#eventually she even passed him in level

[mysticarcanum]

straight up getting emotional about a thing that happened in a campaign that ended over a year ago

like. i wrote an ambiguous and biased backstory of a character who is part of an apocalyptic world-ending cult, who deep down wanted to study wizardry but had to frame it as going undercover as an apprentice and stealing secrets from this doddering old archmage to aid her people’s cause . and then she goes and learns wizardry and eventually realizes she wants more for herself and breaks from her cult

and i mean. there’s a lot of ways my dm could have run with that. i was fully expecting that archmage to be furious at my character for lying to and stealing from him. and so when they ran into each other again, i was braced for a fight, or at least an altercation

but instead the archmage went. i knew all along. of course i knew. i’m a divination wizard, silly. i saw a young woman in a bad place and i wanted to help her. i thought that by showing her kindness and creating an environment for her that wasn’t all about power struggles and nihilistic fanaticism that she might realize that there was more out there in the world for her. that she deserved more. you didn’t steal secrets from me, because i gave them to you. i was your teacher. i loved you and love you still

and god i didn’t know where that character was going to end up before then. i thought maybe she could go on a typical wizard hubris spiral, or a revenge quest against her old cult, but in that moment i was like. oh. she is loved. she has new friends, new family. she has a reason to change, a reason to care. her story is just about love, and about making people’s lives better

her alignment shifted from neutral to neutral good soon after. she never stopped being curious, sometimes to the point of foolishness, but she never squandered her teacher’s gift. she left the world better than she found it

[screwpinecaprice]

I know it’s not a question but i can’t help but appreciate the fact that you draw adult Steven as a chubby guy! We big boys need some positive representation in here. Also, i’ve been following you for almost a year now!

Btw sorry for my English lol.

Hi! It's very pleasing to know you've been around for as long! 😁😁😁 I absolutely appreciate the appreciation! And no worries, your English is super fine! 😁 (Relatable actually. I am also apologizing in advance if I can't exactly have my point clearly across because I'm not well at English myself! lmao)

It took me quite some time to learn how to draw chubby characters but it's so satisfying to have eventually. ( *`u*) (I mean, there's still so much to learn, but still.)

Having a chubby main protagonist is so wonderful to have. And a good kid at that. (Ngl I'm attracted to kindness. haha So of course it's very important to me that he's fat AND kind.)

Also design-wise, I personally think it fits his character so well. Soft and huggable, shaped like a friend. Thick arms to hug people with snuggly. Body wide like a shield. etc. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And I just really like to capture these elements when I draw him as an adult. Also that it's just fun to draw.

Simply personal thoughts about it, nothing against any other ways he's being portrayed by others of course.

[luveline]

How about Steve with a reader who already has a kid? Like they're in their twenties and she has maybe 2 or 3 year old. Her ex isn't in the picture so it's just her. Maybe the fic is Steve finally getting to meet readers son/ daughter. Maybe she has to leave their date earlier due to a babysitter problem and Steve just comes along with her and they spend the night together.

ty for requesting <3 mom!reader, 2k

“Try not to show fear,” you’re saying, your hand pulled tight against his. He savours the softness of it even as the concrete steps to your house force you apart. 

“I’m not scared.” 

“I’m just saying, Steve. Toddlers know when you’re scared.” 

“But I’m not scared.” Steve has handled worse than toddlers. If your kid is anything like you, this will be a walk in the park. 

You grin at him and give him one of your cute shrugs, though shyness he recognises from your first date stiffens your shoulders again as you open your front door. 

Your home is small. The first thing he notices is the cramped space walking in, the tight stairs, but the second thing he notices is the amount of life, photographs that deck the walls and colour everywhere, clothes folded and waiting to be taken upstairs, little shoes in a stand by an open bathroom door. 

“Melanie?” you call. “You okay?” 

Melanie appears in the door with a huge watery frown, who Steve assumes to be your young son smiling on her hip, unperturbed. “I’m so sorry.” 

She’d been incoherent on the phone, though eventually squeezed out that it was nothing wrong with Noah. Melanie’s boyfriend appears to have broken up with her over the phone. 

You scoop Noah off of his babysitter's hip, holding him with far more ease. He drops his face with affection to the curve of your bare shoulder. It’s a shame you and Steve had to come home —you’re wearing the nicest dress he’s ever seen. But not a shame, because Steve’s excited to meet the baby. 

You could’ve sent him home. He assumes this means some level of trust and, better, permanency. If all goes well, he might be able to ask you to go steady soon. He’d love to do it tonight. 

“Don’t worry, Melanie, you can’t help it if something bad happens, can you? I’m really sorry about your boyfriend. Do you need me to drive you home?” 

Melanie sniffles miserably. “No, that’s okay, I can drive. I’m sorry.” 

You rub her arm. “It’s okay, really. We were just gonna have dinner and head home.” 

Steve internalises his reaction to that tidbit well. Melanie gives him a sad smile and passes by, her shoes heavy and smacking as she leaves with a mumbled farewell. 

“She’s a little emotional,” you say sympathetically, before turning your attention to the sleepy kid on your shoulder. “Sorry, Noah, guess you’re stuck with mommy and her new friend. Do you want to say hi?” 

Noah lifts his head, following your hand where you point at Steve, a smile like yours on his lips. 

Steve genuinely isn’t scared of kids, he loves them, and he loves talking to them. “Hi, buddy. It’s nice to meet you.” 

You hum appreciatively. “Go on, say hi to Steve.” 

“Hi,” Noah says quietly. 

Your voice is different around the baby, not any less pretty but softer, and quieter. It has Steve lowering his own voice in an attempt to mimic you. “Hi, bud.” 

“He’s my new best friend,” you explain, ushering Steve closer, your hand touching gently to his shoulder. 

Noah’s even more your image now he’s closer, all your eyes and smile and brightness, but he’s got someone else’s nose, and he’s got a bad case of yawns. You laugh at his scrunched nose, wiping your thumb lightly over his bottom lip. “You want to go to bed, sweet boy?” you ask. 

“No… buppy.” 

“You want your buppy. Okay, I’ll get it for you.” You pull your arm through Steve’s. “Let’s go.” 

He laughs and goes happily. Your kitchen is empty compared to the hallway, it’s surprising, but then you open a cabinet for the aforementioned bubby and a couple of things come tumbling out. “Whoops,” you say, popping Noah down on the floor. “Can you put those away for me, please? Thank you.” 

Noah tries his best, but everything he puts in comes tumbling back out, earning a few high-pitched giggles. You crack the fridge open for a pint of cows milk. 

“He doesn’t have formula?” 

“No, you can give them whole milk after a year, but he doesn’t really need it anymore, it’s just to help him self-soothe at nighttime.” 

“Mom, I can’t do it,” Noah laughs. Steve thinks that great, that laughing. He could’ve had a tantrum (Steve wouldn’t blame him). 

Steve crouches down. “Can I help?” 

Noah gives Steve a smile, eyes squinting nearly entirely shut. “Yes.” 

“Okay, awesome. Looks like your mom needs more cabinets for all your stuff.” He starts to pick up the pieces. 

“I need a whole new house,” you say, filling the bottle about three quarters before sticking it in your microwave uncapped. You set the timer for fifteen seconds and prop your chin in your hand, elbow on the counter. Steve thinks it’s your best angle yet, your dress, your arms, the friendly smile you’re wearing that hasn’t once ebbed since the first date. It all gets his chest in a twist. 

He knows getting your baby to like him is make or break. And he really wants to give this a shot, you and him, you and Noah. He thinks you’d be good together. (Maybe he’s crazy and too forward, but you really are beautiful in your dress.) 

“How’s that?” he asks, closing the cabinet behind a tower of bottles and baby bowls.

“Perfect! Good job, baby,” Noah says, tapping Steve on the knee. 

Steve snorts. “Thank you.” 

“He’s going through a phase of saying everything I say,” you explain, yanking open the microwave to test the milk on the back of your hand. 

You deem the milk sufficiently warmed and offer Noah your hand, swiping a takeout menu from the fridge as you pass, and once again grabbing Steve by the arm to drag him along. He’s content to be dragged. You lead everyone into the living room, and he’s again surprised by how small it is. 

You catch his look. “Are you judging me, Harrington?” 

“What? No? Of course not.”

“Messing with you. There’s an extension out back, on the kitchen? That’s where I keep the rest of the toys.” You drop down onto the couch with a sigh. “Come here, babe, come cuddle with mommy.” 

If Noah weren’t in earshot, Steve would make a joke about how he hopes you aren’t talking to him. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t.

You lay back and Noah climbs up onto one side of you, his hands out ready for his bottle, while your arm stretches out for Steve. “Come ‘n’ sit.” 

Steve sits knee to knee with you. He’s not scared of kids, and he isn’t scared of you, either. He knows exactly what he wants, and he isn’t afraid to let you know it, taking your hand where it lies open on your thigh. 

“What were you gonna get?” you ask, nodding to the takeout menu. 

“I don’t know, I’ll have what you’re having,” Steve says. 

“What if you don’t like what I’m having?” 

“I’ll learn.” 

You tip your chin up at him, beaming. “Yeah? What if I like something completely unamerican?” 

“I gotta learn sometime, right?” He squeezes your fingers nicely. 

“Well, my Noah likes everything.” You kiss Noah’s forehead, stealing his attention from his bottle, bright eyes tracing your face and then your hand where Steve is rubbing the back of it. 

“Then he can have some of everything.”

You and Steve share a loving smile. Smiles smiles smiles, everybody’s getting on, this is the best sixth date anyone’s ever had, best date full stop, though your fifth date was a close second. You and Steve had spent hours together in a park in the city eating picnic foods and soaking in the sun together, your nose brushing off of his ribs, his jacket balled up under your head. He’d kissed you twice that night when you finally, sorrily had to go home, and you’d said, Aw, I really like you, as you held hands on the stoop. He should’ve asked you then to give it a proper go, but now he’s met Noah he figures it’s as good a time as any. 

“Hey,” Steve begins, clearing his throat, “would you–”

“Woh!” Noah shouts around the teet of his bottle. It falls from his lips. “We wiw hands,” he garbles, a bunch of baby flavoured gibberish as he leans over your stomach to cover your hand where it’s held in Steve’s. “Mom!” 

“What, babe?” 

“My hand!” 

“You’re not jealous, are you?” you ask with a laugh. 

“Mom!” he says, slapping your hands insistently with his own. 

Steve loosens your fingers, leaving a gap between your palms. “Quick, bud, put your hand in.” 

Noah climbs onto your leg and presses his hand into the fold, though he grows annoyed at the weird fit, and immediately starts to sniffle. Steve winces, but you’re used to it. “Aw, don’t start the waterworks. Come on, what happened to sharing? We’re good sharers.” 

Steve lets go of your hand. He’s reluctant, sure, but he doesn’t wanna be on anyone’s bad side. Noah cries for a few seconds like he’s forgotten why he’s upset, but he sees your open palm and the cog finishes turning. 

“Hold mommy’s hand,” you say, wiggling your fingers. 

Noah thinks about it. He ends up on his side across your leg staring at you, then at Steve, who smiles at him cheerfully. “He’s so handsome,” Steve says. “He has your face. Guess that’s why you’re so handsome, huh?” He shakes his head at Noah gently. “‘Cos you got all your good looks from your mommy.”

“He knows what that means,” you preen, leaning down to speak closer to Noah’s ear. “Don’t you? You’re my handsome boy.” 

Noah puts his hand in Steve’s with another tinkling laugh. 

“Oh! I see how it is, you wanna be Steve’s friend too. Can’t let me have anything for myself, can you?” 

“No,” Noah says cheekily. 

Steve collects Noah’s little hand in his. “Good!” he says. “You should get everything you want, just like mom.”

“Think so?” you ask. 

Steve nods. 

You cover Noah’s eyes with your hand and move up to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Like you?” you ask. 

Steve’s just stoked to have someone he likes actually like him back at the same level. Noah squirms away from your hand to squeeze Steve’s tighter. Two someones. 

“Like me,” he says, grinning. 

“Mommy, kiss!” Noah says urgently. “Kiss!” 

You pull your gaze from Steve’s. “Sorry, I’m sorry! Come here, baby, I’ll give you a kiss too. I guess I’m gonna be giving double the kisses I used to, my poor chapped lips.” You kiss kiss kiss Noah across the forehead. 

Steve flusters thinking about it, making a mental note to get you some chapstick. He’d go pretty crazy for a crown of kisses like that. 

[il-miele-che-scrive]

the one where Y/n and Charles had different priorities

this is maybe a bit chaotic because I had one idea and unclear vision, but I like how it turned out eventually

view all comments

username1 How do you know? HOW DO YOU KNOW?!

username2 They have WHAT

username3 nah I don't believe in love anymore

username4 But they were together since even before Charles was in formula 1🥺

↳username2 Right? I thought they'll be together forever

username5 And there goes my hope for them to announce an engagement soon

↳username6 Sameeee except I thought someday they'll just have a secret wedding and not tell the media until weeks/months after

username5 Ngl that sounds like a them thing to do

username6 Well, not anymore

username7 My only question is why? 😭

↳username1 Literally because they seemed like a perfect couple. What could go wrong?

username8 Shit, that hurts more than my parents' divorce

username9 THEY BROKE UP AFTER 8 YEARS??

↳username10 what 😳

username9 They were together since 2016, I remember Charles saying this in some interview

username6 Yup that's right, he mentioned it many times, he was so in love with Y/n. I swear even recently he said after so many years he still falls in love more and more each day

username9 She was there for him when his dad passed, when Charles joined F1, when he signed up with Ferrari, when he won his first F1 race, I wonder what happened that made them break up so suddenly

username10 Oh so she was there for basically a huge part of his life

username5 I remember when Charles said "she's not a part of my life. She IS my life" about Y/n😭my standards for men have been high up in space ever since

username11 Wow just like Sainz broke up with his long term girlfriend last season. Let's just hope Leclerc won't pop up with a new girl weeks after that

↳username12 Charles and Y/n could be broken up for a long time now, we can only speculate when they broke up

username5 Imagine if Charles posted the Vegas vlog after their breakup 🥹 I'm not okay

username12 That was so unnecessary to say, I'm crying now

yourusername One for the money, two for the show, I never was ready so I watch you go

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username1 The caption guys...

↳username2 Does that mean what I think it means?

username3 What do you think it means?

username2 "I never was ready" he wanted to take things to the next level, but she didn't. "So I watch you go" means she had to let him go because they didn't want the same thing

username3 How could she not be ready after whole 8 years?

username2 Every person matures in their own time and that's okay, they'll both find someone else

username4 That's a Swiftie going through a breakup

username5 Noooo it's confirmed now 😭 as long as neither of them confirmed it I could stay delulu and think the rumours are just rumours

oldersister Thank you for babysitting Snow White 🐈‍⬛ (I wish there was a white cat emoji)

↳yourusername It was my pleasure! She's an angel (and a professional model)

oldersister Feel free to come over anytime you want, Snow White loves her aunt 🤍

youngersister HEY how dare you steal Y/n like that!! I wanted to take her out for milkshakes sometime

oldersister Chill, you can do that whenever you want I'm not stealing anyone

yourusername I'd love to go out for milkshakes!!

lilymhe No more Y/nLily in the paddock?

↳yourusername The paddock isn't the only place where we can hang out 😂

landonorris what are you up to on the 2nd pic? 🤨📸

↳username2 LANDO, DON'T

↳username4 LANDO IT'S TOO EARLY

↳username1 DONT RUIN OUR CHANCES TO HAVE Y/NCHARLES BACK

↳username1 Fuckboy Lando been doing too much fuckboying lately

username6 Didn't know she's a smoker

↳username7 Yeah, she was very secretive about it

username2 It's not like she was hiding it from y'all

username7 She was, probably because she would be canceled for being a wag who smokes cigarettes

username2 A grown woman can do what she wants

username6 It's better that they broke up, way healthier for Charles to not be around a smoker

username2 Wtf she was with him through bad and good times, supporting him no matter what, loving him, making beautiful memories together and you say it's good that they broke up because she smokes?

username4 May I add we never saw her smoking throughout the 8 years, she probably started after the breakup

username5 after the breakup or BECAUSE of the breakup?

charles_leclerc Leaving Bahrain with a good result despite some difficulties. Pretty good weekend if you ignore the braking problem, now onto Jeddah next 🏎

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username1 brAking problem or brEAking problem?

username2 How is that the start of the season and there's already something wrong with his car?

yourusername Congratulations on finishing P4🏁given the issues your car had, you did a spectacular job

↳charles_leclerc Thank you 😇 I tried my best, but felt like something is missing

yourusername I'm sorry :(

↳username3 WHAT IS Y/N DOING HERE? ARE THEY BACK TOGETHER?

username4 I wish I could believe they are, but I guess some people break up on good terms

username3 How could anyone end a 8yrs old relationship and be friends? 😭

↳username5 Jail for miss Y/n for leading fans on

username6 He looked so sad the whole time, during interviews and all that 😔

↳username7 Yeah he's either done with the car already or he misses Y/n that much

username8 DID Y'ALL SEE THAT ONE INTERVIEW WHERE HE GOT ASKED ABOUT Y/N NOT BEING IN BAHRAIN??

↳username6 WHAT INTERVIEW??

username8 A lady asked him why Y/n isn't here because she never missed the first race of the season before so it's surprising. He officially said that over the winter break they've decided to part ways due to focusing on different aspects of life🥲

username9 How do you figure something like this out after 8 fucking years? They wasted each other's time

username7 Calm down lol they grew and matured with each other, experienced how their love evolved throughout the years, no time you put into this is a wasted time

username10 I need to know what are the aspects of life they focus on and if they really are that different

↳username11 From what I figured from Y/n's post and Charles' interview - he wanted to get married, maybe even start a family and she wasn't ready

username10 Ahhh I remember how a few years ago Charles said he wants to have three kids. Such a shame Y/n doesn't want the same thing, but it's understandable they figured it now. They were kids themselves when they started dating lol

username11 Not really, they were both over 18 years old

username10 I know, but still that's a pretty young age and you might not know yet what do you really want in life

username12 Plus your brain develops until you're 25, they both turn 27 this year so it explains a lot

username13 I'm telling you, there would be no problems if Y/n was there, @/yourusername get your lazy ass on a plane to Jeddah

oldersister Amazing performance this weekend👏

youngersister Goodluck for Jeddah 🍀

username14 The way Y/n AND her sisters still interact with Charles on social media...

↳username15 Yeah like are they actually broken up??

3 weeks later

yourusername You'd be surprised if I told you why kangaroos are called kangaroos

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username1 What is miss doing in Australia during the race week?

oldersister I told you this story is fake 🙄

↳yourusername But it's funny so I'm gonna believe it

oldersister Kangaroo DOESN'T mean "I don't know" jesus christ

username2 I thought it does 😭

username3 Too much Tiktok I guess lmao

youngersister Glad I could have milkshakes with you in Australia 😌

↳yourusername Back at you although that was a strange excuse to go to Australia in the first place

youngersister It's just not the same in Europe

arthur_leclerc Y/n in her natural habitat🦘

↳yourusername I swear I was a kangaroo in a past life

↳username4 What is going on? Y/n and Charles broke up but they keep interacting with each other and each other's families

username5 I NEED to know which city it is

username6 Is that true all announcements on public transport are made with Oscar Piastri's voice??

↳yourusername Yup, I wonder how much convincing it took to get Oscar to do the voiceover

landonorris not a lot to be honest

username5 AHA so she is in Melbourne! Also, what are you doing here Lando?

landonorris do you wanna hear another aussie fun fact?

↳yourusername I'm scared but yes (as long as it's not about thongs)

landonorris do you know what an australian kiss is?

yourusername @/oscarpiastri please put Lando back in his cage

username7 HELP I'M GASPING FOR AIR, LANDO ALWAYS TAKES THE CHANCE TO SHOOT HIS SHOT

username8 Not gonna lie it pisses me off how Lando tries to "flirt" with Y/n in her comments

↳username2 Me too, it's not ethical

username9 I'm afraid Lando doesn't care lol and I don't think Y/n would ever consider going out with another driver considering Charles and her broke up on good terms

username10 I'm just wondering if norris ever tried funny business back when Y/n would come to races

↳username11 prolly not but hey now he's free to do it

username5 Just because he's free to do it doesn't mean he should do it

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username2 OH 😃

username3 So that's what she's doing in Australia

username4 Wait why is Jacob Elordi in Australia?

↳username2 Well, Jacob is Australian, why wouldn't he be there?

username4 HE'S AUSTRALIAN?!

username5 One thing Charles can't beat is the height 😩

↳username6 Is it worth it tho? Jacob treated his exes pretty badly, he's a cheater

username5 And? People change

username6 Bro, he cheated on Zendaya

username5 Chill out, maybe Y/n isn't even on a date with him, maybe they're just hanging out

username7 If I were Y/n I would enter my hoe phase now and Jacob is a good choice to start with

username8 THIS CAN'T BE TRUE

username9 Charles where are you? 😭 Y/n is a sweetheart, she shouldn't be with Jacob

username10 Sometimes I regret opening this app

username11 Didn't Jacob attend a few races? Is that were he met Y/n?

↳username12 Keep saying things like this and watch gossip unfold about how Y/n was waiting to leave Charles for Jacob

username13 Miss girl did a downgrade

↳username14 Is it a downgrade though if he's that tall?

username13 He can be as tall as he wants, but Charles was Y/n's soulmate and I'll always stand by that

username9 Plus the height doesn't make up for the personality

username14 What personality? 💀 Girl you don't even know him

username9 Someone who cheats on their partner clearly isn't a very pleasant person to date

username5 CALM DOWN GUYS we can't be sure they were on a date, it could be just two friends catching up

username9 what friends? I've never even seen them talk before and there were opportunities

yourusername Don't panic guys, I've been spending most of the time with @/youngersister and her aussie friends

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youngersister Yeah, I clearly didn't set you up for a date with a certain actor...

↳username1 SHE SET Y/N UP WITH HIM?!

username2 Evil mastermind

username3 How did that even happen lmao

↳yourusername Thankfully it didn't go as good as you'd wish it would 😌

youngersister No worries, I have other options up my sleeve

yourusername Keep them up there 🤺

↳username4 I'm confused is [younger sisters name] team Charles or not?

username5 She's just a menace it seems

username6 What's up with Y/n? She didn't wanna be with Charles, but she doesn't wanna move on. That's not normal

youngersister Don't make me set you up with Lando

↳yourusername You'd never, I know you think he's annoying

youngersister Yeah, but he gives me that vibe of a guy who can make you forget about your ex

yourusername That's called a fuckboy

youngersister You deserve a bit of fun don't you 🥳 I'm not saying you have to go straight back to being in a relationship

yourusername NO THANK YOU

username5 Lmao I love how they're having this convo here instead of on dms

username6 OR FACE TO FACE??

username7 Why does Y/n's lil sis support the idea of Y/n having a hoe phase? 😭

landonorris I was hoping you'd come see the race;)

↳yourusername Better luck next time I guess :)

a few months later

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username1 YEAH I WAS LIKE WHAT THE HELL???

username3 I can't defend Charles anymore

username4 Apparently her name is Angeliqué and she's a daughter of some French entrepreneur (a/n: I made her up)

username5 I didn't want Charles to move on, I wanted him to be back with Y/n 😭

↳username6 Worse thing is, Charles moved on but Y/n didn't. She went on this weird staged date with Jacob Elordi a few months ago and that's it

username7 NOOO 😭😭

username8 Charles better say sike now 🔫

username9 Please tell me it's a joke

username10 It truly feels like some part of me being torn apart knowing that Y/n and Charles broke up for good and he moved on

username11 Do we really know nothing about what's going on with Y/n? She must feel terrible now, I'm sure she saw that Angeliqué girl on TV

↳username9 What makes you think she would still watch races?

username11 It seemed like her and Charles are on friendly terms, so why wouldn't she still watch his races?

↳username12 She hasn't posted anything since Australia, went hella private, she ISN'T okay, I think she even stopped hanging out with Lily M

username13 I did some more research and that Angeliqué girl is 20 years old

↳username12 So we're supposed to believe that Y/n who is Charles' age wasn't ready to start a family, but a 20 year old Charles met weeks ago is? Charles, explain yourself

username9 Honestly the new girl seems just like a distraction from Y/n or a PR relationship

username12 You might be right, maybe Charles can't forget about Y/n so he went with "wanna get over, get under someone new"

username14 Nahhhh cuz she was all over Charles whenever she could and he looked so done 💀 that's definitely a stunt

↳username1 Literally, she was always hugging him, touching, holding hands, she barely let him interact with fans, Y/n was so much better AND she always respected Charles' fans

username15 imagine not being able to move on for MONTHS so your pr team finds you a fake gf

yourusername Excuse the inactivity, I've been watching Gilmore Girls

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username1 Very understandable in this case

username2 Our Rory Gilmore finally watching the og Rory Gilmore 🙏

oldersister I'm afraid Snow White might like you more than she likes me 😂

↳yourusername I'm the cool aunt 🤭

youngersister Excuse me???

yourusername I said what I said

youngersister And I don't agree with what you said

yourusername Would you watch Gilmore Girls with Snow White? Nope. I do. So I win the cool aunt competition

username3 Guys... When did Charles unfollow Y/n?

↳username2 He unfollowed?

username3 Yeah... He didn't comment nor even like, so I went to check and he doesn't follow Y/n anymore but she still follows him

username2 Ouch that hurts

username4 I don't care that Charles doesn't follow Y/n anymore, what counts is that she is happy 😊 look at the last pic, she's so adorable with Snow White

↳username5 True, she looks happy and healthy while Charles is out there having to put up with a fake girlfriend

username6 What's funny is that Charles doesn't follow Y/n anymore, but both his brothers and majority of F1 drivers do

↳username7 including the ones who followed her after the breakup 😏

username8 Don't try to make up new rumours, Y/n is single and happy

username9 Not to be mean but... It says something about Charles that he had to unfollow

↳username6 He either thought it'll help him forget or the new girlfriend made him unfollow

username9 Either way it tells us he's still thinking about Y/n

landonorris been a while since I last saw you

↳yourusername Let's see how long we can keep the streak up

username6 SLAAAAAY QUEEN

username10 I'll never be over the Y/nCharles breakup, I'm still going through it months after

↳username11 That's okay because so is Charles

username12 Tbh in Y/n's place I would just take the chance and go for Lando, just to prove that Charles' PR relationship is in vain

↳username2 That's not something Y/n would do, but if she ever did that I would support her

Username13 dating men is so much stress, why bother while you can sit at home with a cat watching Gilmore Girls instead?

[purplesuitcowboy]

tw: rape and incest. please don't read this if that's not what you're looking for.

this is part 2. read part 1 (x)

Not knowing what else to do with herself, Karly dutifully finished scrubbing the floor. She even cleaned up the puddle of cum that they had left on the floor. She tried hard to focus on the task at hand and not the heat between her legs. As horrifying as the situation was, Karly found herself impossibly horny and the only thing she really wanted was to be filled up by her father's fat cock. The only thing scarier than the fact that he had ruthlessly fucked her was the growing desire she felt for him to do it again. There must be something wrong with her, there was no way she truly wanted him to do that to her again.

The task finally finished, she wandered into the back of the house to find her father. Eventually, she found him in his study. She knocked lightly on the door, which had been left sightly ajar, and then entered the room. He was typing away at his computer like he usually was, completely absorbed in his work.

"Ah, I finished the floor," she told him, voice uncharacteristically shaky.

She didn't know what to do with this man who looked just like her father but behaved like a stranger. She stood on edge, wary of what he was going to do next.

"Alright, let me finish this and then we'll go."

She nodded and turned on her heel to leave but he stopped her.

"Just come here and wait while I finish working on this. I shouldn't be much longer."

Her face betrayed her confusion and she wanted to resist, to run away to the safety of her room but she did as she was told. She walked behind his desk, careful not to knock over any stacks of books or boxes of paper, and stood next to him awkwardly. He took a break from his typing to level his heavy gaze in her direction. A tsk of disapproval escaped from his lips as he pulled her into his lap. Karly released an undignified squawk of surprised as he dragged her to him.

She settled awkwardly in his lap, her ass pressed against his pelvis and her legs spread out on either side of his. He hadn't held her like this since she was a child but the abnormality of the contact didn't seem to bother her father, he kept his arm draped loosely around her waist as he continued to work. After several minutes passed with him dutifully working while she sat in his lap, she began to relax. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder, lazily casting her gaze to his computer screen. Her eyes glazed over as she looked at rows and rows of meaningless numbers recorded in an excel spreadsheet. Her mind wandered and she sat looking at nothing, thinking of nothing in particular.

She didn't seem to notice his hand drop from high on her waist to above the waist band of her shorts, and then between her legs. The first time his hand brush against her pussy, she thought it was an accident but the second time, she knew that it wasn't.

"Daddy," Karly said, trying unsuccessfully to push his hand away.

"Come on," he told her, drawing his hand away from his laptop and up under her top to grope her perky tits. Roughly, he pulled and pinched at her nipples until they stood erect. "Don't act like you don't like it."

Karly stammered trying to come up with a response. Of course, she didn't like it. It was wrong. She couldn't believe that he would imply otherwise. Ever insistent, he slid his hand under the waistband of her shorts, rubbing two fingers along the chubby lips of her pussy before he slipped them inside of her wet cunt. A loud slck slck sound could as he pumped his fingers in and out of her slick folds. Karly was torn, half mortified that such a sound came from her body and half pleased that her father's fingers were filling her pussy again. He tsked again, his voice low and his breath tickled her ear.

"Look at this, you're soaked."

Karly's gasped at the sensation. She tried to get up but she couldn't get out of his lap, his grip on her was too tight. Steadily, he pumped his fingers in and out of her, breaking every now and again to circle her little clit. She panted and whimpered, familiar warmth began to pool in her stomach. It felt too good. As he continued to grope and finger fuck her, she could feel his hard on grow against her ass. She wanted it, she realized. She wanted more. Hesitantly, she rocked her hips back and forth, grinding against his fingers and his cock.

"That's it," he told her, voice low in her ear," atta girl."

She felt herself being slowly drawn to the edge but right before she could tumble over into the pure bliss of orgasm, he stops removing his hand from her shorts. She turned her head to look at him, desiring so much for him to put his hand back where it was but afraid to say the words. He pushes her to her feet and then tugs at her shorts.

"Come on. Take these off for me."

She does as she is told, sliding the tiny shorts off of her legs, exposing her bare cunt and bottom to her father. She hears a light jingle and soft rustling, as he moves his thick cock from his trousers. This is her first time seeing it and she almost cannot believe that he got the whole thing inside of her. Seeing it scared her but her father didn't give her too much time to dwell on the feeling as he pulled her back into his lap onto his waiting cock. It slid in easier this time than before and it still hurts but now it hurts in a way that she finds almost pleasurable. She is deliciously full, completely impaled on his cock.

Her father put a hand on her hip, moving her hips with his hand to show her how he wanted her to move. She followed his guidance, grinding her cunt down on his hard cock. He thrust up into her, matching her movements until they were rutting against each other. He wraps one of his arms around her waist for leverage and with his free hand, he places his fingers between her legs rubbing her clit. Karly's pussy clenched tightly around his cock as she came, shuddering and shaking in his arms.

She had gotten her orgasm and now it was his turn. He pushed her forward so was she bent over his desk. His hands gripped tightly to her hips, he fucked her at a rough pace, thrusting deep into her womb over and over again. She scrambled for purchase, trying to grab hold of something on the desk to stabilize her but she only ended up knocking a stack of papers off of his desk.

He wrapped a hand around her neck and pulled her back to him until her shoulders met his chest and her ass pressed against him. Her body arched like a bow as he continued his brutal onslaught. The rhythm of his thrusts became frantic as he neared his orgasm. For the second time that day, he shot his load deep into her cunt. Karly sagged in his arms, as he caught his breath. He hadn't felt this kind of desire since he was a young man. He'd just cum but looking at her with her ass out, spread out over his desk had him craving yet another round.

He hadn't slept with anyone since his wife died but fucking Karly had awoken the beast in him and he was insatiable. It was becoming impossible to look at her without wanting to fuck her until she was shaking, crying, and stuffed full of his cum.

He pulled out of her with a grunt and a load of his cum followed, dripping down her legs and onto the floor. They had things to do today. He couldn't just spend the day with his fingers and his cock in his daughters tight pussy. He tucked himself into his pants and then handed Karly her shorts.

"Get yourself cleaned up, okay? We still need to go to the pharmacy."

Without a word, Karly took her shorts and wandered into her bedroom to get dressed to leave the house. She cleaned herself up and dressed, trying not to think about the fact that she'd fucked her dad again and that she had enjoyed it. She met him at the front door of their home. He stared, unabashedly at her taking in her perky tits in her tight crop top and her full legs and hips which were accentuated by her pleated skirt. It wasn't anything outside of the normal for her clothing wise but he'd never gotten to truly enjoy it until now.

"Dressed like this, you're making me think you want me fuck you again. Are you wearing underwear?"

A shocked look crossed Karly's features at his words. Suddenly self conscious, she looked down at her clothing. She guessed that the shirt was a little tight but she didn't think that she'd picked him on purpose to bait him. She almost wanted to change. His question about underwear caught her off guard and she found herself nodding in confirmation.

"Give 'em here."

There's no way that he was serious. She searched his face looking for a sign that it was joke but found none. He stood there at the door to their home with his hand out, waiting for her to give him her underwear. She caved and pulled down her cotton panties, handing them to her father who slid them into his pocket.

"Alright, let's go."

[jazzyoranges]

heyy i love how well written your works are, and i was wondering if there could be another tara carpenter x gp reader?? an enemies to lovers kinda thing, smut/fluff but it is totally up to you!! thankss❤️

All Mine

Tara Carpenter x gp!reader

Words: 2.8k

A/n: thank you!! also kind of a combination of this request and a prompt in this request

Warnings: reader has a penis, hate fuck? i think?, bottom!T, top!R, explicit sex, implication of breeding kink, teasing (lots of it), unprotected sex (your pullout game is weak), implication of alcohol consumption, no ghostface au

MINORS DNI!!

Tara hates three things in her life. You, hairless cats, and soggy bread. In that order too

She could handle hating hairless cats and soggy bread, but you? You were in Tara’s friend group. Tara hated you and to make matters worse, she was the only one that did

You were nerdy like Wes and Ethan, quick-witted and funny like Mindy and Amber, athletic like Chad, charismatic like Quinn, protective like Sam, and (allegedly) nice like Anika. You had nearly every one of her friends best traits, but Tara knew why she didn’t like you. You were really fucking annoying

Along with all of your positive traits, you were loud and obnoxiously social. Not that Tara was antisocial or anything, but god you were on a whole other level. It was mildly infuriating how you could go to a party you knew nobody at and somehow come out with more friends than you started with

All those people and you decided Tara was the one you’d annoy. A nudge to her shoulder made Tara look up from where she was putting her head down

“You look like shit” The brunette doesn’t respond and puts her head back down on the table

“Sam tase someone without your permission again?” Tara could practically hear the smirk in your voice

“Please for the love of god shut the fuck up. Your voice is the last thing I need to hear today”

“Woah, someone’s mad” You stick out your tongue in response at the glare Tara sends your way

“Suck my dick, (Y/n).”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Carpenter”

Tara abruptly leaves the lecture room. You think you really fucked up this time, but let out a breath of relief when you see that Tara didn’t grab her things. She was probably going to the bathroom to escape you. Which, who would ever want to escape you?

Apparently not Tara because she’s back in her seat just a few minutes before the lecture starts

“Aspirin?” You grab the bottle from a pocket in your bag, shaking it next to her

“You have Aspirin laying around?”

“Anika told me you were at a party, I figured it’s the least I could do”

“You’re trying to drug me, aren’t you?”

“If I was trying to drug you, I would’ve offered it to you at the end of class”

“Why weren’t you at the party?” Tara asks, taking the bottle from you hands and shaking out two tablets before downing them with some water

“Missed me?”

“Nope, just surprised you weren’t blackout drunk”

“Good to know you think highly of me. I was studying, thank you”

“You? Study?” Tara scoffs

“Don’t act like the idea is so out of this world”

“Right, because last time I remember you passing up a party was because your betta fish died and you forced all of us to have a funeral for him at the park”

“Trout’s death is not one to be made fun of!”

Before Tara can respond, the professor starts talking and the lesson begins. Unfortunately her head is still kind of throbbing with only mildly wanting to throw up. She had to accept she wasn’t going to get anything done until that Aspirin kicked in. Especially when she can feel you staring at her

The class goes as smoothly as it can and you notice Tara hasn’t made an effort to even try to take notes. The lesson eventually ends and when everyone gets up, the brunette begrudgingly does too

You bump your shoulders together and Tara glares at you with enough power you actually manage to feel fear for a split second until you realize it’s Tara. The girl was like two apples tall. Two and a half on a good day

The brunette doesn’t realize you were handing her a paper so you physically have to place it in her hand. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion

“What is this?”

“Notes, you need them”

“I’m not buying you Raising Canes if that’s what you want”

“Since I’m such a good friend, I’ll give it to you free of charge. Just make sure to bring it back with minimal damage”

“You’re not gonna make me Paypal you fifty bucks?” Tara doesn’t have any classes for the next few hours so you two made a point to walk to your next class. She didn’t know how it started, but you were okay to talk to when you weren’t being annoying

“In my defense, Trout recently died”

“We buried him in the fucking park, I don’t think that costs money”

“It was condolence money. I made everyone pay and I think it was pretty genius”

“I really do wonder how you still have friends”

//-//

Someone knocks on the door of you and Anika’s apartment. When you realize your roommate is probably listening to music that was too loud to be healthy, you get up from your very comfortable bed

You don’t remember ordering food and you’re pretty sure Anika didn’t invite Mindy over, so the person behind the door was probably just the nice old lady across the hall that made cookies for everyone

For better or for worse, you’re met with a Tara Carpenter that’s caught off guard when you open the door. Tara usually sees you in well put together outfits so you can only imagine her surprise when she sees you wearing boxers that outlined your cock and a hoodie that barely covered it up

“Eyes are up here- What brings you to the Mojo Dojo Casa House?”

“Can’t you just let me in?” Tara’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. Thank god you just glossed over… it

“It’s protocol you identify yourself and state why you’re here” You lean on the doorframe, actively blocking the entrance to your apartment. Tara knew this was a losing battle and hated how you looked hot while winning

“Anika and I have a project we need to work on”

“You didn’t identify yourself” you’re wearing that same dumbass smirk you have after telling a horrible joke

“Tara. Tara fucking Carpenter.”

“Unfortunately I don’t think we know any Tara Fucking Carpenters. Guess you can’t come in” you shrug

“God give me patience.” Tara rubs at her temples like you’re giving her a headache

“Isn’t it god give me strength?”

“If god gave me strength, you would be dead.”

“Point taken, but you still need a password”

“You didn’t say anything about a password!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’re the real Tara or not. Say a fact about me only the real Tara would know”

The brunette pretends to think for a moment, even putting her hand on her chin and looking off into the distance for effect. When she notices you’re starting to get suspicious of her antics Tara pushes you though the door, successfully getting in without a password or confirmation

You stumble back almost like a cartoon character and you can hear Tara let out a small laugh. You can see the dimples on her cheeks whe she tries to cover it up with her hand

“Nika, your friend’s here!” You lead Tara to Anika’s room, making sure to knock loudly while Tara’s busy either checking you out or trying to blow you up with her mind. It’s unclear, but you have to lean towards the latter

“Isn’t Tara your friend too?” Your roommate opens the door, headphones around her neck

“No.”

“Yes.” Both of you say in unison. The look you give each other is almost comical with how Tara’s glaring while you’re smiling. Anika stares blankly between you two and it eventually starts to make more sense

“Stop eye fucking each other, we have work to do” Anika pulls Tara into her room. You shrug, heading off to probably yell at ten year olds on Fortnite or something

“We were not eye fucking” the shorter girl huffs, sitting on Anika’s bed

“I literally opened my door and thought you two were about to make out”

“I didn’t expect to get interrogated when I came here!” Tara flops onto her back, covering her eyes and trying (and failing) to stop the red that dusted her cheeks

“Whatever, I’ll get you to crack later”

“Kill yourself.”

//-//

Tara doesn’t understand what she’s feeling when she sees some random girl grind against you

It’s like that one scene in Euphoria when Maddy and Nate stare each other down at the school dance, except you were looking far more more bored. That is, until you see Tara glaring at both of you

Like a switch turned on, you’re suddenly more interested in the girl. You encourage her grinding with a hand kneading her hip, using your other hand to take a sip of your drink. And just like Maddy, she’s tempted to find Chad to do the same to you. She doesn’t.

Tara fucking hated you. But she also needed you now.

Making you jealous would take too long. In theory she had the time, but her hunger to taste you was making her do things she would’ve never thought of before. One of those things being grabbing your hand and leading you away from any girl that tried to even look at you.

The girl who was grinding on you calls her a bitch among other things, but Tara knows it’s worth it when she sees you smile at her like she’s your entire world. Because she was your entire world

She leads you into an empty guest bedroom of the house, locking the door before getting close enough to you she can smell the alcohol in your breath

“What’s all this about, Tar?” You grin. Tara doesn’t know if she wants to kiss or slap that smirk right off of your annoying face

“You know what this is fucking about.”

“Do I? I think you should spell it out for me.”

“You know, I’ve had it with your attitude.” Tara jabs a finger at your chest, the back of your knees hitting the end of the bed. In one motion you sit down and bring Tara down with you. You make her sit on your cock

“Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking hot when you’re mad?” You smile, finding the blush on Tara’s cheeks absolutely adorable

“Only you.”

“Good. How about we keep it that way, baby?”

“You’re so annoying.” The brunette cups your face with both of her hands, your lips fitting together like they were always meant to

“I know I am” You say in between kisses, your hands finding their way up Tara’s shirt, kneading the spot right under her boob. She forces your hand to stimulate her nipple, eliciting a moan from her mouth

“You’re so pretty, Tar. I can’t believe only I get to see you get all hot and bothered” You smile breathlessly

“Fuck. S-Stop talking like that or you’ll make me like you” Biting a hickey on Tara’s neck, you take of her shirt and her bra in a flurry of heat

“I bet you’ll like me even more when you’re bouncing on my cock” You force Tara to grind on the bulge in your pants, earning you a small whimper that makes you smile

“C’mon, all you have to do is admit you like me and I’ll fuck you better than anyone has” It should be considered torture how much you were teasing Tara. You were biting hickeys on her neck, playing with her nipples, all while a few layers of fabric were the only barriers between your dick and her pussy. Fuck you knew how to overstimulate a girl

Laying Tara on on the bed, you could really tease the brunette better in this position. You can feel the Tara’s wetness through her soaked panties, and you’re sure she can feel the pre-cum leak out of your cock. Your hands are on her hips as if you were thrusting, yet you deny her and your pleasure for the sake of being an ass

“Don’t you want me to ruin you for anyone else? I promise I’ll stretch you out so good no other guys’ cock can fill you up like me.”

“Fuck you. I hate you, you’re s-such a fucking asshole, you know that?” Tara reaches for anything she can hold onto, your arms being the nearest thing

“I can think ways you could ‘hate’ me even more” You smile when Tara reaches to take off her panties but you find her hands first. You intertwine your hands together and the action is so soft Tara almost forgets about the situation she’s in. Almost

“Whenever I masturbate I think of you, did you know that? God, sometimes I have these hookups and all I can think about is you cumming around my cock”

Tara thinks it’s embarrassing how she’s about to cum just by your sickeningly sweet voice and the constant friction between you two. Tara also thinks she’d rather die than miss an opportunity of a lifetime.

Sure you were a cocky pain in the ass, but you were her cocky pain in the ass.

“Fuck- I admit it! I think you’re the hottest fucking person in the world. I like you.” Tara looks straight into your eyes, and the smile reserved only for her makes another appearance

“That wasn’t so hard, was it Tar?”

“I still hate you.” You unbuckle your belt and unbutton and unzip your jeans with watchful eyes. You pull down your boxers just enough so that your cock springs out, making Tara’s mouth water. Fuck you were big

Pulling Tara’s panties to the side, she’s dripping wet when you swipe your finger across her slit

“Fuck- (Y-Y/n)” Tara sings when you lick up her juices with your tongue. She buries her hands in your hair, bringing you closer to her dripping cunt. You moan at her taste and the vibrations are almost enough to get Tara to cum. Almost

You rise to your knees, lining up your dripping cock with the shorter girls dripping pussy. You decide to be evil and rub your dick against her slit before easing your tip into her hole. It was infuriating how slow you were going and Tara remembers why she hated you in the first place

Tara’s whining and whimpering under you and you can’t remember a time where you’ve been happier than in this moment

Tara on the other hand, has never hated you more in her life than in this moment

The younger Carpenter decides to be bold when she grabs your shirt and forces you forward. You’re caught off guard and over half of your cock finds itself nestled tightly in her pussy as you catch yourself with your arms

“Y-You’re sneaky, aren’t ‘cha” With your face so close to hers, Tara realizes you’re as much of a victim to your teasing as she is. She can tell it’s taking everything inside of you not to fuck her raw until your dick is limp and Tara’s legs are sore

“You can go fast. I can handle it, baby” Tara cups your face with her hand, stroking your cheek with such softness like you aren’t literally lodged into her cunt like a dog in heat

With that confirmation, you give Tara a peck on the lips and buck your hips in such a way you hit that spongey spot inside of her

The sound of skin slapping is louder than the blasting music downstairs, but your grunting and Tara’s moaning combined are louder than both. Thank god the owner of the house was your friend because you don’t know if you could come out of that room if this is what Tara sounded like

“Fuck- I’m close” You say a little too breathlessly for your liking

“Don’t p-pull out.” The shorter girl uses your shirt as leverage to keep you inside of her. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion

“T-Too messy, don’t feel like cleaning up.” Tara answers between moans like she can read your mind

The familiar heat you’re so used to finally snaps. Wrapping her legs around yours, you cum with almost a guttural whine. Your orgasm is enough for Tara to have hers and you fuck her through it, making sure none of your cum drips out of her hole

You pull out and a few dribbles of your semen flow out of her cunt. You plug her pussy with your fingers and Tara is far too sensitive to handle it

“D-Don’t tell me you’re tired already?” Tara jokes, but all air in her lungs leave when you let out a laugh of your own

“I’ve got all night, love.”

Tara has to remember to make you buy her a morning after pill.

[venuslore]

𖥔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; after being struck by a peacekeeper, coryo puts aside his differences to clean you up.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x fem!reader

notes ; pls coryo may be a little ooc in this but i tried. ok? i tried! physical violence, mentions of blood and death, as well as the events that take place in the hunger games universe, spoilers for tbosas !

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

the blow sent a stinging sensation through your cheek, the level of force behind it knocking you to the ground on impact. you had always wondered what it would feel like to be hit in the face – if you would be able to take it – and well, now you knew.

you sat there on the ground, a spectacle among the crowd, and all because you were helping an elderly lady and unknowingly stepped into the peacekeeper’s way. you didn’t mean to, and before you knew it his leather glove was colliding with the side of your face. 

you loathed the peacekeepers, everyone did, but specifically the way they thought they could belittle you and your people just because of their job title. and yet, it terrified you to know how harsh they were over something so small, you couldn’t even begin to think how torturous they could be behind closed doors. 

once the peacekeepers move on, laughing among themselves at what they had done to you, a man and his wife help you to your feet, and you dust yourself off. your palms burned from the rubble you had landed on, small rocks sticking into your skin, and your head was ringing, but nothing compared to the side of your face. 

you were tough, there was no doubt about it, but having the peacekeeper’s hand collide with your face with such force had you a little shaken up. 

“i’m okay, everyone,” you let the group of onlookers, and those that had helped you, know. with a faux smile and a reassuring nod, you quickly return to helping the woman pick up her belongings that had been knocked over in the midst of it all. 

“oh, don’t worry about me, dear. go take care of yourself,” she gestures to your face and your hand instinctively reaches to feel the wet cut that had formed on your lip. a small speckle of blood now on your fingers as a metallic taste fills your senses. it ached to touch, and if it looked bad now, you could only imagine how bad it was going to be later. 

you take your leave from the woman and make your way home along the seam. the sun was beginning to disappear behind the clouds as the sound of the town drowns out behind you and into the distance. people watched as you passed them by, noticing the blood on your face and probably wondering what had happened. 

you didn’t mind the stares, not much happened in the district, and it wasn't as if you had anything to be ashamed of. well, not that anyone knew of anyway. 

you eventually make it to the last stretch of the dirt path before your house when your name gets called out, stopping you in your tracks, and in the direction it had come from were a couple more peacekeepers. though, these ones didn’t instil fear in you the same way the others had. 

they were familiar faces – faces that you were somewhat glad to see – however, you weren’t sure how they were going to react seeing the new feature that had been ever so kindly bestowed upon your face. 

sejanus waves you over, tapping his partner on the shoulder once he notices, and gestures towards you. coriolanus stands beside him, turning your way after seeing the panicked look on his friend's face, and his smile drops the second he sees the cut on your lip and the bruise that had already begun to form. 

“y/n…” he speaks your name delicately, a forbidden whisper, before rapidly scanning your surroundings to make sure the area was safe. it was. “what happened?”

he wants to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and kiss you better, anything he can to make sure you were okay, but he can’t. he knows that. it would be too much of a risk in such an open space and he wasn’t going to be the reason you end up with another bruise, or worse. so he quickly fixes his posture and positions his gun against his shoulder where it was meant to be. 

“oh, this? it’s nothing,” you wave them off, even adding a wink to further convince them that you were fine.

sejanus smiles, even stifles a laugh at your nonchalant attitude, but not coriolanus. no. he could see right through the smile you were presenting them with. how could he not? he had spent far too much time staring at you, his lover, whether it be from across the town square, or beside you in your bed. he knew every which way your face contorted and exactly what it meant. 

he could see you were in pain. 

his jaw tightens at this, fighting the urge to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder so that he could take you home. it was one thing to have to watch the horrors and physical brutality that went on in the district every day, most of which he had become numb to, but seeing you be the victim of it filled him with not only rage, but fear. 

he wanted – no, needed – you to be safe. 

“is there anything we can do?” sejanus offers. “anything we can get you?”

“don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine,” you smile once again, though this time, coriolanus refuses to sit by and watch you lie. 

“can you cover for me?” he asks, though you know it’s meant for sejanus, who instantly nods at the request, further proving his loyalty to his friend. “go home and wait for me. i won’t be long, just don’t touch it.”

while you wanted nothing more than for coriolanus to follow you home, you knew he couldn’t. it wasn’t safe, not while the sun was still out, “no, i’m fine. i promise.”

“just do what i say, okay?” his eyes bore into you now, an urgency in them as his protective side comes into play, and you knew there was no point trying to argue with him when he got like this. 

you nod, begrudgingly, and lazily salute the pair before continuing on down the path to your house. it was only a little ways away from where the boys had spotted you, but the second you see the chipping wood and beaten down stairs that you called ‘home’, you’re overcome with relief. 

upon entering you immediately splay yourself down on the sofa — one of the few pieces of furniture you still owned after your parents — and wait, just like coriolanus had asked you. your head had stopped ringing a little, but the throbbing pain in your cheek was still there. nonetheless, you knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight come morning. 

minutes pass, twenty-seven to be exact, before you hear shuffling at your back window, followed by heavy footsteps. you knew it was coriolanus. he regularly came through the back of the house so as not to be seen by your neighbours, but like you always tell him, barely anyone bothered to come down your way. 

the second his face comes into view, you let off a weak smile, more so as he begins to remove his uniform, placing it down on the table in the corner of the room, alongside his gun, “i don’t have long. sejanus is covering for me, but even he knows it won’t be long before they start wondering where i am.”

“you really didn’t have to come. i told you, i’m fine,” you sit up now as coriolanus meets your side with a small package in his hand. 

the look in his eyes shifts as he gets a closer inspection of the damage that had been done to your face, a heavy breath falling from his lips. coriolanus believed people deserved to be punished for the things they did, but not you – never you. you were his girl, his flower, his love – and he had been doing everything in his power to make sure you were safe. 

he knew it wasn’t his fault what had happened earlier, but he still couldn’t help but feel somewhat to blame. he should’ve been there to stop the situation, de-escalate it in any way that he could. he had been doing everything in his power to keep you off the other peacekeeper’s radars, away from any potential danger, and selfishly, away from him ever losing you. 

you watch as the stiffness in his jaw goes slack and his shoulders slump a little, eyes downturing as his lips push out into a pout ever so slightly. you reach for his hand, “coryo, what’s wrong?”

“i just… i don’t like to see you hurt,” he pulls his gaze away from you now, wanting to avoid thinking about it, and begins to unwrap the small package in his hand to reveal a mini first-aid kit. “i grabbed what i could without anyone seeing me, though i doubt you’ll need most of it.” 

you watch as he gathers a small cloth, coated with a disinfectant solution and gently dabs at the cut on your lower lip. it stings a little but you didn’t mind, you’d do just about anything to get a moment alone with coriolanus. perhaps getting hit in the face wasn’t all bad, at least the outcome of it anyway. 

once the cut was cleaned, he pulls out a small bandage and presses it across your lip. you weren’t sure you really needed it but it felt nice to be looked after. as for the bruise, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. 

“how does it look?” you sigh, and he reaches up to gently brush the tender skin. 

“it looks… like it needs something,”

“and what’s that?” coryo’s lips quirk up into a roguish grin before he slowly leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek. it’s soft and sweet, and gentle. all of the things coryo was when it was just the two of you alone. “you know what? i think you might be onto something.”

coryo’s laughter reverberates through his entire body, looking at you with glistening eyes, but he gives in, pressing another kiss to your lips, and what starts as a light brush of your lips on his becomes much more when you find yourself pushing him backwards on the sofa. he doesn’t protest and lets himself fall into the cushion behind him as you situate yourself on his lap. there’s no hesitation when his hands cup your thighs, running small comforting circles into your skin. 

you stay like that for a few moments, small trickles of laughter escaping you both as you continue to kiss before you evidently decide to curl yourself up into him. you nuzzle your head into his chest, one leg still draped across his as the other burrows in next to him and instinctively his hand searches for yours - fingers idly grazing one another before he threads his through to hold you. 

“so, what’s the verdict doc? will i make it?” you smile. 

“as long as i have anything to do with it,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, but you can’t help but feel like there was another meaning to his words. 

[bimbobaggins69]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𐙚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: omg omg i have a perfect idea for a smut! okay imagine this. it’s christmas and youre celebrating with eddie at a cute little cozy cabin all too yourselves. and after you guys are done opening presents and showering each other in love reader tells him he has one more gift. next thing he knows reader is spread out on the bed in a cute little sexy santa lingerie set but the best part is, the thong she’s wearing has eddie’s name on it on the back in gold! 😫😫

𐙚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, fluff, its implied that reader is rich but doesn’t touch on it too much, porn with no plot, lingerie, sir dom eddie, anal play, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, squirting, breeding kink, cream pie, dirty talk, more fluff.

𐙚 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: instead of a Santa lingerie set I went with bow lingerie, but other than that, hope you like nonnie <3 merry christmas and happy holidays!

𐙚 𝐰𝐜: 2.7k

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the cozy, warm air of the cabin as the snow blankets the earth outside; the fireplace burns brightly, ceasing the inevitable nip to your fingers and toes as you pass your boyfriend his last wrapped present. You had done all the wrapping and bows yourself this year, quite proud of the red matte paper, wrapped up in velvet red bows.

You wanted this christmas– the first of many to come, to be as perfect as you could possibly make it. You knew Eddie hadn’t had the best Christmases and of course you didn't want to overdo it and scare him off– so you suggested a small exchange of three presents each, nothing too much or too extravagant; just things you knew the other would love and appreciate.

Coming to him with plans to spend Christmas at one of your family's many cabins already seemed like too much; being that Eddie normally spent the holidays in his trailer, alone with absolutely no tree or decorations, more importantly no love and laughter. It just wouldn't do. For that reason, you felt it was your mission to make this one to remember, not because it was spent in this big cabin among your mother’s lavish, rustic furniture and bougie decor– no, but because you were here, together.

“Here, lastish one.” You say with a conspiratorial tip of your chin, causing your boyfriend’s eyebrows to shoot up into his sleep tousled fringe. The gathered bun sitting messily atop his head made the heat between your legs incinerate to new fiery levels. And no, surprisingly enough it was not due to the close proximity of the fireplace you were sitting just inches away from. Eddie always had that affect on you, from the way he wore his hair, down to the black polish on his nails or abundance of silver, gaudy rings he wore like armor or the leather, buckles and violent band tees you were guaranteed to see him in. The contrast of that Eddie that everyone sees, everyone knows; compared to the one sitting in front of you, shaking a present close to his ear in an attempt to guess before he dives into obliterating the beautiful wrapping you spent way too much time on, in his red plaid christmas pajamas and round wire rim glasses he was commanded to wear by you and an optometrist, completely against his will.

This Eddie was all for you.

“Baby, what the fuck? Where’d you find this?” He asks, eyes filled with incredulous excitement as he holds the shirt you spent many months looking for, up to his chest. A band shirt from a band that was probably too underground to even have shirts, especially one you’d find in a store. No, this one was a tour shirt you scoured for, and with just your luck eventually found in Chicago.

“I won't give up my secret, but…just know it was not easy to find.” The playful scrunch of your nose makes his smile beam brighter. He loves your little ‘bunny nose scrunch’ as he calls it, and says he has to kiss it every time; which is exactly what he does after folding and setting his shirt gently back into the clothes box you had wrapped it in, then cupping your warm cheeks into the palms of his hands and planting a copious amount of kisses to your nose, forehead and lips. His ability to come off as mean and scary to everyone but be the biggest teddy bear with you, has you swooning and hungry for more of him.

“Okay, I have one more.” You confess with a demure smile, as you get up from off the hardwood floor and onto your fuzzy sock clad feet; shuffling to the room you and Eddie are sharing during your stay.

“Wait, I thought we were only doing three each. C’mon woman!” He groans as he shakes his head in disbelief, causing the bun on his head to flop around. You couldn't help but giggle because of it, well that and this “gift” you’ve been so excited to surprise him with.

“Let’s just say it's not one you have to unwrap, well not technically.” The wink you throw at him before turning around and making a beeline for your bedroom, surely gave away what kind of present this was; if Eddie’s blown out, lust filled eyes were anything to go by.

After calling Eddie’s name and instructing him to stay behind the closed door, before you call him in to see his last and final gift of the day. You frantically get into position, spread out on the made up bed in red lingerie made to look like one giant bow, the back was completely open aside from the very small g string that sat perfectly between your ass; the fabric just over your left pert bum cheek had Eddie’s name in gold sewed into the red threads. Red lace thigh highs sit perfectly on the meaty parts of your upper legs. God, I really hope he likes this, you thought to yourself as your heart hammered out of your chest.

“Okay, come in.” You purr seductively. The pine wooden door opens slightly, before it’s being swung open, stopping just before it hits the wall and leaves a mark you’d have to explain later to your uptight mother.

“Holy shit.” Eddie huffs as if the wind had been knocked out of his chest. “Baby, you look–” He truly couldn’t form the words, not with his cock kicking up in excitement behind the confines of his red plaid pajama pants.

“Are you my present?” His voice is low and scratchy, almost like a growl; the voice he uses when he’s trying to turn you on, or when he’s talking you threw an intense orgasm he so selflessly gives to you like no one else ever has.

“Mhm, do you like it?” You ask as you look up at him between your lashes, the antithesis of the innocent girl you were trying to give off. No, you were a vixen, a minx. He’d really ruined that once good girl image you had going on, the one that went to church and was saving herself for marriage. Yeah, he had way too much pride in that fact, although he was going to marry you someday, but ya’ know, semantics.

“Oh baby, I fucking love it!” He smirks down at you as he nestles himself snuggly between your spread thighs, “Can I open it?” His fingers rub against the big bow sitting over your breasts before they're moving further down to the small bit of fabric that is not so fully concealing your mound and tuft of wet curls to him. “Please, princess?” He begs as his thumb begins rubbing light circles just over your weeping clit.

You nod your head before you’re able to find the words; “Y-yes, please.”

His hands move fast and with precision as he gently unwraps you. Once the delicate fabric has bunched up at your sides and your bare chest is revealed, Eddie takes a deep breath as his glass framed eyes take you in.

“So goddamn beautiful.” He whispers to himself, making your cheeks heat up.

“Can I see the back of this little getup?” His puppy dog eyes plead, making your heart flutter before you remember you haven't even shown him the best part.

“Oh my god yes, the best part.” You murmur in excitement, turning around and jutting your ass up into the air for Eddie to see the inscribed fabric.

“Fuck.” he growls under his breath, his thumb rubbing over his name as if he has to feel it to believe it. “Okay, yeah, you're never taking this off. I’m fucking you with it on, just like this.” His big palm comes down harshly on the sensitive meat of your ass, making you squeal with delight.

“I could just get it tattooed on.” You tease as you sway your bottom from side to side.

“You’d do that?” Eddie asks in aw, like he’d marry you right here right now, if you say yes.

“Mmm, I might have an idea for your next birthday gift.” You continue your teasing, but you knew deep down you’d do anything for him in a heartbeat, even marking your own skin with his name.

“I’d make you show it to me every night and kiss it twenty times before we went to bed.” He says in such a serious tone, you had to bite your lip in order not to laugh at such a silly request.

“Oh yeah? I’ll make you kiss my ass every night without a tattoo on it.” You look back at him with a mischievous smirk as your lust filled eyes meet his.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it with that smart ass mouth.” He grits before grabbing a handful of your hair and gently yanking you back, a moan falls from your lips as he stares down at you with hunger. “You gonna be a good girl, or a brat?” His fingers still held tight in your hair as his free hand grabs your chin, in order to stop you from shyly looking away.

“I’m going to be a good girl, sir.” You whine, as your eyes fill with tears of eager anticipation.

“Aw poor baby. You need it so bad, don’t you?” Eddie mocks before his nose brushes against yours, his dark eyes full of devilry.

“Yes, sir. I need you so bad, please.” You respond as Eddie’s grip on your hair tightens, before he’s pushing your head into the fluffy white duvet.

“Keep that ass up for me, princess. Just. Like. That.” You can hear the predatory smile on his face as he rubs you up from the tops of your thighs to the globes of your ass. 

“She wants to get stuffed, Huh? this little cunt?” His fingers rub through your dripping folds but he misses where you need him most. 

“Yes, she wants to get stuffed so bad, sir.” The tears have returned from his teasing, and you’re ready to beg and plead and tell him he can do whatever he wants to you if he just touches your clit, but before you get the chance to— he’s already rubbing his callus thumb on your bundle of nerves making you wail out into the covers as your legs shake from your gratitude. 

“Oh thank you, thank you sir.” The tears are now streaming down your cheeks as the circles get rougher and two fingers slip into your soaked center. 

“Greedy cunt.” Eddie spits, crooking his fingers to hit that special spot inside of you and coaxing your first orgasm out. 

“That’s it— already squeezing my fingers so tight. You gonna cum, pretty girl?” His thumb stops but you continue to hiss out from the way his fingers hit your spot dead on. 

Eddie’s free hand comes up and grabs your ass cheek, pulling them apart before spitting on your second hole; he rubs it in with his free thumb and lets it sink into you, causing your orgasm to wash over you with a scream of his name, toes curled in your red thigh highs. 

“Mmm, such a good little kitten.” Eddie purrs before removing his fingers and pulling down his plaid pajama pants; giving his rock hard cock a few tugs before it’s prodding at your cunt. His thrusts are shallow, only teasing you with the head before he surprises you and lets it sink in, all the way to the hilt. You love not knowing when you’re going to feel that stretch, a delicious surprise every time. 

“Uh!” Your eyes roll back and the only words that leave your lips are Eddie, Eddie, Eddie! 

“Just sucks me right in every. fuckin’. time.” He chuckles to himself in disbelief. “Always so wet and tight for me, baby.” He’s already whining as your cunt throbs around him from his filthy words. “You love that shit, don’t you?” He asks as he slaps your ass hard. 

“Yes! I fucking love it!” You mewl, as your mouth falls open and your body begins to tense and tighten. 

Eddie’s too close to cumming and he needs to wait as long as he can, enough for you to get yours first, so he pulls his cock out without warning and ducks his head between the backs of your thighs and licks you from clit to slit, all the way up to your puckered hole. He does this a couple more times before sucking your clit in between his lips, giving it a few suckles. Before you know it, he’s slamming his eager cock back where it belongs and pounding into you as his fingers dig into the meat of your ass. 

“Fuck, I can feel you, baby. You’re so close, give it to me!” He begs as the white, hot fire in your lower body wins out and consumes you whole, stars ignite behind your eyelids and your mouth falls open into a perfect “o” of pleasure. Your whole form shakes as spurts of wetness squirt out of you and onto your boyfriend's throbbing cock. 

“Mmm, such a dirty girl. Now come clean your mess.” He demands as he gently pulls you up from your all fours position; without another word you fall to your knees, taking his cock that’s now drenched with your cum into your mouth and cleaning him up like a fucking wonder mop. 

“Jesus fuck, that’s my fucking girl!” He groans as his head tips back in satisfaction. 

“Alright, on your back, princess.” He orders with a point of his finger. 

“Yes, sir.” You don’t need to be told twice, quickly standing up on your feet and then falling back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. 

“Fucking perfect.” He whispers, moving in closer as he jerks himself off while overlooking your spent body. “You ready? Just a little bit more, baby.” His tone is so sweet and loving no matter how much you play the dom/sub role, he absolutely never forgets to check in with you before continuing, it still makes you swoon every time. 

“I’m ready.” You smirk up at him, with a rise of your eyebrows as if to challenge him. 

Without another word he’s slamming back into you and pushing your legs up to your chest, skin slapping as he builds up a steady rhythm. 

Loud squelching can be heard throughout the room but you’re too far gone to care at this point, plus you know those sounds make him crazy.

“Oh my fuck—” he growls as his rhythm begins to falter and his cock throbs inside of you. “You want my cum?” He asks as he pants into your mouth, giving you occasional tongue filled kisses. 

“Mhm, want you to fill me up.” You moan before licking a line up his parted lips. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah I’m gonna fill you up. Have you drippin’ with it.” He growls as his eyes roll back. The bun on his head is getting looser with every thrust as tendrils fall and frame his handsome face. “You want me to fill you up good? Put a baby in you?” His eyes never leave yours as he asks, and even though he can read the surprise on your face, he never falters.  

“Yes, want your baby, Eddie! Please, fill me up nice and deep. I need it!” Your pleads take him over to the edge and push him right off, as his hands grip your thighs with so much force, you're sure there will be little oval size bruises in their place, tomorrow. 

“Fuck! Baby. Fuck!” His thrusts stop abruptly as he releases his warm spend inside of you, just as you asked; nice and deep. 

He kisses your lips before slowly easing himself out of you, little dribbles of come fall out in the wake of your emptiness. Eddie takes two fingers and pushes every last drop right back inside of you, making you cry out from the overstimulated. 

“I’m sorry my love. We want it to take, right?” He asks with a goofy grin on his face before laying down and burrowing his face into your side, he kisses every inch of skin he can reach as he hums in contentment. 

“Did you like your present?” You ask with a bashful smile, as if you both weren’t just talking filthy to each other five minutes ago. 

“Best present ever!” 

[littlejuicebox]

Mermaid whiskey.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: 2 weeks after BG3 final battle, Elfsong Tavern / Astarion has been ignoring you and spending too much time reading for your tastes, you aim to distract him. Rating/Warnings: M+ / Smut / Light BDSM / Soft Dom Astarion vibes / Some mild in game spoilers/allusions to events / Overstimulation, Teasing, Bondage, Blindfolding etc Word Count: 4.3K Notes: Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off x Whiskey Girl

-----

Two weeks after the final battle, Astarion is lounging by the crackling fireplace on the upper level of the Elfsong Tavern, a large goblet of red wine in one hand and a book in the other.

Everyone else spent time after the battle exploring the city or downstairs drinking and celebrating their victory as they all prepared to move onto new adventures. But Astarion had chosen nearly every opportunity over the past two weeks to hang back and enjoy some much-deserved alone time. Now that the constant worries about Cazador and the overall impending doom of Baldur’s Gate were all behind him, the rogue threw himself into finding bits of individual enjoyment whenever and wherever he could. He'd fixated himself on hobbies and leisure, and reading had seemed an obvious first choice. He'd easily idle hours away, sometimes reading an entire book cover to cover in one sitting.

Often, you would sit with the elf as he read, snuggled in a blanket or cuddled up against your love, but eventually you always got the urge to get up and do something else. You'd tried on more than one occasion to interest the rogue in another activity, but Astarion remained glued to the couch for those two weeks, barely stepping away to hunt, bathe, or trance. You'd noted, with a bit of concern, that he hadn't even asked to feed on you in more than a tenday.

Tonight, you’d tried more than once to pull him down to the tavern, but the elf quickly refused, barely lifting his eyes from the pages in front of him. Astarion seemed particularly obsessed with this book; you were almost convinced he’d already finished it and had started a second reading.

Several hours passed while you socialized down at the bar and Astarion's perfect nose stayed wedged in a book before a very tipsy Karlach decided to climb the stairs and speak to the vampire. “Oi! C’mon, Astarion! Close that dusty tome and join the fun. We’ll all only be together for a few more days. Me, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Tav are taking shots!”

The vampire’s ears perk up and he furrows his brow at the woman, snapping his book shut in the process. “Shots? Of what, exactly?”

“Mermaid Whiskey!”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no! Karlach! Mermaid Whiskey practically makes Tav’s clothes fall off!”

Astarion is on his feet now, the book abandoned as he rushes past the Tiefling and down the flight of stairs into the tavern. He quickly spots the silky blue bandana you use to tie your hair up at camp strewn upon a forgotten bar stool. Knowing it’s possibly your most prized article of clothing, the elf tucks it into his back pocket. Scarlet eyes perform a hurried scan of the room and the vampire bristles when you’re nowhere to be found.

The others are still at the bar, where Lae’zel just challenged a bartender to an arm-wrestling competition. The women warriors are cheering Lae’zel on as she’s locked in a stalemate with the man.

“Shadowheart, have you seen Tav?”

Shadowheart barely acknowledges the vampire, too engrossed in the show. “What do you mean? She’s right—“ Her gaze flicks to the abandoned stool as Lae’zel successfully slams the worker’s hand onto the sticky bar, causing the campmates and some other patrons to erupt into cheers. “She was right there a moment ago.”

Astarion runs a stressed hand through his curled hair, inspecting the room for any sign of you. Soon enough, he spots a familiar pair of shoes and hurries to them, eyes already searching for the next clue. A discarded earring floating in a glass of half-drunk whiskey is sat on the bottom step of the stairs. That hadn’t been there when he descended down them, had it?

The vampire’s gaze trails up the stairwell and his suspicions are confirmed. Your navy-blue dress is draped across the back of an armchair he can barely see from his low vantage point.

‘She must’ve snuck around when I was talking to Shadowheart.’

The rogue dashes up the stairs to find you reclined on a chaise lounge, body flushed from the whiskey coursing through your veins. You are strewn suggestively across the chaise, clothed in only your laced undergarments and thigh high stockings. The alluring vision caused Astarion's heart to leap into his throat.

“Darling, what on earth do you think you’re you doing? You’re barely clothed in the middle of the tavern. This isn’t the wilds anymore.”

You’re lying on your side when Astarion finds you, and you pout in his direction as he scolds you, waving a dismissive hand. You roll onto your stomach, bending your knees and crossing your legs. You’re pleased to see the vampire's gaze drag down your body, pausing at the curve of your bottom, before flitting back to your face. Astarion licks his lips as he looks at you, the first sign that your little plan is working. You’ve finally gotten his attention after trying to steal him away from that damned book he was so enamored with all night.

“I know my love, but I’m just so unbelievably hot right now. You wouldn’t believe how hot I feel.”

Astarion quickly crosses the few feet between you two, placing a cool, concerned hand on your flushed cheek. “How many shots did you take?”

“Oh, just two. Maybe three? I kept losing the stupid ‘never have I ever game’ because everyone made all their questions about vampires.” You pout at your lover again before turning your head to press your lips against his thumb, lingering there intentionally, your wide eyes still focused on the rogue.

Astarion was no fool. With your mouth holding his thumb in that suggestive manner, he soon realized what you were doing. You adored the vampire with your entire heart, but on your drunken nights, you knew how to be a perfectly tempting, needy little brat. “And why, my sweet, did you keep playing the game if it was so clearly rigged against you?”

You groan, moving to a sitting position, while your hands toy with the laces of your bodice. “Because…” You sharply tug at the flouncy strings and Astarion’s hand catches yours in a tight grip, moments before you’re about to expose your breasts in the center of the lounge. “You’ve barely paid attention to me the past two weeks… and I was lonely and bored and wanted to have fun.”

“Darling, I know what you’re doing... I thought we agreed that tonight you’d go to the bar, and I would stay up here.” Astarion murmurs, nimble fingers toying with the strings of your bodice. He tries to resist the temptation to look down at your cleavage and fails; you see his eyes roll up in annoyance at himself and his inability to fight off his baser instincts in your presence. Inside you’re practically giddy that you’re winning the charade, but you keep the pout plastered to your face.

“We didn’t agree to anything, my Star. You didn't give me a choice.” You huff, pointedly brushing your hair away from your neck to reveal the little pinprick scars made by your lover. The rogue's eyes trail to the marks and he licks his lips again, suddenly quite aware of how long it’s been since he’s sunk his fangs into your flesh.

Gods you were frustrating. Astarion both loathed and loved that you could play him like a lyre; you knew him so well that you understood exactly what would make him tick. Every. Single. Time.

The vampire shakes his head, trying to rattle the fantasies out of his brain and not allow you the upper hand. You were being ridiculous; if you’d wanted attention, you should’ve just asked instead of acting out. Trying to turn the conversation, Astarion asks, “What is it you even like about whiskey? It’s vile.”

You sigh and roll your eyes before sliding off the chaise and sauntering away from the elf. For a moment you think he’s going to let you leave, but then he’s trailing after you like a lost puppy and you know you've got him hooked.

“Excuse me? You’re just going to walk away? Conversation over?”

You shrug and sigh again, stopping just in front of the door to your bedchamber. You turn to face the rogue, leaning back against the door and crossing your arms. Astarion’s eyes are narrowed as he stares at you with some level of frustration and incredulity at your antics.

“If you must know, I suppose I like a bit of edge… and a bit of pain with my pleasure.” Your voice is coy, eyebrow raised, and you're fully leaning into the innuendo of your statement. “And you like that I like it... don’t you?”

Astarion chuckles at this, a smirk ghosting his lips. “You are a wicked little thing, aren’t you? Using my own games and my own tactics against me now?”

You’re wearing a mischievous grin as the rouge saunters forward, closing the distance between your bodies. He firmly grasps your chin in his hand, scarlet eyes studying your face. Just as his lips brush against yours, and you're thinking you've won this little game, you murmur, “I guess the apprentice has become the master.”

Astarion pauses and draws back for a moment, the darkening of his gaze and his raised eyebrow causing you to shudder where you stand as he grips a bit tighter on your chin. “Oh darling. You’re cute. But now I think I have to teach you a lesson and remind you who the master truly is here.”

And then his lips are on yours, fangs clashing roughly into teeth. He feels for the knob behind you and turns it, forcing you both into the room before unceremoniously slamming the door closed. Your mouths are melded together as the vampire effortlessly guides you to the bed and shoves you into the mattress. Quick, pale hands tug at the strings of your bodice and your breasts are released from their confines, spilling out in front of the vampire’s eager gaze as he drags the undergarment off your arms and throws it aside.

Then Astarion grabs something from his back pocket — your blue bandana — and dangles it in front of you with a mock-condescending pout on his lips. All you can think about in that moment is how you want to take that pout into your own lips and bite.

“Darling, you left this downstairs and I had to retrieve it. I think I may need to teach you to take care of your belongings. You only have two of these, my love, and I know you would be so desperate to find them if they were permanently lost, wouldn’t you?”

You nod as you reach for your bandana, but Astarion is faster and pulls it away just in time, smirking at you all the while. “Come to think of it… where is your other bandana, my sweet?”

"It's in here." You murmur, lips already swollen from the rough kiss he'd pulled you into. You turn to the nightstand and withdraw your second bandana, an identical twin to the first. Astarion quickly takes it from your hand and grins mischievously, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as the silken fabric glides from your fingers.

“Good girl. Now, give me your hands.”

You oblige and the rogue deftly binds your wrists together with an expertly tied knot. He tugs at the bindings, testing their strength. Astarion lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of one before taking the second bandana and folding it into a long strip. Your eyes are fixated on his lithe fingers. Then he presses forward, face mere inches from yours. His eyes are dark and intense, but glimmering with adoration all the same, in a way that floods you with the overwhelming sensation of excitement and safety all in one.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, won't you, my love?”

“Y-yes.” You whisper, almost breathlessly and wholly impatient for what is coming next. Your body still burns with desire and Mermaid Whiskey. The last thing you see is Astarion’s eyes before the second bandana shrouds you in darkness.

Cool hands guide you to lay back onto the mattress and soon enough long, nimble fingers languidly trace their way down your body. You feel Astarion’s hands ghost over your arms, down your collarbone, and then trail circles around your breasts where he gives both nipples a gentle, teasing tug before moving on. His fingers brush your abdomen, around the curve of your hips, down the tops of your thighs, and finally to your calves. Then his lips press to your foot, and he works at pressing feather light kisses up your leg.

He continues kissing up your right leg for what seems like forever, fingers still moving tantalizingly along your calf and thigh. By the time the vampire makes his way back up to the top of your thigh, you are wiggling and keening in anticipation. He hovers over your still-clothed mound for a few beats before shifting slightly and returning to kissing down your left leg. You whine in disappointment, your bound hands straining against the fabric as you try to grip your lover. A dark chuckle is all you get in response as Astarion continues to kiss your opposing thigh, nibbling here and there, at a rate that seems somehow even slower than the first leg he worshipped.

By the time he’s placing a kiss to the top of your left foot, you’re writhing wholeheartedly, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to give yourself more stimulation. You don’t dare use your bound hands, knowing the punishment would be further binding and teasing. Astarion unhurriedly runs his hands up your legs once again, stopping to draw leisurely circles at the apex of your thighs before tracing one chilled finger along the waistband of your underwear.

“A-Astarion!” You choke out with another whine, just as the vampire runs that same finger down your still-clothed slit, feeling the wetness now soaking through the fabric from his torments.

Your lover chuckles in dark delight. “I’ve barely even touched you, my needy little love, and yet here you are, positively soaked. Your lesson is far from over, darling.”

There is a moment of silence apart from soft rustling; you cannot see anything, but your ears pick up the sound of Astarion’s buckle coming undone. And then you feel his weight on top of you. You can tell he’s still wearing his briefs as he presses his groin against your sex, legs straddling either side of your hips. Suddenly you feel a sharp pinch on both your nipples. Your back arches in response to the sensation while a pleading groan shoots from your mouth.

“Mm… I think you quite like that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes!” Is all you can reply as you feel Astarion's cold hands kneading the flesh of your breasts before he resumes pinching the swollen buds.

You try to buck your hips, but the bastard knows what he’s doing, and he’s got you pinned perfectly beneath him in a way that renders you all but helpless. Your bound hands search for Astarion’s body, and you barely graze against his abdominals before the vampire rips your hands away with a little tut, laying nearly all his body weight atop you as he raises your hands up over your head. You can feel his breath against your ear before he takes the lobe in his mouth and nibbles. Gods the torture was becoming unbearable. You buck again, another frustrated whine escaping your lips.

“Shhh now, darling. Shame we don’t have a third bandana or you would be gagged. We are quite impatient today, aren’t we?”

You whimper as he continues the abuse to your ear before trailing his tongue down to your neck. “My little whiskey girl…” His lips hover over that familiar little spot on your neck, his breath tickling your skin. Your pulse jumps to greet your lover. “May I?”

You barely nod, “Yes. Please.”

Astarion groans at your response, thrusting his hips forward to press his rock-hard bulge into your folds. You feel a sharp, icy sting in your neck before your body gives way to the delectable ripples of pleasure. The vampire laps from you lazily, rutting against your mound, the still-clothed underside of his cock sawing torturously between the folds of your still-clothed but now dripping slit. He continues suckling, not really drinking for sustenance but more for his own pleasure, his hardening member abusing your swollen clit. You’re keening again, and one of his hands moves to tease your nipple while the other gets lost in your hair, holding you in place as he takes his lazy laps.

“A-Astarion. Astarion! Please, I’m gonna—“

But before you can finish, you feel the wave of pleasure crashing over you and your legs are trembling as you find your release. The elf groans again as you orgasm, now suckling and rutting with more fervor as the taste of your ecstasy courses through your veins. When the crescendo wanes and you’re left panting, Astarion retracts his fangs from your neck with a pleased little hum.

Suddenly the bandana is pulled from your eyes, and you blink, adjusting to the light. The vampire is still straddling you, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face as he wipes the final rivet of blood from his mouth and licks it off his thumb. “Satisfied, darling? Have I paid enough attention to you now?”

You groan and buck your hips again, your drenched undergarments barely rubbing against the rogue’s stiff cock. “No!” You shriek as your bound hands pound back into the mattress.

Astarion’s lips are on yours anew, swallowing your protests as he delves his tongue into your eager mouth. You taste the iron of your own blood and groan, writhing against him and desperately pulling at your bindings. When the rogue pulls back he chuckles before easily delving two fingers inside your ruined undergarments, curling his fingers to barely strum against your swollen clit. You try to arch to meet his digits with a desperate, pleading moan, but the weight of him on your legs keeps you pinned, and you cry out.

“Please, please, please.” You whine in a soft chant coming from your lips, still using all of your strength to barely buck your hips. Your hands are twisting desperately in their bindings. “Please, please, please.”

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you, my love?” He coos, continuing to barely tease your throbbing clit with expert fingers. “What is it that you want?”

“You know what I want!” You hiss through gritted teeth, your frustration bubbling over as the rogue torments that sensitive nub between your legs.

“Hmm… perhaps I do. But you need to ask for the things that you want, my sweet. The parasite is gone and I’m no mind reader.”

“Please put your cock inside me! Please.”

“Hmm... there we are. That’s my good girl. Now, was that really so hard, little love?"

Before you can answer, Astarion’s mouth is enveloping yours as he works to quickly remove his own undergarments. The feeling of his barren member on your mound renews your desperation and you keen into your lover's mouth, causing him to smirk into the kiss. He quickly maneuvers his knee to the inside of your thigh, hitching his own leg up to spread you wide, granting him full access to your sex. Deft fingers slide the thin, arousal-soaked cloth of your underwear aside and then you feel the head of his cock pressed just against your entrance.

“Who do you belong to, my love?” The vampire asks when he pulls away from the kiss, scarlet eyes peering into yours. He’s rocking his hips just slightly, the tip of his member barely teasing in and out of your desperate pussy. He brings his hand to the side of your face, stroking his thumb along your cheek.

“You, Astarion.” You whisper, so entranced by the look in his eyes and the feeling of his cock pressing into you that you can barely think or breath. You try to thrust down to meet your lover's miniscule ministrations, but his other hand has your hip pinned in place.

“Give me your hands again.”

You oblige, and the rogue quickly undoes your fastenings, gently pressing his lips into the angry red marks around your wrists. He takes one of your hands and interlaces your fingers in his. Astarion pins one hand back above your head, but allows you the freedom of the other hand, which you bring to the side of his neck.

Then the vampire kisses you once more. As his lips press into yours, his cock slides into your eagerly awaiting cunt. Every ripple of Astarion's thick shaft makes your body sing in delight, and you're groaning into the elf's mouth as he begins to make fervent love to you, hips snapping with vigor as he sheaths and unsheathes himself in a steady rhythm.

“You are… entirely infuriating… and vexing, sometimes. Do you know that, little love?” He purrs between his lips enveloping yours, tongue exploring your mouth. The vampire plunges into you with steady determination, slowly picking up his tempo.

You’re breathless, rolling your hips to meet the rogue’s. Your eyes are shut as you smirk at his comment. “I know.. I just think you’re so sexy when you’re frustrated.” You respond between panting breaths, and that earns you a rough thrust that hits your cervix and knocks the air from your lungs as you moan in surprise.

Astarion’s hand that isn’t intertwined with yours comes under your chin and takes a firm hold, pressing just enough on your windpipe to create the delicious feeling of breathlessness without actually preventing you from breathing. Your eyes snap open from the sensation.

“You. Are. A. Naughty. Girl.” He hisses, eyes boring into your own, face mere inches from yours, and each word punctuated by another forceful snap of his hips. You moan at the feeling of his length slamming into your cervix. By this time, he’s panting and the flush on his ears is rising, and you know he’s close to his own release. One of Astarion's fingers is lingering dangerously close to your mouth as he clutches your neck; you take the digit between your lips and begin to suck.

As the vampire sees your tongue snake around his finger, he’s done for. All resolve is gone, and your lover fucks into you with reckless abandon as you moan around his hand. The grip on your neck tightens as he starts to emit his own cries of pleasure, and your hand wraps tightly onto his neck in response, nails digging into cold flesh.

“Do you see what you do to me?” He asks through gritted teeth as his thrusts become sloppy. You’re seeing stars, and the friction of his pelvis paired with the intense throbbing of your abused pussy is sending you towards a second climax. As your body reaches its crescendo, you release Astarion’s finger from between your lips and cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The rogue hears your beautiful cry and feels the pulsing of your sex, which finally pushes him over the edge as he spills into you, cock twitching with every new stream of seed.

His mouth is on yours before you finish your strangled cry of release, and Astarion’s works to kiss you down from your incredible high. The vampire releases your neck, and the passionate force of his lips slowly ebbs into a gentle, lazy kiss. Eventually, with both of your bodies fully spent, the rogue rolls onto his side, sliding himself from you and spilling the evidence of your love making across the silky sheets.

Astarion rolls from the bed, and you whine, but he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he promises he will be right back. He slips his trousers on and exits the room for a minute, only to return with the book he seemed obsessed with. Part of you is annoyed when the rogue settles back into bed, opening his arm so you can nestle yourself in the crook.

You give him a little pout. “Do you not love me more than you love these books? I’m beginning to worry I’ve coupled myself to another Gale. I was sure that tonight would distract you and I would have you all to myself.”

Astarion chuckles, shaking his head slightly before turning to kiss you on the forehead. “My sweet, surely you know the depths of my love for you far surpass the pages of a book. And you are always distracting... even when I am thinking of something else, I am also thinking of you.”

He shuts the book and taps his hand on the cover, lithe fingers moving to trace the embossed words of the title. “I apologize if I’ve been consumed and you’ve felt neglected, my darling. This book is just… intriguing.”

You turn your head and for the first time, read the title: ‘The Creation of Dhampirs: A Guide.”

Oh.

Your brow furrows as you turn to look at Astarion, and you see a wistful, faraway look in his eyes. This look was different from his unfortunately familiar one that he displayed during flashbacks and night terrors… this one contained hope.

“Are you imagining your future, Astarion?” You ask, sitting up just enough to place a kiss on your lover’s cheek and brush a few wayward curls back into place. “If you are, then I’d better be there by your side.”

The rogue snaps out of his reverie and turns to look at you again, his expression laced with love. He extends his long arm backwards, dropping the tome on the nightstand before placing his hand on your face. Astarion’s thumb strokes your cheek and he sighs happily before whispering, “Yes, you’d better be.”

[luvlyycy]

a/n — hiiii , >< . the bed pic is YOUR bedroom fyi. also, this is a cheating fic cus reader has a bf (toji) n yknow blahblahblah blah. 'n kuna smokes. (its bad for your lungs, i dont even smoke lol) also kuna is bi curious lmao. chubby reader !!!!

♡ ──╮꒰ Summary ! ꒱ , , , Your boyfriend bugs Sukuna. It isn't the fact that he dislikes Toji, he actually really (reallllyyyyy) likes him— but it's the fact that he's fucking you and Sukuna isn't.

He thinks it's been around five years since Toji had been his roommate, not bothering to actually pinpoint the years. He tolerates Toji, and by that I mean, they are really good friends. They'll smoke together whenever the chance arises— maybe go out for a drink as well. Sukuna really liked the guy, seriously. Although, there was one thing about him that really ticked him off.

Toji was a whore.

That's not said lightly, I mean fuck, the guy already got a kid. Every single fucking night there was some curvy hyper-feminine bimbo latched onto his roommate's arm. He would always hear the stupid fucking moaning, or cringe-worthy screams of a girl who watched way too much porn. That's not to say Sukuna didn't get his fuck on every now and then, but Toji was on another level. He's shocked his dick hasn't broke. He started to notice that there was one girl in particular who showed up more than the others, sometimes multiple times in a row.

Pretty girl, he thought, she doesn't moan like the others, not over dramatic, dresses cute, likes pink- you were really his type. Eventually during one of the smoke sessions between him and Toji, he brought it up.

"So," Sukuna started, sliding a hand through his hair as he sniffed, "you datin' that new bitch?" he chuckled out as he turned to his black-haired buddy who was taking a quick hit from the blunt before turning his head.

"Yeah, think so. Girl said she love me." he lets out a soft 'tch' noise in amusement, smoke exiting out from his mouth as he did so. He handed the bud over, watching how Sukuna's lips curled upward-

"She's pretty. Like, real cute type shit." he laughs as he grabs the blunt from Toji, placing it in his mouth and taking a short breath in, blowing out smoke afterwards.

"Her pussy's good too."

"Ah?" Sukuna let out, leaning his head back against the couch, his mind unfortunately wandering. Was it really? You probably have a tight pussy, maybe creamy. You'd look cute squirting. He smiles to himself before quickly frowning. He's only seen you in passing, he doesn't even know your name. The only words exchanged between the two of you were hello's and bye's.

'ding!'

Toji looks at his phone, seemingly reading a message, "Speak of the devil," he starts, causing Sukuna to glance over, "she wants me to come over for dinner. Said I could bring ya. You tryna come?"

He takes a moment, thinking before his mouth spoke before he could think, "Sure.".

That's how it started, seeming to be a routine of some sort, you would either cook or order dinner and invite them both over for movies- but, Sukuna had couch duty. Every night he would watch you cutely drag Toji to your bed room, sparkling lights catching his eyes for just a mere second before the door shut and your giggling died out. Like clockwork, he'd think, you would start moaning, squealing, whining, whimpering- it drove him crazy. Unlike the other girls Toji was into, you seemed to actually have a brain, seemed to actually register that your real moaning was fucking magnificent. He would be able to hear your soft sobs, 'what if we wake s'kuna?' , slurring over your words.

That would be the only time you said his name, the rest would be Toji. Some nights he would find himself pathetically pawing at his cock in his pants, it fucking hurts to be this hard, he thinks.

"Look at ya, creaming all over my cock. Ya like that? Yeah?"

Sukuna shut his eyes, pulling his pants down just below his heavy aching balls, grunting as he grabs hold of his throbbing dick.

"Mhhh, fuuuck— yes, yes, fucking love it. Oh godd."

You sounded so breathless, in such bliss. He moves his hand up and down, stroking his length as he pictured he was the one making you sound like that- he was the one making you cream on his cock. He let your name slip pass his pierced lips, as he circles his fist to match the pace he heard. Hard, fast, and rough.

"G'nna cum.." he mumbles, hearing a soft 'me too' from behind your door, he matches the routine by painting his abdomen white, muscles tense as he slams his head against the couch.

Fuck my life, he thinks.

Those nights were more often then not, but he wouldn't pay it any mind- in his eyes he were a measly cuck. That word hanging over him like a L on his forehead.

He's memorized your place by now, typically staying in the kitchen or living room— the kitchen happens to be his favorite. Even though sometimes you cook, you usually make him do it, saying when he's high he makes better food. It's cute 'n all, but it pulls at his heart— you like eating his food. He'll watch you eat his food, your cute eyes bright as you chomp, squishy cheeks full of food he made.

Stupid, he thinks as he sits beside Toji, blunt between his fingers as he stares at the ceiling— the ceiling is white, it accompanies your light pink decor.

"You look fucked." he hears Toji laugh out beside him, his eyes are half-lidded and he has a lopsided grin on his mouth per usual— scar on his lip stretching.

"Yeah?" Sukuna hazily replies moving his hand over to the other male's, passing the blunt. Toji fully grins, watching as Sukuna's eyes follow his tongue when he licks his lips, "Yeah.".

Sukuna watches as Toji places the blunt in his mouth, still looking at his so-called buddy, he sucks in a breath— taking his time to let out a quick groan as he does so.

Sukuna places his fingers subtly on Toji's bicep, pupils blown out— "You're fucking hot." .

Toji snickers, holding in smoke before grabbing Sukuna's cheek, he opens his mouth and lets the smoke roll out before chuckling afterward— Sukuna breathes in the smoke through his nose, eyes fluttering shut before opening when Toji releases him.

Toji stretches his arms out in front of him, " 'ight , let's clean this shit up 'fore she get back 'n whoop my ass." he turns his head towards the dazed man beside him, grinning again.

"Yeah, let's do that."

He doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with him. Is it Toji or you? He didn't even know he liked Toji like that— he was just high. Yeah, just high. He spends time cleaning up all the bud and freshening up the place before you get back, and when you do Toji kisses you on your glossy plump lips that Sukuna wish he could kiss too.

" Mind stayin' wit Sukuna for the day, baby?" he says, placing his hands on your waist— thumbs massaging your skin. "Why? Where you off to?" you frown as you hold your shopping bags at your side, squinting at your boyfriend.

"G'nna workout, relax." he laughs as he turns to Sukuna, who's seemingly beginning to sober up— you glance at him too, smiling as you look up at Toji, "Okay, don't be long alright? Or I'm whoopin' yo ass." you giggle, placing a chaste kiss to Toji, muttering 'love you' against his lips before he says it too.

You hop over to your couch, sitting down with a soft 'unf' before setting your bag in your lap as Toji gets ready to leave. Sukuna looks at you, silent— he's quietly taking in your beauty, your skirt leaving your thighs exposed, pretty pink nails holding onto your bag.

"Hey," you start.

"Ah??" he replies.

"Can you hold my bag for a sec? Bein' all dolled up is tirin'." you stifle a small giggle as you hold out your bag towards the man beside you, fingers adorned with silver rings grab onto the bag.

After you get up, it takes you a few minutes to unwind and get undressed— during that, Sukuna stares at the bag that you previously had in your lap, which is now in his. Whatever's in it is soft, he pictures a plushy— maybe a cat? Girls like cats. He uses pointer-finger and thumb to spread the bag open, glancing in it.

He spots earrings, necklaces, and— ah a plushie, a cat. It's a tiger. He'd grin, sharp canines mocking the plushie's as he did so. He places two fingers on the small toy's cheeks, squishing— it is.. kind of cute.. he frowns. Squish, squish. Squish, squish. His lips curl into a small smile, continuing his antics until he's snapped out of it—

"You can have it if you want, Kuna." you giggle, hips swaying as you walk towards the couch, oversized t-shirt n some short shorts on as you sit.

He frowns pushing the bag off his lap and laying it atop the table, "Whatever.".

You and he were undoubtedly close friends, there would be times like this when Toji would leave and you and he would be alone. You were touchy but too overly— you would place your legs on his lap and he would hold your feet, hand resting on your knee. The cold metal of his rings tickling your skin— similar to now.

Sukuna glances at the bag of bud on the table, then at you— being high around you was better than being sober, he thought.

"You smoke?" he questioned, reaching for your pink tray, not that you ever used it. You only had it for him n Toji.

"Nah," you lifted one of your legs, hands playing with the hem of your shirt, "I like my lungs." you giggle. Sukuna lets out a soft huff in amusement, beginning to roll a blunt for himself.

You turn your head towards the television, a shitty reality show about dating on, merely as background noise.

"Why you let me 'n Toji smoke in your house then?" he questions, your head turning towards him— licking your lower lip as he licks the wrap for his blunt, a smirk on his lips.

" 'Cause he's my boyfriend 'n you kinda like his boytoy, I guess." you look away, used to having this sculpture-like being in your home, distracting yourself by watching the shitty show mentioned earlier.

Sukuna scoffed, after a small while he placed the tray down and lighted his blunt, taking a few tries before tossing the lighter onto the table.

"His boytoy, huh? Never thought about that shit." he wraps his left hand around your ankle and pulls, making you giggle. You scoot closer to him, the back of your thighs on his as your bum resting on the couch.

'ding!'

Sukuna glances over at his phone on the arm of the couch, huffing out smoke as he taps on the message from Toji, an image to be precise.

Toji was flexing in the mirror, a grin adorning his features as sweat stuck to his forehead, hair just a bit messier than usual. He had no shirt on, grey sweatpants dangerously low on his waist— captioned with, 'shoulda came with me .' .

He huffs for a moment, eyes lingering far too long on the image before shutting it off and tossing it on the table, moving his attention toward you noticing how you watched TV with no interest.

He swaps hands, blunt now in his left— right hand grazing our cranium, fingers scratching at your scalp, "Wanna change the channel?" he asks as he does so. You let out a soft 'mnh', laying your head on his shoulder, scooting closer to his warmth.

Sukuna curses himself, how could he ever let Toji find you before he did? On the other hand, he's trying his hardest not to let his dick grow. Hyperaware of how you two are sitting, he glances down at your bare legs, then drags his gaze down to your ankles and right back up to your plump thighs. He fights the urge to fucking groan. He looks at your face, taking note of how your lips are almost touching his shirt— he wants to kiss you so bad.

He finds himself whispering your name, watching as your eyes flick up to meet his, seemingly sleepy.

"Yeah?"

If there had been an angel in his life it was you, he thinks as he turns his head away, taking a quick and small hit from the blunt fingers still rubbing at your scalp. He's at a loss for words— you pat his chest.

"What is it, Kuna?"

Fuck it.

He turns his head towards you, gripping the back of your cranium, he takes two moments to gauge your reactions— watching the way your mouth opens in a panic, then he kisses you.

You groan into his mouth as he just holds you there for a moment waiting to see if you'll reciprocate. It takes about a minute. He licks at your lips and you open them.

You fucking open your lips— for him.

He groans into your mouth as he begins to lick at every crevice in your mouth, tasting you. You whimper, before he pulls away, throwing his blunt onto the tray—

"Can we go to my room, Kuna? Ion like doin' it on my couch."

You've been fucked on the couch. Noted. He'd have to do that too.

"Lead the way." he huffs out, you press a small kiss against his lips before getting up, hand wrapped around his tattooed wrist— Sukuna follows you like a lost dog, managing to take his weed along with him.

You open the door to your room and he smiles at the sight of it— pink and white decorating your room as well as a light pink canopy hanging over your bed with dim yellow lights. You lead him towards your bed, plopping your butt on your soft bed as he stands over you— you lean backward, hands on the bed as you smile up at him.

Sukuna places a hand on your jaw, similar to the way Toji had done to him, before placing his lips on yours. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, dragging him down with you as you lay your back down.

Sukuna pulls away to look at your pretty face, admiring the way your eyes flickered from his lips then to his eyes, he grins— "You want me t'fuck ya?" he latches his lips onto your neck, kissing and licking, making his way down your body.

"God, Kuna..." you huff, hands grabbing onto the bigger male's shoulders, watching as he places his blunt and the lighter from his pocket on the pink desk beside your bed.

He drags his hands up your shirt, fingers reaching for your breasts— he kneads the supple flesh before rubbing and pulling at your nipples, his face right in front of them. He groans as he takes your shirt off, finding it troublesome, he takes a moment to ogle your breasts— latching his mouth on your left nipple, using his other hand to squish your nipple.

You arch your back into him, hands pulling on his locks as you squirm— he feels similar to Toji you thought, but much more sloppy. He slobbers on your tits before moving down to your shorts, he hooks his arm around your waist, sitting on his knees.

He peels your shorts off, groaning when he sees you wearing no panties, and that you're fucking soaked. He throws the shorts somewhere around the room eyes still hooked to your soaking fat pussy practically just waiting for him. Sukuna wraps another arm around your waist and pulls your pussy up to his mouth, treating you as if you were a doll. He attempts to wrap his mouth around your entire mound, licking and sucking at your clit and dragging his fat tongue in and out of your cunt.

He groans as he licks up all your juices, listening to your moans and whimpers when he bumps his nose on your clit— licking on your pussy lips to ensure he gets all the juices. "F—uhh,ck. Kunaaa... kuna, 'm gonna cum—.. nnnnhh."

"Gh, fuck. Cum, I want you to cum all over my fuckin' face." he huffs, burying his face into your heat and rewarding himself with pornographic moans from your mouth as he shakes his head side to side, his spit dripping from your shiny pussy down to your ass. You let out a long whine, hands shaking as you try to grab onto anything to ground yourself— squirming to attempt to run away. His grip tightens around your waist as he rides out your orgasm, squirt dribbling out of you and onto his tongue.

He stuffs his mouth full of your cunt for a few more minutes before letting you go, laying you flat in front of him.

You look at him through lidded eyes, watching as he licks his lips and wipes his chin, leaning down to kiss you again— forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

"Was that good, baby?" he whispers into your mouth, lowering his hand to your pussy to rub at your swollen clit earning a hiss from you. "Fuck, kuna, it's too much. Can't take it..—"

Haven't even fucked her yet, he thinks, grinning similar to the tiger plush you both left in the living room. Sukuna leans backward, removing his black shirt and throwing it away, silver accessories adorning his skin. You stare at his chest, eyes traveling along his tattoos before you pull on his black jeans, "take 'em off?", you ask.

"Take 'em off? Ya sure? Ya sure your pretty lil pussy can even take my dick?"

You pout, hands wrapping around your breasts, "pleeasee?"

He snickers, unbuckling his black belt and pulling it through the loops, then removing his jeans along with his boxers.

You glance down at his cock, watching his throb— he was a little longer than Toji, not thicker but definitely longer.

"Don't say it ain't gonna fit 'cus I know it will." he places his hand flat on your stomach, his rings now warm from all the times he touched you. He rubs the tip of his swollen cock against your clit, bumping it— "Stop squirmin', movin' too damn much." he huffs, letting you lift your legs and wrap your hands around them, squishing your tummy n boobs in the process.

He feels the rolls of your stomach underneath his hand and he smiles— you feel and look so beautiful, he must be blessed to have you even showing your cunt to him— Toji probably felt the same.

He uses his thumb to spread open your sticky pussy lips, watching clear bubbles seep out of your hole— he lets out a moan at the sight, removing his hand from your tummy to grab his cock, rubbing the tip on your entrance. He pushes the tip of his dick inside of you, eyes hooked on the way your cunt sucks him in.

"Your pussy always feel this good?"

you whimper in response, feeling your cunt stretch around Sukuna's cock, heavy balls resting on the curve of your ass.

Sukuna pulls your body closer to him, leaning over you as he reaches toward the desk beside your bed, grabbing his blunt and lighter — he places the blunt between his lips, using his hand to cover his lighter, taking a few tries but he lights it. He grins as he holds the smoke in his mouth, putting the blunt out on your shirt on the bed before tossing it back on the desk.

He holds the smoke in his mouth, placing his hands on either side of your head as he slowly drives his cock into your cunt— causing you to suck in a sharp breath.

"feels.. s'good, kuna." you huff, feeling his cock splitting you open is intoxicating— the mushroom tip of his dick pushing at your cervix. He takes a second to groan, smoke coming out from his nose and blowing on your face. He pulls his hips back and thrusts back into your heat— grin spreading on his face.

It's like a dream, the way your pussy sucks in his cock— the way your sloppy fucking cunt doesn't wanna let go of him— fuck, it's enough to make a man cry. It takes him a few seconds before he begins pumping his cock into you, driving as deep as he physically can. He wraps his fingers into your hair, pulling your head back— blowing out the smoke onto your skin.

"Feel good, mama?—" he growls, sharp canines sinking into your neck, surely leaving a mark for Toji to see. You nod absent-mindedly, lifting your hips to match along with his thrusts— your juices dripping from your entrance and onto the bed. "Yeah?" he leans up to watch your fucked out expression, admiring the way fat tears prickled in the corners of your eyes— mouth wide open as you spew out incoherent babbles. It's cute, you're cute— making such a silly face due to the onslaught he's giving to your cunt.. what a sight.

He can feel your pussy convulse, feel it get tighter— twitching around his fat cock, "You cummin'?" .

You grip his shoulders, legs shaking as you try desperately to come down from your high— it doesn't take awhile before he's pulling another orgasm out of your sensitive cunt. He grabs onto the back of your thighs, pressing them against your chest to drive his cock deeper into you. It takes everything in him not to cum, especially when your squirt drenches him and trickles down his balls.

His jaw clenches as he wraps his arms around your legs, hands resting on your cheeks, rings cold again.

" Mhh, I'm gonna cum in this slutty pussy." he snickers when he feels you're nearly loose pussy tighten around him, babbles of 'no's' or 'toji's gnna find out' exit your cute swollen lips. He doesn't care if Toji finds out. It doesn't bother him at all— not when the thought of Toji fucking his cum into you crosses his mind. Toji cumming in the same pussy that holds his spunk? Sounds like heaven in his mind.

"Da— nnnfg, fuck, daddy—"

He grins. You're so fucked stupid, you don't even register what you're saying.

"Huh, what is it, sweetie? Ngh, what do you want— fuuh, ck. Whaddya want from daddy?" he slows his hips, pressing his lips on yours in a soft kiss.

"You want daddy's cum?—" he scoffed, leaning down to press multiple kisses on your face as he fucks into you slowly— in an attempt to prolong his oncoming climax. You nod, hands now pressed against Sukuna's hard body leaving angry red marks in their wake.

"Words."

"Yes !!"

"I'll give it to ya then, mama. Fuck a baby into this cheating pussy." he babbles, picking up the pace— cock bullying your pussy, the fat mushroom tip poking into your cervix almost painfully. It doesn't take a while until he feels himself about to cum, letting out quick breathy groans.

"Kiss me." he groans out, you whine as you press your drool-laced lips on his, his snakebite piercings poking your lips as you kiss him— your tongues tangling together merely just licking against each other's, mouths open.

He whines for a second before moaning into your mouth, pressing his cock into you.

One, two, three, four— until he's emptying his heavy balls inside of you, spraying his seed everywhere. "Oh fuck, oh fuck," he repeats, still mindlessly humping into you until his cock goes flaccid, it doesn't register to him that you came as well.

You both stay there for a while, your legs sore as he still holds you in position, evidently folding you. He breathes slowly as he presses his forehead against yours, using his thumb to wipe tears away from your cheeks.

He stifles a whimper as he pulls out of you, the sudden emptiness making you wince— he lays beside you, leaning up against your pink wall, pink pillows against his back.

"Kuna??.."

"Huh?" he glances at your sleepy face, your eyes droopy as you attempt to get comfortable in your bed. Sukuna assists you by placing the blanket over your sore body.

"I'm sleepy." you giggle as Sukuna scrunches up his nose at you, using his hand to tickle your neck— "Sleep then." he stops as you just nod, still dazed by the sex you had earlier.

He watches as you snuggle up in your bed, laying your head on one of your many pillows. He looks for his phone, remembering he left it in the living room— he groans, getting out of the warm embrace of which was your bed. He pulls on his jeans, not bothering to button them up before exiting your room and entering the living room.

He spots his phone on the table where he must have thrown it, he bends over to grab it when he hears the door open and close— fuck. Sukuna gazes up to spot Toji walking through the door, sweaty. Black hair a mess as it sticks to his face, lips curling into a frown once he notices Sukuna without a shirt.

Sukuna stands up straight, stuffing his phone in his pocket before Toji can speak— big arms folded over, black compress shirt stretching over his muscles.

"Guess I'm late to the shit rockin' party." he huffs out, stepping closer to the male standing across from him. "Ya coulda asked me, asshole." he mumbles, one hand being pressed on Sukuna's chest forcefully.

It's strange, off-putting nearly. Toji didn't seem mad.

Sukuna stifled a chuckle, hand running through his hair, "Guess I couldn't wait." he responds, watching as Toji grins, scar enlarging.

"Lemme guess, she's asleep?"

Sukuna nods, hands now resting on his hips, eyes searching Toji's face for any discomfort— it feels as if he had been the one to cheat. Toji tilts his head to the side, stepping closer to the point where his chest had nearly hit Sukuna's.

"You up for another fuck?" large hands land on the other's waist, his thumb which had been painted pink by you rubbing circles into his skin.

"Although, you won't be the one doing the fucking." grin.

tags [ @cindol ] also, ty cinny for dealing with me while writing this stupid fucking novel. i added multiple tojikuna stuff for you too!! love u babezzz <3

do NOT repost or translate without my permission. this post belongs to @luvlyycy . plagiarism is illegal.

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶What was meant to be a quiet evening of DND gets out of hand before it even begins, and when the guys leave a bottle of whiskey behind, all those passes you and Eddie made at each other grow to a new level.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, drunken yearning, drunken flirting, dirty jokes, sexual tension, failed phone sex, light angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for eventual smut

obi-wan voice: this isn't the first kiss chapter you're looking for (it's in the next one)

chapter: 9/20 [wc: 23.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 9: Dungeons & Dragons & Unicorns, oh my!

Occupying the narrow space available in Mr. Moore’s cramped office, Carl exchanged a look with Kevin over the edge of his coffee mug as he tipped it back, and coasted the bitter liquid across his tongue, swallowing with trouble. He winced at the potency. Kevin gave him an apologetic grimace.

“You made this too strong,” Carl whispered.

Kevin took a sip as well, and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, admonishing his mistake of putting too many grounds in the machine. “She just makes it better.”

David hunched forward in his plush leather chair. Around him, filing cabinets were open, sticky notes reminders hung crooked on the drawers, and his desk was stacked with customer’s invoices.

Three days you’d been gone and the world had devolved into chaos.

“Yeah, gotcha,” David said into the phone crooked between his shoulder and ear, jotting down an unrelated note on the corner of an envelope. “You feel better soon, ya hear?” He threw an excessive eye roll onto the end of his sentence when the voice on the other end kept rattling off. “I told ya to stop worryin’ about it. Now, get some rest. Yeah. Bye.”

He hung up, and addressed his audience waiting on bated breath, “Ed’s callin’ in sick again.”

“Third day in a row,” Carl commented.

Kevin gestured at the state of the office with his mug. “Third day for her too.” David muttered an acknowledgement, missing his Office Administrator who had taken up the responsibility of organizing all the documents into their rightful place.

“Three days, huh? And both with the flu?” Kevin restated in a leading tone.

“Both with the flu,” David confirmed.

“Not suspicious at all,” Carl added.

In unison, the three men put their mugs to their lips, sipped the coffee, winced, and made noises of disgust.

But after all that, Kevin beamed at his friends. “Good for them,” he said. “Ed deserves someone like her.”

In unison, they agreed, and sipped, and made a pact to dump out their mugs in the sink.

————

You arrived to work with an unglamorous wad of tissue balled in your fist, and a raw nose. Lingering sniffles ailed you, as did the body lethargy, but you were no longer contagious. It sucked to exist in this head-cold sphere, but it was nice to leave the house after days spent in-and-out of a Nyquil daze.

And yes, you were eager to see Eddie again, despite the twist of dread in your stomach.

It’d been days since you left his place on a good note, but would the remnants of his tears be this weird unstated suspense in between breaths of conversation? Would there be an underlying presence of you know all the intimate details of my life in the otherwise cheerful morning greeting? Would things go back to normal as if nothing happened?

Regardless, the morning greeting would have to wait. There were a million things to do around the auto shop since you’d been absent; first of which was going into Mr. Moore’s office, and fighting the disarray to find his updated schedule detailing his upcoming meetings, lunches, and days he’d be out of town. You grabbed a marker and went to work on the calendar in the garage, transcribing the schedule for the guys to see so they could stop asking you if Mr. Moore was in his office or not (especially when his door was right there and they could check for themselves).

Crossing out the first week of January, you began to write down one of the meetings when the back door was thrown open, and an ominous death knell tolled in a jangle of chains and heavy boots, making a veritable effort to stomp as loudly as possible on their way to you.

The eagerness disappeared. Only tumultuous dread now.

Your delicate smile was replaced by a canvas of annoyance. “Why are you so loud?” you winced. And winced again when you heard your stuffed-up voice.

You didn’t have to look away from the note you were jotting down to see his impish grin. He practically forced you to see it when he folded his arms, and imposed his shoulder on the wall, making the calendar page slip under your marker in a long red streak.

He ducked his head to catch your eye. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m walking as I always do; not a hop, skip, or bounce extra.” Eddie’s tight lips parted in your periphery, showing a gleam of teeth. Raising his voice a tick, he drove the dread deeper, “My girl isn’t flinching at every sound because she has a headache, right?”

Having no sense of self restraint, nor manners, Eddie invaded more of your personal space. His chest swelled with a held breath while his tongue prepared a taunt and his eyes squinched half-closed. “It couldn’t be because you’re sick, right? Not Miss Queen of the City who’s been coughed on by every germ out there, making her tougher than the common cold, hmm? Couldn’t be because of that?”

Capping the marker, you let your side-eye graduate to a full fledged incredulous stare at his much-too-giddy expression. “It’s allergies,” you said, crumpling the tissue into your pocket.

“Allergies, huh? Which ones?”

“The ones I’m allergic to.”

“Interesting, interesting,” he humored you, “very interesting since, y’know, the most common allergies people have around here are to grass and weed pollen, and those suckers are dead and buried under a layer of snow. Won’t be growing for quite some months, so..”

You glared at his need to follow up that observation with his lips pursed into a mocking kiss of arrogance, provoking you to fold while simultaneously flaunting the sharp cut of his cheekbones.

“Fine,” you admitted in a low tone. “I got sick.” Noting the heavy bags under his red-rimmed eyes, you quirked an eyebrow, and asked, “Have you been working overtime without me?”

He brightened. “Oh, no. Adrie got me sick too. This is my first day back.”

“Have I ever told you how so,” you paused for emphasis, and prodded the pen cap into his sternum, “so very irritating you are?” He cupped his hand over your wrist, and cradled your fist to his chest. Drawing you in, in, in. Cold seeping through your sleeve from his red fingers, never kicking his habit of smoking before coming inside, regardless of the weather. “Just the worst,” you admonished, finding it difficult to resist the magnetism of his laughter quaking under your palm, urging yourself to favor the adorable scrunch above his nose, and guide your thoughts away from his unzipped leather jacket.

But the draw was too strong. You swayed closer until your forearm was pressed to the dragon tattoo hidden beneath his coveralls, and your tennis shoe grazed past the tip of his metal-toed boot

He recalled, “That’s weird. I remember you saying I was your favorite.”

“I said you were my favorite date. As far as people go, you’re in my top three. Robin, Adrie, you,” you listed on the fingers trapped against his inhale.

He lifted his chin, regarding you down the slope of his magnificent nose. “You rank Adrie above me?”

“Well, think about it this way; you rank above all the other people I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of people, you know.”

“That isn’t instilling a lot of confidence, babe.”

Sweetheart. Babe. My girl. His hand on your hand. His cold fingers cupping your palm, searing you despite their lack of heat; so different from how you came to know them, as hesitant pauses on his tools when you greeted him and he frowned as if to ask why you were speaking to him.

Was this it? Was this the new normal?

You hoped so.

Cheeks warmed by the multitude of pet names, you put an edge of dissatisfaction on your question to cover how his affections affected you, “Is that my job? To make you feel good about yourself?” Hotter, hotter. His intensity was burning you.

You wiggled the marker in your grasp until you could tap it at the second unfastened button on his coveralls. “I think you just keep me around so you have someone to call you handsome.”

“No way,” he said. He tilted his head to the side, resting it on the wall. His tangly mess of hair followed the movement, laying against his throat. “But.. Just for clarification, I am handsome, right?”

“Of course you’re handsome.”

“Aw, you flatter me, gorgeous,” he said in mock bashfulness, turning his face away while you stared at him in utter exasperation. “Love to hear it from my favorite.”

Gorgeous. Love. Favorite.

You didn’t question his favorite what. Person, place, or thing? Who knows. Words escaped you when the honey in his eyes twinkled with something tender, and his dopey smile softened at the edges, and his heart pounded a story against your touch, and his grin faded more, and his lips regained their pretty pink plumpness, and his voice reached deeper–to the place where your hand felt the creation of vibrations–and his tongue put a new spin on a sentiment as old as time.

“I missed you,” he said, features going lax as he dropped the overly flirtatious act. He let go of your fist to reach out and pinch your upper arm without an ounce of strength in his sweet teasing.

It took you an extra beat to withdraw your hand from his person.

You scoffed, “Uh-huh. I can tell by how you’re trying to butter me up, and annoy me to death at the same time.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve become the sunshine in our relationship now,” he snorted. And before he gave your stomach time to flutter at the word choice: relationship, he was stabbing his finger at the rumpled calendar.

He looked where he pointed, and dropped it down another Saturday. “I meant to ask you this before you left the other day, but we’re at a good spot in our DND campaign for a new person to join if you wanted to come. Sessions are a bitch to schedule now that we’re all adults and have lives, jobs, and responsibilities, and whatever, and I haven’t, uh, hosted one at my place in a while” –years– “so it’s kinda an extra special event, and would be cool if you wanted to come by.”

You wrung your mouth at the invitation.

“C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun.”

“I know it’s easy to assume I’m a giant loser like you, but even being a theater kid, I’ve never played DND,” you told him. “I don’t wanna ruin your game, or impose on your friends enjoying their night. Or, like, clash if we don’t get along, or somethin’.”

He cast his gaze wildly around the room. Extra dramatic. “You won’t ruin our game, and my friends will love you–they’re the rest of my band, and some kids who were in my club in high school. You’ll fit right in. And besides.. I want you to meet them.”

Delightful goosebumps tingled at your scalp. Meeting his friends was quite the step in your relationship. And no, mutual friends via Bobbie did not count.

You filled your lungs, and expelled your sigh at the calendar, reading over your penmanship while you thought it over.

“And maybe I didn’t phrase my question correctly. Let me try again.” He cleared his throat. “Will you play DND with us?”

Will you?

A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.

“Ah, taking that route,” you said. And just to mess with him, you tapped the marker on the tip of his nose. “Sure–yes–I’ll join you in your roleplaying game, but if they don’t like me, I told you so.”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“I dunno, it took you weeks to speak to me.”

“Yeah, but I’m me.” Eddie shoved himself off the wall and began walking behind you, brushing his hand across your lower back, and bending to your ear to whisper a coy gloat, “And I play hard to get.”

All smiles, smiles, smiles. He took two bouncy steps backwards, opened the glass door in a wide swing and spun on his way inside, whipping his hair in a blur of brunette.

Bewildered by his dorky charm, you watched him through the windows, sighing out the air in your lungs to make room for the blossoming throbs of adoration when he caught his hip on the corner of your desk and tried walking off the pain in case you were watching, only for him to keel over right before he reached the hallway.

You shook your head and resumed where you were in Mr. Moore’s schedule. “You are absolutely not hard to get.”

Looking up, you found the day you were supposed to mark with an important phone meeting, and instead..

January 16th

DND

You drew stars around it, experiencing the childhood rush of endorphins that came from doodling hearts around your crush’s name in your yearbook, and giggling with your friends over it, betting you could get their number so you could call them over the summer, acutely aware none of you would ever dare.

————

Stress squeezed Eddie’s throat. Each cry, each sob, each sniffle set him on edge. His headache pounded, his chest clutched onto the calming breaths he was supposed to prioritize, his heart raced sweat to his skin. Everything was falling apart around him.

“Yeah–Yeah, no, it’s okay. Yeah.” He hung up the phone, chord swaying against the grimy wall, and he pressed his fists above his eyes, turning in a slow circle.

Whistling, screeching, wailing. The boiling kettle on the stovetop pierced the sound of Adrie’s hiccupy bawling. Growing louder, and louder. Rising above the blood pulsing in his ears, the twitch in his strained muscles. The anger under the surface, bubbling. A vice on his chest. Clenching his jaw. Gripping harder. Growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger, his emotions grew bigger until the frustration slipped.

Eddie snapped the stove knob to the off position, and jiggled the broken shitty plastic back on the dial. He moved the kettle to the back burner–sucking his bottom lip in and biting down hard, seeking the relief of pain to keep himself from slamming the kettle into the next dimension. And after swallowing the thickened saliva in his mouth, he walked away from what would’ve been his late, late oatmeal breakfast.

The trailer rattled less and less.

His heavy footsteps exhausted to his socks sliding across the vinyl.

“Adrie,” he begged her name again, and again as he knelt to her chair at the green table. He passed his hand over her hair, petting it away from the sticky streaks of tears on her red cheeks, and he cradled her head to his neck. The flash of anger was gone. It should’ve never seen the light of day, but he was human. He was a single person, and he tamed it the best he could. He was fragile, about to break at the next sob in his ear, but he tried. “Daddy’s gonna fix it, okay? I’ll make it better. I’ll make it better. Let Daddy make it better.”

He was stuck in the loop again. Where everything was so much, and he was so weak. Gathering her as if she were still small and could fit into the crook of his arm. “Let Daddy fix it,” he begged again, rocking her as he did all those years ago; for her, and for him, not having the capacity to do more than cry along with her.

Peeling himself away from her neediness, he worked his hoodie from her fists, and dialed his last resort.

It rang.

And rang.

Hopelessness burdened the expanse of shoulders, dropping them at the fourth trill. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, pick up.” The only thing helping calm him was his hand pressed over his eyes. One less stimulus.

Another ring. He was about to give up when–

“Hello?”

“Hey, man! Uh, uhm, what’re you up to?”

The casualness was lost when Steve’s pause elongated to a nasally noise of understanding when Adrie’s whine cut through the static, and Eddie’s cheek smashed to the receiver as he moved into the hallway, curling his frame to the phone like it were a lifeline.

Steve’s tone feathered to the same one he used five years ago when Eddie called frequently, “Is everything okay over there? Nancy and I were packing up the car to head out of town with the kids, but I have a minute. What’s up?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s okay, uh–hey, you have Robin’s number, right? For her parent’s place?”

His mood lightened, “Yeah, I think Nance does in her pocketbook. Nance!” He called out for her. Then, he spoke into the receiver, as gently as possible, with grace for him to deny if he wanted, “You’re not trying to call Robin, are you?”

“No.. No, I’m not.”

There was a stint of silence where neither of them broke the wordless understanding woven into their connection; phone, chord, wires, friendship.

At last, Nancy’s footsteps came in clicks on their hardwood flooring, and Steve expressed a soft, “I’m happy for you, man.”

Eddie didn’t correct him that it was about his game night. He simply let his friend’s praise fill the void. It’d been a long time since someone was proud of him.

————

The modest house near the empty plot of land was unassuming. Not much money was invested into the foundation, nor the many repairs, but oddly, it was the furniture and fine dinnerware passed through generations that would have anyone second guessing why a home with a cracked window from two summers ago had a china cabinet. And really, any gust during a storm could shatter the glass pane covered by a delicately orange curtain, but it hadn’t happened yet, and therefore, there was no need to fix it.

In the living room, the TV was too loud. In the kitchen, you closed the fridge with your foot and took the tea kettle off the stove, balancing the makings of a sandwich in your arms.

Eddie said to come over half an hour before everyone else so he could help you create your character sheet, and with it being 4PM, you had three hours before you were supposed to head out, and were spending the afternoon with Robin’s parents while she went to Vickie’s before her late night shift.

You placed two slices of bread on a plate when the phone rang.

From the other room, Robin’s dad answered, and his dry vocal chords carried an air of confusion, “Someone’s calling for you!”

“If they’re asking for bail, I’m not here,” you replied in a monotone voice, getting a butter knife out of the drawer.

There was a shuffle as he sat forward in his chair and inquired, wholeheartedly, “Are you asking for bail?” He waited for a reply while you continued to unscrew the cap to the peanut butter. “He says he’s not!”

“Mm.” Unconvinced this wasn’t one of your friends calling from a police station, you finished pouring the two cups of tea you were intending to make, put sugar into one, and carried them into the living room.

“He sounds like a nice young man,” he assured, adjusting the nasal cannulas higher on his upper lip before taking the cup from you.

Narrowing your eyes with wisdom beyond your years, you informed him, “They always do,” and placed the other tea on the end table between the recliner and couch for Robin’s mom to take whenever she wasn’t piecing together the answer for Wheel of Fortune and whispering it into the TV remote clutched to her face.

You took the phone from him and held it to your ear. “Yellow?”

There was a horribly sad sound on the other end.

“Hey! Hi! I, uhm, hey, it’s Eddie, I’m sorry for calling you, if that’s weird, but I’m–I’m going through a lot here”, he ended in a humorless laugh. “I-I-Adrie–So, look–Adrie, it’s okay, I’m fixing it–Adrie was on a playdate, and I don’t know, I think she got into a fight with her friend or something, and broke the toy they were playing with because she didn’t want to share, so she had to come home early, and now she’s upset because the playdate’s over, and the other girl’s toy broke, and–I already said that–but Steve and Nancy are going out of town, and I can’t find a babysitter last minute that will take her to their place, and Wayne’s out playing poker with his friends, and God, I–” He shifted, and you could tell by the fading whimpers that he moved down the hallway, and by the clack on the phone, it was his fingernails dragging along it as he scrubbed his hand over his face, desperate for someone else to come up with a solution. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m asking of you, but there’s going to be a bunch of guys drinking tonight, and I don’t want Adrie to be around that shit–”

“Eddie?” You didn’t mean to cut him off, but his panic was overwhelming you, and it was easier to concentrate on the one idea your brain latched onto without his input.

“..This is my only night I get to hang out with everyone,” he admitted in a whisper so shy you struggled to hear it. “I’m worried about her distracting me.”

You stared at the linen closet in the hallway to Robin’s bedroom. “I’ve got an idea, okay? Just hold on. I’ll be there in thirty.. maybe forty minutes. That okay?”

More movement sounded from the other end. You thought it was him hanging up without saying goodbye, but then you heard the sweetest thing.

“Miss Mouse is coming over,” he reassured Adrie, and the relief in his voice affected you in the worst way. Making you go all mushy when little Adrie’s hiccupy confirmation came from the depths of her face pressed to the base of his neck.

“M—ouse?”

“Mhmm.”

His hum filled your chest. Her noise of appreciation erupted goosebumps along your forearms. You were wanted–requested–and the square beads digging into your wrist had never felt closer to his, across town.

You addressed Eddie, “I’ve got a plan. Okay? I’ll be over soon.”

“Thank you,” he spoke into the receiver as you hung up.

The phone suspended on the hook in a weighty click. It bounced as you let it go, coil slipping from the table and falling to the floor. You asked your audience of two, “Is it okay if I leave early?”

“Of course you can, dear,” Robin’s dad answered, hoarse from the constant flow of oxygen drying out his throat.

“And can I borrow some of Bobbie’s old bedsheets?”

Her mom made a confused face, but agreed, “Whatever you want, sweet bean.”

–And thus, you had the catalyst for the second time you arrived on Edward Munson’s doorstep with your arms loaded with goodies–

He threw open the door with a dozen apologies stacked behind his teeth. “Hey. I’m sorry for calling you like that, she–”

The she in question came barreling out from behind him.

You dropped your knees to accept Adrienne. Discarding your overstuffed tote bag to hug her wholly; taking her into your arms, and consoling her with all the right words you prepared on your way over. “Hey, I heard you were having a rough day,” you said while tucking her into you tight. “You don’t have to be sad anymore. I’m here.”

Her cheeks had long since dried, but the whiny pitch to her voice teetered on the cusp of a sniffly cry Eddie had only eliminated minutes ago, after his speech about sharing. She mumbled against your puffer jacket, “You came to play wi’h me?”

“I sure did. And you know what? I brought you a surprise.” You flicked your gaze to Eddie to gauge his reaction, and your breath hitched at the beauty of his relief. Standing tall in the doorway over you and his daughter, taking a moment of peace with his eyes closed, mouth in a gentle line, and relaxation easing the near-permanent creases between his brows. The pleasure of a small break from parental duties affected him so physically, you could behold him for hours. Or tell him to go have a cigarette.

However, impatient as any four-year-old, Adrie wriggled in your arms for your attention, and asked what you brought.

Opening the tote, you took out patterned bedsheet after bedsheet. Stars, flowers, cowboys–as many as you could fit, and held them up. “Do you know what we’re gonna make with these?”

“A fort?” she asked, hopeful and bouncing with energy.

“A fort!” you repeated. “We’re gonna build a blanket fort! And I brought movies for you to–”

She grabbed the sheets and took off for her bedroom.

“Okie dokie.” You pushed yourself up from the concrete steps, and fanned out the rented VHSes like a deck of cards to show Eddie instead. “Sorry it took me so long, I stopped by Family Video on my way here. Has she seen these?”

He read the white clamshell packaging, and the dimple on his left cheek developed. “She has,” and before you could react, he pressed on with a reassurance, “but don’t underestimate how many times a kid can watch the same movie and never grow bored of it.”

“Good to know!”

Like that; intuitive, second nature; Eddie knew when he gave you news that could be disappointing, he chased it with a thoughtful remark, validating your considerate gesture.

You slipped them back into the bag, and shouldered it. “I was thinking we could move the TV and VCR in her room, and build a fort around it with a pile of blankets on the floor for her to sleep on like she’s camping. Super cozy. Maybe some string lights if you have some from Christmas?”

“That..” The subtle arch in his eyebrows climbed higher as his eyes drifted closed in true appreciation. “That sounds like a perfect plan.” And his face went apologetic again. “And yeah, thank you for coming early. I was trying to send Adrie on a playdate so she’d come home tired and want to sleep while we’re playing, but, yeah, that went to shit, and then I tried calling her usual babysitters, but they couldn’t watch her at their places, and my uncle’s gone until the morning, and Steve and Nancy are–”

Interrupting him, you stepped into the doorway, and he moved to accommodate you. “Next time,” you said, cupping his upper arm, “just call me first.”

You squeezed and trailed your fingers down his sleeve as you let the moment mature in traces of your fingertips brushing over the thick poly-cotton of his sun-bleached black hoodie missing its drawstring. He prized the moment by memorizing the angel the universe blessed him with; and you were rooted by his gaze, driven to wonder about the ardency which he watched the minute press of your lips when you swallowed, and the coincidence of his own lips twitching into a jumpy smile.

“Let me show you Adrie’s room.”

His home was much the same as when you left it. There was a pillow and blanket tossed on the corner of the couch, a Little Mermaid plate and fork dripping in the dish rack, an assortment of clean clothes piled into a laundry basket on top of the washing machine. Though, Adrie’s toys were put away and the bathroom sink was scrubbed clean of children’s bubble gum flavored toothpaste.

Eddie pushed open the door at the end of the hall, and for the first time, with the tail end of daylight piercing the burgundy curtained window, you saw beyond a few feet to the bed.

You wished you could say the precious girl in the middle of the room caught your eye, but realistically, your attention was drawn to the walls. Specifically, the amount of pink and white Barbie advertisements cut from magazines and special edition My Little Pony fold out posters lining every square inch of available space.

But the girly stuff ended at the height of the dresser beside you.

The bedroom was divided in half, horizontally. Above the mirror decorated in stickers and photos tucked into the frame, the ponies and rainbows ended there, obliterated by a sharp line of black. A RATT flag, Corroded Coffin banner, and printed images of paladins fought the encroaching Carebears and sweet things. Every heavy metal poster in existence overlapped the final push to the ceiling. You took it all in with an air of baffled amusement.

You waved a finger at the top half. “She uh.. a big Judas Priest fan?”

Eddie was already cutting his eyes to you with a sly smile, Adam’s apple bouncing with a mute giggle. “This used to be my room.”

“I figured as much.”

Mixed amongst the posters were guitars hung where only he could reach them, and there was an amp shoved beneath a white desk where his daughter was currently setting up her stuffed animals, picking up one to show you, then second guessing and putting it down.

Eddie vied for you before she could. “Wanna see somethin’?” he asked, walking around the queen sized bed to the closet. Accurately, you guessed he was going to show you a clue to his past, and stepped over the dragging corner of the blue and white comforter, shimmying past him to stand next to the small bookshelf, excitedly watching him reach into the dark abyss. From the top shelf he pulled a lump of jean fabric, and unfolded it, handing it to you. “I used to wear this every day in my youth.”

You pinched the article of clothing between the very tips of your fingers, and turned your head to cough. “Jesus, dude. How much did you used to smoke?”

“Way more than I do now,” he laughed.

After some heavy side-eyeing about his habits, you took a closer look at the garment. The blue plaid lined jean jacket had ratty edges everywhere it could have ratty edges; helped by its sleeves being ripped off, of course. A collection of pins and patches mirrored the ones on his (used to be) bedroom walls–before a princess ruled his kingdom, and fought back the dragons.

“You used to wear this everyday?” you voiced aloud, finding the sentimental value in touching something so dear to him, for him to hang onto it for all these years.

“Should I wear it tonight?” Taking it from you, he flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, and slipped his arms through the vest, turning around to show you the Dio patch on the back, pointing to it with his thumbs.

You golf clapped. “Very cool. Very tough.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie faced you and tidied the stray waves of his hair flowing out from under the hood, raking his fingers through his bangs until they were perfectly messy, and again, it was one of those strange exchanges where your too honest gazes met, and he diverted his humble smile to the floor, shy and bashful, but not in pretend like before.

You were in his home, in his daughter’s bedroom, doing him a favor, which was feeling less and less like a favor, and more like a convenient excuse you both seized as an opportunity to hang out.

“Miss Mouse!” Adrie gunned for your hand, and embarked on her greatest effort to break you away from her father, tugging you towards her collection of plushes you still needed to be introduced to.

You gasped at the honor, and asked, “Do you want to tell me about them while I braid your hair?”

She lit up at the suggestion. Eddie wasn’t the best at weaving plaits, and she wasn’t the most patient, so having an unbiased party step in to determine whether it was a ‘him’ problem or a ‘her’ problem sounded grand.

And as you sank onto the edge of the mattress with her sitting criss-cross between your legs, it was obvious within the first few twists of the French braid sitting flat against her head, and curved perfectly over her ear, that it was most definitely a ‘him’ problem.

Behind you, there was a great sigh at your victory.

Adrie held up a brown teddy with one glass bead eye slightly larger than the other after surgery was performed on him to replace the one he lost, and said, “This is Mr. Bear.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bear,” you said, using your best Children’s Television Program presenter voice to entertain her. You threw a smile over your shoulder at the silliness, and Eddie was already looking at you, warm brown eyes shining with the same fondness as yours.

“And he’s married to Mrs. Froggy.”

“Wow, a bear and a frog.” You nodded, impressed. “I guess true love knows no bounds.”

Feeling like the third wheel to you and Adrie, Eddie moved into action. “I’m gonna go out to the shed and start bringing in extra chairs, and the Christmas lights you asked for. And, uh, here’s her hair stuff.” He handed you a basket filled to the brim with every style of ponytail holder a drug store could carry. “You two have fun.”

Naturally, as he stepped away to leave, you curled your fingers at him in a childish wave, while Adrie used Mrs. Frog’s hand to do the same, adding on a sing-songy “Bye!” to hers.

And what a delight it was to witness the beginnings of the red flush creeping up his neck as he took a final glance at you both smiling up at him, and he pinched the hood over his mouth to shield his crooked simpering from further inspection.

~~~

The gloaming sky dozed in a blanket of pink and purple clouds knitted together with ribbons of orange.

Eddie leaned in the doorway to the porch, resting his shoulders on the frame as he crossed his ankles. The backs of his hands stung from overwashing them during the dry season, but his palms were soothed by the piping hot bowl he cupped to his chest. His muscles ached from unrest, but he grew warmer with each bite of the cinnamon sugar toast he dipped into the peanut butter oatmeal. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken the time to wipe down the folding chairs from the shed, but when you asked if there were any spiders on them in that timid wobble of yours, he had no other choice. And he’d do it again, even if his body protested the entire ordeal.

Squinting into the beauty of the setting sun, he sighed. Adrienne squealed. You cheered her on.

The pain in his hands subsided, the clawing hunger in his stomach settled, and the soreness in his lower back relented. All his worries fell away when his girl was happy.

For Eddie, standing by as the outsider to the scene of you and his daughter bonding over the neon green bottle of sloshy bubbles, he was aware of the catch in your voice when you asked about the unicorn and learned of his name, Fluff. You released a tender ‘aw’ from the back of your throat, and oh, it fulfilled him in ways he couldn’t possibly articulate. A simple noise, and it felt like a hug from an old friend. A pinky promise. A rare complacency in his life. Ataraxia.

He sensed it more, and more. When you sprinted back and forth on the porch, blowing bubbles for her to pop before they landed on the ground; giggling, laughing. Giggling, laughing. And he was smiling, smiling. It was sweet, so sweet; this new loop he found himself in. Gone was the stress. You took care of it. You heard him say Adrie needed to be tired out before bed time, and here you were, standing at the edge of the creaky floorboards, blowing a slew of bubbles for her to chase in the deadened grass.

She complained, “I can’t–reach!” She jumped, and jumped, but the bubble caught the gust from her fingertips, and continued floating away.

“Use Fluff!”

Elated at the ingenuity, she snatched Fluff from where he posed at your feet, and she launched herself off the deck for the last bubble, popping it with the very tip of his white horn. “Yay!”

“Rad!”

He watched until your forms were bathed in dusky blue, and the cold swallowed your heaving breaths.

Licking clean the last spoonful of his late, late breakfast, he reminded you both, “You girls better get started on this fort before it gets too late. Still gotta set up for the game too.” After whispering a curse under your breath, you ushered Adrie inside, and he asked her, “Can you take this to the sink?” Remarkably, she took his bowl without complaint, but stood stock still until he forced out a pointed, “Thank you,” in a tone implying she should scram.

She snickered at getting a rise out of him, and jogged away.

He reached into his pocket for the object weighing down the front of his hoodie, and produced a tangerine. Juice squished from the top of the fruit where he stabbed his thumb into the rind, and the scent of fresh citrus filled the air. “The chairs are certified spider-free. Got them inspected by a professional and everything.”

Your glare was mellowed by sweetness. “My hero.”

“Daddy.” Adrie was back, and with one simple demand of her hand held out flat, he peeled faster, and dislodged two segments for her. She popped them in her mouth, and ran to her room.

Interesting..

Testing him, you held your hand out flat as well, and with a bored stare, he placed two segments in your palm too.

“Don’t worry, I won’t call you Daddy unless you want me to,” you said, tossing them in the air, and catching them in your mouth. And as the fruit popped between your teeth, and the cold juice gushed like ice over your tongue, your brain caught up to what you just implied, and you froze mid-chew.

Eddie’s expression morphed from slack-jawed surprise, to intrigue, to his lips clamped tight, body shaking with silent laughter. “What?” he squeaked out.

“Uhh–I mean–How about we forget I said that?” you offered, wagging your finger from him to you.

No way.

No way in hell was he about to let you live that one down.

He loved your blunder. Reveled in it, even. It was sweet, sweet revenge. Payback.

Eddie took you off guard by snatching your wrist. He drew you into him as he pushed off the doorframe, bringing you in real close, eliminating the gap between your bodies. His cheeks may have darkened, but it was his greatest pleasure to imbue all his wickedness into repeating the same word you used months ago when he was driving you to Adrie’s school play and he made a similar joke about your bike and riding a man to work.

His nose scrunched with wolfish satisfaction. “Never.”

“Don’t be mean,” you whined. Putting up a weak fight, you attempted to twist your hand from his grasp to–hopefully–bolt away, and bury yourself in a pile of bedsheets for the rest of eternity; just somewhere you could hide, and desperately avoid thinking about the delicious zing traveling to the worst places.

But he wouldn’t let go.

There was clear disdain in the way his posture stiffened the split-second anyone other than his daughter called him Daddy, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to introduce the context of calling him such a name, whether it would happen when you were under him, gasping it into his mouth; or in different position, with your knees on either side of his narrow hips, bouncing out the syllables..

His breathing deepened. You squirmed.

Caught in each other’s trap. Impossible to look away, the sweltering fantasy sat heavy in your mutual gaze, wide pupils boring into wide pupils. Heartbeats pounding beneath the surface of uncharted waters. An intimacy to his study of your body language, especially when you tilted your head to the side, and the lingering wryness in his eyes turned curious.

Illuminated by the glow of the bathroom light above the medicine cabinet, the face framing layers of Eddie’s haircut brushed his cheeks from beneath the hard shadows of his hood, and the fog from your exhales mixed in the inky darkness.

Alas, the standoff came to an abrupt end when Adrie called your name.

“I should help her with the fort,” you whispered in a release of tension.

One finger at a time, he opened his harmless grip. “I’m gonna bring your bike up here in case the weather turns,” he said, voice the same as always when he had you this near; quiet, tame, cutting in and out in the vowels.

“What a gentleman.”

Definitely a gentleman when he bit into the tangerine as if it were an apple to distract you from his hand tugging down his hoodie to hide the hard outline stretching towards the thigh of his light wash blue jeans.

You sneered at the fleshy strings of fruit pulp gathering over his lower lip. “And by gentleman, I mean utter weirdo.”

~~~

By winter’s solid nightfall, most of the fort had been completed. Eddie visited the room to drop off the TV (after it had been cleaned of staticy dust clinging to the glass), and placed it and the VCR on top of a Coca-Cola crate at the foot-end of the blanket nest you created. At one point he grabbed his acoustic guitar from the wall, and brought more clothes pins.

You pinned the last corner of the sheet canopy above Adrie while she pulled her tea party table inside the fort, and set up her toys in the itty bitty pink chairs. She volunteered to string the twinkly lights herself, giving you an excuse to go to the kitchen where you could make the highest quality finger sandwiches as dinner for her and her cotton-stuffed guests. And by total coincidence, Eddie was beside you, hunched over the counter with a DND book opened to a page of illustrations with a blank character sheet to his right.

“Ham, mayo, cheese, and the thinnest layer of mustard,” he told you.

You organized the ingredients to Adrie’s sandwich and confirmed, “A hint of mustard. Got it.” Taking two slices of sandwich bread, you placed them on her Beauty and the Beat plate, and dipped a butter knife into the mayo jar, slathering a generous amount on one side. One the other, you merely suggested mustard had been in the presence of it with a single swipe.

He angled the book to you. “Which race and class do you want to play as?”

Looking over the pictures, there were more to choose from than you initially assumed, but there was a clear winner towering above the rest. “That one. The big green guy.” Apparently he was called a half-orc, and he was stacked with muscle on top of muscle. “I wanna be huge and brawny like him, crushin’ my enemies with my giant biceps. Like, everyone’s scared of me, but I save kittens on the weekends. Fighter type, or whatever’s the term. Melee? I wanna beat people up with my bare fists.”

Eddie glanced you up and down. “Overcompensating for something?”

Deflating, your puffer jacket swished fabric-on-fabric as you dropped your arms. You pouted, but the tug at his heartstrings went ignored as he rolled a large dice, and picked up the pencil.

So be it. It was your turn to sum him up in one glance. How his shaggy outdated haircut gathered on his shoulders, curtaining his face as he underlined words on the character sheet, not even paying you attention. How his jean vest paraded his music tastes under years of dust and a decade of smoke baked into it; offensive and meant to ward off others, unless they belonged. How he decorated his skin in macabre imagery, and wore his white tennis shoes with just enough dirt to show he didn’t care. How every denim item he owned came with holes. How his keys dangled from a keyring attached to his belt loop, so everyone was forced to listen to him expressing his apathy towards the world with each stomp, and rattle of chains swinging against his leg. How he bent over the counter with his hip cocked out, making his pants crease to his inner thighs, highlighting a particular package beneath a handcuff belt buckle. How he was decked out in his usual skull themed rings. Prickly, jaded, drives too fast, and has never heard of an ‘inside voice’ once he deemed you worthy of his boisterous ramblings. Loud, obnoxious, excessively weird when he was himself around you.

You asked, “Are you overcompensating for something?”

“I don’t need to.”

Cool, smooth, nonchalant.

I don’t need to.

Warmth flooded your abdomen. Heat reached your cheeks. Blood rushed, descended to the place your thighs clenched, where your jean’s stiff metal zipper went tight–and if you stood a certain way–the seam grazed over.

Rolling the dice again, his expression remained impassive as he filled in more blank spots, asking you in a monotone voice, “What’s your orc’s name?”

“Gary,” you answered in a bout of exasperation, annoyed he’s acting like he didn’t just say that.

There was no way you were about to be the one squirming again. After his teasing earlier, he deserved a dose of his own medicine.

Feeling undue bravery, you set the butter knife down, and rested your elbow on the counter, angling your body towards him with your hands linked over your stomach, wearing an adorably smug pinch of confusion between your brows. You were the example of casual when you asked, “Do orcs fight with a dagger? Maybe six and a half.. seven inches in length? Curved to the right? Real girthy handle?”

Eddie’s face lurched into wide-eyed awe at your bombshell of an innuendo. He turned his head slowly, frizzy curls sticking to his just-licked lips, fluttering in front of his gawking smile as he exhaled a stunned huff. His big brown eyes were alert with the thrill of the subject, and he stared, waiting for you to fold. You didn’t blink, acting classes coming in handy as his eyebrows climbed higher and higher, and you remained stoic, free of emotion.

A choked out– “I..” –came from his mouth, but he didn’t finish. He hooked his finger around a lock of hair, and twisted it, yanking more over the lower half of his face as he shrank into the comfort of his hoodie, leaving just his eyes visible.

At last, he answered, voice wavering high and tight, “A little over seven, I think.”

You lifted your chin, and rolled your lips inward, steeling yourself from voicing anything other than an impressed hum.

However..

Having a knack for bad decisions, you drew in a breath to speak–but Adrie came to your rescue before you humiliated yourself by saying something abhorrent like, ‘my, my, that’s quite a size,’ or ‘I heard that orc’s been single a while; what’s his skill level with that weapon?’ or worse, ‘need a second opinion on that length?’

“Are you almost done?”Adrie asked.

She sought the answer by snaking her hands under your jacket and clinging onto the back of your hips, making you jolt at her cold fingers creeping over your skin, and you stumbled after she trusted you to support her weight while she jumped onto her tippy toes.

You lost your balance, and your hero from further harm was Eddie.

Well, less of a hero, and more like he stood with his arms pinned to his sides, and took the brunt of your fall.

He released a painful wheeze from being wedged into the corner where the sharp edges of the countertop dug into his bones.

“Sorry,” you think you whispered, but maybe it never left your lungs.

You watched the subtle tic under his eyes when he said, “S’okay,” and the ‘s’ whistled sharply between his teeth.

It was amazing–incredible–to discover he had freckles sprinkled across the top of his cheekbones, standing out against the telltale shade of embarrassment. You’d never been this close to notice them before; near enough your nose tickled from the end of his hair. Never had the opportunity to catch yourself on his bicep, and feel the extraordinary body heat radiating off him, dialed on high from the last few minutes. And now you had to continue living as if you didn’t know his dick size.

Adrie brought you back to reality. “Can you cut off the top crust? It’s shaped like a butt, and I don’t like it.”

Letting go of Eddie, you reached for her, patting her shoulder for her back up and release you from this awkward prison. “Y-Yeah, of course. No top crust. Got it, little lady.”

She giggled and kept talking as you put an ample gap between you and her dad. Thank God she giggled and kept talking as you and Eddie regained some semblance of composure.

“Can you cut it in long squares?”

“Rectangles,” Eddie corrected gently.

“Reck-tangles,” she pronounced.

“Perfect.” He grabbed his pencil and dice, and picked up where he left off on your character sheet. And you were more than happy to play along, peeling the Kraft Single from its plastic film and placing it on top of two slices of ham before cutting it into long squares.

~~~

With her sandwich made, you and Adrie sat at the tiny pink table under the fort. Your neck ached from the constant hunched position, and your legs were falling asleep, but you’d deal with the pain if it meant having tea with the princess.

She tipped air from an empty tea pot into the tea cups, and Mr. Bear thanked her for his imaginary portion.

Throughout the play-dinner, Eddie was in and out of the room. There were noises from the closet, sounding like he was picking up shoeboxes filled with rattling items. The canopy drooped when he opened the top drawer on the dresser where it was tied. Musical notes from a wind instrument trilled from the living room.

After another bite of her sandwich–Oh, no, Princess Adrienne, I’m much too full, you may have mine–a ne’erdowell crashed your exclusive party.

“Hey, this is pretty,” Eddie said, poking his head inside; his grin lengthening into a frightful shadow from the Christmas lights stuck in his hair. He looked around at the hard work his little girl put into the fort, linking the bedsheets from his old desk, across the back of a chair, and held aloft by the dresser. The TV occupied the space one of his amps used to, and the nest of blankets covered what used to be a network of cords, albums, and magazines. But that was years ago. Now, his gaze settled on the adult woman feigning a long sip on her toddler-sized tea cup, and a hand smashed against his face–

Adrie shoved him out of the fort, and whipped closed the entryway bedsheet. “No boys allowed!”

“But.. I need to borrow Miss Mouse,” he begged in a pitiful quaver.

She cut her eyes to you, and rolled them into the next eternity (a move you’d become an expert in yourself.) You bargained with her in a haughty shrug, and after a moment of consideration, she drew back the curtain. “Fine.”

Making an unglamorous exit by crawling on your hands and knees, you accepted Eddie’s warm palm to help you stand. “What’cha need help with?”

“The folding table is behind the couch, and it’s annoying to pull out by myself with all the mugs in the way,” he explained on his way to the living room. “Oh, can you move that stuff off it? Yeah, just toss it in a corner.”

He used his shin to push the coffee table against the wall while you picked up the pillow and stack of blankets off the corner of the couch. But after collecting them to your chest, and the thinning pillow released a puff of air from its wilted self, you were struck with an array of scents. Hair products, cigarette smoke, vanilla, sour sweat; notes of exhaust, motor oil, and fumes.

It smelled bad in the good way.

The mix stung your nostrils, twinged at your eyes. But it was a comfort you hugged tighter. Familiarity you inhaled deeper. Home in your lungs.

You took his pillow, and Adrie’s kaleidoscope quilt with the tattered facing, and went to place them on the fold-out bed in the corner, assuming it was his; but as you neared, you scrutinized the collection of items on the oak nightstand beside it. A brand of cigarettes he didn’t smoke, a BIC lighter he didn’t use, a comb, and a clunky silver watch. And as you thought about it more, you saw the fold-out bed already had a set of sheets and a pillow balanced on top of it.

“Eddie, where do you sleep?”

There was much care put into your question, but the uneasy way it probed into his private life was evident in his change in demeanor.

He was slow to stand up from adjusting a side table out of the way, never quite unslouching the weight from his shoulders when he pushed his hood back to run a hand over his hair. The cuckoo clock on the wall ticked by as you watched him scratch his fingernails in tight circles on his scalp, roughing up his hair, never quite focusing his gaze on anything.

“Well,” he mumbled, gesturing at the lumpy couch cushions. “Here.”

Despite figuring as much, he never stated it bluntly, and to know another hardship of his reality squeezed your heart with sympathy.

He must’ve read the emotion on your face as pity, because his tone reflected an edge of annoyance; a deep-seated stress sneaking out when he spoke to those who didn’t get it. “Most of my paycheck goes to Adrie’s daycare. That shits expensive, and as much as I don’t want her growing up right in front of me, things will get better when she finally starts real school. I won’t be paying for that anymore, and I can start saving up, and maybe, y’know, start making some changes around here.” He spoke with his hands in a sad sort of shrug, waving at the trailer, though his gaze was cast down, and away from you. “But this is how it is, okay? I can’t do anything to fix it.” There was a haunting sort of pessimism that came from living in poverty. As much as he made statements about changing his life when he had more money, there was still the pile of bills in the kitchen, the numerous things in need of fixing around the house, Wayne’s truck on its last leg, and the fear of a random doctor visit wiping out his bank account. All of that resided in his tone.

You gripped his pillow harder, not sure what to say other than a hushed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

At that, he shook himself out of ruminating on his situation, and saw you were awkwardly twisting the pillowcase around your fingers, staring at the floor. He realized he messed up.

Every bit of him went soft for you. “Wait, wait, wait,” he soothed, striding three steps to you and cupping his palms around your upper arms. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. Not to you. Not when you’ve been the sweetest–seriously, the sweetest, and most generous person to me and Adrie. It–It, yeah, it hits a sore spot, talking about shit like having to sleep on the couch, but I didn’t mean to speak to you that way.” He finished with a final, sweet, but quick, and enunciated assurance, “I’m sorry.”

Overwhelmed by the whiplash in his change of attitude, followed by his sincere apology, you stammered, “Oh, uh, it’s okay. I understand why you reacted the way you did. It’s cool.”

At an impasse, you looked up at him. He stroked his thumbs over the cool outer layer of your jacket. Swish, swish, swish.

More, deeper. Swish, swish, swish.

You understood.

This was our first fight as whatever-we-are, and I’m showing you I can apologize instead of brushing it off and forgetting about it like I used to.

It was the mildest spat, yet it was a milestone for him.

“Seriously, we’re good,” you said, crushing the pillow to your chest.

Shifting the subject, he lightened the mood. “Also, did I mention how much I appreciate you coming over early, and playing with Adrie? The whole fort thing, going out of your way to get her movies, ‘nd making her run around like a maniac? Genius.”

“Yeah, yeah, put it on that ‘thank you’ tab you owe me,” you teased him, pulling away to set his bedding on top of his uncle’s.

“Soon!” he promised. He tapped at the side of his head. “Got some ideas brewing in here.”

“Not sure if I should be excited, or scared.”

Ah, his two-front-teeth-showing grin. Your favorite.

He laughed, and with your help, the couch was scooted away from the wall enough for the wood laminate fold-out table to be wiggled out from behind it at an angle which avoided knocking the mugs hanging from the shelf above it. You draped a tablecloth over it in a flourish. Eddie pressed the wrinkles out of the grid pattern, and began placing miniature standees from the shoeboxes onto the squares; parts of a village, cobblestone fences, and characters to fill out the town. When he didn’t need you anymore, you went to check on Adrie, and the moment you crawled inside the fort and she showed you the pajamas Eddie picked out for her earlier, there was a series of car honks outside.

Showtime.

“You ready, Miss Adrie?”

“Mhm!”

Tires crunched rocks in the makeshift driveway. Engines died. Noises, greetings, Eddie’s happiness grew louder, and louder. A group sounded off. Several sets of shoes scraped the cement steps, and in the amalgamation of voices was one above the rest, “Hey, looking good, man. Haven’t seen you since you almost killed my elven ranger before Christmas.”

You crawled backwards out of the fort, and caught Adrie’s hand before she ran out of the room.

From the living room, Eddie sucked his teeth, and dismissed his friend. “You had it coming all night with the way you were walking around not checking for traps.”

“It was one time! And besides–” The argument stopped. His blue eyes went wide with shock, outstretched arms drooping as he focused on something behind Eddie. He lowered the two six packs he was carrying. “A girl!”

Being led by an excited almost-five-year-old, you bolted around the kitchen counter, and raised your eyebrows at the blunt acknowledgement of your existence. You looked at Eddie, whose entire being depleted with a sigh.

With his head hung, he swept his arm towards you. “This is my friend from work. She’s playing with us tonight.” And under his breath, he muttered to the young man wearing a ballcap over his springy curls, “Be cool.”

He shoved a six pack at Eddie’s chest, and pursued you with his hand held out. “I’m Dustin! Eddie’s friend from high school, and previous Hellfire member,” he said, displaying a mouthful of adult braces.

“Dustin, it’s nice to meet you!”

Repeating people’s names back to them was a helpful memorization tool, but as your gaze shifted, the nerves of making a good first impression on Eddie’s friends sat heavy in your stomach.

The other guys on the stairs came up behind Dustin. In a rush, you were introducing yourself to the beginnings of a crowd stomping through the living room. Exchanging names and smiles and handshakes, you gripped Adrie’s tiny hand for support and said, “I’m the receptionist at the auto shop, that’s how I know Eddie.”

The one who approached you last–Gareth, drummer for Corroded Coffin–snapped his fingers, and exclaimed, “Oh! You’re the receptionist.”

“Alright, alright,” Eddie interjected, body and voice between you two. “Beer goes in the kitchen, and I’ll order pizza in a minute.”

He passed off the six pack to someone else.

Gareth reached into his leather jacket with a wicked, lopsided grin. “I brought something a little stronger than beer.” Though most of your vision was taken up by the back of Eddie’s shoulder, you caught a flash of amber liquid in a clear bottle, and a black label.

Kneeling beside you, Jeff–guitarist for Corroded Coffin–tilted his head down so Adrie could touch the wooden beads at the end of his short braids, and said to Eddie, “You know, since we’re havin’ it at your place again, why not make it memorable? Or not memorable,” he joked. “Maybe a sip for every roll under 13.”

Eddie gave him the Dad stare. “You’re gonna be shitfaced–Adrie, you didn’t hear that–by the time this is over, and I’m not organizing rides for all of you.”

“I’m driving tonight.” Lloyd–bassist for Corroded Coffin–jangled his car keys.

“And so am I,” a girl’s voice came from beyond the entryway everyone was crowding. “Now can we come inside before we freeze to death, or do you really think you can take on another basilisk without my help?”

A round of laughter gave way to the next group entering.

SWISH, SWISH, SWISH.

The girl at the helm of the windbreaker brigade went to the kitchen to drop off the case of beer straining her arms. (It seemed that was the payment of choice to the host.)

Sensing you were lost to the sea of faces, Eddie laid a comforting hand between your shoulder blades, and drifted it downwards to the small of your back. “That’s Erica, Max, and Lucas,” he told you in your ear.

Max held on tight to Lucas’ arm, taking smaller steps into the mixture of orange and blue-white lamps flooding the room tight with bodies, and shapes she was unfamiliar with.

“Aw, don’t you two look cute,” Gareth goaded them in an overly saccharine way.

Max groaned, “I told him it was lame.”

Whereas she shrank into her black and neon pink jacket, Lucas scoffed, and fueled her disgusted tongue click. “Matching windbreakers should be the least of your worries. You’re playing Dungeons and Dragons. You can’t get any lamer than that.” To finish, he popped the collar of his in a suave swish, and guided her into the kitchen.

She made a gagging sound, and Erica made one too.

————

While waiting for the last guest to arrive, the front door remained open. The glow from inside etched the peeling paint on the stair’s ornate handrail in gold. Warm laughter rolled out like fog into the dry frigid night, where neighbors could hear it. See it. Feel the vibrations of Eddie Munson’s friendship, support, weirdness being celebrated. Witness the joy others could not steal from him. They could observe the vehicles parked out front, listen to the rapture of claps when Adrie performed a song and dance, and taste the bitterness in their mouths when Eddie “The Freak” Munson continuously found his gaze drifting to the girl beside him, who beamed at him openly.

————

Fashionably late, a loud car turned into the trailer park; the obnoxious kind, where the motor rumbled like a death rattle, but in a cool way, because it was made to sound like that on purpose.

Eddie looked over his shoulder, and raised his hand at Mike. “Hey, man,” he whispered, keeping their conversation separate while everyone else was exchanging stories.

“Did you wanna check out the engine?” Mike bounced his eyebrows, swinging the keys to his bright yellow muscle car. “I installed it a few weeks ago.”

It was a tempting offer. He wasn’t opposed to car talk, nor freezing his hands off to fawn over the modifications Mike made to his beloved 1979 Mustang while in the big city for school, and, of course, Eddie was going to give him his usual spiel about working for David when he came back to Hawkins. However, he didn’t want to abandon the newest member to their party.

“In a min,” Eddie said to Mike, motioning with his head to come inside.

Assuming he’d just tossed his girl to the wolves, Eddie zoned into the conversation again, and rubbed his hand along your back. His palm passed over the warm spot on your jacket where he was comforting you before, and he glanced around the circle of his friends–tightly knit, and grinning at you.

He assumed wrong.

You weren’t shy, or intimidated to be the new person in a group of people who’d known each other for decades, failing to be heard over their easy banter and inside jokes. No. They were hanging onto your every word.

The group had gone hushed, captivated by your life. You had a knack for turning the mundane into marvelous enthrallments of relatable spectacular. Every sentence was more entertaining than the last. The punch lines landed, and kept coming. You worked them like a crowd–and when someone else shared a similar anecdote, you were asking questions, getting them to open up, and take the stage. This was you. You were in your element. You didn’t need Eddie.

“Oh! That reminds me of this one lady when I was waitressing in Philly..”

“In New York we had these huge pigeons that would..”

“Back home, there was this place on the corner where..”

Eddie took his hand away. The insulated warmth dissipated from his palm as he let it hang at his side. Your rolodex of stories separated you from him.

“Dude, you wanna talk about bad dates? This one time..”

“And then there was this guy who..”

“–Worst kiss ever.”

Details were spared–maybe because both he and Adrie were there–but the story beats were like stabs to his stomach. Clenched, sinking hot with envy. It wasn’t like him. Not really. He didn’t think so, anyway. But maybe he was wrong.

Jealousy prickled under his skin at every mention of ‘home’ and ‘date.’ He didn’t appreciate the heat to his cheeks, nor the loneliness of his hand reaching out for Adrie, only for her to notice him with a sleepy blink while she clung to your hips, and it was your fingers rubbing her little shoulder.

Of course he knew the subject of your stories, of course he knew you’d been on hundreds of dates, of course he knew you lived a larger life than him, but he’d never had to listen to the yearn in your voice when you spoke about the things you missed. The city, the people, being on stage. Performing, collecting stories, having dinners at sit-down restaurants. These were eccentricities integral to your design, and Eddie Munson had no place among them.

“Hey, Wheeler?” The lump in Eddie’s throat grew. Even Mike was transfixed on listening to you, forgetting about the keys in his hand. Leaning closer, he tapped on his friend’s teal raincoat to get his attention. “Mike? You wanted to show me your–?”

“Right!” Mike whipped his head around, sending his shaggy haircut bouncing in freshly styled waves. “Yeah, so I started with..” he trailed off, walking down the stairs, and out to the yard.

Before Eddie followed, he surveyed the group; Gareth was snickering his way through a story, while the rest of you went nauseous at his description of getting eighteen stitches, and replicating the sound of the needle popping through his skin.

“Babe?” he whispered under the group’s grossed out gasps, speaking the endearment for you only. Taking control, in a way, of his shame by reminding himself he could call you by a sweet nickname, and you’d answer.

You divided your attention, tipping your ear to him, and tearing your gaze from Gareth’s bizarre reenactment of how he fractured his tibia, and settling your eyes on Eddie’s Cupid’s bow when he made a request, “I’m gonna talk shop with Mike. Can you take over here? Get people settled, and Adrie in bed?”

“Of course, handsome.”

For couples, this is where he would duck to give you a kiss on the forehead, or bring you to his side for a hug and be on his way, and perhaps you gleaned those tentative actions when he hesitated on the lean-in, and sat in the subsequent awkwardness of playing it off as a friendly pat on your back when he realized, yeah, he’d never hugged you before.

You diffused the tension by laughing at him. Great.

As he rolled his eyes, you stopped him from leaving, and stepped away from the group.

“Where should we put our jackets?” you asked, pinching the zipper of yours.

Eddie paused in the middle of his gangly stride, and glanced at the two available hooks beside his leather jacket. It hadn’t started snowing or sleeting yet, so everyone’s coats would be dry. “Couch is fine.”

You said, “Cool,” and plunged your hand. In the blink of an eye, you had unzipped your jacket, and thrown your arms back, wiggling it down your shoulders and tugging it off by the cuffs. Underneath your jacket was a tight white tank top and unbuttoned flannel. A nice, fitted, ribbed shirt. Lower cut than anything you had worn at the auto shop, and clinging to your chest as you arched your back and shimmied out of your outer layer.

His gaze stalled.

You didn’t comment on it. He didn’t say anything, either, when his focus snapped to your face, and he read your sly smirk. Adrie, however, grew restless.

“I’m sleepy,” she whined.

“Okay, sweet bean,” you said, besotted by how little her hand was in yours. “C’mon, we can pick out the first movie to play in the fort, too.”

Eddie, thankful to have a distraction, and even more thankful you didn’t call out his obvious ogling, sank to his knees to give his little girl a goodnight hug and kiss. Part of him missed not being able to sit on the couch with her falling asleep on his chest, but the twelve peppered kisses to her cheek would have to suffice. He trusted you to take over the last few steps of Adrie’s night routine without his supervision, and sat back on his calves–after doting over her one last time by straightening out the long sleeves on her pajamas, and twirling the end of her braid around his finger.

“Night,” he kissed against her forehead.

“Night, Daddy,” she kissed back.

Kneeling on the carpet for a moment longer, he ran his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth at watching you walk away with her. He was hidden amongst the throng of legs, and deep conversation. Invisible for now.

Drop, by drop, his chest filled with tender emotions. A coffee pot of feelings he swore to suppress poured into his heart; brimming the edge, overflowing, bringing heat to those neglected hopes, longings, and desires. Minutes ago you spoke of home, and he was aware he was not owed the promise of you changing the location of home to within biking distance, but he could hope, because every second you spent with him and his daughter was another coin in the wishing well, sploshing the coffee over.

Soon, the overflow would trickle to his lungs. It would fill them up. It would reach his throat. It would coat his tongue, wet his mouth, and before he knew it, those confessions would be spilling into words for you to cup to your mouth and drink until you were as full as he was.

Or, he could suppress them tonight with alcohol. Just enough to dull the urge, but still act as Dungeon Master.

Or, the whiskey could loosen his tongue, and risky sentiments could flood over, one steady drop at a time.

Either way, he was drowning.

~~~

Diving into the true purpose of the evening, the party split between the kitchen and the table in the living room. Jeff went out to Lloyd’s truck, and brought in a long black case. Snapping the latches open, he took out an electric keyboard, and began setting it up in his lap while Gareth rapped his drumsticks on his thighs in a slow rhythm. In the bedroom, you fluffed up the blankets for Adrie to lay on, tucked the comforter to her chin, and brushed her bangs off her forehead while the blue flash of the Disney castle logo played across her heavy eyelids. Idling around the variety of beers on the kitchen counter, Max gripped one of the silver and red cans, and spun it around its plastic ring holder, straining to discern the label.

You came up behind her to let her know, “That one’s Bud Light.”

“Ew,” she frowned, “who would bring that?” She opted for the can of Pabst instead.

“Some people have no tastes.”

On cue, Dustin wove his way through Lucas’ and Erica’s argument over which Mortal Kombat character was the best, adding a quick, “Liu Kang, obviously,” and snapped a silver can from the ring pack. He looked from you to Max. “What?”

Shifting from the secret giggles rising in your chests, she shrugged. “Nothing!”

He squinted at her, not buying it. Cracking the tab, he took a sip, and then you became the subject of interest. “So,” he started, “how long have you and Eddie been friends?”

Perplexion drew Max’s eyebrows together.

Aware of where this was going, you got your own beer, and carried an airy, casual tone while popping the cap, “Oh, just a few months, since I moved here with my roommate–Robin, if you know her.” His expression answered for you, arching in an ‘ah!’ of understanding.

Max, though, was stuck on another detail. “Wait, you and Eddie aren’t dating? I thought–I figured since he’s never invited anyone here before, and his daughter was, like, holding onto you?”

“Yeah, Adrie’s pretty fond of me, I think,” you answered, hiding your own secret behind the glass bottle to your lips. “And Eddie’s cool, too, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t know about him being cool, per se–” she was cut off.

Blurs of black and teal tumbled in rivers of frosted breath, and clattering teeth. Mike shivered life into his limbs on his way to the sink to run his hands under hot water. Eddie’s cheeks and nose were tinted frosty red as he wiped the dirt from his numb fingers onto his hoodie, and pulled his wallet from the junk drawer to check it for cash.

His brown eyes zeroed on you first, Dustin’s wiry mug second, and Max’s tilted lips third.

As he picked up the phone to dial for pizza delivery with his grease-scraped knuckle, he warned in a playful inflection, “You better not be telling her embarrassing stories about me.”

“Oh, no!” Max promised him. “I didn’t even tell her about how I used to live across from you, and caught you–on numerous occasions–sweeping the porch while blasting ABBA, and screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. While drunk.” She didn’t need to see him from across the kitchen to feel the heat of his glare, and duel it with another cool shrug, defeating him with ease when the pizza place picked up, and he had to stumble over his order.

Once the hurdle of dinner was out of the way, the drinks of choice sweated under the cozy temperature of ten bodies packed like sardines at the table, and with Eddie at the helm of it all, the game commenced.

He set forth a toast. Affection swelled in his even gaze sweeping over his friends who had come to join him in his home, acknowledging the growth behind his ordinary request. He couldn’t speak it without a nervous tremble, no, but they understood. They understood. With pride, his eyelashes twinkled at the outer corners where mirth gathered, and his broad grin creased a slew of Crow’s feet into cascading to his smile lines with his dimple nestled between them. His silent gratitude thanked the room, and when he reached Jeff at his right hand side, Eddie flicked his eyes to the opposite end of the table, and brought the whiskey to his lips.

The room refracted beautifully in the carved edges of the smokey gray tumbler. It was silly, almost, how the squat glass vanished behind his large palm and thick fingers. Sillier, even, when you noticed these things and your heart pumped a little faster.

Sat at the far end across from him, you raised your beer, and sipped.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages,” he spoke in increasing speed and passion, descending into a lower octave as he stood and loomed over his dividers of books, binders, and folders acting as a shield to his Dungeon Master antics, “I present to you, the port town of Irrilis!”

He bowed, and swept his arms over the miniature display.

Sitting back, he guided everyone into the scene. Between describing the smell of the briny sea, the itch of stale sweat mixed with dried blood on their bodies, and the creak of wooden planks under their feet, he expertly wove lore into details of the town, comparing the afternoon sun on the backs of their necks to the stares they were getting. The townsfolk were not expecting newcomers this evening, apparently; and to finish the introduction, he cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed the caw of seagulls perched atop a gnarled bulletin board. When it became clear the fishermen were not interested in speaking to Lloyd’s tiefling, he asked if there was a guard nearby instead. Instantly, Eddie became one. He donned a constant salute, and rigid posture with a nasty curl on his lip, speaking in stunted sentences with a broadened chest.

Watching him perform was mesmerizing.

Your vision narrowed as if you were going lightheaded, highlighting Eddie at the center with sharpened colors. His broad movements coaxed you in, his ability to switch both his pitch and accent raced in your ears, his creature cadence hummed nostalgia along the back of your mind like an old memory of observing another actor on stage mastering their craft. Time forgot to start. He stole a glance in your direction and you were washed in humility. He was gauging your reaction to his geekiness, and whatever he saw, whatever was written in your expression, rewarded his vulnerability. Confidence set his face aglow; power in the way he beheld you. And you praised him by sitting forward, affixing him with all your adoration, considering yourself fortunate to be in his presence.

After all, you’d been enchanted by Eddie Munson since the first day he stomped past your desk with a fierce scowl aimed at the ground, and now? Now he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

~~~

As with most DND adventures, the fun began at a tavern.

The group had spent too much time with Eddie as their DM, they knew the bulletin board was a red herring, so they explored the city until they found the seediest bar tucked into the end of an alleyway.

You were reading over the details Eddie wrote for you on your character sheet when you were snatched to the present by an array of sounds.

Eddie strummed down on his acoustic guitar, and silenced the vibration with his palm. He then plucked a slow, seeking, progression, circling back until Jeff harmonized on his keyboard, and they nodded their heads in sync while Gareth found the tavern’s beat with the ends of his drumsticks on the edge of the table. Lloyd angled his chair to put his guitar in his lap, and chased the melody quietly under Eddie’s, at a slower tempo.

To be captivated by someone, wholly immersed in their quirks and nature, is to cherish them, and as you played audience to your friend’s natural charisma and ability to impress you in new ways after months of knowing him, your chest panged with the ache to cherish him completely.

You were one beer deep on an empty stomach, and you were already intoxicated by him.

Their song continued as he laid out the exposition of the tavern, and as a party, everyone sat at the bar, or snuck around invisible to glean information. And that’s where you came in–

Jeff changed his tune to have a mysterious dissonance.

Erica’s rogue sidled in beside you at a table, and smoothly asked you a variety of questions: how long you’d been in town, if you knew of the disappearances, or had any encounters with the rumor of the undead lurking outside the kingdom.

You… You looked at your orc’s low intelligence on the paper, and seeing as how you were an improv artist, you roleplayed.

Inhaling a mighty breath, you filled out your not-so-intimidating frame with imaginary muscle, and shot out your hand. “I’m Gary!” you exclaimed, rough and tough.

The guitars stopped on a screech.

Pause.

Eddie covered his mouth. His eyebrows peaked sentimentally. And once his shoulders shook, and his snort squeaked out like a dying sprinkler, everyone laughed. In your periphery, they each reacted differently–all having their unique outbursts at your blunt introduction. Erica, too, giggled as she shook your hand. They were laughing with you. Definitely with you when Jeff chose a sillier ditty to play, and the guys matched him, upbeat and excited for you to wholeheartedly participate in their game.

Soon, your orc joined their party, and a series of clues earned from armwrestling other bar patrons led you down several paths to take, and after finding a lost tome near an underground jail cell (thanks to Dustin’s constant perception checks), your group was led outside, past Irrilis’ stone walls, and to their dying crops.

Mike scooped a collection of dice into his hand after, somehow, engaging in combat with a scarecrow, and began shaking them.

There was a bang at the door.

Mike jumped, uncupping his palms mid-shake, and the dice went flying. He caught three–snatched them right out of the air–and before they ricocheted off his fingers to add to the clatter on the table, he began to juggle them. One, two, three, four perfect rotations, and he set them down.

Eddie hadn’t yet stood up from his chair when his gaze wandered to yours, and he cut you a cheeky, significant grin. You shot him an exaggerated sneer in return. Stupid juggling.

He managed to not trip over the scattered mix of boots and tennis shoes mingling around the entrance, and balanced the exchange of cash for a stack of white cardboard boxes his eyes and handsome nose peeked over on his way to sliding them onto the kitchen counter.

“Orders up, boys.”

As grease soaked into paper plates, and another round of drinks were poured by Gareth’s heavy hand, you were all ushered into the next leg of the game.

Jeff played low notes as background mood music for your party when you came upon your next encounter: ghouls. They were low level, easy to defeat even if there were many, but it was an opportunity for Erica to teach you the different dice. Max leaned over, and helped you keep track of your abilities, and if you could execute them from where you stood on the grid.

When it was Max’s turn to roll for attack and damage in the rotation, she did so in a shallow wooden tray between her and Lucas. The dice tumbled around, pinged the sides, and came to a stop where Lucas could read the numbers, and do the math.

Least to say, she decimated her target.

Erica’s rogue on the other hand rolled a number Eddie was ambivalent towards.

“Convince me you can sneak up on him,” he proposed, squinting over his steepled fingers, and leaning back in his chair. They seemed to butt heads a lot, if her eye roll was anything to go off of.

She stood up from the table, and snapped her fingers at Mike to act as her overly large zombie. “C’mon.”

He groaned, “Not again,” but did as he was told, standing not unlike a limp noodle with a flat stare into the distance as she listed off her character’s skills for Eddie, and hooked her arm around Mike’s throat, bending him backwards over her pencil (pretend knife) to his back. She even shuffled him to where Eddie could acknowledge the poison on the tip of her blade would enter his kidney. He argued the undead did not have functioning kidneys, but conceded her efforts.

It was your turn next, but as you were mulling over the ghouls on the grid in front of your figurine, the rest of the table went silent.

The bedroom door creaked open, and soft footsteps padded out onto the kitchen vinyl. Eddie jerked his head up from behind the dividers. Gareth scooted his chair in, assuming Adrie was going to squeeze by on her way to her dad, but there was no need..

She wedged herself between you and Max, and splayed her arms across your lap. With her cheek to your thigh, she sighed, pitifully, “The movie stopped, and my head hurts.”

“Oh, no,” you consoled her in your silly Children’s Television Program presenter voice. “Is it the braids? They can be so un-com-for-table to sleep in.” Perhaps you instilled too much confidence in the pizza to soak up the alcohol, because you were now two beers and a few sips of whiskey deep into the ‘overly affectionate’ stage of your tipsiness. You collected the sleepy girl to your lap, and enveloped her in a bone crushing hug, rocking yourselves back and forth, fawning each other in a happy hum, unaware of the bewildered stares boring into you as you pressed a kiss above her ear.

The men around the table exchanged confused looks with each other, then threw suspicious glances at Eddie, who appeared struck by Cupid. The girls, much more intuitive and observant, smiled at the sweet scene.

She sat sideways across your legs, and kept a hand crooked into your flannel’s collar while you slipped the yellow bauble ponytail from one of her braids, and loosened the plaits. “Do you wanna roll for me?” you asked her, working through the tangles.

Thrilled to participate in her dad’s game, she woke up just enough to say, “Yeah!”

Max felt for your dice, and handed her the largest.

Instead of Adrie letting go of you to cup her hands around it and shake, she pelted it at the table, and after narrowly missing the LEGO skeleton standees, it came to a stop.

“Eight,” Lloyd said with a hint of regret.

You asked Eddie, “Is that enough to hit?”

“It, uh–” The table’s full attention turned towards the Dungeon Master. He dropped his gaze to his notebook, and traced his finger over the dog-eared page. The pressure of their anticipation manifested in his bouncing knee, masking the tremble that would be present in his words regardless when he answered, “Y-Yeah, yeah. That, uh, that hits.”

The party squirmed with awareness; pressed lips ready to burst.

Oblivious, you put the smaller dice in Adrie’s hand, and added up the numbers when she tossed them. “Eleven!” With your turn done, you unraveled the rest of her other braid, and combed your fingers through her hair, circling them on her scalp to give her some relief. Speaking to her, you said, “Wanna count to eleven while we pick another movie?” She started counting automatically.

There was another whisper in her ear, and she hopped off your lap with her arms raised. You cooed a small, “Thought so,” and picked her up, settling her on your hip. Knowing it was Jeff’s turn, and you wouldn’t be needed for a while, you pushed the bedroom door open with your foot, and closed it behind you the same way.

And the very second it clicked shut, the table erupted.

“Jesus, dude, you’re gonna impregnate your coworker if you keep staring at her like that.”

“Ew,” and “Gross,” came from Max and Erica respectively.

Eddie jolted from his trance, mentally erasing the sway of your ass from his mind. His cheeks seared vicious red at Gareth’s comment.

With more tact, Dustin lilted, “So, just a friend from work, huh?” His blue eyes sparkles with mischief, matching the upturn at the corner of his lips, foretelling no good from this interaction, either.

“A friend,” Jeff added, “that he has the biggest crush on.”

Gareth rolled his bottom lip inward, and cocked his head. “More like she’s his babysitter with benefits.”

Loathing the obvious sheen of sweat rushing to his face, Eddie warned him with a pointed finger. “Don’t call her that.” He swung to Dustin next. “And she is my friend, and my coworker,” he stated evenly, putting emphasis on the last word.

Being the voice of reason in these situations, but not entirely on his side, Lloyd told the younger members, “Around the time they started working together, he started coming to band practice not entirely in a bad mood. A few weeks ago, he was even smiling. Apparently they had this little Christmas party, and there was mistletoe–”

“Shut it!”

“You kissed her?” Lucas gasped.

Gareth was the one to knock the gossipy housewife wind from his sails. “No,” he scoffed with a laugh. “He was too much of a pussy.”

Several of the guys snickered, and one said, “So no benefits, then.”

Reining in his volume, Eddie warned them again in a low tone, “I’m well within my right to not want to make things weird between us if it doesn’t work out. I have to see her every day, regardless.” It was one of his oldest excuses in the book, and to be honest with himself, he dismissed it a long time ago. He no longer feared making things awkward, or tampering with your friendship.. but he wasn’t about to explain his real insecurities to so many people at once.

No one needed to know the true reason behind why he hadn’t asked you out yet.

No one had to know why he walked away when you spoke of ‘dating’ and ‘home.’

It was to protect himself, so no one had to look at him with pity when he explained he wasn’t a good enough reason for you to stay in Hawkins past the end of summer. Instead, he defaulted, “We’re just friends.”

Erica was gentle in her approach. “If we’re all just friends here, then why don’t we get matching bracelets made by your daughter?” On instinct, he tugged his sleeve over his wrist to conceal D-A-D-D-Y. “I saw hers when she was messing with Adrienne’s hair.” She saw M-O-U-S-E. “And if you’re just friends, why doesn’t Adrie ever want to be held by us? Or hugged by us? I honestly thought she didn’t like to be coddled by anyone besides you, but then that just happened..”

The questions sank in Eddie’s stomach. It cooled the frustration from his furrowed brow, and eased the tension from around his eyes. He didn’t have a satisfactory answer for the group, but he could share something close enough to the truth, it might better help them understand his hang ups. But first, he downed the rest of his double on the rocks.

Wincing after his swallow, he set down the glass, and ran the heel of palm along the edge of the table. “I’m taking things slow,” he said, “and you all know why. Okay?” Shrugging a bit, he lifted his eyebrows and spoke again to his binders, focusing on his campaign notes rather than his friends. “I only told her everything, y’know, about what happened to me a few weeks ago, so I’m still giving it some time. And, obviously, yeah it’s a big deal having a kid, and her getting attached to someone else.”

“Aw, he’s in love,” someone said.

Exuding patience by closing his eyes, he continued, “Right, so, if you wanna tell her some less embarrassing stories about me, maybe even make me look good in front of her.. I’d really appreciate it.” He ended with a beckoning clap, as if he were striking a deal with the blisters in his life.

“Or,” Mike asserted, “I can roll to hit this ghoul, and if it succeeds, you have to ask her out tonight.” Before Eddie could respond, Mike puffed a lucky breath into his cupped hands, and bounced the dice across the grid. “Thirteen!”

“Aw, sorry, man. Doesn’t hit.”

Vitriol bit into his snark, “Oh, really? Thirteen doesn’t hit, but eight does? Give me a break.” The more his face pinched into a sour expression at Eddie’s stubborn favoritism, the more wickedness laced itself in the Dungeon Master’s smug grin.

Gareth was contributing another goading remark about breaking strict rules if they benefited Eddie’s chances for getting good pussy, but the squeal of the door knob turning interrupted him.

It was noticeably quieter when you sat down at the table, beaming at the mixed signals of people avoiding your gaze, and meeting it with the type of excessive smile you gave a stranger after you were just talking about them behind their back. “So, whose turn is it?” Jeff raised his hand sheepishly. “Oh, you guys didn’t have to wait for–for me!” You hardly got through the sentence before you were giggling into your drink.

Fear not, Gareth broke the underlying tension. “Hey, did Eddie ever tell you he used to walk out on stage with a rose in his mouth, until” –he motioned at the corner of his lips with a grimace– “he cut himself on the thorns one too many times. Ow!”

Gareth clutched at his foot, and the men shot off rapid fire communication through sharp hand gestures, and widened eyes.

Jeff played the Jaws theme.

“Is that true?” you whispered to Lucas.

Lloyd shouted, “Can we get back to the game?”

Still red in the face, Eddie turned to him with his arms extended graciously. “Yes! Thank you! Let’s get back to the game.”

Adjusting his chair under himself, Eddie the Dungeon Master sat with the distinct grace of someone who went unopposed. Wispy curls of his hair caught the wind, drifting in frazzled layers wherever they pleased. The buttons and pins on his jean vest glittered, and tinked together. His lungs expanded with a long, held breath, stretching the black hoodie over his chest. When no one challenged his unceasing eye contact, he continued, “The ghouls were nigh..”

————

The night matured.

Dustin and Lloyd championed your party to an underground cave where the source of the undead were conjured. Eddie heralded your arrival by opening the box beneath his chair, screwing together something behind his barrier of DND lore, and bringing it to his mouth.

You shouldn’t be surprised by him, yet again, but the fact he played flute was just as adorable as his playful grin straining his plush lips to the metal, and his round doe-eyes flitting to yours, and away.

The notes he played grew increasingly haunting, turning intense during the battle with the necromancer who started this all. Then, as the foe turned to dust, Eddie trilled higher, and higher notes. Sillier, and sillier as Dustin looted the robes he left behind.

Everything about Eddie’s expression was impish when the group asked if the scroll found in the pocket was written in common tongue.

“Why, as a matter of fact it is,” he said, much too cheerful, and trilled an incensing measure.

He was being a menace, and the group began to sag with dread.

Dustin’s words were laced with suspicion and regret. “What does it say?”

“Let’s see! It says..” Eddie held up a prop coil of tea-stained parchment, and cleared his throat to don a brittle old man's voice, “I was a lonely necromancer who missed my wife, children, friends, and family. I was merely resurrecting them to have companionship, and you attacked me for nought. I hope you are happy with yourselves, and can sleep at night.” He abandoned the paper to incite violence in his quick succession of notes on the flute. “The dying crops are not my fault. The soil simply has too many minerals from the estuary near Irrilis, and the quarry to the north.” Peering at the blank sheet fallen to his notebook, he faked confusion, “And it says down here, in teeny-tiny writing, ‘You should have checked the bulletin board.’”

Dustin dropped his head into his hands. “You son of a bitch.”

The rest of the quests went smoother, you supposed. After returning to Irrilis and checking the bulletin board, the party’s findings led to the library, which led to a murder, which led to a mystery, which led to finding an object which had the group gasping in surprise. Apparently, the Crimson Order’s emblem on the second dead person’s body, and bite marks on the neck had a long history within the group. The next big campaign was vampire related. You celebrated along with them, cheersing the end of your whiskey, and chasing it with some much needed water.

~~~

Raw twilight bloomed behind heavy set clouds pulling flutters of white against the black.

The night winded down with more fetch quests sending the party deeper into the woods, and to the edge of the mountains. It would take several more sessions to cover the terrain beyond, or something like that. Something, something tales of a labyrinth or some sort before the vampire castle. Your memory was a little fuzzy. Going with the flow of music, whether it was the mellow strums of Lloyd’s guitar, the muffled notes of Jeff’s keyboard, Gareth’s battle march, or the dark piece Eddie played when he introduced an object of interest; your focus muddled with the jokes, the lore, the alcohol. The whiskey burned less, and the oaky honey thrived. You surrendered to the passage of time–interrupted, briefly, when the man sat opposite you answered every one of the boy’s questions with a riddle, and his rascally cackle at their irritation stole another piece of your heart. Falling deeper, and deeper. And deeper for him.

~~~

The early witching hours feasted on the weary adults who were no longer able to pull all-nighters. The game was over for now, and the group packed their things away.

Max asked you, “Did you have fun?”

“Yes!” you blurted. “I didn’t really know what I was getting into, but the atmosphere was so cool. Eddie really knows how to put on a show, huh? And hey, finding fragments of a dragon’s egg shell in a game called Dungeons and Dragons was pretty neat.”

Her laugh brought music to her affirmation, “Yeah, he’s a pretty good DM, and we’ve been hunting the dragons for two years now. Do you think you’ll play with us next month?”

“Totally!”

“Nice.”

Lucas dragged his hand down her arm, and placed the black and neon pink windbreaker in her awaiting palm. She zipped it over her cozy college sweatshirt. They were at the back of the congestion, shuffling around the living room, straying behind the chaos of stumbling adults doubling over to laugh at their clumsiness and inability to find their shoe’s match.

While waiting, you watched several of the guys clasp Eddie’s shoulder as they passed, and placed money in his hand. Oh. Shit. Your gaze snapped to the scattered stack of pizza boxes in the kitchen, and shame licked your cheeks. It never occurred to you to pay for your share.

Quickly, you found your puffer jacket under Mike’s raincoat, and wrangled some cash from the pockets. Your stride went wobbly between the table, chairs, couch, shoes, and bumbling grownups in the cramped trailer, but you squeezed your way to him. He was beginning his goodbyes smushed against the breakfast bar, not quite able to reach the front door just yet.

“Here,” you said, shoving a crumpled $20 at his arm.

Pausing his conversation with Jeff, he twisted to see you over the curve of his shoulder, and absorbed your apologetic face before noticing the money. His lips ticced at the corners. His nostrils flared with a soft snort. Amusement crinkled at the corner of his eyes. “Not from you,” he said. “Why don’t you go check on Adrie for me?”

“Oh.” A confused, maybe disappointed ‘oh.’ “If you’re sure.”

Fighting an internal battle, you stuffed the $20 in your jeans, and held true to your frown. You were about to argue, but your brain registered what he’d asked you to do. “Adrie!” you whispered excitedly, and made finger guns towards the bedroom.

You scurried (yes, scurried) off, and left Eddie to fend for himself.

Jeff was twisting his hand around his chin in mock rumination. “She doesn’t have to pay, hmm?”

“Not my place to comment,” Gareth said, about to make a comment, “but maybe you should think about cashing in those benefits.” He paused, drunkenness slowing him into a contemplative stare. “Or at least fu–”

“Anyway!” Erica saved the situation by pushing past all of them to wrench the door open. “Well.. that sucks.”

Icy flakes floated in pendulum swings to the ground, where they stuck.

Eddie stood on his tip-toes to study the severeness over his friend’s heads. The weather appeared to be in its mild beginnings, not yet falling in a considerable sheet from the sky, but still, he was a dad, and he was prone to worrying. The party hardly finished lacing up their shoes, and he was making them promise they’d call him as soon as they got home. They’d barely walked down the steps, and he was there at the bottom, holding his arm out. “Seriously, call me as soon as you get home,” he warned each household.

And it was only once the last car’s tail lights trailed red streaks over the main road, he went inside.

The trailer wept with emptiness. Remnants of being fulfilled remained–the trash, the lingering body heat, and stuffy air–but it sighed with loneliness. The trailer was pent up. In need of decompressing after the hours of putting on a show, and in a constant state of overthinking, entertaining his friends while fighting the itch deep in his chest that said ‘I wish none of these people were here except for you.’

The trailer longed for you, searching the couch, the card table, the kitchen where the bottle of whiskey was left behind. The trailer sought you in the corners of its belly, its lungs, its head, leaving the heart for last.

Eddie pushed open the bedroom door, and you were not in his daughter's bed. He lurched further into the room. Needy for the heart. And he found it. He found his home..

A pair of adult legs stuck out from the entrance to the blanket fort.

Judging by the angle of your feet and your knee tucked into the other, you were laying on your side. The powder pink bedsheet gathered in folds around your lower thighs. Strings of Christmas lights pressed against the shelter, and the TV flicked bright colors as it played a movie on a low volume.

Daring, his fingertips encountered the coarse weave of your jeans on his way to lift the bedsheet keeping your sleeping form separated from his greedy gaze. Stealing moments where he could be learning your face, placed a precious snore away from his daughter’s, sharing the pillow with her curls and unicorn hugged to her chin. Inhaling silently, and exhaling in a quick breath, not yet catching the sound in your throat akin to a mumbly whine at the dream playing under your twitching eyelids.

The sheet draped the back of his neck.

Risking, he traced the rugged outer seam of your jeans. Starting at your printed socks, and traveling up your calf, over the rigid mountain peaks of stiff fabric creased around your knee, and discovering the squish of your leg under his prodding. His eyes were trained on your face. He slipped his palm over your upper thigh. A gentle warmth of his presence. Next, he cupped the curve of your knee, fitting it into his hand, and he continued his stroke downwards, tightening his fingers to your shin, and stopping to squeeze your ankle. You didn’t stir.

He shifted closer, widening his stand and ducking under the canopy to reach your face.

Leaning over you, he anchored his balance to your hip, relaxing his hold on the arch of bone shaped like a strung bow, and dragged his other knuckles along your cheek. Three fingers worth. Three opportunities for him to press his skin to your hairline, and brush them along the flat plane before the adorable round apples he knew to be relaxed under the surface while you dozed.

You were soft. So unexpectedly soft.

Courageous, smooth peach fuzz welcomed a fourth knuckle. A simple sweep of the back of his hand to your face. Feeling you. All of you. Insatiable.

His breathing grew heavier at the hunger.

Stomach clenching from the craving of more.

Heart, starved.

It was animalistic, but you weren’t afraid. No, you weren’t afraid when you twitched and slapped at your cheek, expecting a fly to be tickling you in your sleep, but as you awoke, you prodded at the confusing obstruction, and glided your fingers along the underside of his. Plump ridges punctuated by hard calluses with scratchy outlines. You recognized them by touch alone, and fought through the pain of your bloodshot eyes to peer up at the man looming above you, and yawned.

“No boys allowed,” you whispered through the groggy haze.

Oh, he nearly let his tipsy tongue admit too much to your dopey grin.

Eddie could tell he was smiling hard enough his vision suffered from his encroaching cheeks. His eyes were inundated by his happiness, nearly closed to slits from how hard he beamed when he slid from gaze from you, to his daughter who enacted the ‘No Boys’ rule, and to you again. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, withdrawing.

He helped you stand. With difficulty. The whiskey hurled you into a premature REM cycle, and without consideration, he roused you from its depths. In your drowsy state, you clung to him for stability, depending on his chest to support you. Not that he was complaining. He was reliable, compensating for your swaying by grasping your upper arms, and teasing you with a, “Whoa there, silly.”

Stood outside the closed bedroom, there was not a chance for gaps to stop your lower inhibitions. Alone, you were together. In the same hallway where there was a thrifted painting of a lake scene hung beside the bathroom, a shelf with a set of wooden ducks amongst the ceramic knick knacks, a doorway where he ate his oatmeal while watching you and Adrie play. Those points of interest were all there; you were familiar with them, even if you struggled to open your eyes.

You fawned over him, snickering at nothing until your features tensed into confusion, not understanding the bits of ice clinging to the fibers of his hoodie, scraping at them with your fingernail. You collapsed into him more, leaning your forearms on his steady frame, rising and falling, accepting the lullaby of his pleased hum. The very outline of your torso discovered his, giving him a taste of your warmth; comforting you both with the actuality of such a thing. You skimmed your fingers up to his hair, picking at the sloshy liquid burdening the ends of his curls. “Why’re you wet?” you mumbled.

“It’s snowing,” he repeated from earlier, when the rush of standing whooshed in your ears, rendering him an otherworldly voice from beyond. “It’s not bad, but like hell I’m about to let you bike home in it. If you wanna give me some time to eat and have a cup of coffee, I can sober up and drive you, sweet girl,” he finished like hot honey.

You circled your palms over his pecs with the lack of awareness a blissfully buzzed person would for the lone reason of wanting to experience the texture of his hoodie burn your skin from the friction. “But wouldn’t you have to wake Adrie up to bring her with us?”

“I would, but she’ll be fine. She’ll probably fall asleep in the car.”

“No, no, no,” you shushed him, losing your merry smile for the first time in hours. “Robin’s working very, very, very late tonight. She’ll probably be off her shift soon. She can pick me up. And my bike can fit in her trunk, unlike your tiny car.” Many of your words mushed together from your drowsy, drowsy, drowsy imploring.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I’ll call her, and hey, we can clean up while she’s on her way.” When his expression was less than enthused at the suggestion, you waggled your eyebrows, and bit your bottom lip, enticing him. “We can make it fun,” you tried. “You know, we’ll play music, drink some more, eat whatever pizza’s left.” You walked your fingers up his shoulders, and he smoothed his hands around your wrists, flattening your palms to his clavicle.

Eddie lowered his head until he managed to peer at you through his lashes, asking a condescending, but lighthearted question, “That’s what you wanna do? Help me clean?”

You reaffirmed, “It’ll be fun.”

“Fine by me, sweetheart. Go call Buckley.”

The plans were put on pause while you called the back office of the grocery store, but after a short conversation, and many twirls of the cord around your finger, your voice lightened with relief, “Thank you so, so much. I love you.”

You hung up, and spun around to tell Eddie the fabulous news.

The two glass tumblers on the kitchen counter were assuming. Filled with ice cubes from the blue plastic tray in the sink, and situated in front of the opened whiskey. There was a decent amount left–a fourth of the entire bottle, probably–and he didn’t need to hear you repeat Robin’s message about her getting off work soon to unscrew the cap and begin pouring.

No distinct emotion crossed his face when divided an even shot into each of the smokey gray glasses, and paused the bottle above yours to ask, “So, what kind of drunk are you?”

The ice cracked and popped as it melted.

“Giggly, touchy,” you supposed.

He tipped the bottle and added another healthy shot to yours. You raised your eyebrows at his boldness, and scoffed out the same question, “What kind of drunk are you?”

“Hm.” He propped his hand on the counter, and cocked his hip out, staring out into the living room. You studied his side profile from where you stayed by the telephone, most notably how his light wash jeans gathered around the bulk of his zipper again; hoodie tucked behind the handcuff belt buckle. The weathered silver metal glinted an edge of orange from the lamp beside the microwave, shifting as he rocked his weight to his other foot. “Stupid, I think,” he said finally. “I make stupid decisions, ‘nd shit.”

“Are you trying to make stupid decisions tonight?”

His features kicked up, and instead of giving you a verbal answer, he brought the bottle up and dropped his head back.

“Eddie!” you gawked.

Your mouth hung open in awe, stunned into silently watching the bubbles race to the top of the amber liquid chugging ever closer to the neck of the bottle being strangled in his white-knuckled grip. His eyes were screwed shut, body tensed and struggling to finish it off, lips pursed in a kiss around the opening. Each gulp sent his Adam’s apple jumping.

He threw his head forward. The bottle slammed on the counter, final sips of liquid sloshing in waves along the bottom. He caught the dribble falling from his chin with his sleeve, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. All of him shuddered. Teeth bared as he grimaced through the burn, eyebrows furrowed in mild regret.

After the last jerk of shoulders battling the aftershocks of disgust, you mimicked his parental exasperation, “What in the world are you doing?”

Making a stupid decision.

A tight line of water flooded his eyes. He ran his fingers over his shy smile, turning to look at you with a particular brand of sheepishness usually reserved for teenagers who were trying to impress their friends. “I only had two drinks the entire night. I’m just catching up to you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He agreed.

“Bobbie’s still gonna be a while,” you said on your way to grabbing your drink, now wondering if you were going to be the more sober one in half an hour. “Shall we get to cleaning?”

He lifted his tumbler by picking it up by the rim and clinked it to yours, but refrained from taking a sip when you did. Thankfully. “Wayne’s got some jazz records in the crate next to the record player, where the TV is.. Well, where the TV was. On that cabinet beside his bed.. If you’d just.. Look over there.. Okay, why are you staring at me?”

Memorizing the freckle of the side of his nose to your heart’s content, you shrugged. “You blush a lot.”

“Do not,” he denied in a mutter. He felt his cheek, poking and prodding and smashing at the skin being tugged down by his pouty frown. “It’s just the alcohol.”

“Ah.”

You sipped, swallowed, and snickered on your way to the record player cabinet, weaving through the staggered chairs untucked from the table. You laughed again. Just the alcohol, he said. Yet, he’d been flushed red all night. Or, at least, since he bragged about his seven inches.

~~~

The soundtrack for cleaning was a 25th Anniversary edition of a label’s best live performances over the years.

Various artists scored the yucky business of folding and stacking the chairs against a spare wall, trying not to envision a spider popping out at any moment from where it may be laying in wait under the seats. A fun upbeat tambourine number played when Eddie knocked over Wayne’s beard trimmer in the bathroom. Wondrous vocals warbled against your game of wadding up the used napkins and tossing them at the trashcan, while Eddie flung the paper plates like frisbees until both of you tired, and threw them away as normal. Brass horns vibrated under your hands and knees as you crawled around on the floor, finding all the crushed beer cans. Lazy drum beats coaxed both of your languid movements into the sort of drunken erraticism that came from being buzzed, gesturing without much consideration for sharp corners, or breakable things. He packed away his miniatures while you wiped down the counters, and he washed the dishes while you attempted to sweep up crumbs from the grid table cloth and fold it into a neat-ish square.

The record stopped.

A break ensued. You drank the rest of your whiskey, and Eddie searched every pizza box, divvying out the last slices for you to share over wordless respite, heads drooping, chewing slowly.

After washing the greasy cornmeal from his hands, and wiping the flour from around his mouth, he suggested, “Why don’t you put on the yellow record? Third from the end, on the left.”

You found the one he spoke of–golden yellow–and put the needle to it.

Together, you hauled out the dense vintage couch the few inches it required; done in dozens of centimeters, yanking on the ugly upholstery until your fingernails ached, and arms gave up. Eddie was rushing you, annoyingly so. Hurrying on in anguish, the table was flipped on its side, and its legs folded in. It was stuffed against the wall after some difficulty (the mugs remained intact), and after shoving the hulking piece of furniture to close the gap, you fell to the lumpy cushions with an exhausted groan.

You went boneless. Arms and legs landing wherever. Head lulling to the side. Eyes closed. Relaxed. Drifting off to the place where you were in the blanket fort at an alarming rate..

The song switched.

“May I have this dance?”

You opened your eyes.

Eddie’s hand came into focus. He was bent at the waist, extending an invitation. Reciprocating. Making true on his promise for the dance he owed you. It seemed so long ago; back when you knew him as a single dad who was private about his personal life. Now you knew. You knew his home, his past, his trauma, his notebook, his friends, his band, his daughter’s favorite stuffed toy named Fluff. You knew his pizza order (cheese with black olives), his favorite color (deep, sultry red), his laundry detergent (Cheer Free for extra sensitive skin). You knew his body temperature ran like a furnace, you knew the knot of pink scar tissue on the meat of his thumb, you knew the shimmery flecks of butterscotch in his eyes when he went teary. In the span of a few days, you knew him better than you did weeks ago, before Christmas.

You took his hand. He helped you stand, and in a brave exhale, he held you in timeless elegance.

It wasn’t like the dance before, where you minded the respectable distance two coworkers should. No. He still clasped your right hand in his left, sure, but from there the similarities to waltzing in the garage differed. Reservation did not stop at the top of his neck, or his bicep–you switched your friendly clasp from those safe areas, to introducing your torsos, and pinning his arm under yours in effort to reach the middle of his back. He enveloped your waist, coaxing your hips together with woozy enthusiasm. Close, close, close. Handcuff belt buckle catching on your jean’s zipper at each pass until you began to sway in aching unison to Frank Sinatra’s Somethin’ Stupid.

You empathized with the heady flush pinkening the bulbous tip of his nose, and gazed into his eyes. Or tried. His eyelids fell in sluggish blinks, and his envious lashes refused to part. The sway was a shuffle. Your head was swimming. Failing to focus on one particular thing before your vision went cross, and the room spun, despite standing almost still.

It didn’t take long for either of you to surrender.

Rocking side to side–no turning, no pivoting–you accepted the innate desire to rest your head on his chest, and even from a distance, his pulse beat against your ear. Hard pumps of lifeblood under your cheek laid flat on the faded black hoodie. If you looked the other way, you’d see the jean vest reeking of cigarette smoke thrown on the couch where he discarded it before asking you to dance, but you chose to admire your joined hands. Preferring to learn the dry skin where a scrape was healing on his thumb knuckle–how small your thumb was in comparison to the single stretch of bone until the next joint, and his blunt nail. Maybe he was admiring such a thing too, because he stretched his fingers and curled them snugger to yours, and he set his chin atop your head, learning another new intimacy.

You melted under the burden of his weight.

He exposed the issue of your hair catching on the stubble of his five o’clock shadow.

You craned your head against the grain, and he nuzzled his chin harder.

Two people discovering their deprived yearns.

The sweetness of being crooked into the hollow of his body. The possession of snagging a full grip of his hoodie between your fingers, and becoming the reason he filled his lungs. Existing around him. And he existed in you, in all the unexplored corners, and you dusted the cobwebs from his. Fulfilling the dark places. Giving them light, and acceptance. Sharing the slice of night before it turned day. Swaying, rocking, swimming together in an inebriated dance under a tin roof, under the sprinkling snow, under the opaque clouds, under the crescent moon, under the twinkling stars. Under the universes, and hypothetical alternate dimensions and timelines, and as attractive as they seemed, you wouldn’t choose a different one. This is the one. This is the exact dimension, the exact timeline you wanted.

No longer wishing to lead, Eddie closed your fingers into a soft fist, and placed your hand over his heart, cupping his palm over it and stressing the thousands of unspoken words in his squeeze.

Basking in the minutes stretching to hours, the music looped into a perfect eternity.

It was getting late, almost time to leave, you guessed.

You withdrew your head. Eddie lifted his. The spot his chin once resided on your scalp ran abnormally cold from the loss, and there must’ve been an imprint of wrinkled fabric on your cheek, because that’s where his eyes landed first on their journey to meet your resilient gaze.

The beginnings of his lopsided grin emerged.

He spoke, and it was a single word. “Yeah.”

You didn’t know why he said it, or what he meant, but in this moment, in his arms, with your hand nestled between his and his heart, you agreed, “Yeah.” This was special. Whatever this was, this was special.

A huff of laughter broke through your smile, and his. Giggly silliness.

You were embraced from the top of your thighs, through to the slight proposal of your hips, and ending at the acute strength of your arms pressing each other closer.

Eddie raised your hand from his heart to his face. His thumb ensured your fingers stayed curled in, barring you from investing in a full, unadulterated touch. Wisps of his hair traced your skin. His exhale snaked down your flannel sleeve. Your inner wrist stopped at the slick junction of his lips, where he had swiped his tongue over out of nervous habit.

Oddly, he tapped your hand a few times to his cheek.

It made you curious. You copied him, bringing his hand to your face. Hooked your thumb under his sleeve to expose his wrist, and tapped it to your cheek. Ah, you understood.

Such delicate, unscarred skin brushed against the ridges of your lips, each tap like a kiss along the edge of your lovesick simper. Closer to a kiss than anything you’d experienced with him before. Still so tender, and so pure.

“Yeah?” A raw tremble was present in your question; gone shy from the profoundness of the single word, and fearing you were attributing the wrong meaning behind something so little, yet so large in your relationship.

But he saw the doubt, and he reassured you, “Yeah.” By the wetness glossing over his eyes, he reassured you your assumptions weren’t wrong. He whispered it again, softer, to where the one syllable croaked out, “Yeah.”

This was special.

The alcohol sat like candor on your tongue. “Wanna know a secret?” you teased as you let go of his wrist, and guided your hands up to his nape, linking your fingers over the bulky hood prohibiting you from playing with the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck. He slung his arm around your waist, over top of the other, encompassing you in a true hug.

He squinted at you. “How drunk are you? Don’t go tellin’ me somethin’ you’ll regret in the morning.”

“It’s nothing like that, I swear.” There was a flirty whine to your pitch, and even flirtier breathiness to your voice. Encouraging him to maintain the sway, leading him side to side, foot to foot, taking advantage of flow to put an arch in your back, and rise onto the balls of your feet, undetected. Your heart skipped at the proximity. “You know how I said my top three favorite people were Robin, Adrie, and then you?” you reminded him. “That’s actually backwards.. I said it backwards. It’s actually you, Adrie, and then Robin. But don’t tell her that.”

His mouth hung open to respond, but his gaze was off, discerning something behind you in the distance. When he centered on you again, there was a new kindness to the wrinkles framing his handsome face. “Are you okay with sharing my number one spot?”

“I would be honored.”

“Good,” he emphasized, “I’d be heartbroken if you didn’t want to be my favorite.”

“I always want to be your favorite,” you preened.

The innocence slipped from his expression. He’d never heard you sound quite so needy, or eager to be something of his, and the effects were sudden and poorly timed.

Outside, rocks skidded on the cracked pavement. A car turning in from the main road sunk into a pothole, and bounced out. The music spinning on the record player crescendoed. The fluorescent bulbs in the lamps hummed with electricity. Scents of acidic tomato sauce and oregano were inescapable. Tiny pellets of hail pinged on the tin roof. You both looked up, listening to it pass after a drifty-cloud moment.

Eddie concentrated on keeping your chests together. His forearms dug into your waist as he found the best way to lock his grip. He dipped his head lower when you had no choice but to lean up, and into him. “If I give you my number, will you call me when you get home, so I know you made it safe?”

Every consonant and vowel vibrated in your skull, thrumming velvety richness through the daze.

“I already have your number,” you said amongst the warmth building, and building behind your rib cage.

He faltered, confused. “You have my number?”

“Mhm, an even bigger birdie told me.”

Both bewildered by the callback, and having a tendency to fall head over heels for anything and everything you did, regardless if it was an unsatisfying answer or not, Eddie snorted, and scrunched his face, observing you with all the judgment you earned. “That’s either really creepy, or really endearing.”

You dropped your gaze to his crooked smile, and the car approaching the blue and white trailer faded away.

His lips were gorgeous. Overly full, and a wonderful shade of fleshy red with a tint of pink. They were bitten. Chewed on when his nerves got the best of him. Behind them, the edges of his teeth showed. Above them, you put your energy into obsessing over his overly large nose, as you had in many instances, but never at this distance, able to see every pore, every freckle, every splotch, and realizing this could become a normal occurrence, being this close.

His eyes were overly large as well, and they followed each micro-tic of yours.

“Good thing you find me endearing, then,” you provoked.

He loved that response.

“I do,” he chased. “I do,” he gave in. The willpower to resist his urges crumbled at the admission. He pressed his forehead to yours, and conceded until his mouth ached with happiness, “I find you so endearing.”

The alcohol dulled the intimate gesture. The top layers of your skin were numb. You had to work harder to feed the starvation; grinding your forehead against his, digging deeper to feel the itch of his bangs stuck to the glisten of boozy sweat. Sliding your nose alongside his, smashing the tips to each other’s cheeks. Sharing the same breaths, panting feathery sighs into each other’s mouths. Then, another carnal bump of noses, clumsy and misaligned, and a hard rut bone on bone until your bodies tingled with satisfaction. Satiated. Full.

Eddie turned his groan into a ragged, “I fucking adore you.”

“I adore you, too,” you promised, on the verge of crying and not knowing why.

He pulled away, dragging the tip of his nose up the side of yours, and tracing it down, allowing them to stay connected for a moment longer. A cooldown while your stomach flipped, and your pulse raced. I adore you.

The whole thing was strange to do with your coworker, especially with your hands remaining latched where they were, and there was no grinding elsewhere; it was just sheer lust for touch. Mutual, too.

His overly large pupils bored into yours. Neither of you had appropriate commentary on what transpired, probably for the better.

A car engine rumbled outside.

“Yeah, I’m pretty toasted, I think,” you said.

He pinched his eyebrows in, and pursed his lips. “Think I am, too.”

Either way, it was a good excuse for you almost moaning his name, and him choosing to hinge his phrase on adore, as if the endearment couldn’t be swapped out, and suddenly, the entire sentiment would have changed. It would be a confession.

There was a knock on the door, and Robin’s voice came muffled, but the urgency of being stuck out in the cold was conveyed.

Both of you hastened separating yourselves, and fumbled around each other.

Always, Eddie was a gentleman and helped you put on your jacket after you argued he was way more plastered than you were, despite you being the one doubled over with your hands on your knees, wobbling, disoriented after reaching down for it. He made sure you were dressed before going outside. Zipped you all the way to your chin, even when you complained it looked dorky. He lined your shoes up for you, and waited for you with his eyes closed, drifting off to a dream while standing up.

He handed you off to Robin, and loaded her trunk with your bike. For whatever reason, you didn’t climb inside the car yet. You waited in the snow for him. Collecting glittery flakes on your eyelashes, inhaling the fresh, crisp air. Probably quelling the nausea, same as he was, taking gulps of oxygen while he blinked, and blinked, searching the swirling images for something his brain could comprehend to get it to stop.

You waited for him, never saying anything. In heavy steps, he came to you, and wedged his fingers under the door handle, popping open the latch with an expression of wryness, as if you expected him to open every door for you.

Which, he would, for the record.

Stopping you before you sat, he grabbed at your jacket and bent himself to you, no longer afraid to press the cold tip of his nose to the shell of your ear, and drag his lips over the peach fuzz as he spoke directly to you. “Call me,” he stressed against your shiver.

“I will.”

At that, he shut your door and Robin began backing out of his driveway, stunting his wave goodbye from the headlights blinding him. He moved to the stairs, then to the top of the landing to watch the car drive around the soft bend around the trailers, and out onto the highway, leaving him behind.

He entered the trailer, and it was full.

It felt full, anyway. In his stomach, his chest, behind his eyelids, in the dusty corners, in the mortal hollows, manifesting a tightness in his throat, and a contradictory heaviness to his weightlessness, floating on clouds after spending an entire day with his crush and ending it with I adore you.

Eddie brushed his hair back, neatening the tangles wetted by ice. He combed his bangs off his forehead, and drove his fingers against his scalp, leaving his hands on top of his head, stripping himself of the extra stimulation to hone in on the persistent throb between his brows where you staked your claim.

You had made your home there, and he couldn’t wait for your return.

“Jesus Christ.”

With his woolgathering out of the way, he went to where Adrie was half-asleep in the doorway to her bedroom, and he crouched onto his knees. “Were you watching us dance?”

Wrapped in a blanket and sitting slumped over, she nodded against the wood frame, and sucked in the drool threatening to spill over her bottom lip. Only having the energy to open her eyes a smidge, she still found it within herself to have gripes with him. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“I’m sorry,” he pouted in a silly deep voice.

Stooping further, he worked his arm under her legs, and collected the sleepy bundle that was his daughter to his chest. He shuffled along on his knees over to the fort, and man, did he understand why you fell asleep so easily in the blanket nest. Just the accidental touches when he set Adrie down called to him, as did the bleating sheep hopping over fences in his head. It was enticing.. but the phone was ringing, and the first check in of the night as calling.

He knew it wasn’t you, but his heart leapt all the same.

“Sorry the phone might ring a lot,” he said. “Do you want another movie on? I’ll put another move on so it doesn’t wake you, okay?”

She scrunched her nose in a bad way, not like he did when he was laughing. Probably from the alcohol on his breath, and his waning coherency.

He stowed away his kisses for now. “Sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye, but I promise you, I promise you, okay? Miss Mouse will be back soon.” That was the heaviness in his chest. The decision. “I’ll invite her over, and we can all play together, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she mumbled, loosening her grasp on his hair.

She was out, and he paced the kitchen while he chatted to stay awake.

————

Eddie sat at the small green table with his head resting back against the peeling wallpaper. A single light above the wrap-around counter skimmed the belly of the trailer. It traced the bubbles slipping down the bottle in front of him, and glanced the top of his pillow on the couch, submitting to the darkness past his plaid blanket waiting for him. The phone cord draped over his shoulder, down to his chest. The last call was half an hour ago. Maybe? He knew his last swig of whiskey was seconds ago. Everyone had checked in, and his ability to show an ounce of self-control was forfeited to the sheep. In his final blink, his body went lax, and he passed out.

Though, he could always count on the clangy ring to cut through their bleats.

Jolting awake, he searched above him for the phone, knocking it off the hook before it disturbed Adrie.

He was disoriented.

“Hello?”

Quiet as a mouse, a voice came, “Hey.”

He sat up. Alertness spread through him in waves, rippling from the decision sitting hot on his tongue, and stirring deeper, lower. Your greeting was filtered by the tiny microphone caged in yellowed plastic, but the dozy, sweltering rasp was there. “Hey, sweetheart,” he answered in kind, and inhaled deeply before the blood loss in his brain rendered him lightheaded.

One word in and he was wiping his palm on his jeans, and keeping it there, on his thigh.

“Sorry it took me so long,” you apologized in a whisper. “I wanted to wait until everyone went to sleep. I’m in the living room. In the dark.” You giggled as if it were a joke he should be in on.

He peeked behind him to make sure the bedroom door was shut, and wrenched the phone against his lips to stifle his own laughter. “Yeah? I’m sitting in the dark, too.”

You hummed.

He didn’t know if you were making a pass at him by mentioning you were alone as he was, so he chose something innocuous to comment on, bouncing the ball in your court. “You sound tired, baby. You should go to bed.”

“But my bed’s cold,” you whined.

Bingo.

Risks were worth taking as long as you participated.

In a matter of quick exchanges, he had his palm between his thighs, running his fingernails down the coarse fabric of his jeans and cupping the heft. “My bed’s cold too,” he matched your pitch, exploring his thumb upwards.

“If you were here, mine wouldn’t have to be..”

“But you live in someone else’s parent’s attic,” he teased.

“And your bed’s a couch,” you shot back.

He checked the closed door behind him one more time, and yielded, “You’re right.” You liked being right. He liked it when you were right. Your grin tinted all your pretty words when you were right. Well, they would, if you were speaking. “Babe?”

“Sorry, that was quick,” you said, struggling through a yawn after nodding off. “I’m laying on the recliner, and it’s really comfy.”

“Then go to sleep,” he implored in a chastising snicker.

You grunted.

Except, it didn’t sound like the other grunts and groans he’d heard you make over the months. This one was sweeter, higher, similar to the airy catch in your throat when your bottom lip dragged on his stubble. A moan of his name, he hoped. He twitched against the warmth of his palm. Growing rapidly under the first strokes of his thumb encouraging his descent, half-hard just at the thought.

How much whiskey he had was of no concern when it came to you. Clearly.

He couldn’t stop his appetite from lowering his voice, “Whatcha doin’, sweet girl?”

You turned it back on him, “What are you doing?” And when he was busy rearranging how he sat to give his jeans some slack to wrap his thick fingers around himself, you mused with an evident smirk, “Touching your orc dagger?”

Goddamnit. “If you ever bring that up again, I swear..”

“You must be, with how you’re avoiding the question.” You muffled your giggle–probably with your shirt collar, if he had to guess. Teasing him more, you slurred, “S’okay. I saw how hard you were staring at my shirt earlier. Just thought you’d like to know I’m not wearing it anymore. Not wearing a bra either.”

You’re right. He did like knowing that. So much, in fact, he smoothed his fingers in a long tug along his length, stroking twice over the sensitive head, and repeating.

“Not wearing anything?” he asked, sounding a bit more husky than he intended.

“Just the flannel. Gotta be a little dressed.. in case someone comes in.” You shifted in the middle of your sentence, and at first Eddie pictured you turning onto your back. Imagining your tits shifting against the flannel, and their subtle bounce as you got comfortable. How hard your nipples pressed to the fabric, and what they must feel like being licked and sucked into his mouth, and all the beautiful noises you’d make for him. Unfortunately..

“Touchin’ yourself for me, sweetheart?” Nothing.. “Sweetheart?” Oh.. “You fall asleep again?”

An actual grunt, maybe a hiccup, or a snore created static on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry,” you sincerely apologized.

Poor sweet thing. “Tell you what,” he reasoned. “Why don’t you go to bed, and think about how nice it’d be for me to be there with you; how warm I am. And I’ll take a shower, and do the same.”

You asked, “You mean you’re gonna think about me while in the shower?”

He squeezed himself. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. There was no fucking way either of you’d remember this by Monday morning. It was kinda thrilling; obeying the allure, and teasing each other without consequence.

“Nice.”

“Mhmm.”

Eddie closed his eyes in the following silence. The fantasy drifted to something tender. Sharing a bed. Waking up next to you. The alcohol made it difficult to remember why you called, and fathom why he was holding a conversation. His own hand went slack around the part his heart pumped blood to. The urge passed. The desire to brush his teeth replaced the lust. He was drunk, and he was losing the battle to remain conscious.

His body slouched ever forward.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t stay awake.”

“Neither can I..” Not that it mattered, but before the conversation ended and he summoned the strength to collapse on the couch instead of the green table for the sole reason of never wanting his daughter to discover him passed out in the kitchen from drinking too much, he heeded the heaviness in his chest. The decision. And he told you, “By the way, I thought of what to do for that ‘thank you’ I owe you. It’s time I pay you back for everything you’ve done for me.”

Processing his words at a slower rate, a few moments ticked by before the intrigue ate at you. “And what’s that, handsome?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

You snorted. “It’ll be a surprise if either of us remember anything after I failed nine rolls in a row, and you chugged.. Fuck, however much whiskey you’ve had. I don’t even wanna know.”

In a night of stupid decisions, he committed to one more; the joke was too good to not tumble past his loose lips, “Not enough to stop my orc dagger from growing seven inches.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, that was awful. I’m never calling you again. Goodbye.”

The speed at which you hung up sent him doubled over, clutching his aching stomach. He tried to keep quiet, really. He held onto his dignity just long enough to take three attempts to hang up the phone, and then it hit him with reckless abandon. He slapped his hand over his gaping mouth, and shook until the breathless gasps came out in squeaks, ugly laughing at his own stupid joke. He rocked back and forth, almost hitting his forehead on the table, and only caught his breath when tears brimmed his lashes, and he remembered his forehead was sacred, and he should stop. If he hit it, it’d be like an earthquake to your home. Except, that imagery also made him giggle, and he was at it again. Biting his tongue to subdue his outbursts while he stretched out on the couch cushions which rubbed his skin raw everytime he changed position. Finally, he was at peace. He tried to forget about the impending hangover he was going to have to explain to Wayne, and instead, he thought about you, and let his daydream take him to a fantasy where he could wake up next to you. And if he went through with his decision, maybe it could become a reality.

No. Not if. He would. He would go through with it. Probably. If you asked about it, he would, definitely. If you didn’t, he’d.. he’d still do it. He couldn’t keep living like this.

However, for both your sakes, he hoped neither of you remembered this night come Monday morning.

[hazbinwhoree]

reader that keeps adam in line and behaving well by simply flooding him with affection. adam being rude? grab his face, call him baby, tell him how handsome and great he is. then have him be have nicer to prove how kind a man he apparently is.

You Catch More Flies With Honey

“Holy fucking shitballs, am I seeing who I think I’m seeing?” Adam stopped walking abruptly as Charlie and Vaggie passed them. “What is she doing here? How did she even get up here?” Lute snarled.

“Who cares? I’m handling this shit, right now!” Adam moved to follow them, but (Name) stopped him with her hands on his chest. He looked down at her, his anger softening.

“You want to start a fight on the promenade in front of everyone?” Lute pointed out.

“Better than waiting for the fucking extermination–” (Name) cuts him off, yanking him down by his collar. “Adam,” she said sweetly. “Baby. Remember the Seraphim’s rule?” Adam grumbled, but didn’t argue. (Name) patted his cheek. “And you’re better than starting a fight like that. That’s not the kind of man I’m dating.”

Adam whined, but leaned into her hand on his cheek.

Lute rolled her eyes at Adam’s behavior. At least (Name) had him on a tight leash.

During court, (Name) was working overtime.

“Webster’s Dictionary defines redemption as–” Charlie began. “Objection!” Adam interrupted. “Lame and unoriginal.” (Name) nudged his arm. Sera, however, agreed with him. “If you have actual evidence then show it already,” Adam snapped. (Name) rubbed his back.

Court carried on, and eventually Lute got pissed and interjected. “What are we even talking about? Some crack whore who fucked up already? He blew his shot like the cocks in his mouth, this discussion is senseless and petty.”

Adam joined her and they flew down to Charlie and Vaggie’s level and (Name) didn’t even bother trying to follow. Adam and Lute fed off one another, and (Name) wasn’t at all surprised when Adam let it slip about the exterminations.

The room errupted into chaos, and before long, Adam was outing Vaggie as a fallen angel. As he threatened Charlie and Vaggie into the portal back to Hell before closing it on them, (Name) flew down from her seat.

“That was unnecessary, Adam,” Sera said stoically. She looked at (Name) with a “take care of it” look. (Name) marched over to Adam and Lute and dismissed Lute. Once Lute was gone, (Name) pulled Adam down by the collar to cup his face in her hands.

“That was mean, handsome.”

Adam looked sheepish. “Yeah I know…”

(Name) sighed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Mean enough to warrant no sex tonight.” Adam’s jaw dropped. “No!” (Name) let go of his collar, taking his hands in hers. “You’re lucky I’m feeling nice, pretty boy.” Adam sighed in relief.

“But you are going to leave their hotel alone.”

“What?”

“I’m serious, Adam. You’re going to go about the extermination the way you usually would. You’re not going to target their hotel.”

“But–” “Or we could just not have sex tonight.”

Adam whined before finally agreeing. “Ugh, fine.”

“Thank you, baby,” (Name) cooed, cuddling up to his chest. Adam wrapped his arms around her. “Yeah, whatever.”

“You’re too handsome to be doing all that asshole shit.”

Adam softened under the praise, picking (Name) up so she could kiss him on the lips. “I’m sorry,” he said when (Name) pulled back.

“Just do better, my love.”

“I will.”

[jareaul0ver]

Bruises

part 2

Summary: You get hurt during hockey practice and an unexpected blonde patches you up.

wc: 823 warnings: physical fighting, bruises, blood, denial of feelings, regina being a SOFTIE pairings: regina george x fem!reader

"C'mon Shane, put some power behind that!" The head coach yelled at one of your teammates. He groaned in frustration.

You were about to run a scrimmage. You'd been put on the opposite team of Shane, who was now pissed off. Everything was going good, you had the puck on your stick and the only thing standing between you and taking a shot was Shane.

In one quick motion, you were slammed into and knocked onto your back. He didn't even make a move for the puck. "Oman, watch it! You good, Y/L/N?" You heard your coach shout from the side.

You sat up on the ice and readjusted your helmet. "I'm fine, coach!" you called out and got back onto your skates. The scrimmage continued, and you had finally scored, bringing your team up a point. You scored again, and once more.

Shane seemed to have had enough of this. You had the puck again, and you passed it. A few seconds after you passed it, Shane sped at you, slamming you into the wall of the rink. You hit it forcefully and fell onto your knees.

"What the fuck, Shane?" You yelled out. You stood up and took your helmet off, tossing it to the side. You did the same with your stick, then rushed over to him, hitting him hard with your gloved fist. He almost fell back, but he caught himself.

You two were now fighting. Your teammates all froze and watched it go down. Shane had gotten a good hit on your cheek bone, splitting the skin open. You felt blood drip down your face. The only reason you didn't swing again was because of your head coach and assistant coach pulling the two of you apart.

Shane was ushered to the boy's locker room, and you to the girls. You took off the top half of your gear, throwing on a t-shirt, and waiting for the trainer to come in and check you out.

Instead, you watched as a blonde figure rounded the corner. You immediately sat up. "Regina? What're you doing in here?"

She made a beeline towards you, leaning down to get a good look at your face. You were surprised. Not because you weren't friends, you were very good friends. Regina had practically picked you up from the ground and placed you on the same level as heaven during your sophomore year.

You were just shocked to see her here, standing in front of you with a frown on her face. "Y/N? Are you listening to me? Can you listen to me, do you have a concussion?" She pulled you away from your thoughts.

"Yes-" you cleared your throat. "Sorry, yeah, I'm listening." No you weren't, you both knew that.

She sat next to you and sighed. "Shane did this to you?" She spoke gently and you nodded. She clenched her jaw. "Fucking idiot. Not you, him." She brought her hand up to your face and gently brushed over your cheek.

You winced and her face softened. "Sorry." Regina had never had a soft spot for anyone. Not until she met you. Something in her constantly pulled her towards you, and at first she tried her best to fight the feeling off, but eventually she gave in.

"You didn't answer my question. What're you doing here?" You keep your eyes on her icy blue ones. Usually they were cold, unless she was secretly staring at you without your notice, and except for now. They were soft and almost apologetic.

"Word travels fast and I needed to make sure you were okay." Her tone was genuine, and it made your heart melt.

You looked down at your hands in your lap, looking at the bruising on your knuckles forming. "I'm okay. My face kinda hurts though." I smiled a little, meeting her gaze again.

She rolled her eyes and her lips twitched into a small smile. "You're such an idiot." She reached out for your hands and took them gently into hers. She looked at the bruising and grimaced a little. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" You asked, a little confused.

"You got in a fight with my idiot ex."

The confused expression never left your face. "And why is that your fault?"

Regina knew exactly why it was her fault, but she could never tell you. She couldn't say that Shane was actually the one who ended things with her. The fight they had wasn't about him with another girl, no. It was about her with you. He had accused Regina for having feelings for you, and while she didn't admit to it, she never denied it, so he broke up with her.

"It- it isn't, I just feel bad." She swallowed nervously. She looked down at your hands and gently ran her thumbs over your knuckles. She brought one of your hands up to her mouth and gently kissed the bruises.

theres gonna be a part 2 to this, definitely, but its nearing 4am and i am TIRED

[turnyptown]

suguru x fem babysitter reader where he pays in an alternate form of payment 😏

a/n: kinda like this one! i feel like geto loves his girls to no end and would give them the world if they asked. he'd maybe even consider giving them a momma ^^

(m4f smut, reader is 19, fingering, oral, missionary, creampie, dirty talk, porn w plot, MINORS DNI)

Geto Suguru hired you to babysit his girls. You stood in front of the large building, tote bag weighing on your left shoulder as you started searching for an entrance. Stepping forward, your gaze falls on two girls. They looked to be around seven or eight years old. The more timid of the two noticed you and turned toward you.

“Are you Mr. Geto’s girls?” You asked them, squatting down to their height. You were now eye-level with the two.

“Mhm,” the blonde mumbles, eyes locked on the colorful screen on her tablet, “I guess you’re supposed to be the babysitter Geto-sama talked about before he left.”

You nod and open your mouth to speak, but you’re interrupted.

“Geto-sama doesn’t like monkeys by the way. And you don't look like one of us.”

Frowning slightly, you sigh and stand upright again. What was she on about? You laugh it off and follow the two into the massive establishment, then a small room filled with kids’ toys and crafting materials. You sit in a small pink chair and start rummaging through your bag for your cellphone. You start searching for the text message Geto sent about babysitting his girls.

“Please make sure Mimiko eats her lunch. Also, Nanako’s tablet is confiscated for today.”

You had a pretty good guess of who was who. You look up from your phone to see Nanako’s eyes still glued to her tablet. She was watching some strange compilation of talking animal videos. You kneeled down beside her and smiled.

“Nanako,” you drag out the last syllable of her name, “Mr. Geto asked me to make sure you weren’t on your tablet. Could I offer you another activity?”

She looked you up and down before returning her gaze to the video on her tablet. You blinked and chuckled awkwardly, placing a hand on her head.

“Let’s play a game, yeah? Maybe duck-duck-goose or something?”

You seem to have caught her attention because now she’s paused her video and she might be considering your offer. She smiles and turns to face you with an idea of her own.

“Can we play a Roblox obby?” She asks you with a genuine, cheery tone. You shake your head slowly and start to think of an alternative. “How about we make our own obby?”

—

The sun was beginning to set and Mimiko still wouldn’t eat her food.

“C’mon Mimiko,” you pleaded, exhausted from bickering with her about the small portion of food abandoned on her plate. She turns away with a pout and you sigh. You decide to negotiate with her.

“Mimiko, why won’t you eat?”

She turns to face you with sad eyes and sniffles. Your expression softens, eyes reflecting empathy. You tilt your head, signaling her to speak.

“If I finish my food, you’ll go home and-” her voice started to shake, “I don’t want you t-to leave, Ms.[name]...”

Your heart melted.

Mimiko buried her face into the bottom of your shirt and latched onto you. You held her until she eventually calmed down from her sobbing and convinced her to eat. You put her down for a nap, eventually Nanako, too. A couple of minutes passed before you feel a presence in the doorway.

“How peaceful,” a low voice chuckled. You turn to see the silhouette in the room, broad shoulders, tall stature, and long, flowing hair.

“M-Mr. Geto!” You jump slightly, standing from the chair you were seated in prior to his entrance. He steps toward you, glancing at the girls’ sleeping figures before returning his gaze to you. He grabs your hand in his, smiling at you softly. He thanks you for babysitting and then pauses.

“May I ask what your name is again?”

You tell him your name with a shy smile and feel your face start to heat up a bit. He thanks you again, addressing you by your name this time.

The man before you was nothing short of breathtaking. He was gorgeous. He pulls his hand away from yours to pay you for your service. You follow hesitantly as he walks to a mostly vacant room and searches around the furniture.

“I apologize, I seem to have misplaced my wallet.”

“Oh…no problem! Think of it as a favor, I don’t-”

“Ah, but I hate being debt to someone. Please, let me repay you in some other way until I’m able to get the money.”

You assure him it’s okay but he insists on making it up to you. You start to notice how the proximity between the two of you is starting to get closer and closer as his eyes start to wander over your body. His gaze burns into your skin and your chest heaves as you try to regulate your breathing.

You’re caught in his study as you make eye contact with the taller man. He starts to lean closer until his lips ghost over your own.

His hands find their perch on your waist and he moves to whisper in your ear.

“Are you alright with this?”

—

“Such a dirty girl,”

He coos, before dipping between your thighs. You sigh out a soft moan, slowly rolling your hips up into his face. His tongue darts in and out of your dripping cunt, the sudden movement sending shock through your body. You whine at the feeling, growing louder as his nose brushes against your sensitive clit.

“When's the last time someone ate you like this, hm? So soaked already, princess”

Your hips unconsciously buck against his mouth as he works wonders on your pussy. He pulls back and shoves two thick fingers in your leaking hole. His pace is steady as his other hand holds your hips still while he flicks your bud with his warm tongue.

It was only a matter of time before he was drunk off your sweet pussy, latching his lips to the warmth between your thighs and watching you squirm.

“Geto- mmph! Gonna.. Gonna come-”

You manage to speak while he’s pleasuring you better than any man ever has.

Upon your statement, he stops. His fingers pull out harshly, dragging out a moan from your lips as he starts to remove his pants and boxers. He grabs your thighs on either side and brings you closer to him. You wrap your legs around him and look up at him, his face flushed.

“Should I…?” He started to ask you something. You don’t understand until he glances at his throbbing cock, leaking precum from its flushed tip. You hesitate before shaking your head. He places a steady hand on your abdomen and another at the base of his cock.

He groans as your slick makes contact with his dick. “Gonna fill this pretty cunt with my cum,” he grunts, slapping the head of his pretty cock on your clit. You whimper at the contact and lock your legs around his slim waist. His body was so beautiful under his usual baggy attire.

His length slips in with ease, thanks to your soaking pussy. Both of you moan, your tight hole clenching around Suguru. He throws his head back as your gummy walls squeeze his cock.

He could've came right then and there.

He bottoms out before fucking into you roughly.

“Jus’ like that, princess, take this cock. So fuckin’ tight, gonna make you a mommy, yeah?”

You clench at his vulgar words, moaning as he pounds into your sweet spot. Your vision felt fuzzy and your head was spinning. His dick rammed into that spot over and over until you broke.

The pleasure was overwhelming. You moaned out, the wave of ecstasy hitting you like a rock. His cock made you see stars.

Oh, but your orgasm didn't stop Geto. He was pounding ruthlessly into you, hips slapping against the back of your thighs. He moaned softly, leaning down to kiss your collarbone.

Soon enough, your soaked pussy drove him to the edge, making him dump his warm load in your cunt. He rode out his high before slowly dragging his cock out of you.

Geto peppered you with kisses and cleaned you up before offering you to stay the night. His current gentle demeanor contradicted his rough, yet pleasurable, attitude in bed.

He lent you a t-shirt for the meantime while your clothes were to be washed.

“If you stick around, I'll pay you like this every day. You'd be a great mother for my girls.”

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Dial Tones - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This Contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: You'd been waiting for sex in your relationship with Ethan, and after doing some other things with him before you left for college, you found yourself curious of what your boyfriend would do when he had the opportunity to have all of you.

Contains: m and f masturbation, phone sex.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing phone sex, and because I'm a sensitive baby, don't tell me if it sucks lmao. This was requested forever ago, and I'm thinking it could lead into the virgin!reader x virgin!Ethan fic I need to write👀 Let me know if y'all are cool with that haha.

P.S. - It's shorter than my normal stuff. I'm trying to figure out how to write phone sex💀

Before your left for college, your relationship with Ethan started to get a little…steamier. You weren’t fully ready for sex, and the furthest you’d ever gone was some oral stuff for him, and one night your shirt and bra came off while he rubbed you over your jeans, but Ethan was more than okay to wait for sex with you, because he loved you, and wanted you to be ready before you took things to the next level.

Once you were in different areas of the country, you were starting to regret not having sex with Ethan. You regularly found yourself thinking about his hands on you, and how loving he was, and how he never tried to push past the boundaries you’d set in place. He’d been so patient with you, even though he wanted it so badly.

You’d just got home from your last class of the day when you crawled onto your bed and pulled out your laptop to work on your assignments, when you heard your phone vibrating on the bed beside you. You quickly answered it once you saw Ethan’s name.

“Hey, babe,” you said, your sweet voice making him smile on the other end of the call. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” he sighed, “I’ve been missing you so much today.”

“Only two more weeks, and you’ll have me all to yourself,” you said, as he lightly chuckled.

“I can’t wait.” You could hear the happiness in his voice as he spoke. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Well, my roommate is already at some huge frat thing with the sorority she’s rushing. I was planning on doing homework until I eventually pass out,” you said, laughing a little at how uninteresting your Friday night plans sounded. “What are you doing tonight?”

“My roommate is out tonight, too. We’re both loners,” he joked, as you scoffed.

“Too bad I’m not there with you,” you said, your bottom lip going in between your teeth as you thought about it. “Just curious, what would you do if I was there with you?”

“I’d give you so many hugs and kisses,” he said, as you smiled at how sweet he was.

“Is that all you’d want to do?” you asked, the tone of your voice a little different than Ethan was used to.

“Oh, um, cuddling, of course,” he said, as you started to giggle.

“What else would you do, baby?” you purred, “Because I can think of so many things.”

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice a little heavier as he got more comfortable on his bed.

“I can’t stop thinking about your hands on me,” you said, as you closed your laptop and laid back. “And how good it feels when you kiss my neck.”

“I uh…,” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. You’d never tried to do something like this before, and he didn’t want to say anything to make you uncomfortable.

“Or how good it feels when you’re sucking on my nipples,” you said, as your hand started to teasingly run up your body.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed, as he started to get hard in his jeans. “When you’re ready one day, I’d love to have my mouth all over your body.”

“Tell me about it. What would you do?” you questioned, as you sat up to pull your shirt over your head.

“I’d start with kissing your neck, because I know how much you like it. Then I’d kiss you down your chest, and I’d pay so much attention to your sensitive nipples,” he said, his voice a little raspy. “Then I’d kiss down your tummy, and fuck, I know you’d be breathing so heavy.”

“Keep going, baby,” you said, putting your phone on speaker as you sat it down beside you to unhook your bra.

“Then I’d get you out of your jeans, and after I had those off your legs, I’d start kissing you from your ankles to your thighs.”

You took your jeans off, too, getting wetter by the second at all the things Ethan was saying to you.

“Then I’d start rubbing you over your panties,” he said, as you started to run your fingertips over the soaked material in between your legs. A small gasp slipped past your lips at the feeling, as the realization hit Ethan that you were touching yourself. “I bet they’d be so wet.”

“They are,” you teasingly said, as Ethan groaned. “I think you should take your pants off.”

“Okay,” he said, and you soon heard the rustling of him quickly getting out of them.

“How hard are you right now?” you asked, as he let out a deep breath.

“So hard.”

“What else would you want to do?” you questioned, “Because I need to hear a little more.”

“I’d get you out of those panties,” he said, as you slid them down your legs. You heard rustling again on his end, you assumed he was taking off his boxers. “And then I’d explore your pussy with my tongue.”

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, as your fingers started to roll over your needy bundle of nerves.

“What are you doing, baby?” he asked, his breath a little heavy as he waited for your answer.

“Touching myself, wishing it was your fingers instead of mine,” you admitted, a soft moan slipping past your lips when you started to move your fingers faster.

“I was it was mine too, baby. I wish it was your hand on my cock right now,” he groaned, “How good does it feel?”

You didn’t answer him, the moaning that was getting a little louder letting him know what he needed to know. His hand sped up, a bead of precum dripping out of his tip as he listened to all the sounds you were making.

“Finger yourself, baby,” he groaned, as you stopped your hand movements and slid one finger into your tight, dripping pussy.

You pumped that single finger in and out before you tried to add another one. You were so wet, but it was still difficult for you to get it in.

“I don’t know how you’re going to fit inside of me,” you said, whimpering as you stretched yourself out. “I can barely take two fingers.”

“Oh fuck, you’re that tight, baby?” he asked, as he started to jerk his cock even faster. “I’d take such good care of you. I’d make you feel so good.”

Your mouth dropped open as you panted, your eyes closing as you tried to imagine Ethan doing all the things you were doing to yourself. You remembered how good his hands and mouth felt on other parts of your body, and when you thought about his mouth and fingers on your pussy, you felt your orgasm starting to build. You knew Ethan was getting close, the soft grunts slipping past his lips sounding the same as when you were on your knees for him before you left for college.

“I love the way you sound,” he grunted, “You’re doing such a good job at fingering that tight little pussy for me.”

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, “Keep talking to me like that, please baby.”

“Oh, you like dirty talk?” he chuckled through his panting, as you whined in response. “I bet your pussy tastes so good. I can’t wait to have my tongue inside of you. I can’t wait to be the one to have you making all those pretty little sounds.”

Ethan kept talking, as you placed your other hand on your clit, rubbing fast circles as you pumped your fingers in and out, angling them just right. Your hips started to arch off the bed, your entire body getting so hot as you whined out, your orgasm washing over you as your shaky hands tried to keep moving.

“Did you just cum all over your fingers, baby?” Ethan asked, a low groan slipping out as he waited for your answer.

“Yes,” you shakily whimpered, as you slowly slid your fingers out of your pussy. “Now I need you to cum for me.”

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, your name rolling off his tongue as he shot his cum all over his chest and abs.

As you lay on your bed, catching your breath, Ethan was laying on his, hours away from you, doing the same. You couldn’t stop smiling, your brain still hazy when Ethan spoke up.

“That was so hot…can we do that again sometime?”

“We could…or you could experience the real thing in two weeks…” you trailed off, Ethan’s eyes growing wide at your words.

“Are you sure, baby? I told you, I’ll wait as long as you want,” he said, as you sat up to put your clothes back on just in case your roommate came home earlier than expected.

“I know you would, but I love and trust you, and I know you’d take care of me. I want to have sex with you,” you said, smiling as you thought about it. “If you’re ready, that is.”

“Oh, I’m ready.”

[enter-the-bogman]

Reading through the Tortall books in publication order is funny because you start with Alanna “the village healing woman taught me all she knew” going off to become a knight, and end with Numair “world’s most powerful mage” as young Arram Draper first learning magic at the Carthaki university. Because of the 40 intervening years and five(?) different series further developing the Tortall universe, the magic system is now SO much more complex.  Arram is learning an elementally-based, heavily theory-dependent form of magic where conceptual power is applied to physical objects or energy constructs. His teachers make him develop skills in non-magical areas like juggling, jewelry making, and gardening so eventually they can safely guide him through complicated applications of magic. In comparison, Alanna complains that Duke Roger is spending too much time on theory in order to prevent her and her peers from learning “actual magic” and becoming his rivals. And then she throws purple light at things until they explode or she passes out! We also learn from Arram’s misadventures that most of “magic” is creating methods of applying, storing, and accessing power so the user doesn’t drain their own life force and pass out or die. Alanna uses NONE of these techniques; instead, she pulls her magic directly out of her own life force, thinks about what she wants it to do, and hopes she reaches that goal before draining herself. She even (sometimes) factors in the impact of magically draining herself of energy while attempting tasks that require both magical and physical endurance (such as when deciding how much magic to spend warming herself when making her blizzard hike to claim the Dominion Jewel.)

For one thing, this makes Alanna insanely powerful. In In the Hand of The Goddess, she breaks open Roger’s magically locked door (presumably designed by Roger himself-- an immensely strong and well-trained sorcerer) by shoving her own magic into it until it MELTS. This builds an Alanna who decided magical theory was useless at age 12 because she has an immense access to magical potential energy, and who never learns the basic life-preserving models of magic usage that are taught in intro-level classes. She doesn’t have an interest in learning more sophisticated forms of magic, except in healing, which she cared about enough to learn non-magically. So when she heals, she uses magic as a guide or a supplement, rather than depending on it and then draining herself.  Since she isn’t attempting complex magic, most of the time the limitations of drawing directly from her own life force doesn’t impact her that much. The things she does magically all have much more efficient alternatives, but they require an understanding of magical theory and ability to store energy that Alanna never learned! If she wants to do larger spells, she just keeps feeding energy into it until it breaks or she does. 

The intervening series and Numair’s story makes Alanna’s simultaneously more and less believable. It now makes sense why everyone with even a slight understanding of Alanna’s type of Gift gets angry at times and tells her she’s using magic irresponsibly. (Before, we only understood Alanna’s side of the argument: “Well, I didn’t die and it worked, so calm down.” !!!) The fact that she never actually dies and only rarely is seriously harmed through her own magic use now requires some suspension of disbelief!