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stobinesque · 11 months

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@steddie-week day 2: fluff | 1.8k words | teen and up

The door to the apartment slammed shut, followed by the jingle-clang of keys landing in the ceramic bowl Robin had made for Steve two years ago.

"Babe?" Steve looked up from the magazine he'd been flipping through and frowned at the stormy expression on Eddie's face.

Eddie barely acknowledged him, just swept past with stomping feet, dropping an absentminded kiss to the top of Steve's head as he made his way into the bedroom. A few moments later Steve heard the telltale thunk and flop of Eddie's bag hitting the ground and the man himself hitting their bed.

Ah, so one of those days.

Steve set down his magazine, folded his reading glasses neatly atop it, and pushed himself up from the couch to make for the bathroom.

~*~*~*~

Eddie wanted to die. Nope, no, he wanted to commit a homicide.

Actually, scratch that, being wanted for murder sucked.

What he wanted was for the world not to be full of a bunch of entitled little shitsacks who had never been taught how to talk to another human being who didn't have a white collar around their neck.

At least his bed was there to support him. The mattress was a little lumpy, sure, but nothing could outmatch the satisfaction of dramatically flinging oneself onto a flat surface after a shity day at work.

The sound of running bath water filtered into Eddie's awareness.

Okay, maybe one thing.

Steve usually allowed him a few minutes to sulk and brood when he got home feeling like shit. Sometimes interacting with any human (even someone he would literally—and nearly did—die for) was just too much.

"Eds?"

"Mmph." Eddie spit some of the hair that had landed in his mouth out, but didn't bother to raise his head more than half an inch off the bed to do so.

Steve chuckled. "Okay, five more minutes—otherwise the water will get too cold. I'm gonna go make us some tea."

Eddie raised an arm and waved vaguely in the direction of Steve's voice in acknowledgement.

He let himself drift for his five minutes to the sound of Steve puttering around the kitchen—grabbing mugs, teabags, the sugar jar—before peeling himself up off the bed when the shrill whistle of the kettle pierced through the relative silence of the apartment. If he wasn't in the bath by the time Steve made it there he'd be in trouble. Which could be fun, but it wasn't what he was in the mood for today.

Eddie stripped off his—itchy, sweaty, suffocating—uniform as he padded over to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he went.

~*~*~*~

Steve waltzed back into the bathroom with two steaming mugs in his hand to find Eddie already situated in the tub, knees pulled up under his chin, hair piled up in a messy bun, and one hand dragging lazily across the surface of the water.

Steve set both mugs down on the ground next to the bath. "Hey, baby," he murmured, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple.

"Hi." Eddie's voice was low and subdued.

“Bad day?” Steve asked as he pulled his shirt up and over his head.

Eddie shrugged. “You could say that.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Steve shucked off his jeans.

Eddie shook his head. “Not much to talk about.”

“Okay.” Steve folded his clothes, set them in a neat stack atop the closed toilet lid, and carefully lowered himself into the bath behind Eddie.

The water was just a touch too hot for his own comfort, but Eddie ran cold and preferred his baths on the scalding warmer side. (Shared showers were a trial. Eddie insisted that Steve was trying to murder him with frostbite. Steve maintained that Eddie was trying to boil the both of them alive.)

Some of the tension had already bled out just from being in the bath. Eddie’s shoulders were no longer curled up around his ears—instead, he was slouched forward into the water.

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and pressed a kiss to the patchy birthmark high up on his back, smiling when Eddie responded with a humming little sigh. “Wash my hair?” he asked.

“Sure thing, Eds.”

Steve reached over to grab the shampoo and tiny bucket they left in the shower just for this. “Wanna drink some of your tea before I douse you?”

Eddie didn’t say anything, but reached out blindly to grab one of the steaming mugs next to the tub. Steve didn’t bother holding back a snort that he’d managed to grab the “Don’t Bother Me, I’m Crabby” mug they’d nicked from Wayne.

Eddie took a slow sip of the tea, and the second he’d set it back down and straightened back up, Steve dumped a bucket of warm water over his head.

Eddie spluttered. “Babe, what the fuck!”

Steve snickered from behind him. “Just wanted to make sure you were here on earth with me, bedhead.”

Eddie shook his head like a rain-soaked dog. “You could have at least taken out the ponytail first!”

“I suppose I could have,” Steve said, lips twitching up into a smile as he reached up to start pulling Eddie’s dark curls from where they’d gotten tangled in the hair tie. “I got you talking again in something other than a monotone, though.”

“Maybe I was enjoying playing the dark, broody hero.”

Steve pinched Eddie’s side, which resulted in a high-pitched squeak, and a wild flail that had water splashing up around them. "Behave," Steve chastised—though the warning was undercut by the laugh of unconcealed delight he barked out as Eddie’s arms swung around him.

"You're the one assaulting me in my time of suffering!"

"Suck it up, buttercup,” Steve shot back, combing his fingers through wet curls and gently detangling each and every knot he ran into. He couldn't help but rub the silky-soft strands between his fingers as he went. Steve's own day had been slow and uneventful, but a quiet sort of unease had been hovering at the edges for hours. Drawing Eddie a bath and settling in behind him to wash his hair helped settle Steve back into his body just as much as it did for Eddie.

Steve began working shampoo into Eddie's roots, massaging his fingers into his scalp, and Eddie's head tipped back as he let out a pleased hum that sounded almost like a purr. "Love your fingers in my hair, Stevie," he mumbled, sounding a bit hazy.

"Yeah? Is that the only place you like my fingers?" Steve asked, right into Eddie's ear.

Eddie scrambled back upright and turned to face Steve with an alarmed expression on his face. "No! Why would you think that? Did I say something to make you think that? Please, I’m so sorry, baby. Please know that I love your fingers anywhere on me. Or in me. What if they went somewhere else right now?"

Steve laughed, grabbing Eddie's shoulder to turn him back around with one hand, and dipping the bucket back into the water to rinse the suds out of Eddie's hair with the other. When Steve was sure he'd thoroughly rinsed Eddie's hair he leaned past him to grab the conditioner and whisper in his ear, "You can get them somewhere else a little later if you're good for me, baby," before leaning back and clicking the bottle open.

"I'll be so good for you, Stevie. Just tell me what I gotta do."

"Keep still and don't sass me for the next five minutes."

Eddie's mouth opened and then immediately snapped back shut as he clearly decided that whatever his response to that was gonna be probably qualified as "sass."

"Good boy," Steve said simply, dropping another kiss to Eddie's back.

"I can be good when I wanna be," Eddie grumbled.

"Careful," Steve shot back, gently chiding. He methodically worked the conditioner through Eddie's hair in sections, tugging gently as he did, just for the soft satisfaction that ran through him every time Eddie let out a soft gasp in response to it.

"Always careful, Stevie," Eddie mumbled back, eyes fluttering shut.

Steve reached down to brush one hand over the scars running down Eddie's side. "Not always," he whispered, just a little sadly, as he pressed a firm kiss to the mostly-faded ring of scars at his throat.

"Mm, don't be sad, baby."

"Not sad. Just glad you're alive."

Eddie was quiet for a stretch, and Steve chuckled.

"What? What were you gonna say, asshole?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, love," Eddie replied, all faux innocence.

"You were gonna say something sassy just then, that's why you went all quiet. So, out with it, come on. How were you gonna sass me in response to me saying I'm glad you're alive?"

"Promise you won't hold it against me?"

"Yeah, baby." Steve leaned over to press a kiss to Eddie’s nose. "This one's a freebie."

Eddie looked over his shoulder with a wide grin, and a twinkle in his eye. "I was gonna call you a sap."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, fuck me for being happy my boyfriend's alive I guess."

"I was actually hoping that you would fuck me," Eddie replied.

"You're pushing your luck, Eds," Steve warned, yanking lightly at his hair.

"Sorry, baby."

Steve ran his hands up and down the sides of Eddie's arms. "All forgiven, Eds."

Steve let his hands drift as he waited for the conditioner to rest—digging his fingers into the dense coils of muscle in Eddie's neck, smoothing his palms down the ridges of Eddie's spine, ghosting his hands up Eddie's sides. When time was up, he grabbed the bucket, turned on the tap to fill it with clean, warm water, and spilled it over Eddie’s head. Steve combed his fingers through the chestnut locks again, making sure he’d thoroughly rinsed them once more. The two of them fell still and silent, like two little stones in the river bed.

Steve loved this. The quiet trance they fell into, as Eddie relaxed into the water, and Steve pressed kisses into his lover’s skin, and they both forgot the mugs of tea that Steve made.

Steve separated Eddie’s hair into even sections, savoring the feeling of freshly cleaned locks passing through his fingers as he wove the strands together—over-under, over-under, over-under—and plaited Eddie’s hair down the length of his back. When he was done, he flipped the end of the braid back over Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie leaned further into him, pressing the length of his back against Steve’s chest.

Steve let his hands start wandering, and Eddie let out a soft gasp of surprise when the pads of Steve's thumbs brushed over both nipples. "Steve."

"Shh, I got you baby," Steve murmured, and let one hand drop down to where Eddie was stiffening up beneath the water.

"I know you do, Stevie," Eddie whispered back on a sigh and a gasp. "I know you do."

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie week #steddieweek2023 #steddie fluff #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #was hoping to get this up just before day 2 ended in my timezone but instead we're just past #i just threw this together today because the image of steve braiding eddie's hair popped into my head #may or may not throw this up on ao3 later #idk if i will do anything for the other days #(I did start something for day one which I may post late or separately at some point)#also it must be noted that the ceramic bowl is a mangled attempt at mimicking one of the scoops ahoy hats #and abandoning mugs of tea is something lifted from my own real life and partner lol #read writes

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moonshine-nightlight · 8 months

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Nine

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 29

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] Part Twenty-Nine [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

It’s finally arrived: the morning of your wedding.

Only three hours from now. You’ve rehearsed and made all the decisions and socialized with what feels like everyone in the country and several outside of it. You’ll finish getting dressed over the next hour or so, finalize any last minute arrangements and handle any day-of problems with Grandmother or the Steward, and then the wedding ceremony will occur. After that, there will be the final signing of papers for the legal offices. The wedding luncheon will take up several hours, but you’ll be the first expected to leave for once. While your guests continue to socialize, you, Dale, and a small number of servants ride off.

You’re headed for an old hunting lodge a couple hours away. It’s a traditional destination for all Northridge newly married couples, with a separate house for the servants therefore privacy for the new couple. Some only spent a single night there, heading on to more distant destinations, but you and Dale shall spend at least a week there. After you’ll continue on to Riverton, the closest city in Northridge to the hunting lodge, to start your tour of the fief.

A strangely nervous excitement fills you with both anticipation and trepidation. There has been so much build-up to today that it feels surreal to have finally arrived. There will be the days after today where you and Dale will finally have unbridled privacy to talk openly. You are worried about what he might reveal, but if these last few weeks have taught you anything, it’s that not knowing is far, far worse. You cannot help but look forward to the absence of other people you must socialize and make conversation with. There will be no more focus and attention on you which is something you need desperately.

Your family will no longer be constantly around. They’ve been well enough behaved, to be sure, and Callalily has not brought up any further concerns. Your other siblings give no hint that she might have spoken with them on such matters, which you are grateful for. You’re also grateful that Dale has stuck closer to you these past few nights than he had previously. Some of his friends even were carefully integrated into the Northridge and Portsmith conversations with ease, although you did notice a certain few who remained on the other side of the room. Wilhelm was among them. He did apologize to you directly the next day, once he’d gotten over his hangover. He’d been profoundly embarrassed, admitting he’d no true memory of the night.

Dale was still a bit odd, often lost in thought. He maintained a cheerful enough disposition that you don’t think anyone else noticed. His control seemed to have been reasserted as you’ve noticed no suggestions to his true nature in the slightest, which allowed you to relax as well. You know you will both be far less stressed once this fuss is all behind you.

Brisk hands with a plush towel drying your hair pull you out of your thoughts. Freshly clean from a bath, your maid is getting ready to style your hair. Behind you in your dressing room other maids are pressing your clothing and packing your bags for the trip ahead. You’re enjoying the quiet atmosphere as they chat. It helps that everything’s already been decided so no one has to speak with you. You’ve been purposely avoiding thinking about the wedding ceremony itself—even more than all the galas, everyone’s attention will be on you and Dale. It's rather terrifying. You need every second you have to yourself to try to reach some sort of calm.

So far, you're dressed in your lovely wedding chemise, a gift from Marigold, and you distract yourself to admire it in the mirror. The lacework is finer and more intricate than any you’d seen on such a garment with a lovely ribbon of maroon woven through the hem. Marigold insisted that these decorations were a trend among certain nobility, shirts and shifts alike, for special occasions and the like. You had been touched when it arrived near a month ago. You feel retroactively guilty for the mild suspicion you’d pessimistically attributed to her intentions. You’d been both flattered and anxious about being condensed to, as if you were too young or naive to have known of the fad yourself, which of course you had not.

Now you believe she had merely wanted to give you a present and share her more intimate knowledge of fashion trends, with no slight intended. It is her gift to you for the wedding and you greatly appreciate it. Douglas has given you a fine horse and Asher a handwritten booklet, with tips and advice from what he remembers learning as he began to run your home fief. Not to play favorites, but you’ve already begun reading Asher’s, even if the mare is lovely.

No sooner had your mind turned to Callalily’s gift, than there was a knock on the door. Miss Adir opens it to admit Callalily and her maid, who she’s lending to you for styling your hair for the wedding. She has also given you a wonderful book on herbs and medicine, which you didn’t have the heart to tell her was one you’d read before. You remind yourself that it is a more recent edition than the one you’d used in school and that it is nice to have your own copy.

Callalily elects to stay in the room, her outfit and hair already fully taken care of for the day, and lounges on one of your dressing room chairs. “Where is your dress?”

“With the laundress, my lady,” Miss Adir tells her at your questioning look. “They are steaming it. Your underskirts as well. Your stays are ready, if you’d like me to lace them up before we start on the rest of your hair.”

You roll your shoulders as you eye the stays on the rack nearby. They’re freshly cleaned because, unlike your underskirts, you’ve not worn them recently. Your eyes dart to your bed where the stays you’ve been wearing lay. They’ve been cleaned this week, but not yesterday and they’re different enough due to the busk knife sheath that the dress might sit oddly over them given the way they’ve been made.

Reading your look, Miss Adir offers, “We can still switch to the other stays my lady.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. You’ve practically worn no other stays without the sheath knife since the attack, but you know it's foolish. It’s not as though you’ve been alone since then where you would need to rely on it. Still, it’s made you feel safer to have it there. But it’s not as though someone would try to strike you during the ceremony or wedding luncheon and you’ll be with Dale after. “The dress was made with that one in mind,” you state as confidently as you can, “No matter my reluctance.”

“Why are you tempted by this other pair of stays?” Callalily asks, glancing over the assorted freshly laundered undergarments. “Surely they cannot be so different.”

“Oh, they are the ones you gifted to me,” you say, not sure how exactly to broach the subject without worrying her. She’s the one who gave them to you for a purpose. As a diplomat, she’s the sibling most involved in politics—of multiple countries no less. She’s had to deal with her own fair share of such attacks, but you don’t think she ever truly expected you to need to rely on her gift for its intended purpose. “I’d meant to thank you again for them.”

“You did?” Callalily raises an eyebrow at that.

“Yes,” you admit, eyes darting to the maid with her back to you as she packs clothes into your trunks and avoiding Miss Adir’s gaze. You select your words carefully, “I had cause to make use of their unique construction and am very grateful for the gift.”

You watch in the mirror as Callalily’s maid braids your damp hair. Her eyes widen as she pares your allusion. “You… did,” she says slowly, sitting straighter in her chair as she fully absorbs what you're saying. “When? Are you alright?”

“I am fine,” you reply just as carefully. Callalily’s eyes are insistent as she stares at you and you reluctantly elaborate, “There was an incident two weeks or so ago.” That at least is easy enough to tell her. Your mother’s penchant for specific coded language comes in handy. “Incident” means an attack on the family without serious injury or death, for you. It also indicates a private attack otherwise it would have been a ‘commotion’. Neither you, Dale, nor Grandmother were injured enough for a “disturbance” and since Dale took care of the assassins it's not “ongoing”. “The matter has been settled personally by Lord Dale, for now.”

“Two weeks—” Callalily starts to press before she cuts herself off. Her eyes are critical on your form in the mirror. You can see her take note that you have no visible injuries. You’ve no injuries hidden either—all bruising has since resolved. “I see.” You’ve never seen her at such a loss until the other day and to have it happen twice is nothing short of a miracle. She resettles herself in the chair and says, “Well, I’m very glad you had the stays then.” The sincerity in her voice makes you smile. “I can provide you the name of the maker, in case you should like to order more.”

Your smile widens at her offer. You’d asked one of the seamstresses to look into just such a thing, but it would be far easier with her help. “Thank you.”

She can’t seem to stop herself from questioning further, saying, “Did you have occasion to do more than…?” Something in your expression must answer her incomplete question for her. She stands up from the chair and walks over to the stays, pulling out the entire busk sheath.“I see. Then I am grateful indeed that you had this. I can provide a cord and show you how else to wear it, if you’d prefer.”

“Yes, please,” you reply, already feeling more settled at her suggestion. Callalily murmurs to a maid instructions for what to get from her rooms.

Only a few minutes later, the maid returns with the necessary supplies and Marigold in tow. “Apologies for my delay,” Marigold says as she quickly takes Callalily’s place on her chair. “It was more difficult than I expected make my way here without notice or accompaniment.”

Before you can question what she means by that, you’re distracted by Callalily’s maid needing to pin up your braids and set your curls. You do catch a look Callalily and Marigold share and wonder what it could mean as Miss Adir laces up your stays. When two of the maids, including Miss Adir, leave for the laundry room, you are unsurprised when Callalily sends her maid on an errand for some jewelry she’s decided to lend to you.

The final maid has finished with the fireplace and correctly reads the room, taking her leave. You eye your sisters in the mirror and ask, “What is it you wish to discuss?” Marigold tries to adopt an innocent expression, but Callalily doesn’t. She smirks as she inspects the dresses that haven’t been packed yet.

“Mother and Father wanted to be the one to speak with you,” Marigold says, as if she is reassuring you of something. Your eyebrows raise at that and she continues, “but we decided to do so instead.”

You lean back against your vanity in your chemise and stays. You don’t think there is bad news they are wishing to impart or truly news at all. However, you’re not sure what else they would need to tell you in private and in this manner. “What did they wish to speak about?”

Marigold looks extremely amused as Callalily answers, “The wedding night.”

“Oh.” You frown, wondering why they’d want to discuss tonight’s accommodations. As family of the bride, you expect them to stay on the Northridge estate for another week even as other guests might begin to leave as early as tomorrow, depending on how long the gala lasts today. Then something in Marigold’s smirk sparks a connection in your mind. “Oh!” You feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you try very hard not to seem too awkward or naive.

They mean your wedding night. Tonight. With Dale. Then you remember the rest of what they said and feel an embarrassed panic fill your veins at the thought of having to discuss anything along those lines with your parents. “By the light, please no.” You’ve no true desire to discuss this with your sisters, although part of you is curious about their general experience as both are married, but your parents? No.

“I did not escape their talk and neither did Asher,” Callalily explains, a teasing twinkle in her eye, “but we were able to save Marigold.”

“And so we shall save you,” Marigold proclaims magnanimously.

Your mind races, not having expected any of them to want to discuss physical affection with you, even in preparation of tonight. You know that is the purpose of a wedding trip, everyone does, but it feels far too personal somehow to discuss anything detailed with them. You hadn’t felt nearly this uncomfortable when you’d have these facts explained to you in the first place. “We already had lessons! In school!” you protest when it becomes clear that by “save” they mean to still speak with you themselves. “Did you not?”

“We did,” Callalily confirms. Her teasing demeanor softens in the face of your discomfort and she explains further, “But Mother in particular still wanted to provide, ehm, additional context and opportunity to ask questions.”

“It’s genuinely rather sweet—in theory,” Marigold says. She’s not wrong exactly, on some level you appreciate the offer, but a larger part of you has never divulged personal information of this nature to anyone in your family or the reverse and you are perfectly content for it to stay that way.

“Yes well,” Callaliy’s voice is exceedingly dry. “I did not need to know anything about their wedding night or continued marital bliss.”

“Please stop,” you say weakly.

“We meant to speak with you far sooner,” Marigold clarifies, “but since we arrived late and with how busy everything was, we were not able to until now.”

“We apologize,” Callalily says, but she continues talking, “but truly, do you have any questions?”

“Or concerns?” Marigold leans in, eyes intent. “Have you—”

“No, of course not,” you reply before you can help yourself. Having a child outside of marriage for a noble was considered a societal taboo of the highest level. It’s seen as diluting your bloodline, evidence of careless stupidity, and disrespectful to nearly everyone involved. Those who did so and were found out were often ostracized from noble society, along with their family. The risk of such an outcome was impressed upon you and the other students–not to mention by your parents. As you knew you’d have a challenging time earning a betrothal as it was, you’d never considered doing so. Not to mention you’ve had enough health concerns and medicine in your body that you’d not wanted to take any chances with certain contraception methods.

But your sisters wouldn’t have had all those concerns. You also knew that it was somewhat common to preempt your wedding vows with your fiance in the weeks before the wedding. Everyone knew that first-borns tended to be born early, which means everyone knew that some did wait for the wedding night, if they felt their marriage was guaranteed strongly enough for that risk. With eyes wide you ask, “Had you?”

“I did not and neither did Asher,” Callalily sniffs in such a pointed manner that you turn to Marigold somewhat incredulously.

“I did,” Marigold confesses boldly. You knew she was always more willing to go against convention, but you’re still surprised. “It is not such a travesty or such a danger and I’m glad for the experience. It seemed ill-advised to me to wait until the wedding night.” You want to ask if she slept with her future husband or someone else. You want to ask how she kept the risk of a child out of wedlock low. Perhaps you will ask later as she does not have any children to this day, but you can’t make yourself ask right now.

You’d purposely not been thinking in too much detail about tonight, let alone engaging in such activity earlier. First, that had been due to who Dale was and then you’d been preoccupied with everything else this Dale is. Now they’re making it hard not to worry. What experience does this Dale have? What does he expect from you? Is what Marigold did far more common than you thought?

Marigold’s eyes narrow as she asks, “Have you had any experience with lust at all?”

You resist the urge to cross your arms defensively in front of yourself before saying, “Yes, some. Nothing—” you swallow as you try not to sound too defensive or accusatory after what Marigold confessed, “nothing as you seem to have experienced, but more than a kiss, if that is what you are asking.”

“Truly?” Marigold seems genuinely taken aback. You don’t know whether to feel offended she thought you too naive or unwanted to have done so or pleased you’ve managed to surprise her. “When? With who?”

“Does it matter?” you ask, the heat rushing to your face at the memories. You know peasants and other classmates and clearly Marigold herself had more experience than you managed to have. Both of Callalily and Marigold were married so they had far more by now too. You’re sure they’ll view your paltry experience as quite innocent.

“No one took advantage of you, did they?” Callalily’s expression is intent, her hand subconsciously drifting towards her sword as she reads the discomfort in your body language.

“No, of course not,” you reply quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “Just some games at school, in the dormitory.” Dormitories at your school were for four girls in a room, but some nights, more would sneak out after stealing something from the kitchens and all gather together. You’d never been invited to one in another room, but you’d joined in the one or two times everyone had gathered in your own rooms. Nadine’s brother would sometimes send her packages with liquor harder than the watered down wine you’d have with dinner that she would share with the others. Many of the games were silly but some turned to romance and kissing in addition to other daring challenges.

“Oh,” Callalily blinked in surprise before smiling, “Yes, we used to participate in such games. Many of my classmates enjoyed professing it as ‘practice’ without too much unnecessary risk.”

“That is not all, is it?” Marigold says shrewdly, her eyes intent on you.

You jut out your chin stubbornly because she’s correct. “No, I… There was one Spring Equinox festival, soon after graduation.” At their looks of mild confusion, no doubt remembering the family dinners and boring sacred ceremonies, you reluctantly expand further. “One I went to with my maid.” They frown in confusion. “As her cousin.” Their eyebrows raise at that reveal, remembering how different those festivals were from the more staid affairs your parents would host. “In the Garden district.”

Your home city, not the country estate, is where you’d attended this particular festival. That is why you had been able to pretend to be Martina’s cousin—everyone would have recognized you back on the estate, or at least know you weren’t Martina’s cousin, but not in the city. She’d help you dress and coached you on how to talk and act. She had said she wanted you to experience more life than you had received. Your quiet nature had easily fed into the idea of you being her country cousin with no experience in the large city. It had been one of, if not the best nights of your life. You’ve never talked to anyone about it besides Martina.

“You did what?!” Callalily exclaims.

Marigold grins. “I did not think you had it within you to do such a thing. Wonderful! That sounds like a marvelous time.”

“With how much everyone drinks?” Callalily says, still looking shocked. “Especially in the Garden district. Their liquors are dangerous!”

She isn’t wrong. They made delicious drinks without burn or foul taste which could easily lead to someone overindulging. Your contribution of coin had been carefully managed to acquire enough equally delicious street food. Besides, Martina is a good friend and you’ll not let them think she was careless with your well being. “M-She looked out for me. There was no lasting harm from that night. Nothing dangerous happened.” You can’t help but say, “I just wanted to enjoy myself as a real person for once.”

“Oh, honey,” Marigold says.

“I know that you—” Callalily tries to say, obviously not recalling enough from your previous conversation.

“Do you? You do not know,” you say sharply, the words coming easier this time. “And you all insist I must have slept through the first decade and a half of my life, but I did not. I was merely trapped in those rooms, listening to faint music from below, forbidden by Mother and my own body from—” You cut yourself off in a frustrated huff. But once again, at least they’re listening. You try to keep your voice steady so as not to feel like a child complaining about not receiving enough sweets. “It was like I was a doll, put up on a shelf, who could do nothing without another’s permission and manipulation. It was painful, the life all around me that I could not participate in.” You swallow, looking away from them and the pity you knew must be in your eyes. “So if, when I was an adult who could truly live,” you told the floor, “I wanted to drink and pretend to be someone else for the night and, and kiss someone in a barn,” you look back up at them, “then so be it!”

Silence fills the room as you breathe heavily, not having meant to say so much in such a short period of time. Then Marigold throws her arms around you in a fierce hug and Callalily soon joins hers. “My apologies,” Callalily murmurs, “I do not mean to presume so much. I had thought myself better than that.”

“I’d have gone mad, stuck in such a manner,” Marigold confesses. You don’t think saying that it felt like you had for a time would be appreciated but you’re grateful for the acknowledgment. “It was easier to believe you’d slept through it all than think of you in pain the whole time. I’m so happy that you’re here now and that you’ve done all you can to enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, precisely,” Callalily agrees before backing off to give you some space.

Marigold gives you an extra squeeze before she pulls back enough to tease, “How was the barn lad?”

You laugh even as you discretely dab at your eyes and take a sip from the water Callalily’s brought for you. “Sweet, he was a carpenter’s apprentice.” He’d been strong and confident—settled in a way that had greatly attracted you. You’d needed some air after how hot and tightly packed the tavern had gotten and he’d asked to come with you. The memory is still tinted with a pleasant haze. “We were interrupted by the maid who brought me before anything aside from his shirt—” You cut yourself off, rather embarrassed and wanting to keep some of that night to yourself.

Marigold giggles.

Callalily nods and finally stops looking as though she plans to call the guards to find Martina and take her to task. “It’s probably for the best,” she ends up saying. “Barns are not near as romantic as one might hope when it comes to anything that requires the actual removal of clothing.”

“Callalily!”

“My husband misses me when we travel apart,” she says airly. “We cannot wait at times.”

Marigold scrunches up her face. “I’m not sure I required that information.”

“I could instead tell you of Mother’s—” Callalily begins.

“No!” you and Marigold interrupt her at the same time.

Callalily rolls her eyes but seems intent upon bringing the conversation back to where it originally started. “If you do not wish to have further discussion, or you do not have any questions, that is fine. I would like to impress upon you that communication is the heart of a marriage, in all aspects including matters of physical affection.”

“Encourage what you enjoy, put a halt to anything you dislike,” Marigold adds, more serious than she’s been on the subject so far. “As well as listen to him for the same.”

“It should be an enjoyable night,” Callalily says definitively, “and if either of you are not enjoying yourselves, talk to each other. There is always the next night.”

“Do you believe he would pressure you?” Marigold asks with a frown. “Some are very insistent regarding the manner in which a wedding night should progress.”

You shake your head before she’s even finished asking. “No, I don’t. Dale listens to me.” Original Dale would have had expectations and perhaps this Dale does too, but you’ve never received that impression from him. If anything, you’re beginning to wonder if he’ll be interested in the usual trappings of a human wedding night. His recent attitude, his confusing demeanor. It must all just be pressure from the investigation and the wedding and having to perform for so many people. Once the two of you are finally alone, everything will all be so much easier. It has to be.

In truth, it's how his inhuman nature will impact tonight and your future together that you have the most questions and concerns around. What if demons marry differently? What if they express physical affection in a manner you cannot reciprocate? Would that be better than if he’s no interest in you physically at all? The original Dale had proclaimed you passable, did this one agree? It’s not as though you can express all of those twisting thoughts to your sisters.

“As he should.” Callalily nods decisively and questions you no further on your assessment of Dale, which you’re grateful for.

“You,” Marigold stares at you, head tilted to the side, as if a new thought had just occurred to her. “You are happy to be marrying, aren’t you?”

Despite all your worries, you smile shyly back at her. “Yes, I am.”

She grins back. “Then that is what truly matters.” Marigold glances at the clock and frowns. “As it is, we had best be on our way to rescue him from Mother.” At your frown, she explains, “He’d agreed to stay with her in the garden and entertain.” You take that to mean ‘allow Mother to play matchmaker for him’. You’re surprisingly touched by the sacrifice. “However, we are already approaching the hour and he shall wish for his deliverance from her shortly.”

“Luckily Asher is occupying Father,” Callalily says. “And is unlikely to want for rescue. If anything we shall have to pry them away from a riveting board game of some kind to attend the wedding in the first place.”

“We can let Mother deal with them,” Marigold waves off Callalily’s concern.

“Thank you,” you cut in to say. “I truly do appreciate it.”

“You are most welcome,” Marigold replies.

“If you require anything at all, do not hesitate to contact us, any of us, yes?” Callalily adds.

“Yes,” you answer and you think you actually will, if you need to.

After they leave, you sit down, suddenly unaware of what to do with yourself. Your eyes catch on the various wedding accessories spread out on your vanity. You run your fingers over the garter’s lace detail as your mind drifts to tonight and how Dale might–

The door opens behind you and you hope your expression doesn’t give the direction your thoughts had been drifting away. “Did you forget something, sister?” Your eyes land on a maid instead of your sisters. “Oh, my apologies.”

“My lady.” She looks surprised to see you, which is odd considering these are your rooms. Her eyes dart around as if looking for someone else, but there’s only you. If anything, you’d say she has the look of a woman who just learned some piece of tantalizing gossip and instead of finding a room full of her fellow servants, has found a superior instead. When you were still young and bedridden, it was one of the few times you were grateful you never counted fully as one such superior. It was always so interesting to listen to the stories they shared. Now, in a bittersweet way, it seems you’ve finally moved to the latter group. “I…”

Still, as she begins to look more worried than disappointed, when she hasn’t made an excuse about being confused about which room she’s in and left, you frown. “What is it?” you ask.

“Lord Dale has…” she trails off when the other maids return from the laundry with your clean clothes for packing, your corded underskirts pressed and bleached to pure whiteness.

The maid who’d burst in seems to be attempting to act casual, but even the other maids notice something is amiss as their eyes keep darting to her with interest even as they return to their places. Then it appears she is going to slip out of the room. You can’t have that. “Miss? You were sharing news?” you remind her, hoping how tightly strung her words have left isn’t obvious.

“There might be a mild issue,” she says hastily, taking another step towards the door. “I’m sure it shall be dealt with quickly. If it were more serious, you would have been informed by a person far more appropriate than me. There is no point in worrying you.”

You swallow, each word increasing the panic shooting through you. “Be that as it may, you are here now. Tell me, what is your understanding of the situation?”

“I truly should not trouble you, my lady,” she tries to insist. “Lord Archibald is handling it.”

“What is wrong with Lord Dale?” you repeat, as clearly as you can because whether they know it or not, you are the best person to handle whatever might be wrong. Did someone try to give him willowbark again? Did someone involved in the assassination attempt attack? Is there some new danger you cannot even fathom?

“I overheard,” she says haltingly, “there was a lot of shouting, you see. They’re still arguing about it I believe, but… well…from what I heard, which was not terribly clear you must understand, it sounded as if…” You try your best to prompt her with your expression, the whole room gone silent waiting for her final words. “Lord Dale, he’s called off the wedding.”

[Part Thirty]

#my writing #story: nothing's wrong with dale #story part #nothing's wrong with dale #dale #slow burn #monster bf #monster romance #exophilia #osha compliant #terato #arranged marriage #reader #ik her hair should probably be lik powdered and shit but i didnt want to so i didnt #this is not historical so everythings anachronistic on purpose and its fine #also its cool if u discuss stuff lik this with ur family members but i do not and this is my story lol #also obviously some of these opinions are of the fake time period and do not represent my opinions in real life #ended up trimming one part of the scene but i think it still works #oh #you want to talk about the end?#this has been planned since day one - i hav the text message receipts to prove it lmao #its why the next chapter is a Big Deal #might b the most important chapter to b honest #look #the drama is real #it'd all been going too smoothly again #dont you think?#sorry not sorry

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