#and my name has the (they/them/their) pronoun set next to it

[floweringpopcat]

coming to the conclusion that people in my speech class are either transphobic or wary of the speech i chose and i'm leaning towards the former

[igbylicious]

knockout [woosan x reader]

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, boxer au, friends with benefits

summary: Wooyoung invites you over to play after San wins his latest match.

wc: 3.9k

warnings: boxer San, manager Wooyoung, threesome, consensual somnophilia (San is the one asleep), blow job, hand job, spit kink, face-sitting, cunnilingus, face-fucking, choking on cock, cumplay (eating and sharing), dirty talk, San has bruises, they use the pet names ‘baby’ and ‘good girl’ for you but no pronouns, reader wears a dress, established Woosan, San is whiny while he sleeps but gets cocky when awake, Wooyoung is a mischievous lil’ shit (affectionate) the whole way through

a/n: my first ateez fic! please consider a like/reblog if you like it (❁´◡`❁)

-☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧-

Your phone buzzes late at night, and you already know who it is before looking. You tear yourself away from the TV and check your messages, where you find a selfie from Wooyoung.

His hair is getting longer, pushed back with sunglasses resting on top of his head. (Even though it’s already dark out. Poser.) He wears a black-and-white shirt with a busy pattern and just one button too many undone, a heavy silver necklace around his neck. But all of that is just a sideshow to the main point of the selfie; Wooyoung is winking cheekily at the camera, holding up a big wad of cash. San won the match.

does this mean takeout is on you guys next time? you text him. After a brief pause you add, also congratulations i guess

(But the dismissive tone is just for show, riling each other up a natural part of your relationship with Wooyoung. You’re smiling as you press send, knowing how much a win means to him and San, how hard they work for it.)

Your phone buzzes again. you should come over

for takeout?

idk about takeout but there’s definitely a meal in it for you 😏😜😘🍆💦

You can’t decide whether to grin or roll your eyes at the message and its string of emojis at the end, but you do send Wooyoung an affirmative text back. Your face decides on a grin as you put your phone down, a spark of excitement coursing through you. Guess you’re going out tonight after all.

This thing between you and San and Wooyoung has been going on long enough that usually you don’t even bother dressing up for them anymore, but hey, it’s a special occasion, right? So you slip on some lacy panties and wiggle into a cute dress, and do a quick check in the mirror to make sure you’re looking at least halfway decent. (Not too much fuss. Wooyoung did text you in the middle of the night.)

Just before you go, your phone buzzes one last time; Wooyoung warns you to send a text once you get to the apartment, not ring the door. At first you do not give it too much thought; they do live in a crappy old place, might just be that the doorbell is broken.

But then the added photo loads, and you see San is conked out on the couch, sitting with spread legs and his head lolled back, mouth slightly hanging open. Apparently he hasn’t even changed clothes since the match, wearing a dirty white tank top and a smattering of bruises across his tanned skin. His dark hair is a mess, pretty lips set in a natural pout while he sleeps.

Immediately, a fresh buzz of excitement surges through you. There is a whole new layer of thrill to this invitation now.

After driving over, you send Wooyoung a text that you’ve arrived. He opens the door for you with a bright grin, and puts a quick finger to his lips to indicate you have to be quiet. His sunglasses have disappeared somewhere between making a selfie and your arrival, saving him a roasting from you. He gives your dress an appreciative once-over, and casually kisses your cheek as he lets you in, resting his hand on the small of your back. His good mood is incredibly obvious, fingers brushing against the top of your ass.

You slip off your shoes and step further into the apartment. The place is a bit messy as always, furnished with a combo of thrift-shop finds, stuff they won off bets, and random things donated by friends. (Even their old van is a hand-me-down, though you have no idea where they got it from.)

The result is a home that’s chaotic, but friendly. Shelves piled with keepsakes, stories attached to everything they own. And for all the messiness, at least they do keep it somewhat clean.

There is a desk in the corner, with a few neat piles of paper money on top. Clearly Wooyoung was in the middle of counting — and accounting, his books laying open with a pen next to them. Despite all his antics, Wooyoung is actually pretty responsible with money. He knows that he needs to be, never sure when they’ll get their next win. (You suspect they run a few less-than-legal stints on the side, but neither seems too keen on making that their main gig.)

And then there is San, sitting on their old couch. Still fast asleep.

“Look how tired,” Wooyoung murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “He worked so hard today, I thought we should reward him. How about it, hm? Don’t you think he deserves a prize for taking home the victory?”

You lick your lips, a sharp craving growing in the pit of your stomach at the sight of San’s soft, sleeping face. As far as you are concerned, you are the one getting a prize here. It’s been a long time since you last had the chance to indulge in this particular kink; it can be tricky to coordinate when you don’t actually live in the same house.

And San makes such pretty noises when he’s asleep.

Wooyoung grins at the expression on your face. “Good girl,” he whispers indulgently, pressing one last kiss on your cheek before he playfully slaps your ass, pushing you towards the couch.

You glare back at him, even if the slap sent a crackle of pleasure through you. Just out of principle, to let Wooyoung know he can’t get away with everything. (He can absolutely get away with everything.)

But then you shift your focus to San, getting on your knees in front of him as quietly as possible. He usually is a deep sleeper but still, you are not about to risk waking him too early. You do take a moment to just look at him; to take in the way his broad chest moves with slow, even breaths.

The hard, battered muscles of his body are completely relaxed now, arms laying uselessly on the couch. There are marks on his knuckles, and it’s odd to think he was using those same fists to beat someone up, all for a cash prize, just a mere few hours ago. He looks so soft now. Not for the first time, you marvel at how handsome he is, the sharp cut of his jawline, pronounced cheekbones and pouty lips. So damn gorgeous, even with bruises marring his face, a particularly nasty one on the corner of his mouth. You want to kiss it, but you tuck that thought away for later.

San’s legs are already conveniently spread for you to shuffle close; could be a happy coincidence, could be that San was expecting this. Expecting you.

(This was a conversation you had long ago, where he’d given you a free pass to ‘wake’ him if an opportunity presented itself. It is entirely possible that he and Wooyoung discussed this before contacting you, and something about the idea of San falling asleep while thinking of your mouth on his dick makes you squirm in the best way.)

You press a hand against the front of his sweats, feeling the outline of his cock. You squeeze it with a light touch, give the impressive length a gentle stroke, and delight at the little “Hmm” that San sighs out.

Encouraged by the sound, you pull down the waistband of San’s sweats just enough so you can take his cock out, heavy in your hand. Still soft, though he gives a beautiful twitch when your thumb runs across a vein across the underside.

Your eyes glance up when Wooyoung sits down, just as carefully as you had been. He is slouched next to San with an arm slung across the back of the couch, fingers ghosting against San’s hair but never touching, while he raises his other hand to bite at his thumb. Uncharacteristically quiet, watching with rapt attention.

Heat pools between your thighs, you love being on display for him, teasing a sleeping San. You’re keenly aware of how your dress has ridden up, your ass sticking out, your neckline low enough for an ample view of your cleavage — though you’re sure it’s your hand that has Wooyoung’s full attention right now, wrapped around his lover’s slowly hardening dick.

You gather saliva in your mouth, then let it dribble down on your fingers and San’s cock. He moans, shifting slightly, lips parting a little wider as you take advantage of the easier slide of your palm. The sound goes right to your core; San’s moans are just a bit shallower when he is asleep, a bit more high-pitched. More needy.

More noises start to slip from his lips as you slowly stroke the length of his thick cock, thumb playing against his slit. Sometimes his hips shift to follow your movement, but he does not wake, his conscious mind unaware of your fist working him to full hardness.

San is getting beautifully flushed, a redness blooming across his cheeks and neck as he lets out a faint whimper, brow furrowed. It is always a fun game, to see how far you can take him before he wakes up — before you are treated to that toe-curling moment of aroused disorientation on San’s face, that split-second where he can’t quite figure out why he is so fucking horny until he sees you, nested between his thighs, and a sleepy yet cocky grin breaks out on his face.

But it’s not come so far yet; San is still under the hold of his tired slumber. His breath hitches as your fist twists around the head of his cock, almost like a little hiccup, precum mingling with your spit. You know you can’t hold off your impatience for much longer.

Wooyoung is still staring, though his eyes wander between San’s cock and the wiggle of your ass, his cheeky tongue dipping out to wet his lips. His gaze is heated, intense, and the slight asymmetry of his eyelids makes his stare only more attractive and striking, dotted by the little mole under his eye. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth as he watches, but grins when he catches you watching him in turn. He leans forward, elbow on his knees, and beckons for you to offer your hand.

You do so, and watch how Wooyoung decadently works his mouth and lets a thick globule of spit fall past his lips, onto your waiting palm. His grin widens when you moan weakly as his saliva mingles with yours, with San’s precum, and generously gives you more until your hand is messy and slick. Finally satisfied, Wooyoung leans back with a flirty wink.

You make good use of Wooyoung’s ‘contribution’, pumping San just a little faster now. His noises start to pick up, face contorted with unaware pleasure as a small trail of drool escapes the corner of his mouth. It won’t be long now before he wakes. Honestly, you are surprised it has lasted this long at all; San’s fight must have been particularly strenuous tonight.

Just when you contemplate whether it’s time to get your tongue involved, Wooyoung suddenly gets up from the couch.

You try not to get distracted by him moving around behind you, keeping your focus on San, but then you feel a little tap against your ass. You turn your head to see him lying on his back, head between your feet with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Lift your ass up, he mouths and gestures simultaneously.

You do exactly that, allowing Wooyoung to slide under you with his hands on your waist, his face right underneath the flimsy scrap of lace that covers your dripping core, barely worth the name ‘underwear’. “Seriously?” you whisper, though even just the sight of him, raised eyebrow and ready to eat you out, has more arousal leaking into your panties.

“Hey, San isn’t the only one who worked hard for this match,” Wooyoung whispers quietly, wetting his lips. “Don’t I deserve a reward, too?”

Well… If Wooyoung’s idea of a reward is to have you ride his face, then who are you to deny him? You really keep getting the better deal out of their hard-earned victory. Still, you roll your eyes at him, just to let him know how ridiculous you think he’s being, though the increasingly damp spot on your underwear tells Wooyoung all he needs to know.

He lets out a pleased, dark chuckle as you lower yourself down, his hands gripping tighter onto your waist as he positions you for the best angle. He does not even bother to pull the scrap of lace aside, happily eating you out through it.

San whines when your fingers squeeze around him, liquid oozing from the tip, his hips stuttering lightly before he settles back down. His cock is flushed dark, pulsing in your hand, but it is hard to focus on him right now. A lazy hand continues to stroke him while you struggle to focus on anything but Wooyoung’s muffled moans against your sopping heat.

You bite your lip to keep silent, hips moving on their own accord as Wooyoung’s nose presses against your clit, his mouth undeterred by the obstruction of lace as he makes a sloppy mess of your cunt, eagerly lapping away.

Wooyoung is rarely this quiet, but today he foregoes his usual dirty talk and running commentary to direct his full attention on reducing you to a mindless mess. He is a fiend with his mouth either way, thick swipes of his tongue and grazing teeth, mouth suckling at you through the now-ruined lace.

It takes all your self-control to stay on task, to not get distracted by the sound of a zipper, and soon after the wet noise of Wooyoung jerking himself off, still moaning against your leaking cunt. You shake yourself out of it, wrapping your lips around just the head of San’s cock, licking at the steady stream of precum while you use both hands to work his length. He twitches in your mouth, and for a moment you wonder if he’s going to cum without even waking up at all.

But then Wooyoung uses his nose to nudge your panties aside and sucks directly at your clit, and you moan loudly around San’s cock at the sudden stimuli.

San starts awake at the vibration, his hips reflexively jerking forward. You happily meet his thrust to gag on him, making San hiss a throttled curse. “F-fuck, what’s-ahhh—”

His hand flies to your hair, instinctively holding you in place. Your eyes tear up as he hits the back of your throat and stays there, but you can still glance upward to look at him — and he’s a fucking sight to behold. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, his mouth slack and panting hard for breath as he tries to get his bearings. Eyes landing on you, his cock twitching as understanding dawns. The moment is every bit as beautiful as you had imagined.

“Look who it is, Sannie,” Wooyoung grins when he notices San is awake, taking a break from tongue-fucking you. “Came over just to congratulate you. Ain’t that sweet?”

“Fuck,” San chokes out, his voice gravelly from sleep. He hisses sharply when you hollow your cheeks and give a light suck, drawing a low groan. Slowly, the sleep retreats from his eyes and is replaced by a dark alertness, though his face is still flushed, his body tired.

Lazily, he lets you continue doing what you do, only stroking your hair in encouragement as he releases you, letting you return to shallower bobs of your head. “Fuck, baby, just like that,” he groans, biting his lip. Once again, your attention is drawn to the bruise on the corner of his mouth, aching to be kissed — but your own mouth is preoccupied. Later, you promise yourself. There will be time for that later.

As expected, San’s moans are a little deeper now he is awake, slowly rocking his hips as he watches you take him further with every pass of your mouth. You wonder if he’s even aware of the difference in his sounds, or if that’s just a little secret for you and Wooyoung to know.

Speaking of Wooyoung — now that he doesn’t have to keep quiet for San, he gets talkative again. “Use me, baby,” he groans, his fingers digging into your ass. “Come on, ride me a little harder. Don’t be shy. Smear that wet pussy all over my face.”

You don’t need to be told twice, enthusiastically granting Wooyoung’s request. He moans happily as you fuck yourself on his tongue, any further words muffled between your thighs. You’d worry about whether Wooyoung can even breathe, except he has a death-grip on your hips and refuses to let you slow down. His nose repeatedly bumps into your clit, sending sparks through you every time, your moans reverberating around San.

San grunts at the feeling, voice husky and low. But as attractive as the sound is… some part of you wants to hear his whimper again. Just to see if you can make him do it.

Well. There are a few sure-fire ways you know to push San to the very limit and beyond — and one of them is immediately available to you.

He was already pushing deep inside your mouth, but you do your best to relax your throat and surge forward, your nose brushing his pelvis as you choke yourself on his cock, then pull back to do it again. And again. A lewd, wet gurgle filling the room every time, your throat constricting as you strain around his thick shaft, tears burning in your eyes.

San groans at your renewed efforts, a greed shining in his sharp eyes when he realises what you’re doing, what you are asking him to do. His fingers scrape your scalp as they embed tighter around the strands of hair. Recognising the unspoken invitation to fuck your mouth as hard as he wants.

“That’s it,” he growls, “you know how I like it. Choke on my cock, hm? I’ll stuff you until you can’t breathe.”

You can barely breathe already; it’s hard to pull in air through your nose like this, with San steadily rocking his hips forward. You go slack in his hold, just letting him use you to his liking, trying to curl your tongue around the underside of his cock in the way you know drives him up the wall.

Wooyoung makes a noise when you slump down on his face, and you try to catch yourself but he won’t have it, only sucking more eagerly onto your clit as he grabs onto your thighs to keep you in place. You moan loudly, and San curses in response, his breath getting pitchy.

It’s working, you realise. It’s not as much as when he is asleep, but slowly a whiny lilt creeps into San’s voice as he uses your throat, his face contorted with pained pleasure.

Your head starts to spin, the barrage of sensations threatening to overwhelm you. Slick sounds and deep moans, a heady scent of arousal permeating the air. San’s cock obstructing your breath, his little whines; Wooyoung’s tongue nimbly flicking against your clit, his hands squeezing at the soft meat of your thighs. You’re tilting, slowly but surely, right over the edge when Wooyoung sucks harshly, exactly when San whimpers.

It hits you like a freight train, the violent force of it enough to have you sobbing around San’s cock. You tremble and shake as electricity surges through you, only held up by San and Wooyoung’s hold on you.

Your garbled cries take San over the edge with you, though he still has enough restraint to pull back slightly, no longer nudging against your gag reflex. He shudders with a tight hiss, clumsy fingers catching in your hair as he spills hot seed inside your mouth.

You almost choke again; it’s messy, and there is a lot, leaving you to wonder if San has been abstaining before the match. Lately you certainly haven’t done more with them than casual texts or hangouts, but can make no assumptions about what he and Wooyoung get up to when you’re not around.

You try your best not to swallow it down — and not spill a single drop, either. At the latter, you don’t succeed entirely, a thin wet trail dribbling down your lips when San pulls out and slumps back onto the couch with a final, loud groan. But when Wooyoung gets out from underneath to sit next to you, and pushes a thumb on your bottom lip to show him, you can proudly stick out your tongue to him, sticky whiteness on display.

“Good girl,” Wooyoung purrs, fondly cupping your cheek. “Don’t even need me to tell you anymore, huh? So well-behaved for us.”

You moan contently at the praise, and again when Wooyoung eagerly puts his lips on you, sloppily lapping up San’s cum from your chin, your lips, until his tongue invades your mouth for a proper meal. You can taste yourself on him while Wooyoung tastes San, who is watching it all with a small, cocky grin, teeth flashing at you.

Wooyoung lets out a needy moan as he drinks deep, his tongue sliding against yours in a heady dance. He grabs for your hand, guiding you down to his still-hard cock, hot and weeping precum. Your fingers are still messy and slick, making it easy for you to jerk him off while he continues to hungrily kiss you, licking up every last drop he can reach.

It’s less of a challenge to make Wooyoung whimper, but the sound is no less exciting for it, his high-pitched moans like music to your ears. He cums messily in your hand, some spilling onto your dress. With a final bite to your bottom lip, he pulls away from your mouth, eyes heavy-lidded and looking thoroughly fucked out, lips swollen and shiny from the essences of both you and San. You grin at him, lifting your hand to suck his cum off your fingers.

Only then do you turn to San, who is indulging himself with slow strokes on his cock while he still watches you and Wooyoung intently.

“Congratulations on the match,” you say casually, cum-stained fingers lingering on your lips.

San’s grin returns to his face and he grabs your hand to pull you into his lap…where you finally get to kiss that bruise on the corner of his mouth. He winces as you press up to him, and you can hear Wooyoung grouse next to you.

“Be careful with him, alright? That’s my meal ticket you got there,” he complains, dusting himself off as he gets back on his feet.

But San wraps his arms around you, keeping you captive. “You don’t have to be that careful,” he murmurs against your mouth, his hands firmly planted on your ass as he grinds you against his crotch. The night is not over quite yet.

-☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧☆✧-

An indeterminate time and a thorough shower later, you are sitting snugly between San and Wooyoung on their shabby old couch. They graciously borrowed you some clothes, leaving you cosily wrapped in a pair of San’s sweats and one of Wooyoung’s oversized hoodies. In your hands you have freshly delivered takeout, enjoying a hot meal together with the guys.

Their treat, of course.

[bumblesimagines]

Curiosities

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

Summary: King Aegon keeps his word and uses his power as the king to get what he desires. His decision flips (Y/N)'s world on its axis.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mild slutshaming, implied homophobia (the Faith), mentions of child exploitation/abuse, mentions/implications of sexual and physical abuse toward sex workers, mentions of child/teen-adult relationships, takes place in S2 and while it doesn't follow the latest episodes as of currently beware of spoilers

These warnings keep getting longer and longer 😮‍💨

Divider from @targaryen-dynasty!

~~~

The members of the Small Council rose to their feet when Aegon strode into the room; uneasy glances and frowns being exchanged when they took in the skip in his step and the wide smile dangling from his lips. He had something in mind, something that most certainly wouldn't do them any good if it came from Aegon Targaryen of all people. 

"Good morrow," Aegon greeted them, setting his hands over the armrests of his chair and settling down comfortably at the end of the table. The council members tentatively sat down, dipping their heads in greeting and exchanging more glances. He raised his hand when Lord Jasper went to speak, effectively silencing the man. "Before we begin, I'd like to bring up the subject of taking an official paramour. These last few days have been... hard, to say the least, but I believe my pain has been soothed."

"Your Grace," Alicent began, her eyes fluttering shut in exasperation and chest falling with a heavy sigh. "I believe it's far too soon to be taking a mistress, much less the proper time with war brewing on the horizon. You are without an heir for the moment, so I understand the desire to-" 

"This is hardly about heirs or children, Mother." Aegon cut in swiftly, his back pressing against the chair and jaw ticking with a smidge of annoyance. "I want this. I will have this, one way or another. I am merely... informing you all." 

Clearing his throat, Maester Orwyle regarded his king with a small smile. "Perhaps knowing the name of your lover will soothe worries, Your Grace. Does she reside in the Red Keep? What house is she from? We certainly wouldn't want to bring any offense to her family during this time. Many fathers are oft' protective of their daughters and would find it insulting for one to become a mere mistress." 

"You're in luck then," Aegon grinned widely, his thumb rubbing against one of the many rings adorning his fingers. He took in the perplexed and curious looks on each of their faces, savoring their undivided attention. He swiped his tongue over his lips and reached forward toward his goblet, tilting it toward the cupbearer and listening to the heavenly sound of wine being poured. "For my lover and future paramour does not come from any noble family." He couldn't help but giggle, taking a sip from his wine. "He comes from the Street of Silk." 

Silence followed his revelation, each of the council members staring at him in complete and utter shock. His mother moved first, her folded hands unlacing so she could rub the bridge of her nose. Her eyes squeezed shut, lips rolling into her mouth to prevent any unsavory words from spilling out. Lord Jasper reached for his goblet next, drinking every last drink in it and motioning for some more while Maester Orwyle and Lord Tyland blinked at him in astonishment. 

"Y-Your Grace," Maester Orwyle stuttered, "The Faith of the Seven views the act of-"

"The Faith views incest, bastardy, and prostitution sins as well, Grand Maester. Yet many of the men sitting at this very table are guilty of at least one of these things. Besides, I am of Targaryen blood and I am the King of Westeros, am I not? My grandsire King Jaehaerys put a law in place exempting those with Valryian blood from being judged, did he not?"

Aegon's smile shifted from genuine into a more daring one, his eyes burning into those of Maester Orwyle and any other council members who felt bold enough to look in his direction. "My word is law."

Alicent's eyes fluttered open and she leaned back in her chair, casting a glance at the rest of the council members. "Think of what you are asking-"

"I've made my decision, Mother." Aegon interrupted once more, smirking at the way she clenched her jaw, and turned his head to study his newest Hand, Ser Criston. The knight straightened up, ever so loyal, and Aegon smiled brightly. Finally, someone who wouldn't object. "I have some orders for you, Ser Criston."

Digging his teeth into the warm loaf of bread he'd been given, (Y/N) walked along the gravelly, muddy road in the direction of the Street of Silk. His breakfast had been a gift from a patron who frequented the brothel, one of the few good things of working where he did. Lavish gifts were expected from nobles who could afford whatever they desired, though they more often than not merely dressed their favorite workers up like little dolls.

The smallfolk could hardly compare but they provided the more necessary gifts; food, drinks, materials. It hardly had anything to do with genuine love or care, and more so the simple desire of holding the gift over his head, but (Y/N) would never be in a position to ignore free food.

Madam Sylvi had long stopped providing him with anything other than a place to bathe and sleep, claiming he was no longer a babe and had to provide for himself just as the rest of the smallfolk. She was a good madam, better than most brothel owners, and she tried to take care of all the women and men she took under her wing, but she couldn't be everywhere at once; and she couldn't kick out every patron that grew bolder or more sadistic. 

His eyes dragged away from the light gray clouds rolling overhead as he stepped into the Street of Silk, the sound of pleasure and music filling his ears from brothels accepting patrons. Eager men bustled up and down the street, jeering at those lingering by their respective brothels in hopes of enticing one to come inside. But still, things seemed more oddly quiet than usual, (Y/N) noted, and he soon realized why when he noticed the elegant carriage waiting outside of Madam Sylvi's brothel. 

Ripping the bread in his hand apart, he tossed one piece toward the child sitting in an alleyway, his ribs visibly showing throw his thin layer of dirty, ripped clothes. The child sprang to his feet and dug eagerly into the bread, his eyes lighting up with newfound life.

As (Y/N) shoved the rest of his bread into his mouth and quickened his step, he hoped one act of kindness would spare him later. He swallowed down the food, throat itching for water, and stopped by the large double doors where a fellow brothel worker stood by.

His lips parted to question her on the carriage but he winced when he noticed the darkening bruise on her cheek, staring near the corner of her lip and ending near her eye. Hardly seemed like an accident. Alise brushed her fingers over the purple skin, her dark eyes slightly watering and her nose scrunching up in pain.

"Was it Felir again?" He asked instead with a gentle sigh, taking a step toward her and sweeping back some of her blonde hair. 

"Always is." She responded with a sigh of her own, dropping her hand down toward her chest where her dress plunged enough to show most of her cleavage, finger hooking to drag it down even further. "He pays too well to be thrown out, though. I hear he's grown tired of his new wife now that she's grown heavy with child. I'm certain we'll be seeing him around more often when the babe comes."

"I'm sorry."

"You mustn't be." Alise dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Be thankful he has no interest in boys, otherwise he'd do a whole lot more than what the Targaryen's done to your neck." She reached out to push back the hood of his cloak and dragged her fingertips over the markings on his throat, an amused grin forming on her face until she winced and touched her cheek again. 

"You should rest." (Y/N) told her, giving her arm a delicate squeeze before he pushed open one of the large wooden doors leading into the brothel. The air still reeked of smoke, sweat, and drinks despite the open window but most of the brothel had been cleaned up and ready for another round of patrons. He and the others would be given a chance to rest and eat, although when he spotted the two men in their shining silver armor and long white cloaks, he suspected his day wouldn't be the same as the rest.

The Sworn Brotherhood - better known as Kingsguards - were sworn to never own land, take a wife, or father children so they could fully focus on their duty of protecting the king and the royal family. Of course, they were still men, and despite the sworn promise to remain as pure as fresh snow, most of them were regulars at brothels; but they never sought workers out in their uniforms, much less in broad daylight. It'd be asking for swift punishment.

"Here he is, the man you seek." Madam Sylvi announced with a smile full of feigned joy that only made his stomach drop. She rose from her chair swiftly, the long skirt of her dress swishing with her movements, and she hurried over to him, her arms sliding around his shoulders and head dropping to whisper in his ear. "The King has asked for you, sweet boy. I do not know why but you must mind your step and tread lightly." Her nails dug through the fabric covering his arms. 

Aegon.

"The King has ordered your swift removal from this.. establishment so that you may settle into your new apartments in Maegor's Holdfast as his new paramour. He asks that you only take belongings of sentimental value so we may escort you to your new home as quickly as possible. He's asked of us to assure you no harm or insult will come to you for as long as he reigns." One Kingsguard spoke, his voice largely devoid of emotion and stance rigid with alert, but he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He seemed nervous, perhaps flustered. At least he attempted to appear like a Kingsguard whereas his companion blatantly ogled one of the girls until subtly elbowed.

(Y/N) looked between the two men, his fingers curling around the skirt of Madam Sylvi's dress. It'd been years since he'd last clutched to her like a child, but he felt tremendously small under the unnerving stares from the two knights. "Sylvi," He exhaled, tearing his eyes away from the knights to look at her soft features. 

"Perhaps it will be temporary, until the anxieties and worries of war pass." She soothed softly but the subtle tremble of her voice gave away her real thoughts. Paramours could be replaced, they often were, but hardly any noble - much less a king - had ever so publicly announced their new lover. "Go collect your things, (Y/N). We mustn't make King Aegon wait." 

Madam Sylvi ushered him up the stairs toward the rooms on the second floor where workers without homes to return to slept. His legs moved automatically toward his room at the end of the hall, or rather... his old room.

The idea hadn't settled in fully, not yet. He'd called the brothel home for far too many years. He'd been born in one of the many rooms he walked past; he'd raced up and down the halls whilst playing games; he'd been bathed and clothed and doted on by many in the very place he now had to leave. 

"(Y/N)!" A squeaky voice called out, soft footsteps thumping after him. (Y/N) stopped by the door into his old room, hand hovering over the doorknob and head tilting to peer down at the girl rushing toward him. Lyla collided with his leg, her arms wrapping around it and her chin resting over his hip as she looked up at him with glittering blue eyes. "Are you leaving?" 

"Afraid so, Ly." (Y/N) answered, opening the door and stepping inside the familiar room. The girl of only thirteen followed him inside, her lips forming a pout. He still remembered when her first flowering had occurred, a sign she'd become a lady. Her maidenhood had been up for auction the following month and a stout fisherman had managed to be the highest bidder. (Y/N) had been the one to clean the blood from her legs and ensure she drank moon tea. 

With a heavy exhale, (Y/N) looked over his rather plain room. He'd never given it any thought to decorate it with things from around King's Landing, for many of his fellow workers had sticky fingers and an eye for beautiful things. His bed was big enough to fit his body and his blanket thick enough to keep him warm throughout winter. There were a few potted plants around the room, something he added for some color and life. Otherwise, everything would merely be wood-toned.

"Will you visit?" Lyla asked, seating herself in the middle of his bed and tugging at the ends of her dress as she crossed her legs. Her eyes followed him as he sorted through his clothes and belongings in search of anything he'd miss, only to conclude the single item he considered valuable was the bracelet wrapped around his wrist; a simple gift from Madam Sylvi but one he held dearly. 

"I... am not sure, Ly. I will try to, if... if they allow me." (Y/N) responded, kneeling down by his bed and blindly searching until his hand bumped into the small wooden box he kept. He slipped his fingers around it and rose back up to take a seat beside the young girl, lifting the lid to reveal the glittering jewelry hidden within. Lyla gasped softly and shuffled closer. 

"They're pretty!" 

"Gifts from countless men and women, noble and smallfolk alike. I have collected and hidden them throughout the years for they are of little use to me. But, now that I am leaving... I believe you should have them. Take a few for yourself, Ly, but hide them where no other will find them. You must tell Madam Sylvi that you wish to exchange the rest for coin. It should be enough for your aunt to pay her debts and you'll never have to come here for work again." (Y/N) instructed her, digging through the jewelry until he found a thin silver necklace and clipped it around her neck.

"Truly?" Lyla asked quietly, her eyes shimmering with tears. Her fingers glided along the necklace until they curled around it, squeezing it tight in her smaller hand. 

"Truly." (Y/N) nodded, setting the box on her lap and planting a kiss on her temple. His fingers brushed back some of her black curls, a bittersweet feeling bubbling in his chest at the tears that spilled down her round cheeks. An orphaned child so desperate to remain with the last of her family that she'd shown up on their doorstep asking for a job, first as a mere servant and then into something more horrid. 

With Lyla's future looking brighter than his, he stood from his bed and took one last look at his room before venturing out into the hall and down to the first floor. The knights awaited him by the doors, the younger one of the two once again distracted by those coming and going. The one who'd addressed him straightened up at the sight of him, his gaze dropping down to (Y/N)'s empty hands and the lack of luggage. 

"I have... little of value."

"Very well." The knight cleared his throat. "We must depart for the Red Keep, then."

(Y/N) had never been in a carriage before, and he had to admit it was an odd feeling. Many of the roads leading back toward the Red Keep were bumpy and far from easy to travel. He found himself holding onto the cushioned seat beneath him as his body lurched and swayed with the bumps and light shaking of the carriage, his fingers digging into the soft fabric in a vain attempt at stabilizing himself. How lords and ladies could withstand such dizzying rides was beyond him. 

When the carriage finally rolled to a smooth stop and the door on the side opened, the extent of the situation finally dawned on him. He'd never been to the Red Keep; Seven Hells, the only time he'd even stepped on the road leading up to the castle had been on his way to Fishmonger's Square.

But there he sat, in the main outer yard with the loud groaning of the main gate sliding closed behind him. He forced himself to step out of the carriage and out into the yard, the sight of servants, knights, and courtiers greeting him. 

"This way, my..." The knight trailed off and exchanged a wide-eyed look with his companion. (Y/N) was no courtier, no page or ward, no lordling with lands and titles. He was merely... a prostitute; a whore as patrons loved to call him and his friends. Everyone around them seemingly came to the same conclusion, their stares becoming scrutinizing or pitiful. 

"(Y/N)," He said quietly, tugging his cloak further over his shoulders, suddenly feeling extremely aware of how plain his clothes seemed in comparison to the courtiers lingering around. He prayed the hood covered his neck from prying eyes. "Call me (Y/N), Ser." 

The knight nodded, his helmet slipping further down his head with his movements. It seemed the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had chosen... a questionable lot for the job. (Y/N) dug his teeth into the tip of his tongue and lowered his head, an action that'd become second nature to him whenever he left the brothel, for drawing attention to yourself in the city was asking to be robbed or killed. It hardly helped him inside the castle, however. Those they walked by stared and whispered amongst themselves, blatantly motioning in his direction while doing so.

(Y/N) saw the look in their eyes, the way they turned their noses up and scoffed as if his mere presence brought a stain to the castle. Nobles believed themselves to be better than those who worked to provide everything they required, and it was that sense of ego that often made them the best customers; for a simple stroke of their ego had them spilling more coin than they could count. Most of them were fools, even with the high education they received, (Y/N) knew this well. Appearing timid and meek did people little favors in Flea Bottom, even less so among the nobility. 

Madam Sylvi had been right. He had to tread lightly. 

After a long walk through many hallways and staircases, the knights finally stopped before two large oak doors and simultaneously pushed them open to reveal the bedchambers within. "Your apartments... (Y/N)." One spoke rather awkwardly, vaguely motioning with his hand for him to enter. (Y/N) stepped into the room and stopped, blinking at the size alone. 

His... 'apartments' were even larger than the brothel if the two floors combined into one. On the far right end elevated by a small platform sat a luxurious-looking bed large enough to fit at the very least five people with a wooden canopy holding sheer curtains at the sides. Near the bed sat a desk with blank papers and a quill ready to be used alongside beautifully carved wooden chests for storage whilst on the opposite side stood a large closet.

In the center of the room, a beautiful rug with flower designs covered most of the floor, long couches and comfortably looking seats atop with a dining table set nearby. Lined along the walls were numerous paintings and shelves, some filled with books and others empty.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the large open window at the left side of the room that overlooked part of the city and ocean, a gentle breeze flowing in from it. Near the window sat a bronze tub on one side and a few more chairs by a fireplace on the other. Extremely extravagant, he had to admit, but far too much for a single person. His old room seemed pebble-sized in comparison. 

"I am Ser Corlin and I will be stationed outside at all times if you ever require my presence or assistance. I will follow you wherever you must go and am sworn to give my life for you if needed as King Aegon has assigned me as your Sworn Shield." (Y/N)'s brows furrowed and he whirled around to face the more talkative of the two knights, his eyes flickering to the other one when he dipped his head and left. Ser Corlin seemed a well enough protector, if not a little young. 

"Why would I need a... 'Sword Shield'?" He hardly knew what that meant, but based on Ser Corlin's words it appeared to be quite the important job. "I am merely... I am hardly important enough to need protection, Ser." 

"You are King Aegon's paramour; the only one of many to be given such attention. We cannot know for sure if any envious past lovers may wish ill upon you or if Rhaenyra the Cruel will attempt to harm you to cause our king further strife." Ser Corlin explained, shuffling aside to allow a few maids into the room. He dipped his head, providing no further information, and shut the door behind him. 

"How wonderful." (Y/N) exhaled, hands undoing the laces of his cloak and carefully tugging it off his shoulders. One maid sprang into action, collecting the cloak from his arms and looking over the muddied ends with a thoughtful look. He blinked at her, watching her dip her head similarly to Ser Corlin and slip out of the room. Were they... bowing? To him? 

"I'm Laerra," The eldest looking between the maids spoke before motioning to the other three with her. "These are Eliza, Shana, and Marya. We will be primarily tending to your needs: bathing, changing, cleaning, and fulfilling any requests you ask of us. His Grace wished for you to be changed into some of the clothing stored in the closet, if we may?" 

"I... am not a child. I can change myself." 

"It would be better if we did it for you, My Lord." The round-faced redhead, Eliza, spoke next, a hint of meekness in her voice. The usage of a title made him grimace but if it made things easier on the servants, he'd deal with it, he supposed.

Pursing his lips, (Y/N) sighed and nodded, finding no use in arguing with the customs of nobility. The maids moved swiftly; one of them filled a basin with water and warmed it by the fireplace, another fetched the clothes, and the remaining two began removing his clothes.

They worked diligently and quickly, a focused look passing over each of their faces. Shana scrubbed and dried his skin with a rag she dipped into the basin, getting his skin rid of any sweat and dirt it accumulated during his trip in the city, giving herself a nod of approval when she finished. Eliza scooped his old clothes into her arms and disappeared from his room as Marya and Laerra began dressing him in soft fabrics. 

"Imported fabrics and cloths from Dorne and some of the Free Cities, My Lord," Marya revealed when he eyed the white undershirt, the soft fabric rubbing nicely against his skin as they put him in a dark green overshirt. When they slipped gem-adorned rings on his fingers, she added, "Gemstones from Pentos. The King wished for nothing else than beautiful." 

"Thank you." He told them, feeling pampered yet suffocated. "I-... You.. may go. I'd like time alone, if I may." 

"Shall we bring you some wine? Perhaps some lemon cakes, as well?" Laerra questioned but when he waved them off, they all dipped into a curtsy and ushered themselves out of the room, plunging it into heavy silence that loomed over him like a storm cloud. It was too much, all of it. The room, the clothes, the accessories. He'd had a perfectly fine life in the Street of Silk, despite everything he witnessed and experienced. 

(Y/N) tugged the rings from his fingers, scattering them across the dining table, and undid the buttons of his overshirt to pull it off and drape it over a chair. He had little need for such things, for so many layers. He collapsed on one of the chairs and braced his arms over the table, his eyes drifting over to the window. His ears strained to catch the bustle of the city but the wind was all he heard, amongst muffled chatter and footsteps from the hallway outside. 

"Gods," He sighed and ran a hand over his face, slumping back in the chair. "What have I gotten myself into?" 

(Y/N) hardly had any time to process before the doors swung open and Ser Corlin's voice echoed into the room, "Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower." His lips pressed together tightly, teeth digging into his inner bottom lip and a heavy exhale escaping through his nose. The Gods lacked mercy for him, it seemed. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) greeted, standing up from the chair and bending at the waist when he turned around to face her. Queen Alicent (was she to be referred to as Dowager Queen? There were far too many titles) strode into his room with an air of grace, her dark eyes sliding over to him while her features remained blank.

Queen Alicent was beautiful with long dark auburn hair that'd been tied back and cascaded along her back, big brown eyes that studied him closely, and a slender figure. She appeared youthful, and he had to remind himself she had most of her children before reaching the age of twenty. 

"You must be (Y/N)." She spoke softly, her voice soothing and gentle. "I apologize for the sudden intrusion... amongst other things. I am aware my son feels quite fondly of you despite your former job. I must admit I was quite caught off guard when he announced his decision to move you here, into the Red Keep rather than housing you elsewhere as most other nobles do with their... lovers. May I ask what your family believes of this? I cannot say they will be welcomed if they seek riches." 

"I was born in Madame Sylvi's brothel. I do not know my father as my mother likely took many lovers a week to know for certain." 

Queen Alicent's brows furrowed, her long fingers ghosting over the hand of her hand to begin toying with one of her rings. "Likely? You.. you do not know your mother? How is that so?"

"I was never told." (Y/N) shrugged. "As a babe, I was passed around to whomever had the milk to feed me. My mother never claimed me as her own, but I'm sure she tended to me at one point or another. The women there never cared to tell me who amongst them had birthed me. They were all my mothers, I suppose. I can assure you they'd only approach me for favors if the idea ever struck them." 

"Born in a brothel.." Queen Alicent murmured quietly, her skirt gliding along the floor as she drew closer to him, her hand coming to rest along the top of the chair at the end of the table. "Forgive me if it is a difficult question to answer, but may I know the age you were when you began... working?" 

"I was eight years of age when frequenters began asking, nine when I began working. It is tradition in most brothels to auction the first time to the highest bidder as most patrons enjoy laying with virgins. I hardly recall the night but I believe it was with a couple from Braavos." His hand moved to grasp the wrist where the bracelet remained, thumb pressing into it at the memory of Madam Sylvi gifting it to him the following day after the couple left. The Dowager Queen paled. "They paid well." He added, though it hardly sounded like much of a comfort.

"You were a child." She exhaled, breathless and her voice dripping with pity. The stone-faced look she'd carried when she first arrived had vanished, her glassy eyes reminding him of Aegon's. They looked so alike in certain lights, he noted, from the furrow of their brows to the curve of their lips. She appeared smaller, younger, without the emotionless facade she'd put up when first acknowledging him. 

"As were you when you wed King Viserys." (Y/N) spoke carefully, his words soft and knowing. She stared at him, the shine in her eyes growing and full lips parting with a shaky exhale. Queen Alicent's gaze fell onto the stone floor and the tip of her nails scraped against the wood of the chair she held onto, her chest rising and falling with a deep inhale. 

"It is the duty that falls on the shoulders of many young noble girls. It was expected of me, and I fulfilled my duty, as you well see." He heard the subtle tremble in her voice, saw the way the corner of her brows dipped with each word; was she convincing him or herself? (Y/N) could hardly tell, but what he did know was that with a simple few words the Queen's true nature had reared its head. She remained a young girl in her heart, despite the years of motherhood and marriage thrusted upon her. 

"Duty or not, it did not make you any less of a child, Your Grace." He moved slowly, somewhat cautiously, when he approached her, keeping his footsteps light and his posture relaxed.

(Y/N) studied her face, her reactions, and the way her body responded to his movements with keen, observant eyes. She watched him, her eyes darting down to his arms so he moved them behind his back to ease any worries of him lashing out toward her. He stopped a few feet away, keeping enough space between them for her to relax.

"Forgive me if I speak too plainly or boldly, Your Grace, for us smallfolk hardly ever converse with those above our stations. I assume you have your assumptions about me, about how I make my coin, but I do not just pleasure others."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the next, the way her eyes jumped around the room from item to item telling him she felt nervous, likely uncomfortable with the topic of sex. The necklace resting around her neck held a pendant similar to the seven-pointed star that represented the Seven. For a woman of faith and nobility speaking of sex with someone of the opposite sex whom she had no relation to would be considered scandalous. 

"I provide comfort, as well. A willing ear to those who desire to be heard without judgment. I hold many stories, secrets, desires, and hopes that have been told to me throughout many years that will never leave my lips. I value trust, and I would never break another's, even for coin. I had little friends in the city, I doubt I have any at all here," A flicker of recognition flashed in her eyes. "If you find yourself needing a friend, I'd be happy to listen over tea or sweets. I have a feeling I'll be finding myself... quite lonesome here." 

"I... I shall keep your offer in mind." Queen Alicent said gently, her fingers curling around her hand and lips forming a tight-lipped smile. She dropped her hands down to the sides of her skirt, slightly lifting the ends and departing toward the doors. She stopped before them and peered over her shoulder at him. "King Aegon has matters he is attending to but I'm certain he will welcome you once he is done. Welcome to the Red Keep, (Y/N)."

[romaritimeharbor]

FAMILY, OF SORTS. — in which kafka, blade, and silver wolf are an odd but quite special found family to be a part of.

— trigger & content warnings. mentions of unspecified injury.

— pairings & notes. fluff, found family. kafka & teen!reader, blade & teen!reader, silver wolf & teen!reader. 1.3k words. reader is a stellaron hunter. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used).

— author's notes. the sillies <3 APHE POSTING???? APHELION POSTING REAL AND TRUE????????? i had a request for this on my old blog (from my dear beloved moot @starryshinyskies <3) so i decided to finish it 💪 nd tagging @www-brontide since i know you were excited for this post HEHE anyways how are we feeling about this formatting? if you guys don't like it i'm very open to changing it back. i'm just experimenting with my post format is all 🫶

kafka seems strangely motherly to me. caring and doting in her own unique ways, but also quite strange and odd in those same ways. an enigma of sorts.

she is the kind of person to always send the stellaron hunters' youngest member texts throughout the day; these texts range anywhere from silly and inconsequential to sweet messages letting [name] know that she was thinking about them.

(her doting nature is not dissimilar to how she thinks of and regards the trailblazer... hm.)

KAFKA

My coat got stained again :(

Won't you help me clean it when you get home, little one?

[ 1:22 PM ]

KAFKA

I saw a new movie today.

It made me think of you. It was quite to your tastes.

Perhaps we should go see it together sometime, hm?

Ah, but you're probably asleep by now...

That's fine. You do need it more than the rest of us.

Sleep well, darling.

[ 11:34 PM ]

she thinks of her little one quite frequently and has been known to pick up little trinkets from different planets that reminded her of them. a phone charm, a set of rings, something more practical like a new weapon... she once returned with a nice coat that matches one of hers. her gifts are always unpredictable but nonetheless very thoughtful.

and when or if they get injured, she is the one who treats their wound(s) with a tender hand.

she does chide them, however.

"you are a stellaron hunter, little one," she reminds, pulling the bandages wrapped around their wound a little tighter, making them wince. it is akin to a slap on the wrist—not enough pain to seriously harm them, but enough to force them to take her words to heart. "if it is not a part of the plan, try your best not to get caught or injured, hm? silver wolf doesn't like to see you this way, and it causes a unique stir in bladie. your getting injured causes quite the unrest among us all! do be more careful next time."

if there is ever a night during which they are struggling to sleep, they are more than welcome to seek out kafka's company.

she would be willing to read them to sleep, if that is what they desired.

however... a far easier method that would ensure they would stay asleep? her spirit whisper ability, of course.

they know kafka would not use it to harm them.

kafka finds their earnest trust beyond endearing. the trust of a little one like them is quite an important gift! the least she can do, she thinks, is assist them when her assistance is needed.

and sometimes, that just means lulling them to sleep.

blade is quite a difficult person to read, regardless of whether he intends to be so or not.

some days, he is distant and prefers to keep to himself. others, less so.

this, though, should not be mistaken for a lack of care. in fact, he cares quite deeply. his care is simply very quiet and he desperately, earnestly, truly does not wish to cause [name] harm.

he is also most likely the one who spars with them and trains them in the ways of combat, which... he isn't exactly the gentlest at doing. training sessions can be quite frustrating in that they often emerge sore and with new cuts and bruises (but really, these injuries are small and insignificant; they are confident in saying that blade would never truly hurt them, nobody in their family would). he does mean well in his tough methods, though.

the universe is not kind or gentle. it will never treat them that way. therefore, he does his best to prepare them so that they can effectively handle the universe's cruelty and defend themselves from it.

one of the ways in which his quiet care manifests is through his treatment of the small wounds he gives them during training. kafka has said many times that she can treat them, but blade always insists on doing it himself.

out of all of their coworkers, blade becomes the most restless when they're away. he gets particularly antsy when they've been gone for a long period or when they're out there alone. kafka always giggles and points out to him how utterly restless he becomes when such circumstances occur.

(he should be assured that they can handle themselves, given that he is their mentor—there is surely nobody else who would know their skills as well as he would—but somehow he simply isn't.)

blade is also, generally speaking, the most protective.

should they come back injured... if it is anything other than a shallow scratch on the cheek, a rage hotter than the brightest star burns under his skin. in those moments, he almost does not dare to touch them, for fear that he might harm them unwittingly... but he does. his hands are somewhat rough when he snatches their face and tilts their chin around to get a better look at the blood (is it theirs? he hopes not) and grime dirtying their face. there is a terrifying threat present in his voice when he demands, not asks, "who did this to you?"

(if kafka was not present in these moments, he might worry that his mara would get the best of him. thankfully, kafka is intentional and present in such situations.)

unless the ones responsible for the wound have already been adequately... taken care of, he will do so himself. there is nowhere in the universe that the perpetrators could hide from him.

it's about protecting them, but it is also about sending a message.

something along the lines of "anyone who lays hands on them will suffer a fate worse than death," perhaps.

death is anything but a terrible fate to blade, but he knows that it is the worst imaginable to some. he will be certain to deliver something infinitely worse, something beyond imagination, to those daring to hurt his younger teammate.

silver wolf is perhaps the least enigmatic of their little family. she isn't an open book, per se, but she's easier to read than kafka or blade... at least, for someone like [name], anyway.

she never fails to harrass them to play a few rounds (which tends to spiral into many, many rounds...) of a game or two with her. why them, specifically? she insists that blade isn't good at them and kafka is kafka. really, it may very well just be that she enjoys spending time with them, but she—of course—will not simply say that.

however... she bullies them terribly about how bad they are. it comes from a place of affection!

she is also the type to win them every single prize at carnivals, just because she likes the joy it seems to bring them. when she encounters rigged games, however, she becomes all the more motivated by her unadulterated annoyance to beat them.

what do you mean she of all people can't beat this awful and horrible rigged game? her???? the silver wolf????? seriously????????

unfortunately, it does not always end in her victory, even when she is infinitely motivated by her anger.

...and she really isn't above just taking one of the prizes when the stall's owner isn't looking. she has done so multiple times for [name].

she would definitely try to teach them hacking (keyword: try) if they aren't already familiar with it. since it has come in handy for her, she figures that they might also find use in it. it's her quiet way of looking out for them.

(her more obvious way of looking out for them is often seen when she is on missions with them. most commonly, it manifests as her snatching their arm and pulling them out of the way of an enemy before obliterating said threat.)

silver wolf is totally the sort of person to pinch their cheeks (to different degrees, kafka and blade also do this!). they are very cute to her.

overall they are a weird but very special little family to be a part of <3

please consider supporting your writers by reblogging and leaving a kind tag or comment. it really helps me out!

[bangaveragewhitewine]

crazy-mad for you

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers)  - Happy Hours series

Chicago, 1991. When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.

A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...

This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.

Word count: 16.7 K

Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names. Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.

Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️

I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.

Dividers by me ✌️

The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn. 

It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips). 

Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months. 

Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.

You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall. 

“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”

“Hey, hotshot.”

The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation. 

“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies. 

He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”

“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll. 

You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig. 

It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights). 

Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross. 

You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air. 

“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.

You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.” 

“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.

The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.

“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks. 

“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks. 

“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns,  “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..” 

“Listen dickh-”

Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.” 

“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside. 

“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts. 

“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips. 

The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.  

Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was. 

An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat. 

You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick. 

It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish. 

When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure. 

He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.

As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’

“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter. 

You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”

He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.

“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious. 

You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”

His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”

You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”

His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago. 

On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving. 

Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).  

The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy. 

Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward. 

There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain. 

You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice. 

He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose. 

“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on. 

Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”  

You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.

“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you. 

You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch. 

“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”

Trip her? Oh. He means you.

“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”

There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control. 

Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night. 

As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall. 

“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink. 

The whiskey burns but you barely feel it. 

“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes. 

She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-” 

As you take another sip, the door swings open. 

Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office. 

You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you. 

Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by. 

It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting. 

“Ed…”

He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you. 

“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too. 

He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.   

“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.” 

“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare. 

Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?” 

“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -” 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”

The air between you is charged and heavy. 

I want to. What does that mean? 

Eddie covers himself quickly. 

“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.” 

You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you. 

“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”

He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.

Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.

“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness. 

You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.” 

He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes. 

“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it. 

With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task. 

“Very gentle,” he murmurs. 

“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”

“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.

You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth. 

“Shit, sorry.” “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other. 

“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards. 

“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?” 

He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight. 

He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass. 

“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.

Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body. 

“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”

“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”

“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.

“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt. 

“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much. 

“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.” 

He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…

But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.” 

With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught. 

You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night 

The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night. 

“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness). 

“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself. 

“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?” 

You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.

“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition. 

The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”

“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise. 

“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine. 

You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.” 

“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.” 

He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.

“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.

“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”

Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”

“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.” 

“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”

“Probably.”

“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”

It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”

“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”

“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”

“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”

“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”

Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.

“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”

“Perv.”

“Witch.”

You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.” 

You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad. 

“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”

You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live. 

“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.” 

Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline. 

“Rum. And Coke.”

His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“Eddie. He was the owner.” 

He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working. 

“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.” 

You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.

“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”

“And a Coke?”

“And a Coke.” 

Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall. 

“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand. 

“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?” 

“I’ve had worse.”

He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs. 

“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door. 

“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.

The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.

Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.

The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”

Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”

She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”

You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”

Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks. 

“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”

The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean. 

You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you. 

Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie. 

“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola. 

You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him. 

He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip. 

“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.” 

Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.

“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger. 

“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.” 

He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew. 

The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him. 

“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes. 

“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.” 

You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer. 

It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too. 

Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”

“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little. 

He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.” 

You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink. 

He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime. 

It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside. 

The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.

He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently. 

“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee. 

You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.” 

He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.” 

Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real. 

And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary. 

Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out. 

Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering. 

“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”

“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”

You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door. 

“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door.  “Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car. 

You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on. 

You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place. 

After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.

You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both. 

Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head. 

While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.

You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone. 

After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case. 

It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).

“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne. 

“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”

Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.” 

Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you. 

You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.” 

There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.

He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.” 

“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on. 

The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain. 

It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting. 

His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag. 

“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off. 

“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”

You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.” 

Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm. 

You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours. 

“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.

“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning. 

His smile makes your tummy flutter. 

“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening. 

Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”

You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..” 

Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks. 

“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful. 

You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong? 

“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly. 

The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.

You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”

He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”

Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary. 

“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you. 

He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?” 

“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive. 

“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue. 

You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat. 

You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too. 

He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever. 

He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word. 

You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder. 

Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real. 

He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp. 

Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too. 

Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere. 

“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again. 

“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth. 

Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?” 

You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper. 

He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.” 

Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek. 

Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.

He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.” 

“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did. 

“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes. 

“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way. 

Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms. 

When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break. 

She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.  

The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again). 

You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement. 

You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson. 

With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time... 

Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door. 

You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager. 

After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley… 

Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car? 

Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief. 

“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?” 

Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself. 

Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter. 

“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.” 

Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip. 

“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…” 

“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over. 

Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close. 

It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.

You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car. 

“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.

“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.” 

You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.

“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.” 

You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt. 

“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”

You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine. 

“Well then…” you say quietly. 

“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes. 

There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly. 

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”

You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”

A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers. 

You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along. 

He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say. 

“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.

“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say. 

Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.

You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.” 

“You should be so lucky.” 

Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss. 

“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this… 

There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops. 

You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.

The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8. 

“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through. 

“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?” 

His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat. 

“You gonna behave?” 

All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key. 

Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass. 

A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected. 

Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?” 

“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath. 

“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”

While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way. 

Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again. 

“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on. 

You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself. 

“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.

Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”

He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green. 

“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter. 

Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn. 

“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again. 

“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?” 

You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”

“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.” 

Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?” 

“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing. 

He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…” 

Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance. 

“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there. 

His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip. 

You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges. 

Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap. 

You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”

“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”

You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?” 

He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”

Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him. 

Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips. 

Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you. 

Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise. 

You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat. 

He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes. 

Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath. 

Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one. 

When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time. 

His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat. 

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him. 

Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.

“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more. 

Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.” 

That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle. 

“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace. 

Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”

His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.” 

You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand. 

He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..” 

Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!” 

His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?” 

You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.

His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts. 

As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction. 

His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.

You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes. 

“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…” 

You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny. 

He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press. 

His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak. 

“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit. 

“Fuhhh- Eddie.” 

One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man. 

His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping. 

His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face. 

“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss. 

Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge. 

Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living. 

“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter. 

“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”

You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow. 

“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand. 

You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.

Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”

You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that. 

Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs. 

You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”

“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it. 

The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are. 

It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you. 

His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?” 

You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full. 

Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”

Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…” 

“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager. 

You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs. 

“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him. 

You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.

As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving. 

Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.

“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”

The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside. 

You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch. 

“You feel unreal, baby.”

He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest. 

After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet. 

“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks. 

“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.  

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.

There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.

You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.

The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob. 

Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze. 

You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.” 

He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door. 

“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.

Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer. 

He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.

You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers. 

Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.

You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong. 

“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod. 

“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.

He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.” 

He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.” 

You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

[honeykaes]

my heart hurts

breakup hookups hc's feat. alhaitham, thoma, childe, scaramouche

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, angst, modern au!, creampie (thoma), right person wrong time trope (thoma), fingering (alhaitham), wall sex (alhaitham), mutual breakup (alhaitham), cumshot (alhaitham), reader has breasts (scaramouche), boobjob (scaramouche), squirting (scaramouche), cunnilingus (scaramouche), reader broke up with scara via text, jealousy (childe), drunk sex (childe), semi-public sex (childe), scummy ex!childe, unedited

“I put the rest of your stuff in a box near the door. Just knock when you finally get here. Don’t be late.”

You grumbled reading the text before sighing and getting out of your car. Marching up to his door, you dove your hands into your pockets trying to mask the frustration pounding against your chest.

You thought Alhaitham was the one, and you think, he did as well. You were ecstatic to move into his place, your tastes merging together in his own. Despite how smooth you thought it would be, one argument turned into multiple until the strain in your relationship was too bad to ignore. You both agreed to break things off but, you weren’t over him quite yet and that hurt.

As you knocked on the door, and paused hearing heavy footsteps on the other side. The door slowly opened revealing Alhaitham’s tall frame. He was wearing his reading glasses and some leisure attire he only wore around the house. His eyes narrowed toward you, yet there wasn’t any animosity in his eyes.

“Come in,” he murmured to your surprise as he opened the door further. Despite your mind screaming to just ask him for the box and leave, you found yourself stepping inside of your old home seeing the colder energy that the place used to not have.

“Do you want something? Water? Coffee?” he offered. You shook your head yes he grunted. Guiding you to the kitchen. He began to pour your drink, placing it on the table before sitting next to you with his own. The two of you sat in silence, sipping your respective drinks. You could only quirk your eyebrow noticing Alhaitham’s gaze lingered briefly on your lips. 

You don’t know how it started, or what possessed either of you to indulge in each other but here you were, in the hallway, bruised lips pressing hard on one another as he ground his hardening cock into your core. 

His nails dug into your hips grunting in your ear as his lips connected with your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin. One hand snaked itself against the waistband of your pants, sliding itself beneath your panties and cupping your cunt. You gasped, nails harpooning themselves against Alhaitham’s broad back as his fingers sank inside of you—thumb lazily fondling your clit.

Your walls quivered as he scissored his fingers, stretching you out as he slowly pumped. You squirmed in his grip as he grunted with annoyance, hand grasping your waist tighter before you whined. He lifted his fingers up—digits coated with your slick—and popped them in his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue. 

He shimmied your pants and underwear down and follow suit, letting his heavy cock slap against his covered abdomen. He lifted your leg up as you call out his name in shock, sliding his cock along your folds to gather up the slick drooling out of you.

“What? Don’t act all shy now,” he whispered in your ear before plunging himself inside of you. You cry out feeling the dull pain of being stretched out as he inched deeper and deeper. Once bottoming out a low moan drifted off his lips feeling your walls pulsate and massage his length.

His hand left your waist, grabbing a handful of your ass with a tight squeeze before he began to thrust. Your body shivered, hearing his noises as if he deliberately wanted you to hear just how you made him.

“Fuck…I missed you, I missed this cunt…but you’re so goddamn stubborn,” he grunted, brushing against the spongy spot inside of you. Your head leaned into the wall, clinging onto him tighter as you tried to widen your shaky legs to get him to hit that spot again and again.

“H-aitham..! Haitham,” you stammered, nails racking his back as he sucked a breath in. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, walls caving down as you finally reached your high struggling to keep your feet up. Alhaitham cursed under his breath closing his eyes as he quickly slide his cock out, pumping himself a few times before groaning—thick white ropes of cum splattering on your lower stomach.

He let your leg down, steading you, as he tried to catch his own breath. You closed your eyes, leaning against his chest.

“I don’t fucking get you sometimes and I don’t think I ever will.”

You loved Thoma. That was the honest truth and you knew he loved you too. The only issue was how much time he spent away. Dates canceling, coming home infrequently—his duty as the Kamisato retainer was straining him. And even when he had the time to attend to his duties as your boyfriend, you could see the bags under his strained eyes, trying his best for you not to see the cracks and desperation of rest he needed.

You loved Thoma. That was the honest truth; therefore, you needed to let him go.

As the words left your mouth, it seemed the world silenced. Thoma sat on the couch, hand covering his mouth as his eyes stared off into space, watering from your declaration. Your heart lurched in your chest.

“Thoma, you know I love you. You can’t prioritize us right now, and that’s okay. I understand what Ayaka and Ayato mean to you and how important it is for you be fully committed to your responsibilities,” you whispered, reaching a hand out to his cheek. He let his hand leave his face, tears beginning to cascade down his now-flushed cheeks.

“Then please…” he whispered. You gently shook your head, wiping the tear away.

“You know I can’t for now…” you whispered back. Just as you were about to get up and let Thoma grieve his love for you in peace, he shot up pressing his lips into your own. Desperation, passion, and longing—those three emotions strongly swirling in that kiss, but yet, you found yourself kissing him back. 

As he tightly gripped your waist, the two of your bodies fell onto the bed with a soft thud. Your hands wandered up, lifting Thoma’s shirt off of him, breaking the kiss momentarily before connecting right back again. One by one, articles of clothing fell down leaving you two in the nude, clinging onto each other.

Thoma’s lips trailed down your neck, hand drifting up and brushing against your slit as you shivered. His thumb drifted up, pressing down on your clit, garnering a gasp from you. Slick drooled out of you as he continuously circled and flicked on the bundle of nerves. 

Smearing your arousal along your inner thighs, Thoma grabs his half-hardened cock pumping it a few times before lining himself up. His tip slid between your folds, brushing against your clit as he grunts in slight frustration before he finally pressed himself to your opening and sank inside of you.

A breathy moan of your name escapes Thoma’s lips, weaving your hands with his—cock slipping deeper, feeling your walls squeeze and tighten. Lifting his face from the nape of your neck, his nose brushed against yours—green eyes sorrowful as he slowly thrusts. Your legs wrapped around his thin waist gripping his hands tighter as he plunged himself steady and deliberate, hitting every spot he knew would unravel you.

Your back arched, body shivered in pleasure as you finally reached your high. Your walls spasmed and tightened against him as his own release would arrive soon. Shutting his eyes and desperately pressing your lips against yours once more to drown out his moan, Thoma’s hips halted—ropes of his cum spurting inside of you. 

Thoma placed his sweaty forehead against yours and closed his eyes. Sliding his cock out of you where his cum was slowly seeping down, his arms wrapped around your form underneath him.

“...Just let me hold you one last time before you go.”

Your eyes kept reading your text message to Scaramouche over and over again. You know you were kind of a dick for breaking up via text because you feared confrontation from your usual grumpy ex-boyfriends, but the fact he left you on read made you nervous. He always had something to say, wanting to have the last word in every argument—so this, was nerve-wracking.

You hear your doorbell echo throughout your apartment as you sighed and walked over to the door, expecting a package only to gasp in horror seeing Scaramouche standing there—arms crossed, glaring at you.

“Through text? Really? Really?!” he yelled out, storming inside your apartment. You sighed and closed the door; you should have known better. As you turn to see him seething you noticed how bloodshot his eyes were, he must have been crying not too long ago.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know how to break it to you!” you responded. Scaramouche scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“So you think our 3 years can be over through a fucking text!? Are you that much of a coward?! I think I deserved more than a fucking text message!” he shouted. Your eyes drifted away in guilt, crossing your own arms against your chest.

“Fuck! Okay! You’re right. You didn’t deserve that. But, I’m not happy with our relationship! Fucking—.” You took a sigh to compose yourself momentarily. “I don’t feel like you ever give a damn about me so I didn’t think it would be that bad to break up via text.”

Scaramouche remained silent, sucking on his tooth before letting out a low, sarcastic laugh before slowly marching towards you. You felt like a rabbit eyeing the ferocious might of a wolf.

“Don’t care? I don’t care?! Your joking right?! Do you even fathom how much I love you…!” he murmured, close to your face. The two of you glared down at one another waiting for the other one to respond only to gasp as Scaramouche connected his lips with yours and to his surprise, you didn’t push him away and deepened the kiss.

Things quickly found their way to the bedroom as Scaramouche roughly pushed you down on the bed before lifting his shirt off. Just as you were going to do the same, Scaramouche grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“No. Do you even realize you’re wearing my shirt right now? The audacity you have to break up with me while wearing that shit,” he grunted, nipping at your ear before leaning up. He undid the buckle of his jeans and zipped down the zipper, pulling down his jeans and boxers to reveal his twitching cock. 

“You don’t get to enjoy my cock like that,” he grunted, gripping his length and pumping it. Scaramouche lifted you slightly up before letting his cock brush between the mounds of your chest. His cock was hot and heavy, tip budding with precum that began to smear across your torso. His hands grabbed your breasts, thumbs brushing against your pebbling nipples before pressing them together, between his cock.

“Hold your tits like this,” he grunted as you obeyed. You gasped feeling your bottoms come off, exposing your wet cunt. Scaramouche clicked his tongue, pressing his thumb against your clit and drawing tight circles on it.

You whined when his hips began to thrust between your breast as he let out a shaky moan. His cock trembled with every thrust as his pace began to get faster. He cursed under his breath, pausing his ministrations on your clit as he shut his eyes to enjoy the soft mounds of your chest. 

“Fuck. Shit—” he cursed out. You softly yelped as cum shot out, hitting your chin and bottom lip. Globs of his cums stained his shirt you were wearing as he bit his lip to muffle his whine. As he slowly came from his high, he sighed moving down and nibbling at your inner thighs.

“You don’t fucking deserve this but I’m not cruel enough to leave you on the edge,” he grumbled. Your hands shot to his hair as his lips connected with the bud of your clit, lapping it up roughly and sucking on it. As his tongue swirled and flicked, your legs shook and pressed themselves against Scaramouche’s head.

His eyes were cold seeing you squirm against his mouth before it faltered, as a rush of liquid hit his tongue as you arched your back. He drank as much as he could grabbing your thighs to hold you down before you finally began to calm down from your intense climax.

“Made you squirt for the first time heh,” he laughed to himself. “Too bad it’ll be the last.”

When Childe broke up with you, it hurt your pride and your heart. You didn’t think of yourself as a vindictive person, but when you had the opportunity to temporarily forget about him and how someone practically worshipped you for the night—you didn’t say no. 

You didn’t expect to see him at the club, your eyes meeting with shock. Your eyes narrowed to the person he was dancing with, arm around their waist as he ground behind them. Rolling your eyes with a scoff, you walked away from the dancefloor and towards a corner in the back where you could process the situation better.

“Fuck,” you grunted in frustration in debate. You didn’t want to leave but you couldn’t stand seeing that. Just as you were about to decide to try another bar, your ex approached you with a smirk, leaning against the wall.

“Funny seeing you here. Is that D-rank boytoy crawling around,” he teased with a strained smile. You scoffed rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

“No, but don’t let that stop you from putting your cock inside your stupid fling, I was just leaving,” you grunted. Childe grabbed your wrist, leaning down. That infuriating smirk was still on his lips.

“Aww, come on. Let’s catch up a bit. Don’t you miss me…” he whispered in your ear, causing your body to shiver. You could smell the alcohol on his breath and you were sure your own buzz was messing with your judgment yet, you couldn’t help following into the empty bathroom. 

Quickly checking each stall was empty, Childe locked the door and moved the trashcan in front of it. He grabbed your waist, moving you on the empty counter before pressing his clothed hardened cock against your core.

“You see what you do to me….? I think you forgot just how wild we got together,” he murmured, drifting your underwear down your thighs. His fingers grazed along your slit as you whined, moving your hips to try to get him to brush against your throbbing clit. He chuckled watching as his finger slowly dripped with the same slick beginning to drip from you. 

Wiping it down his slacks, he quickly freed himself—slapping the tip of his cock against your clit. You moaned as he finally stopped bullying the nub, pressing his cock along your opening before sinking inside of you. 

“Fuck, just like how I remember it,” he grunted, sliding deeper and deeper before he finally bottomed out. Sliding out briefly, you choke out feeling him plunge his cock back in hard and fast. His pace was relentless, lewd noises drifting throughout the bathroom. 

You closed your eyes as he grabbed your chin. His eyes were much colder than before, smugness replaced by jealousy.

“No. You have to watch everything I’m doing to you. I’m not going to let you forget how well my cock made you writhe so many nights. No one can fuck you as well I can, including that stupid boytoy you decided to fuck,” he grunted, plowing himself inside of you.

You whined out his name, walls fluttered down as he soon changed his angle to find your favorite spot. As he brushed by it deliberately, You clung tighter to him calling out his name repeatedly.

“There! There! There! There!” you rambled out. You squirmed, a breathy moan escaping from your lips as you reached your high. Your spasming walls made it harder for Childe to thrust, pace getting closer and sloppier. 

Just as you thought he was about to spill out, Childe quickly left your tight, warm cunt, he rapidly pumped his cock—tip leaning towards your underwear. With a grunt, white globs of his cum shot out filling your once-clean underwear with his essence. He chuckled, quickly pulling them up as you gasp, feeling the warmth of his cum as he pulled his softening cock into his briefs and pulled his pants up to fasten them.

Not paying you much mind, he walked towards the door moving the trashcan and unlocking it before pausing.

“When you get some sense, call me,” he grunted, walking out of the bathroom.

[chuluoyi]

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 06

✩°｡ ⋆ a longer dream

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, mild angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, descriptions of aggressive behavior (hair pulling, hand stomping—but not to the reader)

notes: an early release! please believe me when i said that i really wanted to add megumi's reaction in the previous chapter. i cut it because it got too long already.

oh and with this i’m announcing that unholy matrimony will be on break next week to ensure the best experience :( chapter 7 will be posted on november 6, i promise.

listen to: i will stay with you - gummy :)

series masterlist | next. love unspoken

This can’t be right.

Megumi must have heard wrong.

It was barely seven in the morning, he had just woken up, and the first thing he heard was... you were asking for a what? Divorce?

"What, why?" he immediately snapped.

You kept your head low. "Because there's no reason for us to be together anymore. This whole thing―" you gestured to everything around you as you tried to contain your emotions, "―started just because I have no choice but to obey my father so that he wouldn’t take my mom as a hostage."

Honestly, Megumi didn't understand. Maybe his brain was lagging because it was meant to be a tranquil Sunday morning. But he couldn't make the heads or tails of whatever you were spouting now.

"Now that my mom is no longer in the picture," you continued, your voice steady and your eyes devoid of doubt. "He has no other means to control me. He can't have his way with me anymore."

"Hold on—" He was exasperated. Nothing's making sense. "This doesn't necessarily lead to divorce. Sena, what are you thinking?"

“I’m setting us free, Megumi,” you interjected, fixing a fierce gaze on him. “Neither of us wanted this in the first place. And now we can do it. Zen’in must have a better bride in mind for you, or you could also ditch them altogether. We can go our separate ways.”

How had it escalated into this? Weren’t the two of you just spent the night? How did you spew all of these so callously?

Megumi clenched his jaw. “No.”

"Why?!" Now it was your turn to express frustration. Honestly, you really thought he would agree. You had offered him his freedom on a silver platter—so why didn't he take it?

“You are not in the right state of mind,” he asserted, his gaze fixed at you squarely. “You haven’t thought this through. You can't make decisions solely based on your impulses, Sena.”

“I have thought this through, Megumi!”

“Clearly, you haven’t,” he retorted firmly. “If that’s the case, then tell me, should we get a divorce, what would you do?”

You fell into silence, unable to give an immediate response. “It’s—I will—”

“See?” he let out a scoff. “Is your life with me so unbearable that you’re considering a divorce?”

Your brain short-circuited, evidently and truthfully you didn’t think that far ahead. Your primary focus was to alleviate the guilt in your gut, and you believed that returning to where it all began would be better for both of you, especially him.

But was your life with him that miserable? “No.” You stiffened, biting your lower lip. You didn’t want him to think like that. Living with Megumi was far from horrible at all; in fact, it was quite the opposite.

“Then what brought this on?” he inquired once again. His tone remained calm, but it was clear that he was holding his simmering anger back. “We are perfectly fine. So what’s the deal? Give me a straightforward explanation and I’ll agree with you only if you can explain what you will do from then on.”

Why must he do this? Why did he have to be against it so much? It took everything out of you to keep your resolve from breaking.

Your heart couldn't help but soar when he opposed your idea of getting a divorce. You found yourself hoping for something more, with him.

“We are… not fine.” You ran out of arguments to convince him, as the thought of staying suddenly made more sense, against your better judgment. “I… you—you didn’t want to be married to me—”

“But now I do!” His voice rang through the apartment, leaving you momentarily speechless, trying to absorb his words.

Megumi was at his wits end. As surprising as it may seem, he had developed feelings for you, and perhaps now, those feelings had intensified into something more intense. He had these passing thoughts about how to express his feelings, and certainly this wasn't the scenario he had in mind. However, now that things had escalated to this point, he must get this across somehow.

“I know you’re having a hard time. Losing your mother isn’t something you can get over so easily—I get it. I understand that, Sena.”

Tears welled up in your eyes.

“But I promise you,” his unwavering gaze held you captive. “You are going to be fine. We are going to be fine. Forget how we started—we have made it this far regardless of that.”

Staying with you meant he would remain embroiled in the Zen'in's successor struggle, a reality he was fully aware of. But the idea of you leaving was simply inconceivable in his mind.

Now you were openly sobbing. You were happy. You knew it was still wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the whole truth—the binding vow with Gojo. You just can’t.

You had never hoped so bad for a wrong to become right before now.

"You have me," he declared, and Megumi's hand reached for your damp cheek, cradling it gently. When your teary eyes met his, he fondly caressed your cheek.

“I will stay with you.”

That was the breaking point. You lost the hold over your emotions. If you didn't know anything else, one thing was abundantly clear—you had lived for this very moment.

And when Fushiguro Megumi pulled you into a searing kiss, you knew that life as you had known it had come to an end.

Because from now on, through endless maze, fear and loneliness, you placed your trust in him to be by your side.

"Tsk."

Naoya clicked his tongue at the first hearing held at his own Zen'in estate. Most of the elders had gathered in the main hall, with him sitting at the front row. The next seat next to him was empty.

"Can't we just start?" he spat impatiently, glaring particularly at his uncle, Zen'in Ogi—the father of the Maki and Mai—who was the head of the council to determine the next successor of Zen'in clan.

His uncle simply regarded him with a stoic expression. "We'll commence when Fushiguro arrives here."

To be frank, Zen'in Ogi harbored a strong dislike for Naoya. Not only was this young upstart trying to seize the position of the clan head that could be his by the order of seniority, he was incredibly disrespectful too. Given the choice—which he had, anyway—he still preferred Fushiguro even though he was an outsider rather than this manic twat.

"If the bastard doesn't come then it's his loss," Naoya hissed through his teeth. "Why should we wait for him? What a waste of time."

An attendant suddenly went into the room to inform that Fushiguro Megumi couldn't attend as he had prior engagements. Naoya sneered upon hearing that. "See? Even he doesn't take this the least bit seriously."

Zen'in Ogi vowed to wipe that smirk off his face, even if it was the last thing he did. To him, Naoya's behavior and lack of decorum during his brother's funeral was a blatant insult to their proud clan, and there was no way he would let him rule at the top, even though he was his brother's own flesh and blood.

Hence why he took great delight in seeing the shock on his face when he announced that the majority of the votes had gone in favor of Fushiguro instead of him.

"This isn't the final decision, of course," he remarked, casting a glance at Naoya's seething anger. "We will hold two more hearings, and by then, you can still cast your vote for the candidates you favor."

What the actual fuck—

"I advise you to get your act together, Naoya," Ogi whispered to him as the crowd dispersed. "You're hardly demonstrating why we should choose you with your rather... ah, unbecoming behavior."

Naoya clenched both his jaw and fists as his uncle walked past him. The nerve of that rotting bastard!

No one seemed to respect him any longer in this place. It seemed like everyone had started to think he could be overthrown from his rightful place.

So be it then. He just had to make it clear that he was the one in charge.

And when he spotted one of the serving girls, whom he had observed had been following several elders, and even himself, for several days now, Naoya finally had enough and pursued her as she hastened her steps.

But he was naturally faster and grabbed her hair in an attempt to catch her, causing her to yelp.

“Master Naoya!” she cried. “P-Please let me go—!”

“Shut up, you wretch!” he snapped at her with such fury that the girl could only tremble in shock. He then forcibly dragged her by the hair toward the disciplinary pit, paying no heed to her cries and pleas for him to stop.

He flung her across the hard tiles, and the girl curled up in fear. "P-Please... spare me..." she pleaded, her voice trembling with terror.

With an air of dominance, Naoya gazed down at her, and then he ruthlessly stomped on her hand, causing her to scream in agony.

“S-Stop! It hurts!” she sobbed. “P-Please!”

He crouched down, still keeping her hand pinned beneath his shoe.

“I’m acting o-on orders!” she shouted amidst the tears. “M-My mistress is the one w-who told me to come h-here!”

Naoya's lips curled into a sneer as he released his grip on her and then firmly grasped the young girl's chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Now, you fool, tell me everything.”

It was monumentally stupid. Megumi knew it, but couldn’t help but let his face burn in embarrassment regardless.

“Megumi.” You tilted your head to the side, eyes looking at him so innocently, yet hesitantly. “You want us to… uh, share one bedroom?”

The way you pronounced the word “share” was enough to drive him on edge. He knew it. You didn’t want it, but he wanted this, and yet he didn’t want to force you into it.

These three statements that negated each other made him want to crawl back to his room.

But as the saying goes, sometimes you have to fake it until you make it, right?

“Yeah, is there a problem with that?” And so faking his confidence it is.

“T-There is!” you hastily retaliated. “This is too sudden!”

“And what about it? Your bed is big enough for both of us. If not, then the one in my room it is.”

“But!” This inquiry was beyond you. Not that you were totally opposed, but this prompt change of situation left you reeling.

Okay, let us get it straight.

Confessing feelings to each other? Well, yeah, in practice, yes.

Marital status? Still wife and husband. Check.

And so, this was the cue for moving in together next, yes?

At least in the romance novels you read, yes. But quite literally, ever since Megumi’s dramatic declaration—that made you swoon amidst everything else, yes—the two of you found yourselves stuck in an awkward situation once again. He failed to look at you in the eye for two days straight after that, and now out of nowhere, asked you to share a room with him.

“Are you sure?” you asked, idly twirling a strand of your hair with your fingers.

“I am,” he replied instantly. "What's the issue here? We're married. We should have done this right from the start."

“Wouldn’t want you to burst from sheer embarrassment is all,” you quipped, successfully making him fidget. A smile tugged at your lips at his reaction.

"You could hardly even look at me," you added teasingly, and it seemed a vein on his face was on the verge of bursting.

“And you—”

You didn't have the opportunity to add more anecdotes to the list because suddenly your right arm was pulled, and before you could react, you found yourself cornered against the sofa.

"Well," Megumi's face was now inches from yours, his voice slow and laden with an indescribable intensity. His green eyes blinked, and suddenly, you found it hard to breathe. "Now, I'm looking at you, aren't I?"

What… is this situation? You could no longer think, and the only sound you heard was your uncontrollable heartbeats.

Even Megumi himself couldn’t keep the blush from creeping up on his face as he kept his hot gaze on you. When his cheeks began to feel as if they were sizzling and burning, much like the barbecue he had with Yuji the other night, he finally withdrew, moving away slowly. You took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully, your heart still racing.

"Stupid, don't look so scared," he grumbled before tousling the top of your head, causing you to wince.

Now he had truly done it, hadn't he? He had made it glaringly obvious just how hopelessly infatuated he was, or at least he hoped he had conveyed it to you.

“I’m not scared…” You looked away shyly. “Megumi, you idiot.”

“Why am I the idiot? You’re the one being so clueless.”

In his eyes, you appeared so petite and vulnerable. The way you puckered your lips made him want to pin you to the wall.

It was unlike anything he had felt before. This urge to protect, make you happy, and ruin you at the same time was just too much.

But in the end, the first two always won.

"Okay, forget about it," he said afterwards, prompting you to look up. "We don't have to share a room if you're that uncomfortable about it."

“Uh, but—” now you were the one stammering. “No, it’s—okay…”

He raised an eyebrow, not understanding what you meant, so you took a gulp of breath, suppressing your embarrassment.

“Let’s sleep together from now on,” you declared. “In the same room, okay? I’m okay with it…”

“Really, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

A reminiscent of what he told you just two days ago. You couldn't forget how those three simple words made you feel, as if you were granted a fresh opportunity at life, despite the hardships you'd endured.

In the ensuing five seconds, you locked eyes and then erupted into a chorus of laughter.

“It’s so stupid, why is it so hard?” you sighed, smiling all the way. “We can’t be stuck at this stage forever.”

Megumi looked at your smile and, once again, tenderly placed his hand on your head.

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t,” he muttered. “But even this is enough for me though.”

“What is?”

A gentle, weightless sensation filled his chest, a welcome relief after enduring two weeks of shared suffering. Seeing you no longer as tormented fueled his desire to to sustain that newfound happy expression on your face.

“Your smile,” he replied simply. “Just keep smiling. That’s all that matters.”

You swore you felt your heart leap out of your chest at his genuine words. But, damn you, you concealed your emotions the only way you knew how.

“Okay, so now you can’t deny it any longer,” you huffed in a playful condescending manner. “You’re positively smitten by me, correct, dear husband?”

A sheepish snort escaped from him. “Yeah, yeah, wife. I’m all yours.”

Megumi was eager to walk down this road with you from now on. It wouldn't be without its challenges, as there were still many things for you to tackle. Your mother’s murderer, Tsumiki’s curse, Zen’in’s mess. Through it all, he had you in his thoughts. And as for you...

You were content if this dream would last just a little bit longer.

next : love unspoken

🏷️ taglist

@moonmalice @hellothere9597 @qtnfer @firstplaidpeachnickel @waddlingwanderer @chilichopsticks @satorus-slut @dcvilxswish @lees-chaotic-brain @tojirin @bluebreadenthusiast @pandabooster @cole-silas @becsmarvel @giuli-in-earth @fuckimgenderfluid @haitanisrarity @kimura-uzuri @bicchaan @lunavixia @stevenknightmarc @rory-cakes

[cameronspecial]

A New Kind Of Normal (Part 4)

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Being Arrested

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: Stella is now four years old and Rafe gets to celebrate that first milestone with her.

Masterlist

Four years old. His little girl is four years old and Rafe finally gets to be there for one of Stella’s special days. He was quick to say yes when Y/N asked him to help plan the birthday party. She can swear he is more excited about the celebration than Stella as he pitches big and wild ideas. By the time May 17th comes around, she is able to talk him down from hiring someone to bring in safari animals to a Halloween-themed party with family members and daycare friends. With his excitement, the party also brings in the nerves of meeting Y/N’s family. He knows she told them the truth about him, but she said she explained how much he has changed for Stella. So he is a little on edge about what they are going to think about him and vows to himself to be on his best behaviour. 

Rafe finds himself setting up cauldrons filled with candies on a fold-out table in a black cat costume. Witch Y/N comes out to the backyard with a black cat-shaped piñata and a wooden broom. “If I was really being a bad boy, then you could’ve just told me. You don’t need to beat it out of me,” he jokes. Y/N giggles, heading over to the tree, “I don’t think any amount of spanking could turn you good.” His cheeks redden and he walks over to help her tie the piñata string around the tree branch when he notices her struggle. 

His breath falls on the back of his neck and his chest is flushed against her back. It takes everything in her not to take a peek at his abs that are on display thanks to his shirt lifting up. She looks up to watch him dangle the cardboard cat. He finishes up and looks down at her. They smile once their eyes meet. The moment is interrupted by Benedict coming outside with Stella in his arms. Her older brother notices their body language, “I hope we aren’t interrupting anything.”  “Mommy, Uncle Benny said he and me can throw paint at his walls tomorrow. Can I go, please?” Stella begs, not noticing the position her parents are in. Y/N and Rafe pull apart. Rafe holds his hand out to shake, “I’m Rafe, Stella’s dad. It’s nice to meet you.” Benedict shifts Stella to one arm and takes Rafe’s hand. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Y/N’s older brother, Benedict.” Rafe isn’t too sure what to say next, but luckily Y/N is able to break the silence. “Benny, can you help Rafe finish setting up? I have to get Stells changed into her costume,” she directs, leaving Rafe and Benedict alone with Stella’s pleas to go over to her uncle’s house tomorrow fading in the distance.

Unlucky for him, she says exactly what he doesn’t want her to, but he nods anyway. Rafe and Benedict keep working on the decorations. A few minutes later, a man, a woman and a teenager come out back; they all look like Y/N in various ways. The woman exclaims, “I can’t believe my grandbaby is already four.” The trio notices Rafe and freezes. Benedict is the one to rescue him, “Mom, Dad, Josh. This is Rafe, Stella’s dad.” Her mother and father give an unpleased look at him and he feels his heart deflate. He paints a smile on his face and holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N, Mr. Y/L/N, and Joshua,” he introduces, shaking all their hands. When her parents don’t say he can call them by their first names, he feels he didn’t make a good impression on them. 

Joshua gives him a smile that helps give him some hope, “It’s good to meet you. Stella has told me some great things about you.” At least, Y/N’s brothers seem to be okay with him. Y/N returns before the conversation can continue and everyone finishes putting up the decorations. 

——

The party is just beginning. Stella is running around the backyard with her friends while the adults talk to each other. None of the parents want to talk to Rafe because all they know is he was Stella’s absentee father up until recently and none of them are keen to learn more about him. Benedict is busy playing with the kids and Josh is talking to some of the parents. “Hi, sorry we are a little late. The ferry wasn’t on time,” Rose apologizes, placing a gift on the presents table. Wheezie and Sarah follow her actions and they all go looking for Stella. She spots the three Camerons arriving, running toward them. “Grammie, Auntie Wheezie, Auntie Sarah,” she screams. The little girl throws herself into the Cameron women's arms, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. 

Ever since Stella met her grandmother and aunts, she has been hooked on being exactly like them. She wants to be as determined as Rose, as kind to the environment as Sarah and as funny as Wheezie. While watching the scene, Y/N heads over to her parents. “You guys need to start talking to Rafe. I can see you guys are making him nervous,” she demands, giving them the disapproving mother look she mastered thanks to Stella. Her father gives her a questioning look, “How can we let him into our lives when we don’t know if he is here to stay? When we don’t know if he is going to break your and Stella’s hearts?” She understands her parents' fear. They were so supportive of her pregnancy and continuing school. They knew how much she struggled with the decision not to tell Rafe because of the rumours of who he was and with being a single mother in general. And it’s understandable that they don’t want to go through that all over again. However, Y/N has seen the effort Rafe has put into changing and her parents need to give him a chance to prove that to them. “Yes, he may have needed to get sober before he met Stella. But he worked hard to do so and I’m proud of him. Watch how great he is with Stella. It will show you how great of a father he is,” she promises. 

They take their daughter’s word into consideration and watch as Rafe approaches his step-mom, sisters and daughter. Stella jumps into her father’s arms, “Daddy, can I open my present from you, please? It looks so pretty.” Rafe hates to tell her no, but he knows what Y/N would want him to say. “Little witch, if it was just me and you today, then of course you can,” he begins to explain. “But we are at your birthday party and it would be rude to open just one gift at the beginning. Before we played the games, had dinner and cut the cake. I promise when Mommy says it is time to open presents, you can open my gift first.” The little girl takes a second to consider what her dad said. She nods her head and runs off to play with her friends. 

Y/N’s parents are impressed by how Rafe handled the situation. They can’t deny he was great with their granddaughter and decide they should apologize for how they were treating him. They approach him with a timid smile. “Mrs. and Mr. Y/L/N, is there anything I can help you with?” he asks, looking excited because he may or may not have overheard their conversation with Y/N. Mallory gives an apologetic look, “Please, call us Mallory and Winston. We are here to say sorry for how we’ve been treating you. We couldn’t see that you changed before. You really are amazing with Stella.” “You are and we’d like to get to know you more in a more suitable environment. How about you come over for dinner tomorrow?” Winston offers. Rafe is overjoyed with their sudden change, “I would love that. If it is not too much trouble for you guys, then I would love to make your family dinner at my place in the Outer Banks.” “Winston and I would love that.” 

——

Stella sits with her presents surrounding her. Her excitement to open them all warms everyone’s hearts. “Which one do you want to open first, Baby?” Y/N inquiries, looking at all the bigger boxes Stella will probably want to open. Stella picks a more medium-sized box, “This one is Daddy’s. He said I can open it first.” She looks at her mother to confirm she is allowed to open the gift and immediately rips the dark purple paper apart when she gets the confirmation. The paper beneath shows a lavender cardboard box closed with packing tape. She struggles with pulling the flaps of the box open and looks up at her dad with pleading eyes. “Please, Daddy, help me open it.” Rafe jogs over to his little witch and pulls it open for her. 

He wraps his arms around her waist to lift her up, so she can see into the box. She pulls the tissue paper out of the box and pulls out the fluffy black stuffed cat. Her squeal is deafening, but her eyes widen at the pretty Taurus constellation necklace the cat is wearing as a collar. Each star is a small diamond. Y/N’s eyes bulge at the sight as well, knowing the necklace is expensive. She wants to demand that he takes it back, but she doesn’t want to ruin this bonding moment between the father and daughter. “Daddy, can you put it on for me, please?” she questions, holding it up to him. He gives her a kiss on the temple, “Of course. I want you to remember how much I love you every time you wear it. And know that whenever I look up to the stars, I’m thinking about you, little witch.” 

——

“Thank you so much for watching her. Benny got into a little trouble and uhh… he definitely isn’t in a place that I should take Stells. And my parents can’t get him because they are doing some college tours with Joshua,” Y/N thanks, getting ready to leave. She looks over her shoulder to see Rafe holding Stella in his arms, “Are you guys going to be okay? I know that this is the first time you are going to be watching her.” “We are going to be great! I promise I got this and if I need you, then I got your number,” Rafe guarantees, looking at Stella for backup. She gives him a grin, “Yeah. Now, go help Uncle Benny so I can spend time with Daddy.” Y/N shakes her head at her daughter chasing her out of her own house. “Okay, I’m going. Bye, I love you,” Y/N says, running out of the door. Rafe stops himself from returning her words when Stella cries out, “I love you too, Mommy.” He remembers that Y/N doesn’t love him, she loves her daughter. 

Once Y/N is out of sight, he closes the door and looks at his daughter. “So what do you want to do, little witch?” She gives it a thought before answering, “Let’s make popcorn and then watch a movie!” Rafe laughs at her excitement and brings them to the kitchen. He places her on the counter, so he can go looking for the popcorn. Y/N doesn’t have microwave popcorn, instead, she has just the kernels in a glass jar. He looks around for a popcorn machine, but it goes unfound. “Where does Mommy keep the popcorn machine?” he inquires, opening up a different cabinet to check. Stella gives him an inquisitive look, “Popcorn machine? Mommy makes it on the stove.” This makes Rafe pause because he has never made popcorn on the stove. “Do we really need popcorn? We can have chips instead,” he suggests. She shakes her tiny head, “We always have popcorn when we watch a movie.” “Okay, but you are going to have to help Daddy,” he gives in, taking the kernel jar and bringing her closer to the stove. He gets a pot, holding it up to his daughter, “Is this big enough?” 

“Yes, that’s the one Mommy uses. She uses the oil in that bottle and uses the blue spoon to put some oil in the pan.” Under her guidance, Rafe gets the olive oil and finds the blue spoon, which is a tablespoon measuring cup. He has to sneak a look at a recipe on his phone to check how many tablespoons of oils he needs, so Stella doesn’t think she is doing a bad job at explaining to him. She continues to instruct him on how to make it and when it starts popping he jumps a little. Stella giggles at her father’s fear, “Daddy, you got scared!” He exaggerates his surprise to keep her laughing. “I did. Can you cuddle Daddy to make him less scared?” he begs, moving closer so she can wrap her arms around his neck.

The popcorn finishes popping and he lets her put as much white cheddar topping as she wants. Rafe goes to examine their DVD collection and an unmarked box catches his attention. He pulls it off of the shelf, opening it up to reveal: The Love I Used To Have, starring Y/N Y/L/N. His mouth turns into a grin and he holds the box up to his daughter. “Do you want to watch this? Your mommy is in it,” he suggests to the toddler. Her excitement shines through and she jumps up and down while clapping. “Yes, yes. I want to see Mommy in a movie.” They get settled on the couch with her nestled under his arm. Stella pops some of the popcorn into his mouth and he has to stop himself from cringing at the amount of white cheddar in his mouth. “Hmm, this is really good, little witch. Good job,” he praises, giving her a smile. She grins at his words and eats some herself. He turns on the movie and they begin to watch.

The title of the short film fades onto the screen, disappearing to reveal the close-up of an eye crying. Rafe instantly recognizes it. How could he not when the image of those eyes rolling while he goes down on her is what haunts his dreams? Y/N’s eyes blink and the shot changes to a wide shot of her at a cemetery. “That’s Mommy,” Stella identifies with her finger pointed toward the screen. He kisses her head, “It is.” 

As the short film progresses, Rafe is blown away by Y/N’s acting talents. She is able to evoke the feeling of loss from him so easily and he truly feels like he is experiencing falling in love with her co-star and then losing her. He may not have lost Y/N in the same way as her character, but the emotion she displays makes it easy for him to match his loss with hers. It makes him want to ask her if she did have someone she loves die and if that is the feeling she is tapping into for this project. The movie comes to an end and he brushes his tears away to hide them from Stella. “Mommy is good at acting,” she whispers, looking up at her father, who can only nod in agreement. 

——

The rest of the afternoon turned into a Halloweentown marathon and halfway through movie number three, they had to pause for a second to wait for the food they ordered. Stella is held in his arms, playing with the gold chain around her father’s neck. “Daddy,” she catches his attention. He hums to show that he is listening. “Do you love me?” Rafe’s eyes stop looking out the open door to look at her, “Of course I love you.”

“Forever?”

“Little witch, I love you forever and always.”

The elation in her eyes makes him happy and she rests her head on his chest with a sigh, “I love you forever and always too.” 

——

Y/N comes home to find Stella asleep in Rafe’s hold while his focus is completely on the TV. He is so invested in Return to Halloweentown that he doesn’t notice Y/N walk in. “How is Marnie going to get herself out of this pickle?” he whispers to himself. Y/N joins him on the couch, “Don’t worry, she will.” Rafe, for the second time today, jumps out of his seat, but a little softer with Stella in his arms. “I did not see you come in. Is Benedict okay?” he leans in to ask so as to not wake up the sleeping girl. 

“Yeah, he got off with a warning this time. The police just wanted someone to pick him up so he wouldn't do it again. The paperwork was a nightmare though.”

“That’s bureaucracy, Buttercup. Let me just help you get her to bed and I’ll head out.”

Rafe lifts himself off the couch and at the movement, Stella wakes up. “Mommy, you’re home,” she mutters in a tired voice. Y/N smoothes the girl’s muddy hair down, “I am, Baby. Why don’t we go to bed and say goodbye to Daddy?” Stella hasn’t forgotten her plan to help her father out with her mother and decides this is the perfect time to put it into motion. “But I want Daddy to sleep over. Mommy, it’s so late,” she draws out the last vowel. Y/N gives her a tight-lipped shake of the head, “I know, but Daddy has to go home, Stells.”

 “NO! I want Daddy to stay.”

“Stella Rachel Y/L/N. I said Daddy can’t. Now, go get ready for bed.”

Stella disobeys her mother and continues to cry her head off. Y/N starts biting her nails, trying to think of how to handle this situation. Rafe can see how tired Y/N is and wants to help. “I can sleep over if you want. I don’t mind taking the couch,” he offers. At her father’s words, Stella’s cries continued, “No, I want Daddy to sleep with me in Mommy’s room with Mommy.” He doesn’t know how to help Y/N with that. Y/N is too tired to argue at this point and gives in to her daughter’s wants, “Okay, he can stay with us.” Stella’s screams immediately stop. She gets off of the couch and goes to get ready for bed. “Did I just get tricked by my four-year-old?” Y/N ponders, turning toward Rafe. He gives her a shrug, “If it makes you feel better, I thought she was having a real tantrum.”

——

Y/N and Rafe stare at each other awkwardly from over Stella’s head. She had insisted that she sleep sandwiched between the pair and that they hugged each other while they slept. Rafe never thought he would be in Y/N’s bed; he doesn’t really know what to make of it, but he isn’t complaining. “I’m sorry she threw a tantrum and now you have to sleep here,” Y/N murmurs, smoothing down Stella’s hair. He gives her a smile, “It’s okay. I have nowhere to be tomorrow. Plus, I like being here for our daughter.” “That’s great. I know she loves it when you are here,” she confesses. His eyes find the ones that were on the TV screen a few hours ago, “How come you never tried to get your big break at acting? I know you couldn’t move out to LA or New York because of the diner, but you could’ve still sent out self-tapes.” “It wouldn’t have been practical with Stella. I needed a steady income and acting couldn’t provide me with the stability I needed for her,” she explains, fidgeting with her nails under the blanket. 

“But you are such a good actress. It is your dream.”

“It was my dream, Rafe. But I was going to have a baby and she became my priority.”

Rafe wishes that he could’ve been there when Stella was born, then maybe Y/N wouldn’t have had to leave her dream behind. He promises to himself that he will help bring stability to his little family so that Y/N can chase after what she genuinely wants in life. He goes to express that feeling but finds Y/N’s eyes closed. Her soft snores are an indication he isn’t going to get an answer. “I love you both. Forever and always,” he vows, kissing them both on the cheek. 

——

The next morning, Rafe is the first to wake up and he decides to make breakfast for his girls. He wants to help alleviate some of Y/N’s stress because that’s what one does for the people one loves. It may be a little early to say he loves her, but just being with her makes him happy and he has never felt his way before. He should ask her out on a date. Stella and Y/N find Rafe cooking waffles for everyone. Their little girl goes running to him and wraps herself in his legs. “Good morning, Daddy! Can I have some waffles too, please?” He moves away from the waffle maker, kneeling to return her hug, “Of course, little witch. I’m making food for everyone. Why don’t you go sit at the table? There is some bacon already there. This is the last waffle that I need to make.” “Okay. Thank you, Daddy! Forever and always,” she yells. She runs back to the table and Y/N gives him a confused look. “Forever and always? What does she mean by that?” she probes, coming closer to him. He looks over at her with a smile, “She asked me yesterday if I loved her. And I said forever and always. I guess that’s how she is saying I love you now.”

“Oh, that’s cute. You didn’t have to make breakfast, Button. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Buttercup. This may not be my house, but Stella is my responsibility too. Making sure she is fed is a part of my duties.”

The family eats breakfast in harmony with each other like they have always been together since Stella was born. She would do adorable things that would warm her parents’ hearts and they would do piney things that would give her hope. Y/N is washing the dishes while Rafe and Stella hang out at the table. “Daddy, you should ask Mommy out on a date,” Stella advises in a hushed tone. His eyebrow darts at his daughter’s words, “And what do you know about dates, little witch?” 

“Mommy and I watch lots of Hallmark movies. You look at each other like they do in the movies.”

“We do?”

“Yeah, and you smile whenever you see her. And try to touch her hand.” 

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

Little does she know that her dad has already thought about it and is planning on doing it once her hearing ears are out of the room. 

——

Stella is in the bathroom, pooping as she announced to her parents. This leaves Y/N and Rafe alone in the living room waiting to see if she is going to need any help. Rafe finds the chain of his watch, playing with the link of the golden band, “I was thinking… maybe we could go mini golfing sometime and then we could go to dinner.” “Oh, that’d be great. Stella loves mini golfing. She says it’s like a tiny world perfect for kids,” she informs, giving him a smile.

“Actually, I was thinking it could be a date.” 

Her smile falls and Rafe feels as though his world stopped turning. “Rafe, I like you. I really do, but I don’t think we should date,” she breaks his heart with those words. “Some people suggest that you shouldn’t date when you are just getting sober. It’s not that I don’t believe you will stay sober. It’s that I think it would be better to focus on your sobriety and Stella.” He quickly nods his head, wanting to move past this awkward moment, “Right, I understand.” “Yeah, you are such a great dad to Stella and I really appreciate the effort you put into being with her. I hope you know that.” Their daughter’s call for help with wiping her butt causes Y/N to leave him alone in the room. He knows what she said makes sense and he probably shouldn’t jump head-first into another new commitment. But it still doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in his stomach at her no. 

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya @magicalyoura @mp-littlebit @loverfu55ii @dark1paradise @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @alyisdead @emeloyy @js-a-writer @kisstaya

[rubyreduji]

timeless — ljh

summary: you’ve just met jihoon, yet something about him feels familiar

tags: fluff, romance, reincarnation?, gn!reader warnings: arranged marriages, mentions of death and war  reader notes: no pronouns or explicit gender descriptions but they do take a more feminine role in history, jihoon picks up the reader but my mans is strong okay don’t worry wc: 10.3k an: i’ve been writing this for over a month now fjdskla and i like the finished product but im a bit worried the format is choppy but either way please enjoy and show it lots of love...also happy first fic of the 2nd year of rubyreduji!!!

“Soonyoung, stop it!” You scold your best friend as he giggles at you.

“Just go talk to him!” Soonyoung tells you, pushing you towards the door to the antique shop next to your favorite boba place. 

Him refers to the cute cashier you always see through the windows when you and Soonyoung go and get boba (which is about three times a week). It’s nothing more than a hallway crush but Soonyoung keeps insisting that it could be more than that if you would just go talk to him. 

You don’t actually want to talk to the boy who stands at the counter with a smile, but before you can stop him Soonyoung is opening the door to the store and forcing you inside. When you turn around to chew your best friend out, you find him not there, his back already retreating to the boba shop. 

A part of you wants to just dash back out the door but the bell attached to the door has already gotten the attention of the cashier and you can’t escape now.

“Welcome to The Eternity Emorpium, today anything marked with a green sticker is 20% off.” The voice isn’t what you expected Cute Cashier to sound like but when you turn around to face him, you realize you’re not talking to Cute Cashier at all.

Rather than the tall boy with glasses you’ve been peeking in on for the past few months, you come face to face with a short yet buff boy with long black hair. He most definitely is not the guy you came in for, but you have to admit he is just as (if not more) cute than the other cashier.

You’re not sure how you didn’t notice that your normal Cute Cashier wasn't behind the counter, but in your defense you were too busy fighting off Soonyoung.

You give the new cashier—who you have now dubbed Even Cuter Cashier—a smile, before pretending to look at all of the memorabilia set out. The actual shop is nice with an obvious theme and specific layout that only someone with an eye for aesthetic and organization could create. On the speakers a Bruno Mars song is playing and you wonder if it's the cashier who has control over the music or just a general store playlist.

You feel awkward walking around the shop, letting out fake hums every once in a while to make it seem like you're actually shopping and not just sneaking glances at Even Cuter Cashier whenever you can. You stop in front of a playing card deck and you pick it up, flipping it over in your hand a couple of times.

"Oh, we just got those in," Even Cuter Cashier says, startling you a bit. "Put them on the floor this morning. You into cards?"

"Oh, uh," Shit. This is your chance to talk to him, "yeah. My dad is more of a collector than I am, but I can see the appeal."

"Nice. Yeah I'm more of a guitar collector myself, but my wallet wishes I wasn't," he says and you both laugh.

"That's cool though. I would love to learn how to play an instrument but I definitely don't have the talent or patience for that." As you speak with the man you slowly start to drift towards the counter.

"Hey, anyone can be talented, it just takes practice." You quickly glance down at Even Cuter Cashier's name tag to see his actual name is Jihoon.

"Good inspirational quote, but I think I'll just stick to the playing cards," you tell him with a grin as you set the pack down in front of him.

Jihoon just pushes the cards back to you and when you give him a questioning look he just grins. "They’re on the house.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” you tell him.

“I wanted to,” he says. “Maybe it’s just my plan to get you to come in here again.”

You smile at Jihoon, your face starting to turn a bit hot. You pick up the pack of cards and bid goodbye to the cashier before turning and leaving. Soonyoung is standing outside the door with two boba cups in hand. He peeks in when you open the door and frowns.

“That’s not Cute Cashier.”

“Nope! That’s Even Cuter Cashier,” you tell your best friend.

“You’re abandoning the other guy already?”

“I can’t abandon someone I don’t even know,” you scoff, “and anyway, I think I like Even Cuter Cashier. Something about him…it feels like destiny.”

Soonyoung laughs at you, but you ignore him, your mind still lingering on the dark haired boy from earlier. The more you think about him, the more your heart starts to grow warm. You can’t place it, but something about Jihoon feels familiar, and you need more.

1500s

“You are to be married to Prince Wonwoo before the solstice hits.”

Your head shoots up, staring at your father, not sure if you hear his words correctly. There’s no possible way he said that. You can think of a dozen reasons why that’s impossible, a few including: 1. You’ve never met Prince Wonwoo in your life, why would he want you as his betrothed? 2. You two did not have a courtship and it would be a scandal for you two to get married without presenting as a couple to the public first. 3. Your family is not nearly important enough to be noticed by royalty. 4. (And this is the biggest one) You are in love with someone else.

Well, your father doesn’t know that you’re in love with someone else, but it’s still an important fact to note.

Despite all of these reasons, your father continues to talk about the arrangement, not noticing the shock on your face. You wonder about how it came to be, and without you hearing even a whisper about it.

“You will be meeting with a royal advisor in two days, please do not cause any trouble.” With that your father walks ways, leaving you with a million questions brewing your mind.

The main one being: how are you going to tell Jihoon about this?

For over a year now you’ve been seeing the same man, sneaking out whenever you can to meet him. He came into town with a bang (quite literally — his caravan practically falling apart with all of his belongings crashing to the ground as it did) and you’ve been captivated by him since. 

Your days are never boring when Jihoon is around, the two of you either going on adventures or hanging out in Jihoon’s (new) caravan. Though, you think your most favorite times spent with Jihoon are late at night, when you two meet up on the outskirts of your estate grounds, right on the edge of the forest.

There never is any guessing as to what Jihoon has planned. Some days you two walk around the garden under the moonlight, talking and gazing up at the stars, while other nights you’re whisked off to another town to dance the night away in a hidden tavern. You love the guise of the night, being able to do whatever and be whoever without the fear of onlookers and their judgment. It’s just you and Jihoon in your own little world.

Maybe that’s why you’ve been keeping him a secret for so long, you like keeping him all to yourself. No one can taint your relationship if they don't know about it. Though you suppose that has backfired on you now.

You don’t see your father for the rest of the night and when the sunsets and you slip out the back door and walk down to the forest edge, you do it with a heavy heart. As always Jihoon is standing next to the tree he carved your initials in, a wide grin on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

As soon as he spots you approaching his face lights up in a grin. He trots up to you the rest of the way, scooping you up into a hug.

"I've missed you," he says, pressing kisses to your lips and cheeks. You giggle at his antics.

"You saw me two days ago, my dear."

"Oh but that's two days too long for an aching heart in love." 

Other people may think it's cheesy but you can't help but adore the sweet way Jihoon talks to you, always putting his poet background to good use. You smile as Jihoon holds you in his arms, but soon the good mood is ruined by the news you remember you have to break to him.

"What's wrong, my love?" Jihoon asks, seeing the fallen look on your face. He reaches up and pushes your hair out of your face, a habit he has picked up since you two met. 

You just sigh and shift so you're out of Jihoon's embrace. Automatically you miss his strong arms around your waist, but you can't bear to look at him as you talk.

“My father has given me away to another man,” you tell him in a hushed voice. 

“Who?” Jihoon responds automatically. “I won’t let him take you. I-I’ll fight.”

You finally turn towards Jihoon, the solemn look still firm on your face. “I’m betrothed to Prince Wonwoo.”

“Prince Wonwoo?!” Jihoon looks taken aback. You don’t blame him. Suddenly he deflates. “How am I going to beat that?”

You’re not sure how to respond. The truth is Jihoon can’t compete. That doesn’t mean you’re going to give up hope on him, though.

“We’ll…we’ll figure something out,” you finally say. You step closer to Jihoon, allowing him to wrap you up in his embrace once again.

“I’m not giving up on us,” Jihoon tells you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll be fine. We have to be.”

When your father told you you’d be meeting with a royal advisor, this isn’t exactly what you were expecting.

When you arrived at the castle you were amazed at the size of it, but you weren’t allowed to gawk for long, being ushered into a sitting room where two men were already conversing. Neither were your soon to be husband though and you wondered when you might actually get to meet the prince.

The two men soon introduced themselves as Soonyoung and Mingyu, two of Prince Wonwoo’s most trusted men. Now two hours later, you’re starting to question the judgment of your betrothed.

Not only are the men completely scatterbrained and disorganized, they also seem to bicker more often than not, making it difficult for you to understand everything they’re telling you. The only thing you really comprehend is that you’re going to be spending a lot more time with the two men up until the wedding.

You’re given a schedule at the end of the day, your upcoming weeks all planned out for you already. Meeting with wedding coordinators, royalty training, garment fittings, and everything else of the like. You frown, thinking about your normally free schedule has now been filled.

Luckily for you, the meeting finished earlier than expected and you don’t hesitate to direct yourself towards the area where Jihoon’s caravan resides. Your lover is delighted to see you but before he can get any words out you’re throwing yourself at him, pulling him into a kiss. You’re desperate to drown in Jihoon and forget reality even just for a moment.

It isn’t until later that you and Jihoon finally exchange words. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Jihoon says. You two lay next to each other on his bed, bare bodies pressed together under the linens. Your head rests on his chest and his hands card through your hair. “Was I not satisfactory in taking your thoughts away? What is troubling your mind so much?

“Prince Wonwoo.”

“You’re thinking about Prince Wonwoo after laying so intimately with me?”

“No! Well yes, but- I- shut up,” you grumble, smacking Jihoon’s chest, making his laugh.

You’ve never met the prince before, though you are well knowledged on him. It’s hard not to be when he is to take over the crown in a few years. You try not to think about how that will make you the queen consort.

You’ve only seen Prince Wonwoo in person a handful of times, none too recently, but you still know the prince is very handsome. Not as handsome as you find Jihoon, though you may be a bit biased. He’s also said to be kind, smart, level-headed, and well calculated. You suppose it could be worse. 

“I met with his advisors today,” you tell Jihoon. “I guess it’s just all hitting me. This really is going to happen.”

“Hey, listen to me,” Jihoon moves so he can stare at you in the face, “no matter what happens, I will always love you. My heart is still yours.”

“And mine yours,” you tell him softly. “I love you Lee Jihoon. Never forget that.”

You don’t see Jihoon for a while. Your schedule is packed with futile meetings that take up your day and with the news of your engagement to the prince (who you have still yet to meet), there are guards outside of your estate at night.

You suppose you are fortunate that Mingyu and Soonyoung have grown on you in the past few weeks. Though you still think them foolish, you also have a fondness for the pair. You see why Prince Wonwoo puts his trust in them. You find yourself wanting to confide in them, though there is one thing that still remains a secret.

It isn’t until the night before your wedding that you see your love. You are able to lose your guards for a second and you make a beeline straight to Jihoon’s caravan. He’s still awake, sitting outside and staring up at the starry sky when you approach.

“My dear,” you call out to him. Jihoon looks away from the sky to meet your face, a look of surprise flashes over his face before they form into a soft smile.

“You know you really shouldn’t be out so late at night, it is not safe.”

“Well then, why don’t you help me find some shelter kind sir,” you tell him. Jihoon just grins and grabs your hand, pulling you into his home. 

You two spent the night wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft kisses and even softer words. When the morning comes Jihoon is still asleep when you awake and while you’d love to give him a proper goodbye, you know you already pushed your luck enough spending the whole night out.

You quickly find a quill and some ink and you grab a piece of Jihoon’s writing parchment and scribble a quick note to him before slipping out the door. It’s only after the caravan is out of sight that you let your tears fall.

The first time you meet Prince Wonwoo is at the altar. Up close he’s even more handsome than you imagined, with soft facial features and kind eyes. You can’t help but still feel a bit disappointed, staring at the stranger in front of you as you recite your wedding vows.

The chapel where you are being wed is packed full of people, mostly nobility. Your attire is suffocating, despite being fitted for it thrice. Across from you, the prince keeps a neutral face and you wonder about his own involvement in this arrangement. 

He’s dressed in a formal outfit fit for royalty. The colors pair with your own dressings and you wonder what you two look like from the outfit. A newly bonded couple who will eventually be ruling the whole country. Are you two a handsome, strong presenting couple? Or do you two look like two fools who have never met before?

You were surprised at the way the public took the news of the engagement. You were expecting backlash against the prince, but he is well loved by the public and they were all happy to see the young man finding a partner to settle down with before stepping up to the throne. Despite never having been seen together in public before today, there was a wide talk of your (fake) courtship and how you must be very lucky to have the prince hold your heart.

If only they knew that a lonely, penniless poet was the real caretaker of your love.

It isn’t until the words leave the officiant’s mouth that you realize you will have to kiss the prince. Not only to end the ceremony but for the public to see you two unite as one. You must look as taken aback as you feel because your now husband takes the initiative, stepping forward to close the distance between you two.

Wonwoo cups your face gingerly, his hands are cold and his fingers are boney. He stares at you for a moment, dark eyes gazing into your soul, before he finally leans in.

The moment his lips press against yours you want to jerk out of his hold. It feels wrong. Your lips don’t fit together nicely and there’s no warmth exchanged between you two. You’re both stiff and you note how Wonwoo’s lips aren't as full as Jihoon’s. 

The kiss is over within seconds but the damage has been done and you can’t shake the dirty feeling that has grown under your skin. Wonwoo’s hand slides down your arm to clasp your fingers together. Another sign of unity for the public. You force a smile on your face, but the only thing you can think about is how your heart is miles away, in a small caravan on the edge of town.

My love,

I am not sure how you were able to convince the prince’s closest man to be a part of this, but I cannot say am I ungrateful for him. Though I do find him quite eccentric (and slightly obnoxious) I must give him my gratitude.

I miss you tremendously, but the past few letters you have sent me have been acting as bandages over my heart. I read them whenever I feel an ache of your absence, which is quite often.

It is unfortunate you find royal life boring. If I could, you know that I would sweep you off to the farthest lands where we would explore the area during the day and revel at night. I would show you the large world out there and we could experience new joys together. 

How I long to have you lay by my side at night. To feel your soft, tender skin against my fingertips. It pains me to even think about it, but it would kill me not to. 

I will never stop fighting for us.

Write back soon,

Your Jihoon

My darling,

I saw you today. I was taken quite off guard when I saw you riding in the carriage, next to Prince Wonwoo. I admit, you two make a handsome couple, but not more handsome than us.

It’s been so long since I’ve seen your beautiful face in person, that even seeing you with another man made my heart sing. I couldn’t pull my eyes from you, doing my best to soak in the sight of you because you were once again gone.

You looked quite winsome sitting in the carriage, but you did not look like you. Are you required to wear such extremities every day, or were you dressed for the occasion? Either way I cannot imagine the process of getting ready to be a swift one. 

If I am being honest I do not find the purpose of such efforts. Does the prince not find your natural beauty fit to his standards? If so then off with him. Any person with eyes would be fortunate to gaze upon you. I know I was.

Seeing you has only made me yearn more for you. I know it has only been a few weeks since your matrimony to Prince Wonwoo, but to me it has been lifetimes. How I crave to feel your touch, to hear your voice, to kiss your lips.

I know that the idea is futile but I will never give up on you. No matter what, I am still yours. And I hope you are still mine. Even if I only see a glimpse of you once every decade, my heart will still burn for you.

Forever yours,

Your Jihoon

To my heart,

Though you are always in my thoughts, you have been overtaking my mind more often than not lately. Please do not think I am upset about this, it is quite the opposite, but I am afraid I have been missing you a great deal more than usual.

Maybe it is due to a conversation I had the other day. I was at a tavern, catching up with an old acquaintance who was in town, and you came up. Jeonghan questioned if there was a reason why I had settled here and wondered if it was ‘due to my heart’. I laughed and confirmed his suspicions.

We spent a deal of time after that talking about you. It felt liberating being able to speak of you to someone else. I must have rambled on for at least an hour before Jeonghan finally cut me off, telling me how lucky I must be to have someone like you in my life. I had no choice other than to agree with him.

Speaking about you and thinking about you has thrown me into a tumultuous frame of mind. It is quite shameful how often I get lost in fantasies of us and what I wish we could be. You have overtaken my mind, body, and soul. There is not a single night where I do not dream of you.

I hope our future king can see how fortunate he is to be married to you. I would kill thousands of men to be in his position. Your smile itself is worth more than every jewel on his crown. I know I am just waxing poetic at you, but that is my job.

I know we must stay apart, but please mourn the future we could have had for me. Please write back to me with every thought you have about our imaginary future, because even if I cannot have the real thing, my dreams will be enough for me.

Dream of me as well,

Your Jihoon 

The life between you and your husband is…comfortable. You two talk, but not often and seldom about anything that is not shallow or mundane. You two sleep side by side at night but the last time you two touched each other was when you danced at your wedding and while his days are spent in meeting, yours are spent wandering the castle grounds and having tea with Soonyoung and Mingyu.

The only thing you find yourself looking forward to in your days anymore is the nightly lettering that you receive from Jihoon. It was only a week into the marriage when Soonyoung noticed how miserable you were. Without being able to hold it in anymore, you told the man about your lover and your heartbreak. It was then that Soonyoung suggested he help you out, acting as a carriage pigeon to deliver letters to and from Jihoon.

One night you are sitting at the desk in your shared chambers with Wonwoo, writing your letter for Jihoon, when Wonwoo speaks up. He is sitting on the bed across the room and his deep voice startles you, not used to talking to the man like this.

“Are you happy?” Wonwoo asks you bluntly, after calling out your name. You take only a moment to form an answer.

“I am content, my lord,” you tell him. Though you have stopped referring to the man as “Prince Wonwoo” in your mind, you cannot help but tack on the formal titles at the end of your sentences to the man.

“But you are not happy. Why?”

“Rest assured your highness, it is nothing you’ve done.”

“Does it have anything to do with the letters Soonyoung delivers to you each evening? The letters you are writing back right now?” You freeze in your seat. You were unaware he knew, but the prince is not ignorant. You suppose you couldn’t keep it a secret forever.

“I-”

“Do not mistake my curiosity for accusation. I’m aware this arrangement is not an ideal situation, and I would not be upset if there was another. I would not even be upset if you wish to be with him,” Wonwoo says. 

His words trouble you. There is a benefit for both of you in the marriage, but his words imply he is not exactly happy with the arrangement either. The offer to let you leave him is strange though, and causes you to fault for a moment.

“I am not going to abandon you, sire,” you eventually respond. “I have made an obligation to you.”

“No, your father did. Though we are not well acquainted I still hold empathy and I do not want to be what is keeping you from your happiness. From your happy ending.”

“Either way my father’s word is say, so I will do what he asks of me. It is an honor to be wedded to a man of your status,” you tell him, trying to convince yourself more than anything.

“But that is all it is: status. What about love?”

You don’t answer. You sit there and stare down at the letter you are writing to Jihoon. You think about the wooden box hidden in the drawer that holds his letters.

“Please, I do not wish to cause you turmoil. If you want to go, I will not hold you back,” Wonwoo says. 

You finally turn to look at your husband. “You are very kind-hearted, but I cannot accept that offer. I will not tarnish your reputation like that. Do you know the talk that would rise if they heard the soon-to-be king’s spouse up and left? What would your father do to mine? It is too risky.”

Wonwoo has a morose look on his face, like he knows you’re right. “Tell me about him,” he says, surprising you.

You hesitate. You should not talk of your lover to your husband. It is unorthodox and unbecoming. You look at Wonwoo’s curious face though, and you can’t help yourself.

“He’s a poet. I’ve never met someone who can use words the way he does. Even in things as simple as short letters or passing comments, he can make it sound like the most romantic sentence ever uttered,” you tell Wonwoo.

“Tell me more.”

“He has a kind soul, like you. He’s very exciting to be around. He used to travel the world, so I love to hear him regale the tales of his adventures. He likes to take me on our own little adventures as well. One time a traveling show came through a neighboring town and he got us tickets to go watch.”

“You love him greatly.” It is not a question. You just nod to Wonwoo. “You light up when you speak of him. In a way I’ve never seen before.”

You don’t know what to say to him, so you turn your back to him once more, resuming your letter to Jihoon.

You love Jihoon, everyday apart from him feels like you’re struggling to breathe, and under any other circumstance you wouldn’t have stopped at anything to be with him, but you are not under those circumstances. You fought your father, refusing the marriage, even telling him you loved someone else, but he did not listen. He told you this was the one thing he would put his foot down on.

You can’t blame him, how often does someone get the chance to marry a prince. The things this marriage is doing for your family is immeasurable and you cannot in good conscience leave them without a second thought. Not to mention the damage it would do to your family’s reputation, let alone Wonwoo’s. Your family would be shunned by the public and Wonwoo would be labeled a joke of a king.

Not to mention if it was ever discovered what really happened. What would happen if everyone found out why you left? You and Jihoon would surely be ostracized. Town piranhas in even towns in other kingdoms. Jihoon’s career as a poet would be over. You can’t imagine that being a happy life.

Not that you’re particularly happy right now either. You wish you didn’t overthink everything, or else you would have left the town even before you got married. You and Jihoon could be living in his caravan, just you two alone, safe and sound and happy.

It is too late for that though, and now you have to pay the consequences. Married to a man you know nothing about. A man who seems to be rooting for you despite the outcome. It makes you frown. Maybe your first step in figuring it all out is figuring out your husband first.

“Have you ever been in love, my lord?” You decide to ask Wonwoo one day while walking the castle’s grounds. As of recently you two have gotten closer, an interesting bond forming between you two, though most of your time is spent talking of Jihoon. Wonwoo never draws back on his suggestions that you follow your heart. 

“Not in the way you are. I was very fond of someone a long time ago, but they loved someone else.” You frown at this news. 

“Please excuse the crudeness of my words, sire, but then why do you put so much mind into my love? Do you not wish to be wed to someone?”

“I do,” Wonwoo answers after a moment of contemplation, “but I do not want to be the reason why true love is separated. You and your Jihoon, you are a story of fate. Who am I to get in the middle of it? The public likes me enough, I will be okay. No matter what, I will be okay, but will you?”

Your heart aches and yearns for Jihoon, and your husband is not making it easier. That may have been his goal though.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You ask Wonwoo. You frown as you stand in front of him, your stomach in knots of worry.

Wonwoo just gives you a soft smile. “I am sure. If anything, I should be worrying about you. Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes. Both Soonyoung and I checked twice. You have ensured that everything will run perfectly.” You reach over and take your husband’s hands in yours, squeezing them tightly. “Thank you, Wonwoo. For everything.”

“Ah, it is the least I could do. Now, you have somewhere to be and I cannot keep you waiting any longer. Send me letters, okay?” With a final squeeze of your hands, Wonwoo lets you go. You smile at the man once more before turning away from him and not looking back.

You slip out of the castle through the servant’s doors and quickly make your way to the outskirts of the grounds. It reminds you of all those times you escaped your own house to meet Jihoon at the edge of the forest. The thought makes a grin grow on your face as you speed up your pace even more.

Just like all the previous times, when you get to the edge of the estate Jihoon is standing there waiting for you. You launch yourself into his arms, allowing him to pick you up and twirl you around. He’s giggling high pitched and gleeful as you two spin around in each other’s arms.

When Jihoon finally puts you down he doesn’t waste a moment and leans in to kiss you. You happily kiss him back, grabbing his face and holding him in place. You can feel a wet stream of tears run down your face, your heart bursting with joy as you reunite with your lover.

His lips are familiar against yours and you automatically feel at home. For the first time in months you can relax, finally back in Jihoon’s arms.

“It’s you,” Jihoon muttres when he finally pulls away. He brings his hands up to caress your face.

“It’s me, my love, it’s me,” you tell him back, tears still flowing freely.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you more.” You lean in and press another quick kiss against Jihoon’s lips. “But we will never have to miss each other again.”

“I’m never letting you go,” Jihoon tells you, gripping you tighter. “Oh how much I love you.”

You giggle. “I love you more. Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

You grab Jihoon’s hand and pull him away from the grounds to where his caravan is waiting for you two. As you two travel further and further away from the town you feel your heart grow lighter and lighter, excited for the rest of your life of adventures with your love.

The next time you see Jihoon is nearly a week later. You and Soonyoung are once again getting boba when you spot the boy behind the counter, just like last time. When you and Soonyoung went and got boba a few days prior you noticed that the original Cute Cashier was working, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment at him not being Jihoon.

As soon as you lay eyes on your Even Cuter Cashier, you quickly make a beeline into the shop, your desire for boba long gone.

Jihoon looks up when he hears the sound of the bell ringing and his eyes soften into a smile when he sees you entering through the threshold.

“You came back!”

“I did. It’s hard not to, with the amazing service I got last time,” you say. You casually browse the store as you talk to Jihoon, glancing at him every so often as you do. 

“Well I’m glad that my plan to get you to come back succeeded.”

You giggle at Jihoon’s words as you stop in front of a stack of old photos. You flip through them, looking at all the memories they hold. Many of the photos depict different couples, all smiling brightly as they hold each other. The images put a smile on your own face.

“Find something good?” Jihoon asks and you jump a bit at the closeness of his voice. When you turn, you see the man standing by your side.

“Oh, yeah, just these photos! Aren’t they beautiful?” You tilt them a bit to show them off to Jihoon. “I think it’s so amazing that no matter how the world changes, love will always stay the same.”

“Huh, I guess you’re right. Love’s been around since the beginning of time.”

“The love these people were feeling in these photos is the same love we experience today. There really is nothing like it.”

You look back down at the photos. The one in your hand shows a woman clinging onto a man’s arm, her cheek pressed into his bicep as she smiles at the camera. The man himself is smiling as well, though he is smiling down at the woman, rather than the camera. 

“They’re cute,” Jihoon mumbles, his own eyes transfixed on the photo. 

“Yeah,” you say, “I wonder what’s their story.”

“Something happy, I hope,” Jihoon says before moving to walk back behind the counter. You grab a few more photos from the stack before following after him, placing them on the counter.

Jihoon smiles at you and starts to ring you up. You take a moment to stare at him, your eyes tracing over his fluffy hair and round face and kind smile. You don’t stop staring until Jihoon breaks your focus.

“What? Does my hair look stupid or something?” He grins lazily at you again and you feel your heartbeat quicken.

“Uh, n-no! It’s just…your smile is super familiar to me. Sorry, that may be weird.”

“No, no, it’s not. I guess I kinda felt the same thing the first time you came in,” Jihoon tells you. “Who knows, maybe we knew each other in a past life.”

You chuckle at Jihoon’s joke, but you don’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

1951

War Against North Korea Rages On, No End in Sight

You frown at the heading, throwing the newspaper aside onto the counter. The news of the North Korean troops invading Seoul changed everyone’s lives, throwing the country into a state of chaos trying to keep them from completely overtaking all of South Korea. Now a year later, the war is still in full force and though you know it’s important to stay updated on what’s happening, you don’t bother with the news articles anymore. They always say more or less the same thing: the war continues on with more casualties and less hope of ending soon.

Your heart grows heavy with each day growing worse than the last. You wish there was more you could do to help the war efforts, but you’re stuck at home taking care of your sick father. He’s the only family you have left, after your mother’s death a few years ago. All of the money received from her passing has gone into your father, but since the start of the war prices have done nothing but skyrocket.

So you spend your days at home taking care of your father, and your nights in a factory working to earn an income. You don’t mind the work though, allowing your mind to focus on something that isn’t the war or your father.

The only other time you get a break, an actual real break, is on Saturdays. It’s the one day in the week you allow yourself to go out, spending the afternoon to yourself getting groceries and taking time to focus on yourself.

You go through the same routine, walking down to the port and spending a few minutes enjoying the waves lapping against the shore, the salty sea water scent filling the air as the summer breeze brushes up against your skin. After taking in the sight of the sea, you move further into town and down the street to the cemetery.

Every Saturday you visit your mother’s grave, sitting with her for a while as you update her on your life and the current events. Occasionally you will bring a book and read aloud. You find the time spent with her calming, her maternal love enveloping you and letting you rest, even for a small bit of time.

Afterwards you browse the shops in town (only looking, never buying) before heading to the market to finish your day off. You spend the money for the groceries to get you through the week before heading back home. You do your best to walk most places you go, not wanting to spend the fare for the trollies. 

The streets are busy on the weekend and on your walk back to your house, someone bumps into you causing you to drop your bags, all of your freshly bought groceries tumbling to the ground. The person doesn’t even stop and you can’t bother chasing them too. You just sigh and bend down to pick up the now unusable goods. 

You now have to turn around and go back into town to get more groceries. It will take a good chunk out of your funds, but not too much. Maybe you’ll pick up a few more shifts at the factory.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” As you’re thinking about how to make up the price of the ruined groceries, you miss the man who has walked up to you.

When you look up you see a beautiful man with a sweet round face and dark hair staring down at you. He’s dressed nicely in a suit and it takes you a moment to actually respond to him, too distracted by his good looks.

“Pardon?”

“I was asking if you were okay?” The man bends down to help you pick up the rest of the food spilled on the ground. “I saw that man bump into you and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh! I’m fine, thank you.” You smile at him, appreciative of the kind gesture.

“But all of your groceries are now ruined. Allow me to buy you more.”

“Oh no! That’s not necessary,” you quickly tell the man. You don’t even know him and you would feel guilty allowing a man who didn’t even cause the casualty to pay for your groceries, especially with the state of the economy.

“I insist,” he says, standing and then helping you stand as well. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Sir it really-” Before you can even finish your sentence the man was walking away, back towards the town. You could just go back home, but then you’d be left with no groceries for the week so you begrudgingly follow him back to the market.

“Lee Jihoon, by the way,” he tells you as you two walk around the market, collecting what you need. You give him your name as well and he grins, a small spark igniting behind his eyes as he tells you how lovely your name is.

When you’re done regathering what you need you move to head to the register, but Jihoon stops you.

“This is all you’re getting? It’s barely enough for any proper meals. Please, add more. I won’t mind, I demand of it actually.” Jihoon then moves to add more to the basket and once again you have to follow along as Jihoon is the one carrying it.

You protest each time a new item is added but Jihoon keeps hushing you like you’re a life long friend rather than a stranger he met on the street no more than thirty minutes ago. By the time Jihoon is satisfied with what’s in your basket, it’s full to the top and you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen so much food in your life. Guilt eats away at you as you think about the money Jihoon is about to drop on you just because someone else made you drop your bags.

It isn’t until you’re checking out and Jihoon casually pulls out multiple banknotes without even a blink of an eye that you realize that not everyone lives like you and that just maybe Jihoon doesn’t mind paying so much because he has the money laying around to do so. Even back when your mother was alive and your father was able to work your family was still paying for everything with scraped up coins.

The sun is already low in the sky by the time you two exit the market and Jihoon stops you once more. “Allow my driver to take you back to your house.”

The sentence alone confirms your suspicions on Jihoon’s monetary status. To own a car is a luxury of its own, but to have a driver as well seals the deal.

You already can tell it’s impossible to turn Jihoon down so you just follow him back to his car. You wonder if his driver followed you after you two walked to the market. When you two get into the car you tell your address to the driver, trying not to get embarrassed at the thought of the nice car driving through your run down little neighborhood. 

Jihoon’s driver just nods and starts up the car. The three of you sit in silence until the car pulls up to your house and you climb out. Jihoon does as well, helping carry your groceries to the door.

“It was nice meeting you,” Jihoon says. “If you ever need anything again, give me a call.” He holds out a small white card, his business card, to you. You take it and thank him once more before entering your house, your mind still lingering on the strange, rich man.

You don’t give Jihoon a call, but you don’t have to. You run into him again not even three days after your first interaction. It’s early in the morning and you’re heading back home after work when you hear your name called out. When you turn you see the man’s car rolling up next to you, his head poking out of the back seat window.

“What are you doing walking alone so early in the morning? The sun has barely started to rise.”

"I'm walking back home from work," you answer honestly.

Jihoon's face looks sour at this, like he couldn't imagine working so late at night. "If you have been working all night let me treat you to breakfast."

It's your turn to let your face screw up slightly. You know that Jihoon can afford to buy you breakfast, but you still don't want to feel indebted to him. Not to mention your father will be waking up soon and you'll need to make his breakfast as well. You tell Jihoon as much.

"Then I will buy breakfast for your father too," is his solution.

You're not sure why he keeps insisting on buying you things but you just sigh and climb into the car. Jihoon has a smug grin on his face as he tells his driver where to go.

A few minutes later the car pulls up in front of a diner and you and Jihoon enter. It's nothing extravagant, but still a treat for those with a tight budget. 

The two of you sit in silence until a waitress comes and takes your order. Jihoon doesn't allow you to order for yourself, picking what he tells you are the most delicious and filling items. He orders for himself and then a third meal, asking the waitress to not cook it until she brings the check.

You note the way Jihoon has a nice presence to him, friendly and warm and inviting. The way his soft features are accentuated when he smiles, his round cheeks puffing up and his eyes squinting. You find him fascinating, but there's something more than that, something drawing you to him.

"So, where do you work that has you walking home at six in the morning?" 

The question breaks the ice between you as you fall into a natural conversation, asking questions and trading answers. Your hesitations towards the man quickly ebb the more you talk.

You learn he's a highly successful businessman but the war has halted much of his work which has given him some much needed down time. Like you, he doesn't have many living family members and he's an altruistic man so much of his money is left unspent.

Before you know it both of your meals are finished and the waitress is bringing over the check and the packaged meal for your father. Just like at the market, Jihoon pulls out his banknotes and pays before escorting you back to his car.

When you arrive at your house a part of you feels disappointed that the morning with Jihoon is over. Now it's back to the real world. 

You're halfway to your door when you suddenly turn back around. You don't know what causes you to say it before you can stop yourself you spit out, "Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? It's the last I could do after all of your kindness." 

Jihoon beams in front of you. "I would love that."

Bloodiest Battles of the War So Far, Conscription Soon to Follow?

Five months after you meet Jihoon he knocks on your front door, a letter clutched in his fist. There's a grim look on his face when you open the door and you know automatically.

The Battle of Bloody Ridge, follwoed by The Battle of Heartbreak Ridge, took out many of the soldiers on the frontlines and the country was now desperate to find new ones to replace them. A mandatory conscription for any young man who was eligible to join the military.

It didn't take long for you and Jihoon to start a relationship after your first few meetings. He's the perfect man, taking care of both you and your father and showering you in nothing but love and affection. The thought of him so far away, in the direct line of danger, makes a lump grow in your throat. Your chest tightens as your heart aches.

"We'll be okay," Jihoon mutters into your hair as you cry silently into his neck, holding him tightly. Like if you hold him tight enough he won't have to leave.

That's not how the world works though, and you accompany Jihoon on the day he is to deploy.

"If you need more money just send me a letter and I'll take care of it, okay?"

"You've left me with plenty already, love," you tell him as you fix his jacket collar. "Just come home safe."

"As long as you make sure I have something to come home to."

You can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes and you lean forward to press your lips to Jihoon's. He kisses you back, putting all of his love into it. A promise to you, that you will see him again, that this isn't your last kiss.

With one last squeeze of the hand Jihoon boards the bus and you're left alone, a heaviness in your heart and worry forming under your skin.

You just have to keep telling yourself he'll be okay, he has to be.

December 19, 1951

To the one my heart has gone to,

I hope you don't mind the frequency of my letters, I just feel closer to you know that eventually you'll hold the same paper in your fingers. I miss you tremendously, to the point my heart aches thinking of you.

Do you know that when you send your letters they smell of you? I always keep your most recent ones safe, in hopes to preserve the smell for just a little while longer.

There's not much to report about today, which I suppose is a good thing. Better than something hectic or even worse, a battle. 

Unfortunately it still doesn't look like there will be a break anytime soon. Battle after battle, life after life. It's not easy, but I've come to like the other men in my unit. Jeonghan takes good of us and Seokmin makes nice company. 

I don't want to keep you long, but I wanted to make sure you'd get a letter for before the holidays hit. Merry Christmas my love.

I'll make it up to you when I get home okay? For now just keep me in your dreams.

Write back soon, please. I want to hear what my lover has been up to. Keep me updated on your father as well.

All my love,

Your Jihoon

March 22, 1952

Today was hard.

I'm doing unwell as I write this letter, but it would pain me more not to send you my update.

Kwon Soonyoung died next to me today on the battlefield. It is not the first time a man has died near me, but it is the first time it was a man I have grown fond of. He was only a few months older than I am.

As grim as it may sound, and as much as I will mourn the loss, I am grateful that it was not me in his place. It was a difference of mere inches and fate chose Soonyoung. Does it mean anything? Is there a reason why I lived and he didn’t? I’m not sure but all I can think about is that his sacrifice is giving me a second chance at going home. Does that make me a bad person?

Everyday I pray this nightmare will be over. The thought of you is the only thing encouraging me to go on. I think about coming home to you, kissing your sweet lips, holding you in my arms.

We’ve been apart longer than we were together and I beat myself up for that everyday. I wish we would have met earlier, but as soon as the war is over we will have all the time in the world. Just you and me.

Wish me home soon,

Your Jihoon

November 30, 1952

To the home of my heart,

You have been on my mind all of today, not that you aren’t always on my mind normally. It has been particularly hard today though. It’s been a full year since my departure from you and every day has been harder than the last.

It’s hard to sleep at night and I often lay awake and think about you. Sometimes I will take a walk and look up at the sky. The moon and the stars are thousands of miles away but they still seem so close and bring so much comfort. That’s how I feel about you. Gazing at the moon also helps because it is still the same moon that you are under as well.

Look at the moon and think of me okay? Maybe one night we will be looking at the moon at the same time and I will be able to feel you just a bit closer.

Whenever I am able to fall asleep, I dream about you. I dream about the thought of you laying next to me. I wish to kiss your soft lips and feel your warm skin and look into your shining eyes. I dream of the life we will build together when we are reunited at last.

Would you marry me, my love?

I know it’s silly asking over a letter like this, and asking with such a strange courtship, but something in me feels the need to ask. Ever since I met you on the street that one fateful day, I’ve known you were the one for me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so please accept my proposal (I promise to give you a proper one the second I get home).

The other men keep teasing me about you, but they just don’t understand the love we share. Being with you, even just the thought of you, it feels like home.

A part of me wonders if I’ve secretly loved you my whole life. It sure feels like it. No matter what I know you were made for me and everyday I bless whatever force brought us together. I love you so much it drives me crazy.

When I get home let me take you out on a thousand dates to make up for the time lost. 

Please send me your answer soon,

Your fiance Jihoon

February 01, 1953

To my dearest,

I’m writing to you from the infirmary. I was shot in battle earlier, nowhere too fatal just the leg, but I just woke up from the procedure to remove the bullet and patch me up. I’m lucky to come out with nothing more than a scar. Some other men aren’t as lucky.

It seems everyday is a new fight, but it’s worth it if it gives me a chance of going back home to you. We’ll buy a house close to the port, so you can be near the ocean breeze. Every night we’ll walk the shore and watch the sunset together. Then on Saturdays I’ll accompany you on your errands. We’ll go to town together and get groceries and visit the cafe and do whatever your heart desires. 

I’ll buy fresh flowers for your parents every week.

We could get a cat to keep you company while I’m at work and you could quit that heinous job at the factory. That would give you more time to focus on yourself. You and I both know that my wealth is more than enough for just the two of us.

Our house shouldn’t be too big, but still a good size in case we ever have guests over. I think we should start a garden as well.

Ah, my love, thinking about our future is nice. It helps me wish for the future, helps me feel closer to you. Thank you for being my safe place away from this nightmare. I should rest more now, but please remember that I will always spend everyday loving you.

Pray for my speedy recovery,

Your Jihoon

July 07, 1953

Jagiya! I apologize for the lack of letters recently, things have been so hectic around here, but I write with good news!

The talk around camp is that the negotiations have been making a move, there is finally an end in sight. I cannot wait to get back to you. It has been far too long since I’ve seen you and the photo I carry of you has started to fade already from how often I admire it. 

I cannot stay to write for long, but I needed to send you an update and a reminder of my love. I promise we will be back together soon.

Go to town and buy some flowers for yourself okay? Today is worth celebrating.

I can’t wait to see you,

Your Jihoon

You’re jittery as you smooth down your shirt, waiting for the bus to pull up. The same bus that took him away nearly two years ago.

When all of your friends heard about your beau, they all called you crazy. Holding out for a man who has been gone for quadruple the amount of time you spent together and you guess maybe it is crazy, but for Jihoon you would do anything.

It is true that you two were only together for five months before his deployment, but even before he left you knew you were madly in love with Lee Jihoon. You spent your nights reading the letters Jihoon sent you, and writing ones back. You would think you two had been lovers for fifty years rather than five months.

You’ve always felt the pull towards Jihoon though, like you’ve been loving him all your life. Every letter he sent made you fall in love with him even more, and now two years later he’s finally coming home. 

The days were hard without him when you saw him nearly everyday before he left. Winter of 1952 was less than kind, taking your father with it and leaving you alone for the last seven months, wishing for nothing but for Jihoon to come home. Now he is and you couldn’t be more elated.

The people standing around you start to cheer when someone catches sight of the bus, but you can’t do anything but stand there, your heart pounding in your chest. When the bus stops and soldiers start to pour out you have a moment of doubt. The fear that Jihoon won’t want you anymore, that everything has changed for the worse, creeps into your mind.

The thoughts can barely form though because then Jihoon’s stepping off the bus and his skin is so much tanner than it used to be and you’ve never seen him with his hair so short but it’s Jihoon, your Jihoon. His eyes light up when he catches sight of your familiar face and he’s dropping his bags and running towards you.

His arms are locked around your waist and you’re being lifted off the ground. You cup Jihoon’s face in your hands and lean down to kiss him as he spins you two around, easing all of the worries in your mind. Your cheeks dampen as tears start to stream down your face, too many emotions coursing through you to keep them all on the inside.

You keep your hands on Jihoon’s face as he sets you down. You stroke his cheek, feeling his warm skin under your touch. “You’re here, you’re really here.”

“I’m here my love, I’m here, and I’m never leaving you again.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you and Jihoon to leave the station. You two sit in the back of his car, pressed together as Jihoon presses kisses to your face every few minutes. You’re not much better though, leaning into him with a dopey grin on your face, ready to start your new life with the man you love the most.

The next time you see Jihoon isn’t at the antique shop at all. You’re getting coffee at the cafe next to your apartment when you see the man walk in. His eyes light up a bit when he sees you and he makes a beeline to your table after getting his drink.

“Is this seat open?” He asks, pointing to the empty chair across from you.

“Of course.”

Jihoon takes a seat before turning his attention to you. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” you say teasingly but Jihoon just grins.

“Maybe it is,” his voice is smooth as he talks, and your breath gets caught in your throat, “I mean, I wouldn’t be upset if I was destined to meet you over and over again.”

You break his gaze, trying not to show him how flustered you are. “You’re quite the sweet talker you know? You don’t know anything about me-”

“No, but I don’t think it would be hard to learn. I’m starting to think we’re not really strangers at all. You can’t tell me that you aren’t a bit interested in me as well.”

You glance back at Jihoon to find him staring intently at him. His eyes are warm and deep and you can feel yourself being drawn in, like you’ve stared at those eyes a million times before. There’s an inviting sense to all of Jihoon and the only thing you can think of to describe it as is home. 

“Okay,” you tell him with a slight grin. “Let’s see if destiny is right.”

And really you don’t care if it is fate or not, because as you and Jihoon fall into a comfortable conversation you realize that the two of you meeting was no mistake, and that you could definitely love Lee Jihoon for multiple lifetimes. 

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[calisources]

𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒, 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences have been taking from different media and literature, movies and more regarding the topic of mistresses and favorites, mostly in the setting of royal court but can also be adjusted to other time periods. Change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit. Some of these include foul language, so beware. Implications of cheating are also in these.

You are my king, Niko, and I need you.

Everything I say is obeyed; everything I want is given to me.

You are such hard work to seduce, Niko.

She wanted to sit ON him, not next to him.

Never underestimate the power of a woman's intuition.

Behind every great king, there is a great queen. And behind them, there is a mistress.

The King is allowed to have as many favorite as he pleases.

A queen is never without her secrets.

A woman's beauty is her greatest weapon, use it wisely.

Rules are meant to be broken, especially by queens.

Queens do not beg for love, they command it.

Have as many bedwarmers as you wish, but I am your wife and you will not humiliate me.

A queen's grace can disarm her enemies.

He will grow tire of you, as he does with the others.

Having an ugly mistress is therefore a fatal mistake.

When a man takes a mistress, he doesn't turn around and divorce his wife.

Finding out that you are not your lover’s only lover hurts.

But a mistress can do interesting thing with food. Shall I describe them?

You will come back to the castle with me.

I-I'm not your responsibility.

You are mine. They gave you to me, remember? And I want to keep you. 

Your Grace---I am a virgin.

I realize that, and it pleases me. You do not doubt that I can be gentle with you?

They say you grow tire after the first night. No mistress last longer than a night with the king.

I know what you are trying to do, but do not think to take the King away from me. Let him play with you.

Done being sore yet, by chance?

From a mistresses’s perspective, taken men are low maintenance. All they want is sex, sex, sex. 

Do not take it harshly. It’s only flesh. And a body wants what it wants.

Kings have mistresses, Queens have secrets and they die with them.

To be the mistress of a married man is to have the better role.

The role of a mistress if make a man’s mood change and send him happy to his wife.

Don't be mad at a hoe for doing what she does best, besides it's not her that owes you that loyalty.

It was not a request. I will take you to bed and make you mine.

My wife has no interest in my bed, butb I assure you, my bed has interest in you.

 Wives are young men's mistresses, companions for middle age, and old men's nurses. 

I don't want her to know the truth about us.

They know about us and they do not care. My wife does not mind to share.

As long as I do my duty, I am allowed to do who I please.

This absurd jealousy.

A mistress should be like a little oasis, refreshing and exciting, away from the mundane realities of life

The bedchamber is where political alliances are sealed, and where empires are born.

A king may rule a nation, but a woman's allure can conquer the king.

Behind every great king, there are the whispers of his mistresses.

The allure of a mistress lies not only in her beauty, but in her ability to manipulate.

A mistress must be both lover and confidante, juggling passion and secrecy.

In the court of kings, a mistress can become more powerful than a queen.

He is one of his favorites, and everyone knows it. You must become his favorite too.

In the arms of a mistress, a king can escape the weight of his crown.

I want more than this. You cannot offer me more than secret meetings and a warm bed. People whisper.

You can be my wife here. 

If I desire to marry someone else, would I be allowed or you would not let me?

I'll take you as my only mistress. I won't have a thought or an affection for anyone else.

I call Mary my English mare, because I ride her so often.

He cannot give you his true heart... for *I* have that in my keeping.

You can't have 3 people in a marriage!

Seduce me. Write letters to me. And poems, I love poems. Ravish me with your words. Seduce me.

You've taken her honor!

I swear to your grace, someone else was there before me.

They say all his liaisons are soon over. He blows hot, he blows cold.

Sometimes I believe you will grow tire of me. But then I find you here in my bed.

If I cannot please the King, will he kill me?

You must not touch me, for Caesar’s I am.

Everyone knew she was his queen and wife in anything but name.

You will have this orgasm if it’s the last thing I do.

What happened to the art of seduction? A woman enjoys being seduced.

I will not be the laughing stock of the realm. A woman who can only be a lover, never a wife.

I found her a very beautiful young woman with a very sweet and yielding disposition, She confessed to great admiration for Your Majesty. Should I, arrange ...?

If you put the Queen aside for this affair, the kingdom will fall apart.

If you seek Your Grace, you know where to find him.

I trust his mistress more than I trust any man on this table.

My husband is extremely jealous. Wants me sent to a nunnery.

I am with child. It is His Majesty's child.

Slow down so I can see how you do it.

Think of this as training. For your future husband’s pleasure. And mine.

should like to be your wife in every way.

I was wondering if you'd like to become my mistress.

You like to board other men's boats.

You know perfectly well what the King desires and what he shall have.

I saw with my own eyes how attentive he is to you.

My only satisfaction is that in frustrating you, I hasten your fall from the King's good graces.

Any man is weak against a maiden’s magic. Alluring and sweet. Like spring.

I make you this promise. When we are married, I will deliver you a son.

I have yet to decide whether to make your bedmate a head shorter.

So you can have your lovers and I have my own, but at the end, we return to one another. 

If you are not careful and a bastard is conceived, you will be ruined.

Everything will change for her. That kiss is her destiny and fortune.

So, what about this girl, this putain, the king's whore? Why doesn't somebody just get rid of her?

Have any of the women you've bedded with lied about their virginity?

Pretty, witty Nell, don’t forget you are mine until I say so.

Do you seriously expect me to be the first Prince of Wales in history not to have a mistress?

I will teach you many things, how to please a man and in turn, you will be my eyes and ears in court.

I thought you wished for us to be over.

How can I when you plague my mind at every turn.

Let me have you, at least once. Many women would consider it an honor.

[perotovar]

rebirth — a pride month oneshot

pairing: genderfluid!javi gutierrez/ofc/reader (written in 3rd pov) rating: T word count: 2k content: javi uses hey/they pronouns, coming out, discussions of gender identity, mentions of misgendering and worries about being cast out/attacked for one's identity (doesn't actually happen), reader is only referred to as "she", google translate spanish, spanish pet names (used by both javi and reader), if i missed anything lmk! dividers: by @saradika-graphics beta: @qveerthe0ry and @scenaaario ily both ♥

summary: javi has been wanting to let his partner know something for a long time. in fact, this is something that javi has thought about for their entire life, and they're comfortable enough to finally say it.

a/n: written as a part of @romanarose 's pride event for week 1: coming out! i wanted to try something a little different and i hope you'll give it a try ♥

for any future fics, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

They were both in the living room, the credits for their weekly movie rolling in front of them. Javi had been wanting to tell her this for a while now. If they didn’t get it out now, he was sure he never would.

“I believe I am… trans,” Javi said into the quiet room, gaze fixed to the floor.

She blinked, shifting her attention from Instagram and letting his admission settle over her. Javi curled in on himself, still unable to meet her gaze. She locked her phone and set it down on the coffee table, giving Javi her complete attention.

“Oh?” She asked quietly.

Javi closed his eyes briefly and nodded, hands balled into fists against his knees. “Y-yes, I,” he gulped. “Um. I feel… Inside. I feel it inside.”

She had no personal experience in any of this before, but Javi was coming to her in confidence. Javi trusted her with this side of… them? Him? Her? She really wasn’t sure which applied to Javi at this point.

She nodded, considering. “H-have you, um,” she gulped. “What brought you to that… conclusion? I’m sorry, osito, I’m… I’m new to,” she gestured vaguely, but stopped in case that came off as dismissive. “I’m not sure what I should say.”

Javi finally turned to her, huffing out a laugh and wiping his eyes. They grabbed their love’s hand and held it gently in their own.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “I just sort of… sprung this on you, but. It has been on my mind a lot lately.”

She nodded, urging Javi to continue.

“I did not have the language that is available now, as I was growing up. I’m not sure if I’m… I do not believe I am a woman, but,” Javi paused, looking down at their clasped hands.. She squeezed their hand reassuringly, and Javi squeezed back. “Masculinity is… fragile.”

She snorted at that, making Javi laugh a little as well.

“Well, it is, but you know what I’m saying,” Javi giggled. 

“I do.”

“I have always felt disconnected with masculinity. There were so many things men were supposed to do, to be,” Javi sighed. “I never felt like I– Like I was one of those people.”

“Should I–” she started, but fell quiet. “Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt you, osito,” she said softly, rubbing her thumb across his cheek. Javi leaned into the touch, and gave a small shake of his head.

“Por favor, pregunta.”

“How should… Is there a name more fitting for you now? Or new… pronouns?”

Javi bit their lip, thinking about it. “I like my name,” they said easily. “And… I think I like ‘they’?” Javi shrugged. “It is still new for me as well.”

She giggled softly and leaned closer to press her forehead to theirs “That’s okay. We can… We’re in this together, mi osito.”

Javi’s cheeks flushed. They nodded, steeling themself for their next announcement. “I, um. I was wondering if you could… help me?”

She leaned back to look at him, eyes questioning. “Of course, amor. Whatever you need.”

“Um, I purchased some… clothes and makeup and I was wondering if you could help me put some outfits together?” He rushed out shyly.

She beamed, excited at the idea of helping her love explore something they’d always wanted to.

“It’s just–” Javi gulped. “You always look so put together and pretty and–” “Javi,” she chuckled, taking his face in both hands. “I’d love to help you.”

The smile on Javi’s face could rival the sun.

Javi Gutierrez, he/they, discovered the word “genderfluid” a few months later. He liked that word, but it made everything all the more real. He knew that things were changing, but his mind was filled with brand new anxieties. He worried about being disrespected in meetings with studio executives, being misgendered, blacklisted, or even worse, a target.

For now, at least, he kept his identity private. Only his love, and immediate team were aware. To others, Javi was just a little adventurous when it came to fashion.

Ever since coming out to their partner, they’d gotten really good at applying their own eyeliner and lipstick, always a pretty neutral color that complimented his skin tone beautifully. Having lived in Mallorca most of his life, his wardrobe was already full of color, and he never shied away from the more “feminine” colors. Who knew wearing a pink suit would cause such a stir?

Some days they felt more masculine, and other days he felt more feminine. When they felt somewhere in the middle, they got to play around with some androgyny. The freedom to just… be was such a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were no restrictions to what they could do anymore. No pressures to act or look or be a certain way.

Javi was just… Javi.

And right now, Javi was nervous, but excited. 

“Mi amor, look! What do you think? Do you think it is too much for the luncheon?” Javi asked brightly, twirling a little in their shared closet.

She gave him a once over and felt her heart flutter at just how happy Javi looked. She’d always had her suspicions about Javi, especially the longer they’d been together. Javi always carried themself a little… differently than most men. She understood now that it was because Javi wasn’t like most men. Or even a man at all. Well, not really, anyway.

“I love the color... but it may be a little too short,” Javi pouted, nervously tugging at the hem of the skirt.

“Oh, it’s perfect, mi osito,” she grinned, stepping closer to them. “However,” she started, biting her lip as she gave him another look. Javi’s eyes widened and their cheeks flushed. “I think you should wear your knee high socks with it. Balance it out a little.”

“Are you sure?” Javi blinked owlishly. They looked into the full length mirror turning first to the left, then right, assessing the outfit. He had chosen a matching set in a soft lavender, the delicate shade perfect against his golden skin. The tennis skirt made his ass look fantastic, and the polo shirt hugged his biceps perfectly, showing off his broad shoulders. The strip of skin that peeked out between the two pieces was an added bonus. “I haven’t worn anything this… obvious to this sort of meeting before.”

“What do you want to do, honey? I think you’ll look beautiful whatever you decide to wear,” she smiled, coming up behind them to wrap her arms around their waist. She kissed their shoulder comfortingly, nuzzling into the soft fabric.

Javi bit his lip as he turned in the mirror again. “I love the skirt. I love how it feels, but… Perhaps it is too casual? No quiero ser poco profesional.”

She hummed in understanding. “Maybe the earrings? The new ones,” she offered instead.

The tiny silver hoops with small crystals in the colors of the genderfluid flag were more delicate than Javi usually wore. The gender euphoria he would feel during the luncheon far outweighed the subtlety of the jewelry.

“Good idea,” Javi smiled, turning in her arms to cup her face and kiss her tenderly. She hummed happily into it, keeping her hands on their hips. As he pulled away, Javi’s eyes softened at her blissful expression. “I am not sure what I did to deserve you, but… I’m not complaining,” he chuckled softly.

Her heart thudded in her chest. She felt the exact same way. It would take a little time for her to get used to all the complexities and nuances of Javi’s gender, but she was willing to put in the work. She loved him, loved them for exactly the person Javi was.

“Perhaps I should not question it too much, hm?” Javi winked, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Probably for the best,” she winked back. “Now, go get dressed so I can take you out later, ok?”

Javi smiled brightly and nodded, parting from her to get changed.

“I am nervous, mi amor,” Javi whispered, clutching her hand tightly in his own. 

“You’ll be just fine. And you’ve got me here with you,” she grinned, and gave him a light peck on the cheek. “Don’t want to mess up your makeup,” she said, rubbing an invisible smudge off his highlighted cheekbone and winking.

Javi exhaled a heavy breath, eyes fluttering shut as he centered himself. “Alright. Press record, por favor.”

“Hola mis amigos,” they said shakily. "I have… I have something I’ve been meaning to share with all of you.” As nervous as Javi was, there was an undeniable determination in their eyes.

To say Javi’s coming out video went viral would be an understatement. Javi Gutierrez, screenplay writer and part-time producer, famed for working with the likes of Nicolas Cage, was coming out as genderfluid. It was on every news article and Twitter account for weeks.

Javi expected there to be mixed reactions, but the only opinions that they really cared about were from the people they’d be working with directly. His team had known for a long time, and they’d been out to themself for two years. They were sufficiently comfortable in this identity, and if he lost out on certain jobs, they weren’t worth having in the first place.

He did a few interviews after his initial coming out video, but made it clear that they didn’t want this to be something he had to talk about in every interview going forward. Yes, he was genderfluid, but it wasn’t the only thing.

Thankfully, lots of Javi’s celebrity friends were on his side. Every new set he worked on, he heard encouraging words from the cast and crew. A co-star who’s brand hinged on being very feminine, said Javi’s video unlocked a lot of feelings they had been trying to repress. One of the lighting guys, a man who could have passed for a member of the Hell’s Angels, quietly asked him for makeup recommendations while blocking a close-up shot. He worried about the people who wouldn’t be supportive, until he realized he had so many people in his corner that the bigots didn’t matter. 

And above all else, he had her. She accepted them for who they were and even if she had questions or didn’t understand something, she made it a point to ask or do her own research. 

Javi had never felt so seen. So respected.

And here, laying in her arms, head resting on her chest, they felt protected and loved.

“Your hair is getting long, mi osito,” she hummed quietly, twirling an errant curl around her finger.

“Sí, quería ver cómo quedaría,” Javi muttered, lifting their head and resting their chin on her stomach. He made eye contact with her, getting lost in the color of her eyes. “I have always wanted to know how I looked with long hair.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be gorgeous, mi amor. These curls of yours,” she sighed wistfully. 

Javi swayed their head from side to side, those curls bouncing and dancing along the tops of his shoulders. “You have said how much you love them,” Javi giggled.

“Well, it’s the truth. Maybe we can get some things to put in it once it’s even longer,” she offered, smiling softly.

Javi’s eyes grew wide and he sat up, on the bed, legs tucked under his backside. They were wearing a pale blue silk nightie that hugged their thighs and accentuated their shoulders beautifully. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I would love that!” Javi exclaimed excitedly.

“Then it shall be so,” she grinned, playing with the bottom hem of the nightie they were wearing. She gazed up at him through her lashes, taking in the sharp angle of his cupid’s bow and full bottom lip. “When do you need to wake up, mi amor?”

Javi’s breath hitched as her fingers crept underneath the silk and across his thighs, and his gaze dropped to the smooth column of her neck. Their eyes met as he crawled over her to straddle her lap. 

“Not early,” he hummed, “Did you have plans for this evening?” They asked mischievously, leaning in to tease open mouthed kisses across her collarbone.

“Maybe,” she sighed, reaching around to squeeze his ass, bare under the nightie.

“Good,” Javi smiled, leaning down to kiss her deeply, hungrily. She moaned into their mouth, relaxing as they found a comfortable rhythm.

And that’s just how it was for them. They were in sync. Javi had a feeling they always would be.

a/n: if you're curious to know what sort of nightie javi is wearing, this is what i was picturing ♥

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Sick

pairing: otis x afab!reader

summary: after weeks of being held captive by the family, otis finally takes an interest in you

warnings: smut, object insertion, oral sex (m receiving), knife play, unprotected sex, marking/branding, blood, no pronouns used but it's implied reader wears a skirt, otis calls reader 'mama', mentioned kidnapping

a/n: so i took a quick break from requests to write this because this motherfucker has had me in a chokehold for the last few days. anyway, ima go back to working on requests now

i'm only mildly embarrassed to have written and posted this

also, this is my first time writing for otis so if it's slightly out of character i apologise

word count: 1425

"What're you lookin' at?" Otis was pointing his knife at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, watching you.

"I'm not looking at anything." You answered, unable to keep your voice from trembling as you shook your head.

The rope around your wrists was beginning to burn, yet you could only focus on the burning that was elsewhere. It was probably the reason you shouldn't have been looking at him, because you couldn't see yourself getting any form of release anytime soon.

"Hey!" He said, bringing your attention back to him. "I said...what're you lookin' at?"

"I'm not looking at anything." You said again, this time with a little more surety.

This only seemed to amuse him, eliciting a quiet laugh from his throat as he stood up. "See, I think you want somethin', Mama."

You shook your head again, your skin beginning to feel unbearably hot as he approached, his fingers still curled around the handle of the blade.

"I think you got yourself a little problem down there." He smirked, pointing the tip of his blade between your thighs.

All you could do was squeeze them shut in response, squirming in the chair slightly as he chuckled.

"You want me to play with you?" He teased, running the knife over the top of your bare thigh. "Huh?"

"Yes." You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut as he continued to drag the blade along your skin.

You watched in silence as he pulled the knife away, turning it around in his hand, before sliding the handle between your thighs. You flinched when you felt the cool metal graze your bare pussy, and it brought another quiet laugh from him as he edged the knife closer.

"You like that? Huh? Do you?"

"Yes." You breathed out, nodding your head frantically.

A quiet moan slipped past your lips when you finally felt the metal part your folds, the sensation only slightly uncomfortable.

He moved the weapon back and forth a few times before suddenly pausing. "Now, if I let you outta this chair...will you be good for me?"

You nodded, shifting your hips a little, desperate for any kind of friction.

"If you try and run, this knife is goin' straight through your throat. Got it?"

"Mhm, got it."

They'd been holding you in this house for the past month, only ever dragging you outside to take a piss. And over the weeks, you chose to spend your time watching him──the tall, pale skinned man with the magnificent eyes. The man who you later discovered was named Otis.

You wouldn't run, even if he hadn't threatened you. You were too intrigued by him, too drawn to him. It was a stupid move to let them keep you here willingly, but you simply couldn't help it. Curiosity had taken over and there was no chance of going back.

"Alright, come here." He ordered, once he'd untied the rope, leaving you free to move as far as you wanted.

But you moved towards him, your legs suddenly feeling weak as you set one foot in front of the other.

"On your knees."

Again, you did as he said, carefully sinking to your knees in front of him.

You could've run. You could've used his leniency against him and tried to get away. Yet here you were, waiting on your knees for your next command.

Oh, how far you had fallen.

You almost flinched when he unzipped his jeans, the sound startling you back to reality.

"Now, I think you can work out your next job pretty easily, right?"

"Mhm."

"I can't hear you." He said, raising his voice slightly.

"Yes."

"Then get to it." He urged, hurrying you along, waving his knife beside your head. "I don't have all day."

You did as he said, wetting your lips as you carefully curled your fingers around the base of his cock. The fact that you had spent days thinking about this was sick. He was one of your captors, and you were revelling in the fact that he was allowing you to touch him.

You couldn't tell if this was the result of being held here for so many days, or if you were simply just that fucked in the head. It was likely the latter.

You could already feel a fire crackling in your stomach as you closed your lips around him, the sound of a groan falling from his lips sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

"That's it, Mama." He chuckled, lazily petting your head as you continued to move your mouth up and down his cock.

With every movement came another quiet groan from Otis's throat, and it only seemed to spur you on. You were determined to please him in whatever way you could. You may have just been another victim to him, but you were determined to make sure you'd be remembered for at least this.

His grip on the back of your head became tighter with every second that passed, all the while you were continuing with your movements over him, desperate to pull more groans from his throat.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." He chuckled, his voice hoarse. "You are just too fuckin' good at this shit."

It wasn't long until you felt him twitch inside your mouth, his release coating your tongue. And you fought back a gag as he kept your face held against him.

You couldn't help the quiet moan that slipped past your lips when he finally pulled you off of him, watching as you swallowed.

"Fuck!" He smirked, pulling his hair away from his face. "You are sick!"

You kept quiet, shifting uncomfortably on your knees, the heat pooling between your thighs becoming near unbearable.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose you want me to do a little somethin' for you now, huh."

Again, you remained silent, mostly because you weren't entirely sure you were supposed to speak yet.

"Do you want me to fuck you, (y/n)?"

"Yes."

"Well damn." He laughed, seemingly surprised by your answer. "I really shoulda tried you out sooner."

You waited in silence as he stared at you, still waving the knife around as he laughed.

But then the laughter stopped, and something seemed to shift in the room, before he suddenly pointed the knife at you.

"Alright, Mama. I want you to get on your feet and bend your ass over that chair. Okay?"

You nodded, standing up and doing exactly as he said, draping your arms over the back of the chair as you awaited your next command.

But it seemed there would be no command as you soon felt his hands gripping your hips, the cold handle of the knife pushing against your skin.

Seconds later, you felt him push himself inside you, and your knees almost buckled beneath you from the force.

He took no time in setting a brutal pace behind you, his hips slapping against you with each thrust, pulling strangled moans from your throat.

And you hated how much you were enjoying this, how much you craved it. You kept reminding yourself that he was your captor, that your only concern should've been how you would get away from him. Yet right now, in this moment, you were more than happy to let him destroy you.

You flinched when you suddenly felt the edge of the blade glide against your thigh, followed by the sting of the metal piercing your skin.

"You're mine now, Mama." He groaned, continuing his brutal pace inside you, the knife still carving lines into your skin.

He was sick. You were sick. And you honestly wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Fuck!" You cried out, digging your fingernails into the chair. "Please! God! Please!"

"I ain't no God, sweetheart." Otis chuckled, finally dropping the knife to the floor. "I'm the fuckin' devil. And you're lettin' him fuck your fuckin' brains out."

It wasn't long before you were reaching your own release, screaming his name as you came. You'd been gripping the chair so hard you'd broken your fingernails, your blood now staining the wood. And if it wasn't for Otis's grip on your hips, you probably would've collapsed.

"What'd ya think?" He asked, after you'd caught your breath, pointing to the bloodied skin of your thigh.

You could only really identify a couple of the letters, but it didn't take much to realise what he'd done.

"Is that your fuckin' name?"

"You bet it is." He smirked. "You're mine now. All fuckin' mine."

[Main Masterlist]

[starfishstark]

MOONLIGHT

SYNOPSIS The moment tribals heard of a rumor of an outsider inhabiting their planet, Kaibre volunteered to find this man, see if he was a threat to their people or if coexistence was viable. With their blooming friendship, will they become more or will Kaibre find out about his dark origins...

PAIRING qimir x tribal! reader, reader uses the name Kaibre (i cannot write using y/n sorry chat!), reader uses she/her pronouns, the reader has a kid (rhysin my beloved)

WARNINGS 4.7K words, fluff so far, very mild descriptions of violence

pt 1

There’s someone else on the beach…

Word spreads ridiculously fast on Bal'demnic. Even between the coastal tribe to the river tribe, and even back to the mountain tribe driven in solitude with their forever warm underground pools filled with steam and the sound of laughter and prayers all night long. Even more from a single rumor, everything is exposed.

Kaibre assumes, sure, it’s easier, when a single rumor about a crush becomes a marriage proposal in the course of a week. Why bother hiding attraction? Just propose, and if they say no, go sing melancholy songs to the moons above, and sit in your corner of the lagoon for while till you no longer feel so worrisome over something so trivial. If they say yes, grin like a madman and get married that night in front of the black sands, a cortosis thread tied around their neck, and the high moons. On Bal'demnic, when word spreads, it spreads fast. 

When the morning scouts went on their early rounds, they noticed the disturbance in the waves. It was a little irk in the back of their heads, making them tread lightly until one of the boys caught sight of another person on the beach. An outsider!! On their little planet?!

Within the nightfall of the second day, everyone in the tribe harbored anxious thoughts about what to do next. As the closest tribe to the outsider, the stranger, on their lands, they were expected to take care of it. Word had started to reach the other tribes, and the coastal tribe would soon need to find out whether this stranger was here to harm them or not. The little kids of course thought nothing but another face to play along with, and maybe a stranger with no responsibilities would have more time to toss them up into the air while they giggled their little hearts out. 

“Tell me again, what did you see…”

Everytime, the story was the same. There was the stranger in one of the lagoons further north, he limped into the pool, and he had a bag of belongings with him. In the distance, one of those space ships rested peacefully on a small island off the coast. 

And everyone wanted to hear the story. Of course, when words spread, it’s not always true. 

“He had scars littering his body. He’s taller than the anyone in the entire tribe! He was bleeding out his side, limping for relief to the warm lagoon, like someone had maimed him! Bested him, even! Perhaps he’s in exile, all for killing little naughty children who don’t listen to their mothers…!”

Once the sun had set, and the moons started to align again in the lunar solstice of every night, the warriors and workers of the tribe alike gathered around the central fire. Whispers of the stranger slaughtered the silence, he was a myth and legend all the same. There has been no outsider in Bal’demnic for generations.

“Silence!” Icar swished his long robe in a singular motion, letting the quiet settle throughout the crowd around the fire. Their northern coastal tribe was small, many opting to move to the south for the plentiful resources, but the ones still here remained for the sand rich in cortosis, the metal their ancestors settled here for. Powerful to the breathing heart of this planet. That said, there weren’t all that many workers and warriors around the fire, but enough that the instant silence spoke measures to how much respect Icar wielded in the tribe. “I assume we all know of the situation at hand. I am not to waste time, but we must send someone to actually see this stranger on our planet…on our beaches…”

Icar looked up expectantly from his stare at the fire. There was a wash of agreements from the people around, some people automatically raising their hands and volunteering. 

“No, no warriors, we cannot seem as a threat before we know how powerful this stranger is. He could have more with him. No, no we cannot send a stranger immediately, our safest option is someone more…flexible. Unassuming. We need to show the tolerance for co-existence if they come in peace. Able to collect information, and for the worst path…someone our tribe is mendable to be without. I’m sorry, but we cannot afford to lose a head warrior if this is a legitimate threat.”

Instant groans and protests sounded from the head warriors seated next to Kaibre, one of them even getting up and ready to argue with Icar before Icar shot him a hot look. 

“I can do it.” 

The head warriors turned to look at Kaibre with a curious look, like they didn’t even notice her at the meetings.

Icar looked at her with a pained expression, shaking his head, “Kaibre, you have a son.”

“The- the people will watch over him.” Not gonna lie, Kaibre forgot about that for a moment she volunteered. But she didn’t feel like this stranger was going to kill her, and people like Kaibre have knack for getting things like this right. “No child goes without here.”

It takes a village to raise a child, that much was true. If Kaibre was to drop dead the next second, her son would not go without being taken care of. Without being fed, without a roof over his head, even if he might be alone in the hut Kaibre built by herself, 3 months pregnant with him. But even then, the children will come and go in their hut, he will stay with the people, and he will find his place among them. 

“But you have just had a son, it’s been barely 4 cycles.” Icar reminded her, watching her carefully. 

“I…don’t believe this stranger will kill me.”

The tribals went silent again, holding their breaths. 

Kaibre was sensitive to the air, the kids used to say. She could always tell if one of them was lying about where they all really were. Even when she was a kid, she could tell when one of her friends would become sick the next day. She would always give her food away for the hunter and warriors who went hungry too soon too fast, like she could tell that night they would be bountiful in their hunt and bring back the food she had given away tenfold. 

And even now, everyone held their breath to the girl who could feel what was wrong in the air. Their attention made her squirm in her seat, trying to focus on Icar, who was looking at her with furrowed eyebrows, but resolved in his decision. 

“Are you sure? Rhysin only has one mother. One guardian.”

Her eyes focused in on the movement of the fire, swallowing her fear and trying to commit herself to this. When her eyes met Icars’ again, he knew her answer. 

“You will leave one rotation from now, when the sun sets, take a cortosis blade with you for protection, and a bag of warm supper for amity.”

Kaibre nods, barely able to keep in her excitement of going out of the village again. She hadn’t been out like this in 4 cycles. 

The next day goes by in a hurry, with Kaibre prepping her eyes with the dark ashes in a clay pot for seeing in the night, strapping a cortosis blade flat to her thigh, hidden by the ruffles of a white skirt. Her black drape lays artfully on her, even earning her a “Pretty Ammi!” from Rhysin when she sees her getting ready. She laughs, picking up her little boy and kissing both his cheeks, before telling him to run off to Lysa’s house for the night, her close friend. 

She sees Icar one last time where he hands her a bag full of food, enough to feed two and a clear sign of appeasement. Giving her one last nod, he sends her off before the moons align that night. 

The trek to the northern lagoons is not difficult usually, but with her watching every step in the darkness, and carrying all that food, it takes the breath from her just a little. However, the energy returns to her the second she sees the trail of smoke coming from an opening in the nearby cave system adjacent to the lagoons. Her breath catches, and she carefully treads on the rocks leading her to the cave opening. 

She hears the whirs and revs of machinery, oh she hasn’t seen any her entire life, and peers from behind a rock wall to see the stranger…

They were right, he bleeding out his side. How did Lysa even come up with a lie that clever and accurate? Even from where she was standing, she could see the slight way he preferred to his left side, with the hint of bandages under his loose shirt. 

Wow, he’s wearing a shirt…

She hasn’t seen a shirt except one time she dreamt of one, and once when she saw it in a what they call a magazine in the mountain tribe from years ago. 

He had skin paler than those in the tribe, almost like someone washed him in milk compared to her own wood toned skin. His hair covered the back of his neck, hanging low in front of his face, covering it from his view, but she picked up on hooded eyes narrowed in on what he was melding. 

She looked around the room, staying behind that wall keeping her from his view. It didn’t look like that of someone aggressive. 

“You know, you don’t have to hide behind that wall.”

Kriff…

She leaned from the edge of the wall again, peering at the stranger all over again. He was relaxed, and open with his posture. Hunched just a little in his seat, with his lips tugging at an easy going smile. 

“Do you speak Aurebesh?” He asked patiently while Kaibre stepped completely out of the shadows, standing with arm against the rock wall.

She nodded, unsure what to say after being caught so blatantly, and not more than a minute she had been there. Was she losing her touch?

“I apologize for disturbing your planet…It was recorded as uninhabited and uninhabitable. It wasn’t until I landed that I realized how ridiculously outdated that was.”

Kaibre nods unsurely, slowly - towards him and stands closer to him. “Why are you here?”

“I- uhm,” He looks taken back by the question, unsure what to answer. “Refuge. I’m, uh, searching for somewhere safe. To live, away from…all that out there.” He gestured vaguely to the stars, visible in the openings of the cave. Awful cave to be in really, absolutely useless in the rain season. “I don’t plan on hurting anyone.” To emphasize his point, he raises his open palms as a pseudo-surrender. 

She relaxes, getting closer to him curiously, dropping her bag carefully before taking another step and lurching forward to cup his face with both hands.

“You look like the mountain people…” She trailed off, rubbing her thumb on his cheekbone inquisitively, as if she thought it would wipe off. Her fingers touched his hair, wondering how it was so straight on him. 

It was a common greetings between tribes meeting once in a decade of rotations, just to see how different the people looked between tribes, but Kaibre was unaware how sudden it seemed to him. 

“Uh….what are you doing?” He asked quietly, watching her attentively but taken off guard with how curious she was. He didn’t move her off though, a small piece of him enjoying the innocent curious touch as opposed to the violent, brash, and fleeting touch he’d escaped. Her hands were warm against his cool face, and he looked right at her, trying to meet her eyes. He breathed out softly, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Kaibre from the northern coast tribe.” She tilted her head in the same way his was tilted, her lips turning into a smile when she saw the way he started to chuckle at the same time. Kaibre noticed his hands slowly covered her own on his face. “What are you called?”

“Qimir,” he answered immediately. “I promise I’m no threat to your people…So long as they don’t hurt me…”

“Where are you from…?”

“Coruscant,” He answered in the same quiet voice, like being too loud would scare her away. Quimir squinted at her, taking in the embellishments on her ears, like little bells. Really, how did she manage to be that quiet with those on her? Her hair was pulled back into a complex braid, leaving stray hairs on the nape of neck and at the edges of her hairline. 

Kaibre nodded, feeling satisfied with the way she scrutinized him as a person, and stepped back, slipping her hands from under his. She picked up the bag from the ground, holding it out to him like an offering. “A gift. We did not know if you were able to catch any food.”

He smile turned lazy, looking at her in sincere gratitude. “Oh, you have no idea how much I’ve missed good food…”

They sat on the ground next to each other, with Qimir asking what each food was called and nothing less than melting at each bite he took in his right hand. After the first two times Kaibre slapped away his left hand when he went to go grab something new, he quickly learned he had to eat with the right hand or nothing else. 

Kaibre still noticed how he preferred his left side. “What happened?” If he was attacked, he could be tracked, and if he was tracked, he could lead trouble right to her little planet.

“I got in a mixup with some spice traders. Not to worry, they won’t follow me here if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That’s…exactly what she was worried about. How did he know that?

She nodded slowly, pulling out the grain drink from inside the bag, handing it over to him. Qimir squinted at first, looking at her with apprehension with the first time, eyes flickering between the weird substance and her expecting face. 

“Uh…what is that?”

“It’s sathu, drink up, you’ll heal fast.”

“I can heal with some bacta, really, it’s fine—”

“Sathu is refined and prepared for hours, you know how much work goes into this?”

He looked at it again, his face betraying his thoughts. “Do I have to?”

She looked at him expectantly, nudging it forward again. Kaibre, single mother of a toddler, nailed down the ‘don’t make me ask twice’ look ages ago. Qimir stood no chance. 

He sighed, taking it from her hands, smelling it questionably, and took a sip. However, catching the window she had, she held her hand under the cup, pushing and pushing till he finished the whole drink. 

Once he finished, he shot her a grumpy look, maybe aiming for angry, but all she could see was the little brown sathu stache that clung to his actual stache. She nodded, happy that he finished the whole drink without spilling any. “Good, good boy, you finished the whole thing.” 

Qimir looked like he might have choked on something, nodding again, and looked at the wrapped up food. He hesitantly looked out the cave. “Is it really ok for you to walk back alone?”

“You came to the forest, I was raised in it,” Kaibre smiled proudly, gathering the leaves and putting them in the bag again. 

“Will you come by again?” He asked casually, eyes averted as he stands up. 

She thought about it. “It depends on what the people decide on. We might negotiate terms for coexistence, maybe even cooperation between us.”

Qimir just smiled. 

__

Qimir thought about the strange woman he met. She came just up to his collarbone, with long hair swept up into a intricate braid, and dark lining around her round eyes, making them stand out when she studied him those few long minutes. The way her hands felt cupping his face and rubbing against his skin like the color might scrub off if she did it too hard. 

And then the food she shared with him. No one told the tribals to do that, but they took it upon themselves. Now Qimir is no fool, they’re trying to prevent animosity in the future for sure, and he felt no aggression coming from the womans’ ridiculously untrained force signature. 

He felt her energy from a hundred feet away, his face perking up at it. At first, he thought it was a group of many people traveling together, maybe for a battle. It was only when she got closer that Qimir realized it was one person. One force sensitive person. Incredible. Really, how did the Jedi not detect her?

He could almost feel tendrils of the force nudge against his mental walls, trying to poke and prod a guess of what he was like. Of course, she wasn’t even aware that’s what she was doing. He had to have her, had to teach her, he could feel the urge tugging at him the second she left. 

She’ll be back… Qimir reassured himself. He could still remember the second she stepped from behind the wall, white ruffled skirt, and a black shawl draping as a top, leaving her shoulders exposed and a sliver of her hip. 

Kaibre, hm? Bal’demnic, oh what a perfect place for refuge…

__

As the rotations flew by, Qimir became a friend to the Bal’demnic people. Kaibre communicated rules to him, and he accepted, more than happy that they were willing to share the space with them. Kaibre made the walk up to his caves more than once a week, to either bring food, or at his request to help with carving out the space in his caves. In return for the food, he would trade the village for some of the things he brought from outside the planet. He would leave maybe once a month to go run for supplies, and in that time he would return with dozens of pelts and waterskins, and sometimes gifts he saved to trade with later for. 

But she would lying if she said she only went up there as often to trade. She found solstice in the quiet companionship beyond the village, given the little artificial light he had set up around the cave, technology she had never seen before. They could take forever in front of the false sun, until the moons had long aligned and she realized she had to head back to Rhysin before morning. She realized that Qimir preferred her company as well, asking if she would return everytime she left. 

“Qimir?” Kaibre called out, carrying millets and grain in her bag. She looked around the cave, setting down the bag in it’s usual spot. “Where did you go?”

He could be in the lagoon maybe, but it was unusual at this time. After the sun set? Likely not. 

Today was another day she came with no plan in mind, expecting no trade at the time. She came to talk with him, like they often did. He had this sharp tea that he poured to the both of them, sipping at the edge of the cave where the grass met the sand met the hard rock. They talked about the stars, what they would call each on Bal’demnic, and the rest of the galaxy. 

They talked about themselves. Sitting across the archway from each other, plenty of space between them, but when they started talking about their pasts, it seemed like that space shrunk to feel much more bearable. 

Qimir came from a tribe called Jedi. He tried correcting her that it was simply an organization of sorts, of people unable to love and live like the rest do, but with a name like that, they would be a sick tribe. He described how he couldn’t handle staying with the Jedi, and she was curious why they weren’t allowed to love, but he brushed it off and she didn’t pick it up again.

He felt like he didn’t belong. So Kaibre confessed how the people would say Kaibre was sensitive to the air. His demeanor changed, getting up to sit next to her against the wall instead, nodding and heeding her confession like it was a prayer.

Kaibre told him how it felt sometimes like she didn’t belong in that tribe, where everyone was just a little wary of the truth about her, and he held her hand like she was an altar. 

She looked around the corner again, raising an eyebrow when she didn’t see him. She could clearly smell the sharp tea he was brewing in the corner, so he couldn’t have stepped out for long. 

“I’m over here!” He called out, walking in with a new pelt in his hand. He was wearing these hamaka pants, as he told to her once, dark along with a crossed wrap top. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait Kaibre- woah! Whoa, whoa, whoa, pause. Who is that?”

His eyes were narrowed in on someone behind her, and she, confused, turned to see no one. “Who?”

“Behind- Behind the wall??”

Kaibre reached her hand up the slit in her skirt, pulling out her cortosis blade with ease, as Qimir hurried to grab her shoulder and steady her. “Wait, it was just a little kid.”

“Come out,” She said steadily, watching the edge of the wall carefully. And out padded little ol’ Rhysin in all his glory. “Rhysin?!”

Kaibre sounded undignified, sheathing her blade back into it’s place, walking over to Rhysin with the intention to dragging him by the ear back to the village. Rhysin, sensing her intentions from a mile away, ran at his window and right to Qimir, grabbing onto the hamaka pants and tugging at them. By reflex, Qimir picked him up and turned him away from Kaibre. 

“Rhysin, hm? What brings you all the way here? With Kaibre?”

“He was supposed to be sleeping!” Kaibre emphasized. “Do you know how dangerous that was? What if you tripped on something? What if you got stuck in a hunter trap? Hm? I almost threw my blade at you!”

“Ok, ok, it’s not his fault he’s just a little curious. I know someone else that was just as curious as him too,” Qimir spoke easy to her, breaking down the tension and anxiety she had from seeing Rhysin here. The way he adjusted his grip to bounce Rhysin up and down to comfort him at the same time didn’t go unnoticed to Kaibre. He was a natural. “Besides, you’ve been hiding me from the rest of your tribe, isn’t it around time I saw some new faces?”

“Rhysin when we get back to the tribe, you are in big trouble,” Kaibre wanted, narrowing her eyes onto him. 

“Hey! Be nice to him.” Qimir all but pouted along side the three year old. “Who is this little adorable little monster anyways-”

Kaibre sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Rhysin, meet Qimir, the outsider and my friend. Qimir, meet my son, Rhysin.”

Qimir’s entire body stiffened up, looking appalled, shocked, and nervous at the same time. “Son?” He choked out, still bouncing Rhysin up and down. “I-I didn’t know you had a son.”

“It…didn’t come up…” Kaibre answered. Actually, she preferred that he didn’t know she had a son with no father, just appearing one day in her womb. Where was she going to start explaining that one?

Qimir hummed, and then just smiled at Rhysin. “Well, I don’t suppose you guys can make the trek back this late. Especially with this little one, and the pelt at the same time…”

Kaibre sighed, looking regretful. “Rhy, baby, why?”

“I wanted to see him too.” Then he had the audacity to pout. 

Qimir practically melted, pouting back and then at Kaibre, “Oh please, Kaibre, one night won’t harm anyone.”

“Qimir, you have a tiny bed. And I’m not sleeping on the floor because someone decided to play explorer tonight!”

“Actually, I have a new pelt,” Qimir pointed out, “And this little guy wouldn’t mind sharing now, would he?”

Kaibre pinches the edge of her nose. It’s alright, yes, but the fact her son would be this reckless…ah, what was she thinking? He was her son after all. Hers, and unpredictabilitys’. She couldn’t get too mad at him, but at the same time she had half the mind to chase him down the coastline all the way to the village the next morning. 

“C’monnnn.” Woah. When did he move that close to her? Qimir tugged at her shawl lightly, mindful of the way it would fall off her if he wasn’t careful. He and Rhys gave her matching pouting faces, but she was a little preoccupied with the fact she could count the strands of hair falling in front of Qimirs’ face right now, and the little laugh he did when he realized her staring. “The pelt is really really soft, promise.”

She sighed, nodding while Qimir and Rhysin both giggled in glee and celebrated in their own separate world. Rhysin was not going to getting off Qimir any time soon.   

When Qimir finally set him down, Kaibre practically flew at her chance to get her hands on Rhysin, by holding him upside down by the ankles. She emphasized her point while Rhysin giggled at her antics, and agreed he would never do it again (lies). They ate dinner in less tension after that, Qimir exuding off a strange energy. He seemed at unease, but acting completely fine otherwise. She gave him weird looks, ones that he couldn’t have not noticed, but he ignored them outright. It’s fine, she’ll confront him about it next him she sees him, without Rhysin here. 

“See? The pelt is pretty great, right?” Qimir laid it down in a carved out corner, perfectly fit for it. She supposes he’s been planning for a while after the initial discomfort of his ratty mattress dissolved. She told him good pelts were found further north, where the thick fur was essential in cold seasons. He even knitted a large blanket to match it. After securing down the pelt onto the bed and moving the pillows back, and placing the blanket on top, he stepped back to show it off in a “ta-da!” motion. 

Kaibre shrugged, picking up Rhysin and laying on one side with him, while Qimir laid on the other side. 

It was fine, it was incredibly warm and comforting on the pelt, and even the blanket insulated heat inside. Just the one night…

__

“Ammi, ammi, ammi, get up, get up, get up-”

Kaibre whines quietly, feeling warmer than she has any morning in a long time. She batted away his hand tugging at her arm, moving closer into the warm corner she was against, “Rhy, go catch rabbits, let me sleep…”

Rhy ran off, she rolled her eyes, leaning further into the wall— that wrapped back around her?

Kriffkriffkriffkriff, that was not a wall, that was mister ‘wall-of-muscle’ Qimir. 

But dank farrik, he was so warm. 

Her eyes fluttered just a little open, noticing that she was currently laying on his bicep (perfect pillow, wow) with his other arm pulling on her waist, fingers splayed around and over the rolls of her stomach where she was curled up. She sighed, content with the soft fur under her, the droning sound of Qimir’s breathing on her neck, and the warm vibrating off his chest. Rhys would be fine, no forest animal came near these caves…Kaibre could indulge in a while, just until Qimir woke up and realized what he had done accidentally in his sleep. 

She could hear a soft groan coming from him, probably the rising sun getting into his eyes before he was ready to leave sleep. She quickly closed her eyes. No need to let him think she was letting him hold her like that… 

But she didn't say anything when his breathing changed every so slightly from his sleep, and his arms furrowing deeper into his hold on her.

[batsvnte]

𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐉𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐞 • 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

Pairing(s): Wally Darling

Sypnosis: what was thought to be a normal visit to your dear friend turns out to be a strange sleepover after an unexpecting storm hits the neighborhood

Warning(s): (slight) mentions of blood, some fluff here and there, possessive behavior (?), ooc possibly, not proofread

Word Count: 2K

Notes: gender-neutral human!reader who somehow ended up in their world (they/them pronouns). Main inspiration came from @nonomives because of their vampire Wally art that got me in a complete chokehold- characters belong to @/partycoffin

Since noon, (Name) and the other neighbors had been over at Wally’s to spend time together. It wasn’t any strange occurrence to visit anyone else. Though to (Name) they were dragged there by Sally and Julie so it would be more fun. They were right for the most part. They all enjoyed little games that popped up here and there while chatting up new ideas for everyone. When the hour hit around 5-6 o’ clock everyone bid their farewells one by one.

..All except for (Name).

They intended to be the first ones to leave since they had something mildly important to do but something always stopped them from leaving. Any given opportunity would always be met with some sort of small task that Wally would ask of them. Rinse and repeat for the next few hours, and here they were overstaying their welcome. For the third time they’ve been here.

“The apples are in there, I promise.”

Wally let’s his head rest on (Name)’s shoulder lazily, staring down at the apple pie set right in front of them. Wally was partially clinging onto (Name)‘s back with one of their arms holding him up for support. They figure that since they brought some apples over to Wally’s they decided to make a treat for the both of them.

“Hm.. you say it’s apple pie but.. the apples aren’t outside but inside the pie.” Wally has been analyzing the entire concept of apple pie for the past few minutes.

(Name) let out a soft sigh that was accompanied by a light smile on their face. They couldn’t understand Wally or the way he thinks sometimes since they’re getting to know him better. The more time they’re together there’s always something new about him that intrigues them a bit.

(Name) moves their arm to reach behind them, carefully grabbing ahold of Wally and setting him down next to them. “Try not to think to hard about it, Wally.”

Taking small but quick steps out of the kitchen, (Name) heads to gather their stuff. They didn’t bring that much to his house since it would gonna be a simple visit. They sling their small backpack over their shoulders after checking that they have everything.

“Leaving so soon, neighbor?” Hearing his voice made them turn slightly to look at him, seeing that he was standing somewhat near them. He must’ve followed them out to the living room.

(Name) nods slightly as they stand back up. “Yeah.. I overstayed my welcome again.”

They didn’t catch it but Wally’s eyes widen just a tiny bit in surprise at what they said before relaxing. “You could never.. you’re always allowed to stay as long as you like.”

(Name) had a small smile on their face. They always appreciated Wally’s generous nature. In his eyes they look like they could never do anything wrong, which made (Name) somewhat question what his true thoughts about them was. It would all come to them in soon. They just didn’t know when.

‘Aren’t you sweet?’ (Name) thinks to themselves as they open the door.

“Ah.”

(Name)’s face went blank on instant. Seeing how the world outside was pouring heavy rain by the passing seconds. They had noticed the patter of rain drops on the windows. They had thought would be a quick light shower that would be over in a few minutes or they would have to run in the rain. What turned out to be a light shower became a storm. Heavy rain pouring down in the neighborhood. Who would’ve guessed this happens in a colorful place.

Slowly closing the door, they tried to figure out their plan of action. (Name) wasn’t expecting today would be raining. They nearly kick themselves mentally for not bringing an umbrella and/or raincoat for cases like these. There was the possibility of them running out in the rain but there was a lot of risks for it. One they could get sick from being out in the rain for so long since their house was a bit further than everyone else’s. And dealing with wet hair was always a huge struggle for (Name). After standing around for a couple more seconds they finally turned around to find Wally still in the same place.

“Wally,” (Name) felt a bit embarrassed for what they’re about to ask him or how unprepared they are. “Do you mind if I stay here for the night?”

Wally’s eyes seem to lit up at those words with a smile coming to his face. “I don’t mind at all.”

Part of (Name) felt relieved that he agreed. It throws out the idea of running back home in the rain. Taking a few steps away from the door, (Name) puts their bag near the large couch. Figuring that their sleeping place would be at the couch since there wasn’t an extra guest bedroom for them to stay in. Before they could really sit down, they felt a hand tug at their sleeve.

“You can stay in my room for tonight, neighbor.”

(Name) looks down to Wally in some shock. “Really? I don’t think I would really fit.”

Being the only human in the neighborhood had its ups and downs. The main down was the clear height difference between (Name) and the puppets. Knowing well enough that each puppet has their own things that fits to their comfort. Comparing (Name) to Wally, it was an obvious height different between the two.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Wally smiles warmly before leading (Name) to another room.

Starting on their nightly routines, (Name) was done a little earlier than Wally was. They sat down on the comfortable bed carefully before fully letting themselves lay down on the bed. They thought of what they would do for the next morning.

‘Hopefully the storm lifts by the next day.. I wish I brought my jacket’ (Name) thinks to themselves as they close their eyes, letting out a soft sigh.

It was a couple of seconds before (Name) felt something else in the room. Assuming it was Wally finally done with his night routine, they open their eyes up to look for him. Indeed was Wally entering the room with his night attire.

Before (Name) could relax again, they saw that Wally was observing them. “You haven’t changed into your pajamas, (Name).”

(Name) takes a quick look to themselves. They only wore a black t-shirt with their favorite band/artist on the front of it. Wearing a pair of shorts that they had stashed away in their bag randomly.

(Name) tugs at the shirt collar lightly as they turn back over to Wally. “These are my pjs.”

Wally climbs into the space next to them, his eyes full of curiosity as he looks to the logo on the shirt. “What’s that picture on your shirt? Did you paint that on there?”

(Name) takes another glance to their shirt. “Uh.. technically yes? When I got this shirt the picture was already on there.”

He could only think how strange the concept was. He’s seen various of patterns and colors on his friends clothing, but a full detailed picture on shirts was something strange. Though he would give them the benefit of the doubt because having paint on shirts takes a while to get out. Wally could only smile at the idea of having a shirt with some sort of picture stay on forever.

“That’s interesting.. but a silly idea.”

“That’s silly coming from a silly guy.”

It was silent for a few seconds before a monotonous laugh came from Wally. It surprised (Name) somewhat since they didn’t expect Wally to laugh at something like that. Or they didn’t expect him to laugh at all. (Name) had a light smile on their face as they held back a chuckle. It wasn’t until (Name) faltered upon their observation of the puppet.

How long has he had fangs?

They didn’t notice anything like this since they first met. They would assume they’re fake fangs, hence the other vampire muppet they knew form another show. That muppet was suppose to be Count Dracula, and the fangs he had, or they though he had, were two pieces of silicon attached to him to add onto the vampire persona. Something about Wally’s made them feel a bit.. tense. (Name) kept the smile on their face as best as they could, trying not to seem to nervous upon their discovery.

After exchanging a few more words and silly one liners to each other, the two fell asleep next to each other.

It wasn’t till the middle of the night (Name) woke up. Groggily opening their eyes to find the pitch black darkness of the room they had settled in. They felt their parched throat with an exhausted feeling. (Name) carefully lifts themselves out of bed. Being mindful that Wally might wake up due to their movement. Though it took them a little while to get out due to how he was practically entangled with them.

Could they really blame his clingy behavior being tied with his sleeping habits?

(Name) finally slides out from their spot on the bed. Double checking that Wally is still asleep they quietly step out of the room and into the kitchen. They felt along the wall for a guide while being weary of any items they might accidentally knock over in the dark. It took them a bit but their eyes finally adjusted to the darkness as they finally found their way to the kitchen.

The kitchen was somewhat lit up from the outside lights seeping in through one of the windows. It gave them a bit an idea of where the cups could be at. If there were any cups to be in the house to begin with. Nevertheless, (Name) found a blue cup with a decorative pattern on it. They press their lips in a straight line as they take in the details before shrugging off whatever it could be.

They shuffle around a bit more before finally finding something to drink with. Bringing out a small bottle with a label that says, ‘Cranberry Juice’, they pause momentarily. Did Wally need to drink anything at all. Seeing how they were all puppets except for (Name), it wouldn’t really make sense for them to drink juice or anything of that sorts.

Various of thoughts and questions fill their mind as they made themselves a cup of cranberry juice. They shortly put the bottle away back where they found it. Not wanting to be out here any longer they drank out of the cup.

A metallic taste hits their mouth instantly. (Name) jerks forward slightly and leans into the sink they were standing near, trying not to make any noise this late into the night. They spat out any remaining juice that they drank out of it. The taste was unbearable for them. (Name) carefully pours out the remainder of juice in the cup before looking to the cup with uncertainty.

‘What was that? That wasn’t cranberry juice at all!’ (Name) cringes as the aftertaste was lingering around longer than they would hope it wouldn’t.

Not wanting to be up for any longer they wash out the cup and put it back where they found it. Wiping the sides of their mouth as they quietly rush back to the room that they previously settled in. They found Wally still in the same spot of the bed, only shuffled a little bit towards (Name)’s side of the bed. With the eye mask on his face they relax knowing that he’s still sound asleep.

(Name) climbs back into the empty space that they left in, being sure that Wally wasn’t in their way. They lay down back into the bed trying their best to relax. It took a while before they were able to close their eyes. Though they could’ve sworn they kept hearing Wally repeating, ‘I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping’ while intimating the sounds of snoring.

I didn’t expect this to be that long of a oneshot what. it took to much time I’m sorry— I can assure you it was expired cranberry juice that Wally kept around for like nine months I promise please don’t cancel m-

[robinbuckleysfringe]

paper rings

a joseph quinn social media au

pairings: joseph quinn x keery!reader

warnings: pronouns for reader vary between she & they, I've tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible even tho I do use female faceclaims

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*madelyncline has posted*

tagged yninstagram

liked by rudeth, hichasestokes, josephquinn, florencepugh and others

madelyncline surprised my bestie on their trip to LA. happy birthday flower 🌼

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madelyncline photo creds for the 1st pic to @/rachelzegler who helped set up the best birthday surprise

> madelyncline and of course photo creds to @/rudeth for the 3rd photo of me and my bestie goofing around on set

yninstagram aww, thank you maddie 🫶🏻❤️. love you and can't wait for more onset chaos soon!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

yninstagram and thank you to rach for somehow keeping this whole thing a secret 🫶🏻❤️

> rachelzegler happy birthday babes. love you big time 😘🫶🏻

maya_hawke happy day of birth to the best on screen girlfriend ❤️❤️

> yninstagram love you maya!! 🫶🏻❤️

joekeery you're old now, happy birthday y/n

> yninstagram shut up. 26 isn't old 😤

josephquinn happy birthday y/n xx

> yninstagram thanks joe. come to LA soon so we can hang before I leave for Charleston!!! xx

hichasestokes happy birthday 🌼

> yninstagram 🫶🏻

gatenm123 happy birthday y/n. thanks for being the best on screen sister ❤️

> yninstagram aww, love you gaten. miss you already 🫶🏻❤️

florencepugh happy birthday babes!! have the best day, you deserve it!! 💕💕

> yninstagram love you flo!! 💕💕

zendaya happy birthday y/n, miss you!! x

> yninstagram thanks hun. miss you too!! xx

user omg happy birthday y/n!!!

user their friendship >>>>>>>> everything else

user does this mean we're getting OBX3 soon??!!!

> yninstagram soon!! I promise as soon as we get a date, you fans will be the first to know!!

☆☆☆

y/nupdates | Y/N spotted getting all cosy with her stranger things costar, Joseph Quinn, in LA this week

View comments

user omg are they together??

user they're so cute together oh my gosh!!!

user omg new ship???

> user2 yes!!!! what would their ship name be tho??

user I wonder if they're dating

> user2 I wouldn't be surprised if they were tbh

> user3 thought y/n was dating Rudy Pankow, her OBX costar, no?

> user that was just a rumour I think. neither of them confirmed anything

user have you seen the way he looks at them?? someone get me a man who looks at me like joe looks at y/n 🥺🥺🥺

user they'd make such a cute couple if they're not already dating

> user2 so true!!!

user omg I hope its true that they're dating. but even if they're not and they're just friends, that's cool too. they should be allowed to be happy regardless

> user2 THIS ^^^^

☆☆☆

*yninstagram has posted*

tagged obx, madisonbaileybabe, madelyncline, hichasestokes, jonathandavissofficial, carlaciagrant & rudeth

liked by josephquinn, rachelzegler, joekeery, drewstarkey and others

yninstagram we are so back baby!!! season 3 of the beach show is officially in production!! 🏖🫶🏻❤️

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user OMG YES!!! CANT WAIT FOR THIS SEASON!!

user I've been waiting for this one!!!

millybobbybrown girl, isn't this like your 5th project in a row or something? pls take a break

> yninstagram my 3rd. but yeah, I hear you. I'm taking a long ass holiday after we wrap this season

> millybobbybrown I bet you're exhausted

> nattyiceofficial y/n, hun, please make sure you're resting xx

> yninstagram love you guys 🫶🏻🫶🏻

obx P4L!!!

> yninstagram P4L bby!!!

josephquinn good luck with your next project, you busy bee 🐝 xx

> yninstagram haha thanks joe xx

rachelzegler I love seeing you win at life but pls come back to LA, Lenny misses you 🥺🫶🏻

> yninstagram I miss you too!! come to Charleston!!! 🥺🫶🏻🫶🏻

> rachelzegler getting on a plane rn

> yninstagram bitch, you better be 🫶🏻

☆☆☆

been a few weeks since I posted part one of this little series, apologies for that. hope you enjoyed reading this chapter 🩷

[deerspherestudios]

Hey! I just recently met and went through the demo of "Mushroom Oasis", and I already have so many questions! I hope I won't be too intrusive. You may not answer some questions if the answers contain spoilers.

Questions about the game: 1.Will it be possible to choose the MC gender? Is it possible to choose the gender of the cat in the same way? It's just that when I started the game, I named the cat after my cat and it was a little funny to me when the pronoun of the cat was "she" when my cat is male.

Will we be able to choose some kind of "style" for the MC, according to the type of clothing, at the beginning of the game?

Questions about Michael:

Does he see the world like an ordinary person? I mean he has 2 pairs of eyes and 3 pairs of pupils. And it baffles me.

If the MC suddenly goes out alone and doesn't come back by midnight, will Mychael worry about the MC and will he go looking for the MC?

How does Mychael feel about piercings and tattoos? Does he know about it? If so, would he like a piercing/tattoo?

I wonder where Mychael gets things for the house. That is, I saw that he had a broom, thread and knitting needles. Where did he get them???

If Mychael saw me (I'm 164 cm tall and I have red hair), would he think I'm some kind of witch, because of the color of my hair, or something like that? How would he react if he saw me?

And sorry for the mistakes, I used google translator. English is not my native language :( I also want to say that I am your fan from Latvia (I don’t know why I’m saying this, I just want to please you with the fact that you have a fan from the Baltic countries)

Oop!! Ty for the questions!! Let me try and answer em under the cut, since it might end up as a pretty long post hahaha. But hi hello!!! I'm always happy to know where my fans come from, it's always a surprise for me to see people around the globe enjoy my silly little game ;v;

Questions about the game:

1. Will it be possible to choose the MC gender? Is it possible to choose the gender of the cat in the same way?

Being nonbinary, I just choose not to mention pronouns when writing for the game, so anyone can fit in their shoes. Unless it comes to a point where I have to use it, I'll probably code in a pronoun tool but for now it doesn't seem necessary! As for the cat, that's a good suggestion. Perhaps I'll try coding it in for the next update so the cat can be male or female, according to player preference!

2. Will we be able to choose some kind of "style" for the MC, according to the type of clothing, at the beginning of the game?

Probably not, as I'm not really good at setting that up in Ren'Py. I did make an MC design though! But what they look like is entirely up to you. I've drawn a POV shot of them wearing jeans and sneakers but that's about it. They can look however you like!

Questions about Mychael:

1. Does he see the world like an ordinary person?

He does! Trigger warning for unsettling iris images if you wanna look this up, but his bottom pair is kinda what people with polycoria has. Except it's normal for him, and not really a condition. His vision is normal, he just has lotsa peepers.

2. If the MC suddenly goes out alone and doesn't come back by midnight, will Mychael worry about the MC and will he go looking for the MC?

Yes? He didn't save you just to have you running off into danger again. He'd absolutely track you down and find you.

3. How does Mychael feel about piercings and tattoos? Does he know about it? If so, would he like a piercing/tattoo?

He knows about it, but not enough to really understand how it works! He finds it fascinating humans decorate their bodies with shiny beads and jewels, and turn their skin into tapestries for art. He'd probably assume you can take them off any time and that the tattoos are drawn onto the skin.

I don't imagine he'd want a piercing, but he'd probably try a tattoo! (Until he realizes it's ink going under the skin, in which case he might change his mind haha)

4. I wonder where Mychael gets things for the house. Where did he get them???

He has his ways ::-)

5. How would he react if he saw me?

He wouldn't be reacting much to how you look. You're not the first human he's seen! He's been around plenty of them, but you'd be one of the few he's interacted with the longest. And that's what makes you stand out more than anything else.

Phew that was a big ask!! But thank you for the interest :-D!! Hope everything's good in Latvia!