oh c’mon. We’ve never gone out and done something sisterly before!” Liberty prods her younger family member. Finally Annalise relents with a silent nod of her head. “I have just the outfit for you too.”

Annalise wonders what she’s gotten herself into as she follows Liberty upstairs to change.

Meanwhile, Lurch is doing his job. Cleaning and taking care of everything his boss needs. He wonders where Liberty is taking Annalise. Soon there’s a knock on the door, to his surprise – Liberty answers it, in true vampire neck breaking speed fashion.

“Where are you off to?” James questions his vampire bride. Now that everything is out on the open, he doesn’t have to keep his eye on his wife as much but he still prefers to know where she is. Not just due to him being a control freak, which he is. He doesn’t trust the Vatores to not to try to make Liberty simply vanish. Others may think Lilith and Caleb not capable of such an act but he thinks they are. 

“I’m taking Annalise out to a vampire club.” Liberty states simply. Lately she’s grown more and more suspicious of her husband.

“I see.” James says quietly, narrowing his eyes slightly. He takes in her outfit for the first time. He’d be lying if he wouldn’t rather they just go back to the Straud estate instead and make Vladislaus miserable with the sounds of their coupling. He knows his wife is attractive, so the idea of her going out in public dressed like that displeases him. 

“Don’t wait up for me, it’ll be a long night.” Liberty says, flashing her fangs at him. James gives her a look that one could describe as sour and walks off into the night, leaving Liberty a bit annoyed. She goes back inside and makes a few changes to her look for the night. 

Annalise had heard a lot about the vampire club located in Newcrest but never had the desire to visit it. She’s not surprised to see humans busting moves on the dance located behind her and Liberty. She just hopes they know what they’re opening themselves up to.

“What do you think?” Liberty questions the younger vampire as she watches Annalise look around.

“It’s noisy.” Annalise comments before looking at the attractive bartender. Liberty makes a small hum noise before getting up and heading to find herself a snack. She thinks it’s due time her sister find herself a distraction.

A few plasma janes later and Annalise is talking to the bartender about her love life, or lack there of. She fills him in on her ex-husband, Asa and her dry spell since him. She doesn't know why she's spilling her guts to the man, Diego, but she feels the need to get it off her chest.

Diego may be human but he knows an opportunity when he sees one. He sits down beside the beautiful vampire and chats with her while everyone else is busy dancing or doing who knows what in the bathrooms.

“He must be out of his mind to do anything to drive you away.” Diego comments, actually meaning his words. Doctor Blake is not only beautiful but successful. He has plans for the female vampire for the night, he just has to be careful on this path so he doesn’t drive her away. 

Meanwhile, Liberty has found what she seeks.

next ->

[medusasbush]

read in march 2023

articles (ones behind a paywall are linked through webpage archive):

articles

Reverse boundaries How good are we at respecting when someone else says 'no'?

"Slow Pleasure" in a Fast World

Should People Be Allowed to Like Things? Are we discoursing ourselves to death?

The Divine Delusion of Gender: On "Energy" and the TikTokification of Spirituality

Spiritual misogyny is flourishing on TikTok

How ‘Poker Face’s’ Stop-Motion Animation Episode Was Brought to Life

Are there too many sex scenes in movies?

Man Says BetterHelp Referred Him to Conversion Therapy Supporter

Who's Afraid of Mark Rothko?

When Everything Becomes an Event

Meet the Lipsdick: A Dick Shaped Lipstick

How Do We Define the Female Gaze in 2018?

Do Words Mean Anything Anymore?

It’s Been Over Two Decades Since We’ve Had a Non-White Best Actress Winner. Will That Change in 2023?

I'm Coming Clean about Friend Envy & You Should Too

A Friend Doesn't Have to be "Toxic" to be Bad for You

Does Anyone Mend Clothes Anymore?

The Moral Case Against Equity Language

Inspiration Is Everywhere. Literally: The "We're Not Really Strangers"-ification of social media.

Men Are Lonely. But Women Are Being Attacked: Male Loneliness is Not Women's Problem to Solve

Romance isn't Just for Dating

What is Romantic Friendship?

The Case of the Missing Perpetrator: On Mysterious Pregnancies, the Passive Voice, and Disappearing Men

Dingus of the Week: Women’s History Month

Friends and mentees remember Judy Heumann, mother of the disability rights movement

The Language of Place

One of Walgreens biggest stockholders commissioned Fearless Girl

Fine I'll admit it. I Like Titanic.

A Plan Forms in Mexico: Help Americans Get Abortions

Can Nostalgia Be Sinister?

The Stay-At-Home Girlfriend Phenomenon

A Conversation With Stay-At-Home Girlfriend & Content Creator Kendel Kay

The Soft Boy Brigade: Was He “Written By a Woman” or Is He Just Wearing Nail Polish?

The Scientific Reason You Love Watching Reruns

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books:

Wear, Repair, Repurpose: A Maker's Guide to Mending & Upcycling Clothes by Lily Fulop

[beautifulscreaminglady]

As promised, my thoughts on Sense and Sensibility (2024)

(Looking for what REAL people of color wore in the Regency era? Check out my Pinterest board!)

The clothes weren't as bad as I was expecting. The fabrics vary from garish prints, to heavy embroidery, to plain colors.

The main problem seems to be that they are ill fitting. The men's coats seem to add extra bulk to the actors.

The production itself has scenes that appear to be copied from both the 1995 production and the 2009 production.

Elinor's hair is styled in an ancient Greek inspired arrangement that enjoyed popularity during the Regency era. I think it is a beautiful style for Black hair. Most of the women's hairstyles are quite good.

Colonel Brandon's beard and mustache are not period accurate. He should be clean shaven. Compare to this portrait of Pierre Toussaint.

The main problem seems to be that they are ill fitting. The men's coats seem to add extra bulk to the actors.

On the other hand, the ladies bonnets appear to be too small. I thought Margaret's bonnet was weird as hell but apparently it's a real design from the late regency to early romantic period.

Marianne's boots are visible after she has her famous fall. They have a prominent heel. Regency boots for women were very flat without a heel or with a very low heel.

Margaret's shoes here are also very odd. They look almost like 16th century women's shoes.

I don't know what kind of shoes Marianne is wearing here but they look a bit clunky. This is a production where $15 plain, solid colored pleather flats from Amazon would not be out of place, if budget necessitated it.

The blue gloves are period accurate!

Costume Parisien, 1798

In an article about the movie, it was mentioned that the set dressers added real historical portraits of Black people. I noticed the famous Portrait of a Man in a Red Suit and a GIANT bust portrait of Dido Belle (cropped from the original). I also spotted some 16th or 17th century portraits of Black men that seemed vaguely familiar. Other artwork was unfortunately too hidden in shadow or out of focus for me to recognize.

There are also some other things that made this production more Black, such as the scene where Wentworth and Marianne bond over their shared interest in art and find that they both admire Phillis Wheatley's poetry.

There were some changes that raised my eyebrows. The child of Colonel Brandon's ward is his!

At the ball in London I am almost positive that Seal's Kiss From A Rose was being played by the violinists.

Final thoughts:

According to the costume designer, she had to make 68 costumes in 20 days. This is absolutely an insane demand. While some of the costumes were rented, the time crunch is quite obvious on the other costumes. People who work in film and television do not deserve to be treated like this. Hallmark has a ridiculous turnaround time for their productions, but at this point I feel like the Hallmark back catalog is big enough it can afford to make fewer but more high quality productions.

Or perhaps we can sacrifice complex, unnecessarily over the top costumes in favor of simple but pretty costumes such as the ones in Mr Malcolm's List (2022), which also notably starred people of color.

I think that people of color DESERVE beautiful costume dramas, but this is not what it could have been. The first (and currently only) Black Jane Austen adaptation in existence deserved more. I love Sense and Sensibility but this adaptation broke my heart because it lacked the richness and warmth of the 1995 and even the 2006 versions.

[jklovesfandoms]

Ik it's been a bit, but I swear on the Bachelor Man Bible, I have good reason. I am sick.

Anyways Uranium Suite/Tragic Fact choreo analysis! (Ps, I am slightly biased, I used this choreo for a movement project in my Advanced Actor's Studio class.)

First of all, Constance with that speed talking off a note card? Literally amazing and hilarious, and very realistic. I love it!

The choir snapping! Very funny, very cool. Especially bc people don't start at the same time, so it's even more realistic! Also, the realistic choir movements! Just the snapping and more rhythmic movements in the 2013 production is (imo) even more realistic than the more show choir movement of Fall Fair Suite.

Mischa sounds literally so uninterested, and I love him for that. Also A MARCHING BAND? I'm in marching band, and oh Jesus Christ on a bike, what are they doing with their hands? /lh

It's not actually a big deal, I'm just a huge marching band nerd, only a little less than I am a theater nerd, so I'm very picky. But also, there's no way that marching band sounds good. Uranium City is literally tiny, literally nothing, and they go on to complain about it! Like NO! That marching band would be microscopic. Nothing, nada. They could possibly sound good, but they'd be running on the bare minimum there.

I love the reaching out towards the side of the choir! Probably implying that Jane has a solo, and is performing with them, despite not being on stage atm. Which makes you question even more, how was she not identified? But yk, theory for another day.

I love the choir snapping out of their reach-out, bc it looks like this intense moment of realization. Like, they look so confused! It's really cool, how much emotion every single member is expressing. Also it should be noted, I love Karnak in this show, he's a funky little man with a long ass beard, and I adore him.

I love them looking at each other at the synchronized beat! Even if Noel is being left out :(

Then, every member of the choir (even if you can only see Ocean clearly) just staring out into the audience as they sing about their town going down the drain, essentially. The stillness of the actors works so well for this. You feel like it's a single moment in time that you're observing in slow motion! (Ps, this is basically where I started my movement piece, and my class literally rambled to me afterwards about how amazing the stillness hit at the beginning)

"We will never leave this town at ALL" and then the group head turn to the slow, intercrossing walk, and the hit of suddenly being stuck in that position! Literally amazing, and I love it. Mischa fr just be standing there like "yep, am stronk"

"Our folks, it seems, were too entwined, stubborn, wouldn't change their mind. Hoping bust might turn right back to boom" I love how Ocean, Mischa, and Ricky, the three people possibly most isolated from the town, due to extremely different circumstances, are the three facing the audience. Noel and Constance are staring directly at Ocean, and that's just so cool, bc they're the two who are on opposite sides of each other. Constance, Ocean's bff, and Noel, Ocean's enemy, are the two looking at her, in at least some display of concern. I think it's neat, lol.

"Crossed their fingers, prayed for luck, bowed down to this mighty buck, waiting in this godforsaken tomb" just the pure anxiety on every single members face! Really shows how they must've felt in their final moments. Constance shows the least amount of worry, but that makes a lot of sense, because of Sugar Cloud. I also love how the entire choir stops their movement at tomb. You can also hear a slight clicking in the background, which almost sounds like the track of a rollercoaster, bringing the train up to the top of a drop! I think that's also very neat.

LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE MEMBER'S MOVEMENT DURING "empty people, empty mind. Living like they're killing time, a dead-end town against a dead-end wall" IT'S SO AWESOME!!! I LOVE ALL OF THEIR MOVEMENTS, AND HOW IT REPRESENTS THEIR CHARACTERS.

Also, combining that with the very mechanical movement of "There's nothing cute and nothing sweet, this town has only one main street, let me face my boredom at the mall" which, unlike a lot of things in this musical, where I compare their mechanic movements to the rollercoaster, this is one where I don't. The choir walking here, imo, shows how repetitive life was in Uranium City. How everything felt meshed together, and that you were living the same day over and over and over again. Their next move of reaching out, and then going around in a circle continues to represent that! As well as the loop in the coaster, but that's just a constant theme in this show, lol.

Also, then Ocean leading the choir for "so what do we do to fill our day" "make plans for the getaway!" Is so important. Because literally at least 2 other people (Noel and Mischa, unless their characters changed very very drastically, since I haven't been able to find a full show of this production yet) are longing to get out of Uranium! Also Ricky, reaching for the stars as a getaway? I love that character bit.

Then the choir just complaining and lamenting about how boring, and repeating Uranium City is! How the most fun thing is the choir, and then dying (represented by "build yourself a funeral pyre, so many stimulating things to do") LIKE THAT'S IT and the movement represents that with the precision, and the quickness between movements. That's it. You're born, you sing (and maybe play bingo), you work, and then you die. That's life in Uranium City Saskatchewan Canada, so everyone wants to get out. They don't want that, even if that's exactly what they got in the end.

EVERYONE WORKS AT THE MALL! Literally everyone moves back to the coaster position using a movement that represents a job at the mall. Like, omfg. THAT'S IT. There's nothing else to do. And they continue to represent that unpassing of time with the movement. I adore it. (Off topic, I'm so tempted to make my senior quote "How can I describe my hate? It's one year till I graduate" but I probably won't)

THEM GETTING FLUNG OFF THE ROLLERCOASTER AS IT CRASHES? OMG I LOVE IT SO SO SO MUCH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA

Anyways, that's all! Hope you enjoyed :)

[izzysarchivedblogs]

@crisispider -> the proposal -> setting: 616 -> word count: 3350

Who knew that asking someone to marry them came with a long list of things to do before the actual asking?

Clint certainly hadn't known that, and he had been married in fact. That happened nine days after being Bobbi Morse, and at the time he hadn't had the heart to tell her that he couldn't hear her well because his hearing aids had gotten busted. He had been smitten with her, but there had been no proposal or wedding. Straight to marriage for the both of them and they made a few good years before the bitter ends.

So thinking about marrying Peter came with two things. First that had come up in therapy and a long talk about commitment. What it meant, why he would run away and a whole bunch of things. That had been asking if they could schedule an earlier appointment and made the whole marriage topic a two-parter with his therapist.

The second thing was that he realized he wanted to do the whole shebang, he wanted to do this right and through that thought there were some peopled he needed to talk to first. Bobbi and Mary-Jane being the top, they were the ex-wives after all. Next came Kate and Natasha, because they were his best friends and if they didn't know before everyone else, they'd be betrayed.

Actually, there's a lot that had to happen; that he had to do and he felt like he should be the one to do it. It's not him proving himself, but it was a little bit in a way. He was proving that he wanted this, that he was ready for this and doing it right maybe than thing would end up better. Clint knew that he was putting in the work, trying to do everything he could to get this right and they were living with each other after months dating.

And there's Mayday, she was something that they had already worked out. What level of involvement he would have in her life and just like when Peter was moving in, there was someone else that was considered, Mary-Jane, which is why he thought he had to consider her. Get her blessing or a heads up, that he wanted to marry Peter.

Some other universe, somewhere, she and Peter were probably supposed to still be married and. . . . . They were here now, and he hadn't gotten his luck together with Bobbi ever and he thinks she should know as well. Ex-wives, life was weird, and Peter had a baby with his.

First, he was meeting with Bobbi and to say he wasn't buzzing with too many nerves. She was probably going to be the most difficult one to talk to, next or after MJ, that would prove itself later or the next day. He was telling everyone within this week and then proposing to Peter by the end of the week. THEY WERE MEETING FOR COFFEE. He’s already got a coffee when Bobbi comes, and she’s not late but she pretends to be. ❝ You’ve got that look on your face, sport. ❞  God, this woman knew too much about him.

It makes him bristle over that, and it’s what he loved about her. ❝ C’mon, can’t just want ta’ catch up with the ex-wife for coffee? ❞ Oh, she’s doing the raised eyebrow and tight-lipped smile, and he braces the next set of words from her which come just as he does know her pretty well too. ❝ So what did you screw up? ❞ It would be pointless to ask why everyone asks that question first when it came to Clint Barton.

❝ Actually, that’s the thing. I haven’t ⸻ ❞  He hasn’t, or well when he has he has gone on and fixed it. Clint Barton has finally gotten his life together, or he keeps trying to hold this all together. ❝ I do want to catch up with ya, Bird, you’re hard to catch but ⸻ ❞

❝ You want to run away from something ⸻ ❞   There’s why they couldn’t make it work. It’s that inner part of her that picks apart him. She’s not wrong there either. In the past, he’s called her when he wanted to run away or blow up his life; even called her one day he thought about relapsing.

❝ I’m asking Peter to marry him, and I don’t know the divorce laws, but shouldn’t the ex-wife know or something? ❞ He tries not to sound that annoyed tone of voice he uses with her, the one that their therapist pointed out when they tried couple’s counseling. That catches her by surprise, and she touches to his hand.

❝ Clint, you don’t need my blessing. ❞ ⸻  ❝ Yeah, but I want it and I love him. ❞

She smiles, and then they talk. The two of them really talk about things, and she was happy for him. Teases him relentlessly, and that she does see the pictures he’s shared of him with Peter and Mayday, and she was glad that he got that. Clint worries, asks her how she’s doing and that he hopes she finds something. And she’s fine.

Ex-wife one down, and it’s went well. Telling Mary-Jane suddenly feels like it’ll be more of a challenge than Bobbi ended up being. That was because Bobbi was his ex-wife, and she cares about him. She always screws thing up caring about him. Mary-Jane was Peter’s ex-wife, and if he knows anything it’s that ex-wives and past marriages were complicated. Feelings possibly still lingering, and that’s where he knows both he and Peter had shared insecurities.

Making plans to meet with Mary-Jane involved Mayday, because it’s her two weeks with her. It feels almost like he is cheating on Peter; these past two weeks was going to because he was HIDING SOMETHING. It’s a good thing, and he’s spoiling Peter when they are home around the same time, or meeting for their meal dates. Hopefully, that’s not making him nervous that he’s being an extra goober for him.

It's just that Clint finds himself realizing how excited he was to do this. NERVOUS AS ALL HELL. Yet he was happy, and in love with Peter. ⸻ There’s MJ and Mayday, and he joins them with a smile. OH GOD, DO ALL EX-WIVES HAVE THAT LOOK?

Mary-Jane definitely knows something is up, but he smiles at her and greets Mayday first. Happy cheers of the name Bug and signing to her as he speaks with her. She’s already got so many simple signs she knows how to sign back. ❝ So I’m gonna need Mayday, just one day, cause I ⸻ well, I want to do something special with Peter, I uh, gonna propose to him, if that’s cool with you. ❞

That really sets the ball rolling and there’s a look he actually doesn’t know what it could mean. A soft ❝ Oh ❞ falling from her lips and lets her sit there to process which is where Clint’s own nerves jumps the boat of letting her process to ramble. ❝ If I’m doing that, Mayday, should be a part of that because we all are like a thing and it ⸻ ❞  A touch to his arm, than it’s down again and he’s supposed to be shutting up now.

Was it not cool? ⸻ ❝ Clint, I like you. ❞ The archer settles down for her, to talk and they talk. She asks how he was going to do this, which than he comes up with that fact that he forgot that rings were a thing, and he didn’t have one because wasn’t that kind of traditional guy-girl thing. Mary-Jane tells him a lot about Peter, some things he already knew and talks a bit about things he didn’t; mostly focuses on the past year that things were finally feeling good again with him. That she and him have been making it work, with Mayday, and that adding Clint wasn’t screwing her up.

It's safe to say that he’s gotten her blessing at least, and that he could pick up Mayday for the plans. They weren’t going to be anything too fancy out of the normal, besides Clint had asked Mary-Jane to learn one of Aunt May’s old recipes, since MJ knew May and knew her cooking. That was the biggest ask from her, because that would make the plans special and then he’d just ask. For as much of a showman bowman he was, Clint didn’t figure that fanfare would be best.

Peter liked him best when he was stripped down, when it was the three of them in their apartment being with each other. He likes him best when he was simply Clint, which was hard to be. Easiest when they were alone, and he hasn’t looked at his phone or turned on the news. That’s why he would be here, they would do this here in their own home and with a special meal. IT WOULD MATTER, NEEDED MEANING. Peter always needed the meaning.

Clint needed things to be meaningful too.

The next day of proposal prep was telling Natasha and Kate, before he’s even proposed, and this was needed for him. FOR HIMSELF. On top of that, they would both hunt and skin him if he kept this from them (not like they wouldn’t find out when they announced the engagement) however he knew he had to tell them before he even did it. So, they’d feel like they really were his best friends. He does it during a post work dinner with the both of them. They don’t seem to suspect anything unusual which supports his idea that ex-wives had some kind of superpower they gained where they knew things. That and grabbing food with Kate and Natasha were something he would normally doo.

❝ I’m proposing to Peter this week. ❞

He blurts out after Kate and Natasha are nitpicking about something, that shuts the both of them up to the conversation he hadn’t been listening to at all. THINGS WITH KATE GET EMOTIONAL. She’s proud of him, which gets him emotional, and she gets emotional. They were the Hawkeyes, and Kate’s known him at his worsts. Watched how he crashed and burned a relationship, and now Clint was in a stable relationship; and he knows that they were both thinking about how he’s gotten to be the mentor and friend, the family that Kate deserves. The whole meaningful sentiment between the two of them about being Hawkeyes and partners.

❝ So, you’re telling us because we are planning the wedding? ❞ is how Clint knows Natasha approves, that she is pleased to have been told and she’ll probably be a lot gushier with him about how proud she is of him and happy for him when Kate isn’t here. Although the idea of Natasha planning his wedding terrified him and she does know that Kate is going to be his best man. . . . which he has to have Peter say yes first.

WAIT, WHAT IF HE DOESN’T?

It was too late now, or that thought persisted until the day that he was borrowing Mayday from Mary-Jane’s, when he was getting in the kitchen and cooking one of Aunt May’s recipes. The biggest issue was getting Peter to not be home, which actually wasn’t that hard since they were both superheroes who always felt the need to be doing something. He just had to get Peter to come home around the right time, emphasize that it was date night and dinner would go cold (and he really didn’t want this dinner to go cold).

What surprises him is not only was he anxious, but he was feeling emotional too. Tearing up, and he know the food won’t taste anywhere near like how Peter’s made it but he hopes the gesture counts. He may have ordered takeout and put it in the fridge in cause this dish was awful. It was the kind that Peter seemed to like reheating more than fresh. There’s no ring or box, he had kind of forgotten about that, but he figures they would work out those details later. IF THAT WAS A THING, HE WOULD DO OR WERE SUPPOSED TO DO.

Clint’s dancing and singing, doing whatever he can do to make sure that Mayday was staying entertained with him. They play their little games, test her sign, and wait with her for Peter to come home. He talks to her, ❝ So you know, you’re here, Bug, because I love your daddy and you; and ‘cause I love your daddy so much? I wanna marry him. I think. . . . I’ve wanted that more than anything right now. Is it okay if I ask to marry him today, Bug? ❞ She seems to approve, and how he loves this kid a lot. He kisses her head and tells her more about his feelings for Peter. ❝ And I love you too, and I want us to keep being a family, that sound good to you? ❞ He figures that she did like the sound of that.

They continue to wait for Peter, WHO DOES MAKE IT HOME. He wasn’t the littlest bit of late, although he’s taking like he is. Clint’s sitting Mayday down for a moment to go greet him at the door. Taking his hand, kissing him to his cheeks and then his lips. ❝ Hey, you aren’t late. ❞

OH, THERE’S THESE BUTTERFLIES IN HIS CHEST AND STOMACH. He doesn’t know how to breath or swallow all the sudden just looking at him, and is this what it was supposed to feel like? Asking the man, he loved that he wanted to marry him, and he would hope and felt that it would mean forever. The other nervous part was when Peter sees Mayday and asks his worried questions about Mary-Jane. ❝ I asked if I could borrow her, for, uh tonight’s date night. ❞

That will definitely not make some sense to Peter, but than it would signal tonight was special. That’s the surprise, and he wants them to just sit down and have dinner. They don’t have a dining table, which he should have pulled out a card table or something. However, he hadn’t thought about that.

So, they eat at the counter, sitting on the stools and Mayday in her height chair which she was getting too big for, she’s two years old almost three. They should really have a dining table for family time like at MJ’s. Bigger place, they were still waiting to turn the top floor of the building selfishly into a penthouse sized apartment with a second- or three-bedroom apartment.

BEYOND THE POINT ⸻ PROPOSE TO YOUR BOYFRIEND. He is tapping nervously, when he sit Peter down for dinner, when he realizes what he made for him and gets a taste. ❝ I know it’s not right at all, but Mary-Jane said that, uh, Aunt May would make this for you, like this. ❞  If Peter hasn’t figured out what was going on, then well, he can’t tell if that is good or bad thing.

Clint tries to get through eating, by asking Peter about his day and then well, what was he going to do? How was he going to do this? WAS IT NOW OR WHEN? Should he get on his knees, but it just happens as Peter’s taking a few bites.

❝ So Mayday is here, cause ⸻ ❞  He’s taking Peter’s hand, grasping it tightly and he just starts to give the speech in his head. ❝ We’re a family, y’know and uh, I, well. . . . I needed her here, for, to be part of this cause she’s your word and the food. . . It’s kosher, it’s Aunt May’s. ❞  Clint never met her, would never, and he knows how much Peter tries to keep her close to him. So this was that way. His attempt to make this all special, and in a way asking Aunt May help I want to marry your nephew.

❝ You gave me a chance to repair our friendship, and then well, I fell in love with you, Peter and you’ve been ⸻ you and Mayday have been the best parts of my life since we got together. ❞

Clint squeezes Peter’s hand tight, and he has a lot of the things that he could say. He wants to say, and he will tell him because he loves him so much. And he wants this, he has never done a proposal and he wanted to make Peter to feel how much he loves him. He needs him to believe how much he wants him and Mayday in his life, that he doesn’t want to just be dating. Clint wants marriage with him, a second marriage, to try with him.

❝ You and Bug make life so much better and I want to keep you around forever, and uh, make sure you know how much you mean to me and I ⸻ ❞   OKAY. A LITLTE PANIC. Was he saying all the right words at all? He feels like his careful thought-out speech was tossed out of the door, out the window and landed on the pavement.

He wants this to be special and good; what if it was too much or too less? What if Clint bringing up Aunt May wasn’t the right move and it made Peter too sad to handle this? For the past month he had thought, felt certain, that Peter would want to get married again. Or what if bringing Mayday was weird? He doesn’t even have a dining table; they sit on stools side by side and that didn’t make a romantic atmosphere.

He could do better at the romantics, he has done that before with the heart shaped hot tub and rose petals, along with a cabin getaway. This was their apartment, with a special meal poorly cooked by Clint inspired by Peter’s dead aunt, with his child had with his ex-wife in the room. HE DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A RING.

For a moment, he was panicking. Brain and mouth stalling, and the butterflies feel frenzied because he realizes that he hadn’t thought how asking the question, how saying the words would get caught in his throat. Are his eyes burning, he feels like he might tear up? OH GOD, IF PETER CRIES ⸻ He could handle that, he knows that he could handle that. His spider-dork cries at moves and it makes his heart squeeze, his chest going all warm and fuzzy and he has to hold him. Hug him, kiss him when he cries; but what would he do if they both cried over this?

He just has to say the words, Clint wants to ask the question. He looks up at into his eyes, those browns that ground him and oh, he loves him. Clint’s glad he never gave up, because their relationship he’s been proud of. They didn’t always handle things the best, because Clint’s never been perfect but the both of them were trying. They were disasters together and then they made things work with each other.

Clint’s been putting in the work, and Peter’s trying. They’ve gotten over the bumps and hurdles. THEY WERE MAKING IT WORK. Now he wanted marriage, and he hoped that Peter did to. Not just marriage, to be married to him and have a wedding, let the people in their lives see how happy he was with Peter. How he claimed his life back from himself, and how just in love he was with this dork in front of him right now. Mayday makes a cooing sound, because he’s stalling and she’s calling him out. Clint got choked up, but now he has to ask, ❝ Peter, will you marry me? I want to marry you, have a wedding, do ⸻ be a husband again ⸻ marry me, will you marry me? ❞