#mr chaos machine

[jyoongim]

I love your stories, they are fantastic and feed my daydreams to a intensely gratifying degree.

I am curious if you would entertain the idea of writing an Alastor and fem reader as battle partners and occasional lovers. She’s a fox demon that has been around for centuries and is very powerful. She is indispensable to him in battle but she helps him take care of his baser urges especially during his rut.

I beg you!

Thank youuuuuu

note: i kept this rather suggestive hehe.

Alastor x Kitsune! Fem Reader

“So what’s with the fox? Didn’t take smiles to be much of a dog person” Angel said to Husker as the black fox trotted past him, walking towards said demon sitting on the sofa, rubbing against his legs before jumping up and curling up in his lap.

Husker shook his head, grumbling “Listen, that’s one thing you don’t want to know about. Trust me” he chugged at his bourbon.

Angel rolled his eyes at the cat demon, “Oh c’mon! Tell me! What do Mr. Fancytalk need with a pet? ” He whined. Husker ignored him, thinking sooner or later the spider will figure it out.

Charlie and Vaggie entered the lobby, overhearing the conversation. Angel turned his sight to Vaggie “Hey Vagina do you know the deal with the strawberry pimp’s pet?”

Vaggie sighed ”When Alastor manifested in this realm it was absolute chaos! some have speculated what unimaginable forces enabled him to rival our worlds most ancient and destructive evils. But one thing for sure, he holds an unpredictable source of danger, the kind we shouldn’t risk getting involved with unless we want to end up erased!” Angel deadpanned “that’s doesn’t really answer my questions toots”

Vaggie pointed towards the red demon, at the black fox “rumor has it the fox is the reason he’s so powerful”

Angel sucked his teeth “Ill believe when I see it”

———————————————————————————-

You napped on the bed of your shared room as Alastor sat out on the balcony enjoying the view of Pentagram City.

A loud BANG! Was heard and suddenly there was a massive hole knocked into the hotel.

A giant blimp was outside the hotel and a snake demon was declaring a fight against Alastor.

Alastor joined Charlie and the others at the entrance of the hotel, very much amused at the pathetic display.

”Who are you?” He asked

”I am the great Sir Pentigous! Your fiercest enemy!…We literally battled last week”

Alastor tilted his head, leaning on his cane “Well you would think I remembered you”

The snake demon hissed and went to charge up his weapons.

”Uuugghh Alastor? Aren’t you gonna do something about him? Aren’t you suppose to protect the hotel or something?” angel asked, hands on his hips. Alastor grinned ”Aah yes” he snapped his fingers.

Thick, inky black smoke billowed from the ground as a thunderous growl was heard.

”Holy fucking hell!”

A Giant beast emerged from the ground and immediately took the bump into its mouth and shook like a dog would a toy.

Several appendages swirled as the beast tore into the machine like it was paper.

The snake demon fell to the ground, trying to back away as the massive black beast snapped its sharp teeth at him,  making him cower.

”now now my dear you’ve done enough” Alastor said, causing everyone to look at him confused?

The black beast huffed before black smoke surrounded it.

Walking out of the smoke, holding the snake demon was a…

”THE FOX???!!” Angel exclaimed

You dragged the demon by his hood, baring your sharp teeth at him as he cowered behind Charlie.

You frowned at Alasto as you turned to him, ears flattening

You hands were at your hips as your tails swirled behind you “You woke me up for that?! Please at least let it be a challenge next time”

Alastor snickered as he pulled you into his side,  grin turning Cheshire as you nuzzled him anyway.

Everyone had a puzzled look on their face.

The cute black fox that often roamed the hotel was actually a demon?!

”told you would have found out sooner or later” Husker said.

”A-Alastor w-what?” Charlie stuttered, as Vaggie barged through pointing her spear at you and Alastor.

Your eyes narrowed as you stood in front of Alastor, growling at her, claws flexing in case she made a move. Your tails spiked.

”I wouldn’t do that if I were you” Alastor grinned, peaking through one of your tails

”This darling of mine is that ‘unpredictable source of choas’. Isn’t she a doll?”

————————————————————————————-

“Soooo you two are like a thing? How the fuck? What he own your soul or something?” Angel asked sipping his martini.

You smirked.

You had been with Alastor for a while now. You met the red deer when he first came to hell. He was running a muck in your territory, taking away the souls that you enjoyed tormenting. You, the ‘Kitsune Demon’, would not be intimidated by some newbie. So you fought Alastor. 

Who won? No one knows but many often saw the Radio Demon entering and existing your domain without consequence afterwards.

You and the Radio Demon had a very simple relationship. Your ancient power gave him legitimacy in status as well as your presence on his arm.

You were his best weapon in a battle and a great companion.

You might have looked scary, but only the lanky demon had seen you in your most vulnerable state.

You looked so pretty taking his cock and covered in cum.

”No he doesn’t own my soul and a thing? If you mean I warm his bed and keep him in check for the most part? Then yes” you said bluntly, making the spider gawk.

”you fuck that? That makes a lot of sense now” angel mumbled.

Speaking of fucking, you sniffed at the air. Alastor’s rut was approaching. You had to take care of that.

You left the confused spider as you disappeared in a smoky mist.

”Did you know those two get freaky?” angel turned to Husker, making the cat roll his eyes.

[astonmartinii]

spice up your life | lewis hamilton social media au

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem horner!reader

slam it to your left and fall in love with your dad's team's main rival, shake it to your right and cause chaos

MASTERLIST | TIPS

yourusername

liked by christianhorner, lewishamilton and 1,093,448 others

tagged: lewishamilton

yourusername: matcha only soz babe

view all comments

user4: they're so aesthetic i love them

user5: i need these f1 connections so my desk can look like that

lewishamilton: in matcha we trust - and almave, check it out at www.almave.com

yourusername: get that bag queen?

lewishamilton: i am just a cog in the capitalist machine

yourusername: babe you are the capitalist machine mr. millionaire

lewishamilton: all i'm gonna say is let's make sure we're in monaco when the inheritance comes in

christianhorner: i can see this?

lewishamilton: is this the point when i'm meant to say sorry?

yourusername: considering we're on the way to his house yeah probably

lewishamilton: sorry i guess

christianhorner: i'll take it for now

user6: the way dads are usually mean to their daughter's bf but it's just on crack with christian and lewis

user7: all i can think is that it must have been hell in 2021

user8: i mean lewis and y/n have been together for years so like it's probably just a running joke (for now)

maxverstappen1: i will fight you if you dare bring me a matcha latte again - I ASKED FOR A RED BULL

yourusername: girl.

maxverstappen1: don't think i can't unseat you for christian's favourite

yourusername: if it's a scrap you're asking for you're gonna get one

maxverstappen1: bring it on

lewishamilton: are you sure you guys aren't related?

yourusername: as if i'd want to be related to THAT

maxverstappen1: babe you WISH you had looks like this

lewishamilton: okay....

user9: someone free lewis

user10: i know he regularly questions how much he can take

lewishamilton: y/n is worth it :)

yourusername: love you babe x

lewishamilton

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 1,400,331 others

tagged: yourusername, christianhorner & gerihorner

lewishamilton: no more racing means i'm stuck with this lot

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user11: imagine getting on the tube and it's lewis and christian

user12: clearly the biggest deal here is GINGER SPICE

yourusername: you love us really

lewishamilton: i love YOU really

christianhorner: i know you love me deep down lewis

lewishamilton: i'll say yes but just because it's that time of the year

yourusername: that's the spirit !!

christianhorner: you should keep me on side you never know who is picking behind you in white elephant

lewishamilton: you WOULDN'T

christianhorner: it is my job to be able to read you and i know for a fact that you come to white elephant with the intentions to just claim the gift you bought. and because i know this i have correctly deduced the gift you have brought every year. i will claim it this year just to spite you

lewishamilton: damn. toto isn't even this level.

user13: lewis is so real for claiming his own gift at white elephant

maxverstappen1: YOU RIG WHITE ELEPHANT????

yourusername: lMAO

maxverstappen1: he is disrespecting the horner christmas traditions

lewishamilton: you're not a horner bro

maxverstappen1: @christianhorner MAKE HIM TAKE IT BACK !!! TELL HIM I'M A HONORARY HORNER NOW

christianhorner: max is a honorary horner

maxverstappen1: see !!!!!!!!! @lewishamilton you're not even a horner STONES AND GLASS AND HOUSES OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT

lewishamilton: *not yet

yourusername: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

user14: idk about you but i actually live for the lil spats between all of them and y/n just watching with popcorn

user15: is he teasing an ENGAGEMENT

user16: i mean they've been together for years we've been waiting

christianhorner

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 781,223 others

tagged: lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 & yourusername

christianhorner: happy birthday to one of the greatest of all time in our sport and the love of my daughter's life. i can't say i was overjoyed by her choice in a boyfriend when i first found out, but you guys are perfect for each other! happy birthday and don't have too much fun

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user17: annual toto and christian truce on lewis' birthday

user18: i know lewis and y/n are just chuckling to themselves when they once again purposefully sit christian and toto together

user19: plus george and max together

lewishamilton: thank you christian, i hope to annoy you on track as much as i do off track this season!

yourusername: i don't think his blood pressure can take that babe

christianhorner: i am not that old

yourusername: if that's what you wanna hear... sure!

christianhorner: i wanted this to be a happy post don't make me call in max

yourusername: ... you wouldn't?

maxverstappen1: i'm already here dumbass

lewishamilton: of course you are

maxverstappen1: i was going to say happy birthday but i'm always down to tussle with y/n

yourusername: i will read your ass for filth

lewishamilton: and i will help :)

maxverstappen1: fine. you win this round birthday boy and other one

user20: i hope they keep up this bit forever

yourusername: *happy birthday to the sexiest guy in the world. there fixed it for you

christianhorner: that would be quite inappropriate for me to say

lewishamilton: i see how it is christian

yourusername: don't worry babe the most important horner thinks you're sexy and that's all that matters

lewishamilton: i love you too, you're definitely the sexiest horner

maxverstappen1: max verstappen erasure

yourusername: FUCK OFF

user21: can christian just adopt max already?

lewishamilton: don't give him any ideas

lewishamilton

liked by georgerussell63, alexalbon and 2,311,044 others

tagged: yourusername

lewishamilton: can you guys stop fucking yelling at me now. jokes, i just got engaged to the love of my life, it doesn't get any better than this (though if your dad and quasi-brother wanna let me win a race i'd be thankful)

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user25: crying like it's my own two kids getting married oh my

user26: the dress is going to be so fucking beautiful i can't wait !!

yourusername: haven't stopped crying, i love you so much

lewishamilton: i love you more

yourusername: NOT POSSIBLE

lewishamilton: i'd be prepared to swear it in a court of law

yourusername: i'd be prepared to literally carve it into my body

lewishamilton: .... babe

yourusername: too far?

lewishamilton: probably, but i appreciate the notion

user27: do we wanna put bets on whether max is going to be nice or a goblin?

maxverstappen1: congratulations assface i guess you really are gonna be a horner before me

lewishamilton: your happiness is really translating through the screen

maxverstappen1: despite popular opinion, i am very happy for you guys and i am very grateful that you treat me like family xoxo

maxverstappen1: okay that's enough being nice, save me a slice of cake or your ass is grass

yourusername: awwww maxy i knew you loved us really!!

maxverstappen1: maybe enough to make me best man?

yourusername: not best man... but you could be my man of honour

maxverstappen1: WHAT ??? FOR REAL ??? DON'T FUCK WITH ME Y/N I'LL CRY

lewishamilton: as much as you annoy me, we'd love you to be part of our day

georgerussell63: max in the wedding party and i'm not... i won't hesitate to get toto on the phone

lewishamilton: I JUST PROPOSED CAN EVERYONE HOLD THEIR HORSES FOR TWO FUCKING SECONDS

user28: so real of you lewis

christianhorner: congratulations!! i can't wait for the big day and for you to finally be a part of the family - JOINT CHRISTMAS I EXPECT EVERYONE THERE THIS YEAR

user29: okay someone check this man's tea

yourusername: thank you dad xxx love you lots

lewishamilton: thank you christian, i will pass on the christmas message

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton and 1,224,551 others

tagged: lewishamilton

yourusername: *fiance

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user29: the first pic? she on f1 twt or what?

lewishamilton: biggest honour eva

yourusername: nuh uh i'm marrying a knight DOES THAT MAKE ME A PRINCESS

lewishamilton: you're already a princess to me

yourusername: yeah i love you and all that but will the crown recognise me

lewishamilton: probably not ...

yourusername: lol screw them team diana forever

maxverstappen1: insufferable as always

yourusername: i will DESTROY you in a tickle battle when i next see you, consider that a warning

maxverstappen1: i'd like to see you try

yourusername: my new ring makes my slap a hell of a lot stronger btw

maxverstappen1: we get it you're getting married gosh

yourusername: you better get used to it unless you don't want to be man of honour anymore...

maxverstappen1: NO I DO

lewishamilton: this is great i'm gonna hang that over him every time he fucks me over in qualifying

maxverstappen1: UGH

christianhorner: do NOT forget dinner tonight, everyone has come (even the distant ones you didn't know about)

yourusername: we'll be there

lewishamilton: how many are we talking?

lewishamilton: i mean... i can't wait!!

lewishamilton

liked by sebastianvettel, yourusername and 2,410,551 others

tagged: mercedesamgf1

lewishamilton: finally got the 104 - i think the ring was good luck xx

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user30: WAR IS OVER HOLY FUCK THANK THE LORD

yourusername: falsehoods it was all you baby

lewishamilton: maybe it was the fact you had a merc cap on rather than that nasty ass red bull hat

yourusername: lewis !!

christianhorner: back winning and immediately on the offensive, i see

lewishamilton: i am ... sorry. got a lil excited - y/n does look best in my colours

christianhorner: i am obviously going to disagree

yourusername: can't we all be happy !!

christianhorner: after debrief and out of a 60 mile radius of toto wolff then yes

user31: can they get engaged every week please?

georgerussell63: so like i defended for you... can i be in the wedding party now?

yourusername: no?

maxverstappen1: HA

georgerussell63: lewis???

lewishamilton: i do what y/n says soz

georgerussell63: traitor. can carmen and i at least get front three rows at the ceremony?

yourusername: keep your nose away from any red bulls and maybe

christianhorner: that's my daughter :)

user32: imagine going into a coma in like 2015 and seeing brocedes is dead and buries and lewis and y/n HORNER are engaged even despite AD21

user33: why isn't this the focus of drive to survive?

yourusername: we're too sexy for netflix .... but we would do our own limited series for a price

lewishamilton: and you called me the capitalist machine ... ok

fin.

note: here it is my last WIP !! i haven't written for lewis in so long and i loved the dynamics in this (i think you can tell that i love max, considering he ends up in everything i write lol). so this also means... the requests are open !! i've already had exciting ones but feel free to send in more. also mamma mia p6 is now in the works as well. december is gonna be super busy for me (it's my birthday on the fifth) but hopefully i'll get some christmas themed ones out for all yall that celebrate !!

[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.

[uzurimisery]

chapter 1: the setting. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Watching TBOSAS rekindled my love of this series and Tom Blyth makes young Snow sexy.

wc: 4,422

waring: smut, misogyny, dubcon, toxic relationships, snow is insane, not beta read

AO3 version here | Series Master

“You’re to take Y/N to the gala and after that the two of you will begin a show of courting for the Capitol to watch.”

Coriolanus Snow found you to be a thorn in his side. An unknown variable. You were wellbred stock, perfect for carrying on a bloodline, but somehow you were as disgraced as those from the Districts. Even before the war had started and ended Coriolanus found you insufferable. Too aggressive, undisciplined, and unpredictable. He liked reading people, at this point he’d say he could read others better than they could read themselves. But you were a blank slate. Wellbred, well read, and well insufferable. The only reason he even pretended to care about you was who your mother was. 

Dr. Volumnia Gaul was more of a creator than a mother. Mothers cared and nurtured their children with love and compassion, two emotions Gaul was incapable of. Funny considering she was once an obstetrician. It was there that she had been introduced to your father, another prominent Capitol resident, and had you. She liked you, surely, often willing to give you more grace than others for their mistakes, but love would be going too far. Perhaps her being your mother is why Coriolanus liked you even less, you had all of her traits he disliked the most. 

The Snow family had always been led by men, a tradition passed down from father to son, an unbroken chain of masculine dominance. But the Gauls were different. They were led by women, strong, capable women who defied the traditional power dynamics. And you were no exception.

You were determined to prove yourself, to carve your own path, to become a leader just like your mother. You fought Coriolanus head-on, challenging his every suggestion, even when you knew your opposition was futile. You were a master of manipulation, using coercion, leadership, and cunning to bend others to your will. Even Coriolanus, the shrewd and calculating Snow, found himself falling prey to your machinations at times.

You had convinced two of the most desirable women in the Capitol, Persephone Price and Iphigenia Moss, that he was in love with them both. For a tense month and a half, they waged a bitter war for his affections, making his life a living hell right after he had returned from District 12. It was as if you simply enjoyed watching the chaos you created, relishing in the discomfort you inflicted upon him.

Coriolanus couldn't deny his grudging admiration for your skill. You were a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of ambition and cunning.You were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, a challenge he couldn't quite overcome. And that unsettled him.

"Dr. Gaul," he began, his voice laced with scepticism, "I hardly think that I am the most suitable companion for your daughter, even if just for show.”

A sharp, echoing cackle escaped Volumnia's lips, sending a shiver down Coriolanus's spine. 

"Oh, Coriolanus," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "my dear star pupil, you underestimate your own abilities. You are the very person I need to keep that girl in line. Plus she makes you look like a more viable successor."

His jaw tensed. 

“I hardly think that if you couldn’t control her I could.” 

“Control is a fickle thing Mr. Snow,” Volumnia did not even turn to face him as she stared down into a microscope. She turned a dial to clarify the view before then adding liquid, some sort of acid from the smell, and stirring the plate with a glass rod before continuing. 

"Y/N is merely playing at having control. She is an actor, a performer, and you, my dear Coriolanus, will be her stage."

“And what is my role in this performance?” 

"You will be the charming escort, the perfect foil to her rebellious spirit," she explained. "Your ability to manage her shows that the Gaul name carries on in your relationship with her, breeding the best gamemaker there could ever be."

His fingers itched to throw the beaker of acid onto Gaul. The very thought of touching you made his skin crawl. He could still feel the lingering sensation of your skin against his, a clammy, unnatural warmth that sent shivers down his spine from the last time the two of you had touched even briefly. Truly his interactions with you had been limited before the 10th games, you were two years his junior, it was only after he came back from 12 that he had even spoken to you. Now you worked side by side with each other on the games under your mother, and his every interaction with you made him violent.

The idea of having you draped over his arm all night filled him with a sense of nausea. He could almost picture you under him, your body contorting in agony as you choked by his doing. He envisioned himself standing over one of the ridiculous chaises in your family estate, your father's extravagant purchase. He would slowly tighten his grip around your throat, watching as your eyes bulged in terror and your face contorted in pain.

The thought of your hands desperately clawing at his arms, your tears streaming down your face, sent a strange jolt of excitement through him. 

He pictured himself using one of the delicate scarves you always wore to strangle you, the soft fabric contrasting with the harshness of your screams. He would watch as your eyes rolled back in your head, your life fading away with a final, gasping breath.

Hate was a strong word, but it was the only word that adequately described his feelings for you. A venomous mixture of loathing, fascination, and a twisted desire that he couldn't quite explain. Lucy Gray he had wanted to control, but you wanted to break.

“As you wish Dr. Gaul.”

_

When your mother had told you that you were to be escorted by Coriolanus to the gala and then “pretend” to court him, you were pissed. You saw through his carefully constructed façade of charm and sophistication, recognizing him for the manipulative user he truly was. In his eyes, people were nothing more than expendable pawns, their lives mere tokens in his ruthless game.

While you couldn't deny that you shared a similar disregard for human life, having been raised in an environment where expendability was a given, there was a fundamental difference between your perspectives. You saw value in keeping people alive, recognizing their potential as tools in your own elaborate schemes. Death was not an option for you; it was a blunt instrument, a crude solution to a complex problem. People were willing to go to the extremes for their loved ones, and extremes meant profit.

There was no choice to be had in the matter of being his date, mother dearest had given you a look that said all. If you dared to defy her wishes, she would unleash a torrent of consequences, transforming your life into a living hell until she deemed your lesson learned. While you possessed a certain degree of freedom, there were lines even you dared not cross, and this was one of them. 

But Coriolanus made you feel things that you thought you were incapable of, a deep burning rage that whispered at the end of it all one of you would be consumed. You could almost envision the moment when your fury would reach its crescendo, when your teeth would sink into his flesh, consuming him in the flames of your intensity.

As if life couldn't be any more cruel to you, Coriolanus had insisted that you were costumed by his cousin Tigris. Now Tigris was agreeable company, a beacon of kindness and warmth, possessed an innate ability to perceive the good in others. While you found her naivety and idealism somewhat exasperating, you couldn't deny her inherent goodness and her remarkable skill as a seamstress.

Yet, the thought of enduring the tedious process of changing into multiple outfits, each designed to enhance Tigris's artistic vision, threatened to push you to the brink of insanity, a state your mother had succumbed to years ago. The prospect of reliving her descent into madness sent a chill down your spine.

Tigris's fingers trailed along the soft fabric of the gown, carefully adjusting its folds to accentuate the curves of your body. "You know, you've got a really nice figure," she remarked, her voice laced with admiration.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Why thank you, Tigris. If you asked your cousin, he'd tell you I had a body made for the Districts."

Tigris's brow furrowed in confusion. "What does that even mean?"

"Oh, it's just one of his many ways of insulting me," you explained with a shrug. "He's surprisingly bad at it, considering how much he tries."

As Tigris continued her work, meticulously crafting the gown to perfection, you found yourself enjoying her company more than you had anticipated. Her easygoing nature and engaging conversation provided a welcome distraction from the simmering tension that always seemed to accompany Coriolanus's presence.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to relax, to partially let down the guard you had carefully constructed over the years. You savoured the simple pleasure of Tigris's companionship, cherishing the rare moments of genuine connection in a world that often felt cold and impersonal. Even if it was inside the Snow family penthouse.

The black velvet gown hugged your curves like a second skin. Tigris' skilled hands moved with practised ease, adjusting the intricate details of the dress, ensuring that it would perfectly complement your form.

"I think I'll add a corset effect to this," Tigris mused. "Corio has some cufflinks that were his father’s that would go well with that."

"I am but your humble dress-up doll," you teased, playing along with her lighthearted banter.

Tigris's smile widened, her laughter echoing through the opulent dressing room. "Well then, I'll have to show off my best work for such a famous doll," she declared, her voice filled with playful affection.

The light hearted mood continued for some time, eventually a servant came in to offer you tea. That ended up being your only respite as Tigris then wanted you to try on more gowns for different events. Apparently you had sparked something in her to create various things.

Perched atop a pedestal, clad only in your underwear and an arm across your bare chest, conversation flowed with Tigris, her nimble fingers expertly hemming the length of a shimmering silver gown. Your topics ranged from the latest academy and university gossip to Ma Plinth's overprotective tendencies towards Coriolanus, eventually settling on your father's renowned interior design skills. His contributions to the Capitol's architectural landscape were a source of pride for both of you.

You two had been so lost in conversation you hadn’t heard Coriolanus enter the apartment and calling out for Tigris until he was in the doorframe of the dressing parlour.

“Tigris I need you to fix this stitch on my blazer, it came undone while I was walking over here- oh.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Coriolanus's face, momentarily disrupting his composed demeanour. He seemed momentarily taken aback by the sight of you.

Tigris quickly rose, her hands reaching to cover your exposed form, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Corio!” she stammered, “If you can just leave it on the chair I’ll get to it shortly.” 

Coriolanus regained his composure. "No need to rush, Tigris," he spoke smoothly, his voice devoid of any hint of the turmoil that he felt "I just need this done by Tuesday."

He turned his attention to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I should hope that's not what you’re intending to wear to the gala, I think your mother would throw you in the arena herself.”

Without another word, he turned and exited the dressing room, leaving you and Tigris to exchange looks.

___

Coriolanus couldn't shake the image of your back from his mind. The smooth, flawless skin, untouched by blemish or imperfection, is a testament to the care your mother had taken in your upbringing and no doubt the many concoctions she made to keep you that way. The memory of your curves lingered in his thoughts.

He had always held the opinion that your body was more suited to the Districts, a form meant for bearing child after child to provide the Captiol with more luxury. But seeing you laid bare made him reconsider your appeal. 

His usual taste in women ran towards the petite, almost painfully thin, figures that could afford to forgo nourishment for the sake of fashion. They were delicate creatures, easily controlled, incapable of challenging his authority. But there was something about you, something that stirred a different kind of desire within him.

Thoughts of you under him shifted, taking on a carnal nature. The dim light in the room seemed to flicker with the intensity of the images playing in Coriolanus's mind. 

You under him, tears streaming down your face, but no longer was he choking you. You cried out in pleasure begging him to never stop. Your cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, mouth open as you gasped. Neck covered in hit bite marks and hickies that trailed down your chest, heaving with exertion. His hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he thrust again and again, your nails digging into his forearms drawing blood.

You cried so sweetly for him, came undone so well for him. That cunning mind of yours consumed by thoughts of him. He might never figure out how to predict your actions but he could figure out your needs, your desires, what makes you tick. Pull your tongue out between his fingers and spit in your mouth. To turn you on your front and hike your hips up against his own, hands pinned behind your back. 

“Corio, what's wrong?”

Coriolanus's mind jolted back to the present, the vivid images from his fantasies dissolving like wisps of smoke. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dim light of the room once more. Your gentle voice, using his nickname, had pierced through the haze of his thoughts, pulling him back from the precipice of his desires.

"Nothing, I was considering something for the next games," he replied, his voice slightly strained. "I do apologise, Mr. Creed. Innovation is something that weighs on me heavily.”

Mr. Creed chuckled, bassy and thumping. “ No worries my boy, your date was keeping me ample company.” 

He watched as the older man's gaze lingered on your figure, a predatory glint in his eyes as it bore into your chest for a second too long.

 Disgust churned within him, a visceral reaction to the blatant display of lechery. Mr. Creed's age only served to amplify the repulsiveness of his behaviour, a man old enough to be your father, yet still driven by the primal urges of a rutting animal.

Coriolanus saw through the façade of civility, the veneer of sophistication that Mr. Creed carefully maintained. Behind the polished exterior lurked a man incapable of masking his basest desires, his eyes a window into a mind consumed by lust.

He drew you in closer, feeling the heat of your skin spread against the material of his suit.

“And what company she is.” he placed a kiss on your temple with a chuckle all whistle maintaining eye contact with Mr. Creed. A man's warning not to vye for what was his. “I often say she should host the games instead of designing them.” 

“Oh hush! You couldn’t possibly manage without me.”

“Well I’d have your mother.” 

You giggled at that, showing that you had one too many fruity cocktails infused with a laughing agent earlier in the night, the light catching in your eyes. He could tell you were loose, more pliable then he had ever seen you. Part of him wondered if it was just all part of the act to you, playing as well behaved for him.  The Capitol’s untouchable wild child made compliant in his arms. 

Despite the lingering doubt, Coriolanus couldn't deny the allure of your presence. Your laughter, once a source of frustration, now held a captivating charm, and your relaxed attitude was a welcome change from your usual sharp wit and guarded demeanour.

“And with that Mr. Creed, I do think that Y/N and myself should go find Dr. Gaul.” 

“Of course Mr. Snow, I look forward to your next presentation.’ 

Coriolanus pulled you away from the overly perfumed man and out of the garden where you had been. The president’s mansion always had half the party outside in the expansive greenery and the rest on the first floor of the building. He guided you out of the garden, the expansive greenery and lively chatter fading into a distant hum. He led you into a secluded sitting room, its dimly lit interior a stark contrast to the vibrant party outside.

Coriolanus was a man who prized possession, a collector of valuable objects and people alike. He had never been one to share, a feature made even worse after his time in District 12, and the sight of Mr. Creed eyeing his 'toy' had ignited a possessive fire within him.

You were his, he told himself, all the Capitol knew after the revelation of your made up love affair during the 15th games. But, you had made it abundantly clear that you were not his. The ownership did not extend into your life outside of performing in your role for the people of the Capitol and to appease your mother.

It was easy to keep the lines from being blurred normally but since that day in the dressing parlour something snapped within him. 

Plopping down on the chaise you sighed heavily. “What crawled up your ass Corio?” To strung out every syllable of his nickname, teasing him. 

A sharp exhale and her turned to face you. Watching you reapply your pristine red lipstick. 

“Creed is nothing more than a pig, a bloated, self-serving creature who values nothing but his own wealth and power," he growled, his voice laced with venom. 

You raised an eyebrow. 

“Tell me something I don't know. One of their Avvoxes is like that because Festus saw his father with the girl, and his mother went bat shit.”

“How do you know this?”

You closed your compact with a snap and tucked it back into your clutch alongside your lipstick. "Festus told me," you confessed, a sly grin playing on your lips. "He squeals easily.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Tell me Snow, when did you start to care if some old pervert undressed me mentally.” 

“Since your mother made the entire country think we’re in love.”

“But we aren't.”

“No we aren’t,” there was no love between you two “but that means you’re mine as far as he’s concerned. I don’t enjoy anyone coveting what's mine, even if this relationship is just for show.”

“Ah! Of course, there he is, the egotistical and controlling Coriolanus we all know. For a second I thought you might actually hold a shred of care for me.” 

You leaned back in the chair, your dress slipping slightly down on your chest furthering the curve of your breast. 

He had to admit to himself he was no more animal than Mr. Creed when the slightest slip made his thoughts race. His mind went back to his earlier thoughts now inspired by the room you were in. Bent over the chaise with your lipstick smeared, a litany of stains on his face and collar. He’d hike the skirt of your dress up and pull your top down, leaving your breasts free for him to grab at as he took you from behind, your underwear hanging off just an ankle. Festus or his father would walk in the scene and pale as Coriolanus displayed his ownership of you. 

“Seriously Snow what’s wrong with you?” You’ve been distracted all night.” You shifted on the chair grabbing his arm and pulling him down to sit. “I won’t pretend to like you but you’re not yourself.” 

His gaze flickered down to your chest before meeting your eyes. 

Those eyes had always held the power to see through him, to strip away his carefully constructed exterior and expose the terrified child within, a child haunted by the horrors of the bombings. They roused something deep within him, something he couldn't quite comprehend. He was convinced it was hatred, an intense aversion to everything related to you. Yet, amidst the gaudy extravagance of this opulent sitting room, there was something more than hatred, a yearning, a need to possess you, not just in the pretence of a fabricated relationship, but for real.

“Nothing is wrong.”

"Bullshit," you retorted, your voice firm and unwavering. "You've been distant with me ever since that day in Tigris' dressing parlour. You refused to even acknowledge me the last time I saw you, couldn't even bring yourself to look at me."

He couldn't deny your accusation, for it was true. He had been avoiding you, intentionally keeping his distance, unable to face the tempest of emotions that your presence evoked within him.

"Have you considered that I find you repulsive and even looking at you gives me mental anguish?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to deflect the attention away from his own turmoil.

"Okay, jackass," you sighed in exasperation. "I was actually trying to be nice to you here, even considering the possibility of being more amicable in the future, but clearly, that's an impossibility with you."

Standing up from your position, you straightened out your dress, your back turned to him. "I'm going to find my mother and then leave, and I don’t know how we will keep acting like we’re in love in public but we will." you declared, your voice seeming to echo in the room.

Before you could take a step away, Coriolanus' hand wrapped around your wrist. "You're hurting me," you exclaimed, struggling against his hold.

"What do you even want?" you demanded, spinning around to snatch his hand away, only to find yourself pulled down, landing directly into his lap.

You gasped in surprise, your body pressed against his, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through your senses. His eyes, those storm-filled pools, were inches from yours, their intensity almost hypnotic. There was something swirling in them that you had never seen him express before.

“God seriously, what is wrong with you? I don’t know why my mother insists on it being you! You are the most insufferable man I have ever met. Constantly talking down to me and trying to make me feel lesser. You need to sort yourself out.”

 Your voice raised, carrying into the hallway where he knew people were. He could hear their steps coming towards the door. 

He watched you, his expression unreadable, his fingers still tracing patterns on your waist. It felt so breakable under his touch, like he could squeeze it ever so tightly and it would shatter. Maybe that was what was wrong with him, his image was that of strength and yet you were so fragile. 

The reality was much harsher than that. He had never viewed you as a person before that day. You have been an obstacle or a pawn. Now he had to act as he loved you, craved you, desired you. Initially that was a hard ask, your very being was unpleasant to him, but since that day something had shifted in him. You were human now. And far too tempting. 

The handle of the door began to turn. The narrative needed to be made, actions taken, you both were here for a purpose tonight. 

His lips crashed into yours, more gnashing teeth than the delicate touch of a lover, a show of dominance and control. The frustration of this whole act and his loss of control bubbling to the surface and letting the anger out on you. You tried to pull away, speak to him maybe, but he pulled you back against him and with a hand on the side of your face pushed your jaw open letting him slip his tongue inside your mouth. It was wet and messy. His tongue running against the back of your top teeth before dancing with your own. The desire to consume you coming out on top.

“Oh my!”

He pulled away with a bite at your lip, hard enough to leave the both of you tasting blood.

A collection of Coriolanus' classmates from the Academy and a few notable members of high society, including both Festus and his father, stood at the now open french doors taking in the scene before them. 

Y/N Gaul draped across Coriolanus Snow’s lap engaged in a hot and steamy makeout session. You intricate updo half udon by his actions, both your breathing labour, red lipstick smudged around both your mouths. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights. You hadn’t heard anyone coming to the room too distracted by Coriolanus’ odd behaviour which was now explained. 

Coriolanus instantly snapped into character a charming smile spread across his face as he steadied a hand on your hip. 

“My apologies I wasn’t aware anyone would be using this parlour tonight.” He spoke with a lighthearted chuckle. “Miss Gaul was just simply breathtaking this evening.” 

Your name brought you back into the moment, the velvet of his voice soothing your panic. You moved to adjust his shirt and blazer back into place, an intimate gesture painting the two of you having a deeper relationship than people initially thought.

“Corio,” you chided gently “I told you that we needed to be careful.” 

“You're right my dear. I was overconfident, assuming we had a moment to ourselves. I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.” He slipped the handkerchief out of his pocket and began cleaning up your ruined lipstick. “Please give us just a minute and we will clear the room for you.” 

He finished cleaning you up and then stood, taking your hand in his. Some more apologies were given to the crowd as the two of you absconded away like teenage lovers that had just been caught. A trail of hushed whispers and lingering glances followed you out. You couldn’t catch everything but you heard one thing very clearly. 

“Well there goes the gossip that they hate each other.”

[poisonlove]

a macchiato, please | j.o

Y/n, working in the quiet café in Turin, is having a normal day until Jenna Ortega, a famous actress, walks into her establishment. This unexpected event will change Y/n's routine and lead to a series of events that will transform her life.

Immersed in the quiet routine of an afternoon in the small café in Turin, I focused on cleaning the cups and glasses.

The atmosphere here was always enveloped in a calm aura, so different from the chaos of daily life. The café, furnished with simplicity and charm, exuded a welcoming atmosphere. Wooden tables were neatly arranged, with comfortable chairs framing the central area. The walls were adorned with paintings by local artists, creating a lively and artistic ambiance.

"Hey, y/n," I turned at the sound of the voice and noticed Mrs. Rossi, my boss, emerging from the kitchen with a gentle yet concerned expression.

With a friendly smile, I approached. "Is everything okay, Mrs. Rossi?"

"Yes, everything's fine. You can call me Maria, you know that, right?" she replied with a sigh. "I have to go for an unexpected medical check-up. Will you be able to close the café tonight?"

"Of course, no problem," I assured, trying to reassure her. "I'll take care of everything. Have a good check-up." Mrs. Rossi smiled at me. "Thank you, Y/n. If you need anything, call me. Goodbye!" she said, putting on her jacket and leaving the premises.

With a wave goodbye, Mrs. Rossi left, leaving me alone in the small yet cozy café.

The sweet melody of Leave Me Lonely by Ariana Grande filled the air of the café through the speakers. "Dangerous love, you're no good for me, darling," I sang with a smile, feeling captivated by the music as I grabbed the coffee capsules for the machine.

I moved my hips slightly, letting the song's rhythm envelop me.

The tinkling of the bell at the entrance made me look up. "Welcome to Caffetteria Rossi! How can I assist you?" I murmured with a warm expression.

My eyes gazed with curiosity at the girl who looked around cautiously and with interest. She wore a huge black cloak, sunglasses, an elegant hat, and a scarf that wrapped around her neck.

I blinked in confusion, considering that the weather in Turin wasn't as cold as her attire might suggest. Perhaps she came from a much colder place, I thought, or she simply loved the mysterious and incognito style.

"Do you speak English?" the girl asked with curiosity, her voice muffled by the scarf.

"Uhm, yeah," I replied, confused.

I glanced around and realized I hadn't put on the shop's apron yet. I turned and took it, tying it around my waist.

"Of course. What can I get you?" I asked absentmindedly, still facing away.

"Uhm... a macchiato, please," she smiled. I realized her voice was clearer now, probably because she had removed the scarf.

A smile crept on my lips at the peculiar pronunciation of macchiato but of course, I wouldn't judge. I focused on the coffee machine, carefully starting to prepare her order. The reassuring sound of capsules entering the machine filled the air as I worked.

The girl approached the counter, pushing her sunglasses slightly down, revealing a lively and curious gaze. "Mi scuso per il mio italiano, è... non è molto buono" she said with a slightly embarrassed expression. She removed her sunglasses, placing them on top of her head.

"Don't worry, you..." I stopped abruptly, surprised, seeing her brown eyes clearly. Penetrating coffee-colored eyes, a delightful smile, and several freckles around her nose.

"You're doing fine," I replied timidly, almost embarrassed and excited by her presence.

What was Jenna Ortega doing in our café?

Jenna seemed slightly tense, as if she feared the worst, even having to escape if recognized. The atmosphere suddenly became more intense, and I could sense her nervousness. "You... do you know who I am, right?" she murmured with a disheartened tone.

I gave a slight side smile, nodding.

"Don't worry, I'm not like the other fans," I said, smiling.

I picked up the coffee cup and offered it to Jenna. "What are you trying to say?" Jenna asked curiously, looking at me seriously.

In the meantime, Jenna had taken off her coat, placing it over the armrest of a chair.

"I respect your privacy... oh god... I adore you, you're amazing and beautiful..." I confessed, my cheeks reddening. "But I can't imagine how it feels to be recognized by everyone," I murmured absentmindedly.

Jenna seemed taken aback by a sweet surprise, as if those unexpected words had positively impacted her. "Thank you, really," she replied with a sincere smile.

"And you're right, it can be a bit overwhelming. But meeting genuine people like you makes it all more enjoyable." Jenna tilted her head to the side, reading my name tag, smiling playfully "y/n..." she whispered softly "y/n, you're beautiful too," she said in a light tone.

I felt myself blush immediately, caught off guard. Jenna had joked about me calling her beautiful, and now the compliment directed at me made me feel a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "Thank you," I replied shyly, with a timid smile.

Jenna gracefully took the coffee cup, thanking me again with a warm look. Then, with elegance, those coffee-colored eyes were now free to survey the world around, revealing a depth and intensity that captured my attention.

"Can I ask you something?" Jenna asked kindly, sipping her coffee.

"Of course," I replied, intrigued by her interest.

"Tell me about this café? It has such a welcoming atmosphere, it seems like a special place."

"Sure," I said with a smile, beginning to tell the story of the café.

"This little oasis was born many years ago, founded by a couple passionate about coffee and art. They wanted to create a place where people could escape from their daily routine, enjoying great coffee in a cozy and stimulating atmosphere." Jenna listened attentively, interested in the narrative.

"And the tradition continued over time," I continued, "maintaining the authentic and friendly atmosphere that is the heart of this place. Now it's a beloved spot for many, not only for the coffee but also for the sense of community that is felt here."

As I spoke, I noticed Jenna was fascinated by the story of the café. It was nice to share a piece of that magic with her, who had brought a bit of light and curiosity to that quiet working day.

"And what are you doing in Turin? It doesn't seem like the kind of place someone like you would want to visit," I murmured curiously, leaning on the table.

"Someone like me?" Jenna finished her coffee and gently placed it on the counter. "Sorry, but Turin doesn't seem like your kind of place," I confessed, picking up the cup and placing it in the sink.

"I have an interview, and we'll probably be around here for the new season of Wednesday. Tim fell in love with this city after seeing the exhibition dedicated to him months ago," she confessed, and I smiled at her honesty.

"I loved that series," I admitted quickly. "The way you act is impressive, you can tell you love your job," I nervously bit my lower lip. "But personally, I also loved Scream... Tara is so mysterious... I swear I thought she was the ghostface" I chuckle "then the scream you make... wow!" I murmured absentmindedly.

"Thank you..." she chuckled softly.

"Do you want something else? A brioche?" I asked gently, and she nodded slowly.

"Cream, chocolate... pistachio, or plain?" I asked with a small smile on my lips.

"I prefer cream," she murmured lightly.

Jenna looked around curiously, and I couldn't ignore her beauty. Her dark and silky hair fell gracefully on her shoulders.

Her face had delicate features and penetrating coffee-colored eyes that expressed vivacity and determination. Her smile was radiant, illuminating the entire café. The thin lips added grace to her face. Jenna exuded elegance in every gesture and movement.

"Can we take a picture? I swear I won't post it," I asked nervously.

Jenna chuckled, "It doesn't matter, you can post it if you want," she said with a smile.

"Sorry... after, I'll give you the brioche, but I really want this photo," I admitted, picking up my phone from the counter.

I walked around and approached Jenna, smiling at the height difference. Jenna stood next to me, and we both smiled at the camera.

Jenna's arm gently wrapped around my waist, and I shivered at her touch. Her scent, a mix of fresh and light notes, filled my nostrils as I tried to maintain my nervous smile for the photo.

My heart was racing, almost deafening, feeling Jenna's breath against my cheek. The moment seemed suspended, an eternity compressed into that simple instant.

I looked at the camera, trying to focus on the shot, but it was difficult to ignore Jenna's proximity. It was as if everything else faded away, leaving space only for the two of us in that small fragment of time.

And then, the click of the camera broke the spell. It was over, but that brief moment would remain etched in my memory, like a pure and authentic emotion. I smiled in satisfaction and quickly went back behind the counter, wanting to fulfill Jenna's request.

"Here..." I handed her the brioche, and Jenna smiled sincerely.

"How old are you?" she asked with curiosity, taking a bite of her brioche.

"20," I replied, taken aback.

Jenna nodded, listening with interest. It was pleasant to converse with her, as if there was a natural harmony between us, despite the obvious differences in our life paths.

Shortly after, Jenna's phone chimed, announcing an incoming call. She pulled the phone out of her bag and checked the screen.

"Sorry, I have to take this, it's my agent," she said, slightly rising from the stool.

"Go ahead," I replied, smiling understandingly.

Jenna moved slightly away from the counter, answering the call with a professional yet polite tone. I could perceive her determination in the way she spoke with her agent. Despite the distance, I could catch snippets of the conversation, discussing work commitments and future projects.

As I waited, I looked at the paintings on the walls, letting the café's music lull me into a quiet serenity.

"Sorry, but I have to go," Jenna murmured with a clearly disappointed expression. "The brioche is excellent," she confessed, and I smiled gently.

"How much do I owe you?" she murmured softly, flustered. "It's on the house," I confessed, and Jenna gave me a huge smile.

"Thanks" She quickly says

"No worries, have a good day," I replied, feeling a hint of sadness.

Jenna picked up her coat and put it on, putting on her sunglasses. "It was a pleasure to meet you, y/n," she confessed as she put on her scarf.

"The pleasure was mine," I murmured with a small smile.

"See you soon," Jenna said, opening the door and turning in my direction with a smile.

I didn't reply and watched as she left the café, glancing at the sign with curiosity. Jenna approached the street and raised her hand, catching the attention of a black SUV that had come to pick her up.

I sighed, looking at the clock and realizing that I would soon have to close the café.

"Yes, it's time to go home," I murmured, allowing a wave of nostalgia to wash over me.

I approached the door and hung the "We're closed" sign with a sigh of satisfaction. Next, I dedicated myself to arranging a few things in the café, sweeping the floor and cleaning the cup Jenna had used. It was a way to bring order and close a day that had turned out to be much more interesting than expected.

I sighed audibly, letting the weariness and excitement of the day blend inside me.

A notification on my phone caught my attention, and I approached the counter with slow steps. I picked it up and widened my eyes seeing two notifications on Instagram:

Jennaortega started following caffetteria_Rossi.

Jennaortega started following you.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Supersons +1 propmt fill Part3 Tr3s

The sprinklers activated in an instant and covered the centre in a deluge of water. Whatever scientists remained scrambled to recover what remained of their creations before the water could irrevocably damage them. In a hidden corner, one Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent made knowing glances to each other, a mutual agreement reached in seconds after decades of friendship. With the help of a crowbar, the men quickly pry open one of the exit doors, making way for panicked civilians to exit the premises, 'Brucie' giving comfort to those distressed by the recent events. It wasn't long before they had to make themselves scarce. They had their sons to rescue, there was no time!

As Bruce and Clark snuck out into the empty hallway, having been quickly evacuated by a Gothamite's natural self-preservation instinct and discipline from years of attacks. They nodded, and went their seperate ways. Clark to go change into his Superman outfit, and Bruce to calm the inevitable deluge of reporters before changing into his own costume.

Cameras flashed over the front entrance to the event, blinding the last few stragglers to leave, and Bruce, standing tall against the crashing sea.

"Mr Wayne! What can you tell us about the new villain that Joker has teamed up with?"

"Mr Wayne, how does Wayne Industries intent to secure future events from attacks on this scale?"

"Where is Damian Wayne? Sir how can Wayne Industries secure the future of Gotham if you cannot protect your own children?"

"Mr Wayne is it true that you allowed Jack Fenton to attend the event despite knowing he was a quack?"

And on and on and on. Bruce never intended to give these people what they wanted. He had children to save, and investigations to conduct. Before he could excuse himself, however, a roaring boom echoed down the street like summer thunder. Reporters screamed as they trampled over each other to escape the path of a silver behemoth charging down the road. Thick metal plates lined its exterior. A large satellite dish adorned its top, and jutting out from the sides were massive guns. The van sported too many OSHA violations to be anything less than a tank on four wheels than any civilian vehicle. Batman will have to crack down on whatever corrupt whitecollar criminals allowed this monstrosity on the roads.

The van charged right up to where Bruce was standing on the pavement, before coming to a terrifyingly rapid halt, so sudden that the entire vehicle jerked forward from its momentum. It would have been cartoonish if it hadn't stopped cleanly right in front of him. The front door slammed open, and a pair of black-gloved hands grabbed Bruce by the shoulder. In public surrounded by cameras, Bruce was helpless but to comply.

"BRUCIE WAYNE! I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU!"

Bruce scanned the interior of the van in an instant, clocking in the undignified Clark Kent clinging to his seat like a child to their parents leg, tie messed up and suit creased. His classes were crooked on his face. "He just scooped me up like I was paper mache, Bruce!" The man's voice was shaking.

"Strap in Brucie, because the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle cares for no trivial matters like traffic laws, or even physics laws!"

What kind of branding was this? "The Fenton Family wha-" Jack slammed the gas. The GAV rocketed into max gear in an instant. The force threw the poor man off his feet. Bruce went hurtling into the backside of the GAV and crashed with a bang. The G-forces kept him glued to the wall like a black-suited starfish, at least until Clark extended an arm to peel him off.

"I'm starting to think you might be right about him being a supervillain." Clark whispered.

Bruce grimly nodded.

"Alright so now that we're all together, here's the plan folks!" Jack said, tone all too cheerful for the chaos he was creating on the road. Innocent cars swerved out of the way of the advancing war machine. Pedestrians clung to lampposts and fences as gale force winds blasted them from its wake. "Let's start with the bad news: Our kids have been spirited away by suffering spooks! The good news: The Fenton Radar works!" Jack tapped on a screen on the van's console, showing two beeping dots on a radar map.

"BUILDING!" Clark yelled. They were rocketing right into a townhouse.

Jack yanked the wheel to the left. The GAV turned 90 degrees in about half a second, turning both passengers into ragdolls thrown across the side. On the outside, a subtle Superman-shaped dent was visible. "Thanks for that, Clarkie! Now I'm sure you guys aren't as experienced as me and my lovely wife Maddie are in hunting ghosts, but don't worry! I can give you a crash course."

"Please don't say crash course." Clark quivered.

"Could you maybe slow down?!" Bruce yelled over the roaring engines.

"No can do, Brucie! Any slower and the GHOSTS will leave the Fenton Radar's range, and then we'll never get our kids back!"

"I think I'm going to be sick." So Kryptonians can get nausea from high-speed vehicles, interesting. He'll have to update his file.

"The Joker and his associates entered your portal and set it to blow, how can we even get the kids back if they're on the other side!"

Jack turned around with a smile. "That's what the Fenton PortaPortal version 2 is for! Never leave home without a spare, my grandpa Fenton always said!"

"Dr Fenton, that bridge was destroyed in a gang fight!" Bruce shouted. Construction workers were already scattering, but a thick concrete barrier stood in their way.

"No need to worry, Fenton engineering can handle a little hole here or there!"

"The entire bridge was destroyed, we're going to fall off!"

"I love your sense of humour Brucie, but even if we did it wouldn't matter!"

"I really think it does, Dr Fenton!" Clark gripped the bottom of the nearby seat hard enuogh to dent.

"Nonsense, watch this!" Jack pushed the gas even further, as if that was even possible. The GAV reduced the concrete barrior to smithereens. "Go go Fenton Famliy Ghost Assault Vehicle: Aerial Mode!" The mad scientist's shouted in glee. He pulled another lever, activating a pair of wings from the sides.

Clark would deny screaming like a girl to the end of his days.

~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Zone...

Danny shifted nervously in his position, atop the swarm of Lydia's bats, and flanked by the freaking Joker of all people on one side and Freaking Freakshow on the other. What did he do to deserve this?

If It was just the Joker and Freakshow, he would just happily transform and kick the snot out of these clowns, but sadly he's not alone.

Also tied up with rope both human and ghostly were one Damian Wayne and Jon Kent, the former of which looked none too pleased about the current situation. While Damian spat vitriol upon the Joker and his "D-list half-rate assisstant," with man himself largely ignoring his words to fawn over the chaos of the Realms, Danny contemplated his options. Good news: Freakshow hadn't blown his secret yet, which was cold comfort for the moment, seeing as if he had, he'd just be able to punch these suckers and be done with it, but nooo. Maybe he could overshadow the other boys and hypnotise them into forgetting? Was that a thing that can be done? Would've been convenient, and because of that, Danny suspected it's wishful thinking. If it worked, great, if it didn't work, well Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne have ties to the Justice League, who have ties to the government, who hire the GiW, so there's a non-zero percent chance such a stunt would end up with him on a dissection table.

Which means he's left playing the waiting game, spectating the Joker jumping up and down like a fangirl over all the green, and purple, and fighting, and death. First day in Gotham, guys.

"Psst." Jon whispered to him.

Danny said nothing, but leaned a little on Jon's side.

"Don't worry, we're gonna be ok, I'm sure the J-J-Justice League will be here. Just sit t-t-tight, ok?"

Wow, that was really touching that he was trying to comfort Danny, but the ghostly part of him didn't even need to feel Jon's shaking, or hear his stutter to know the kid was absolutely terrified. Now that he thought about it, it really should be him doing the comforting.

"Eh I wouldn't hedge my bets on it." Causing the other boy to squeak in fear. Curse you, snark instinct. Why can't you be heroic and reassuring instead.

"Neither would I, boy." Freakshow said, almost like he was rubbing in just how much danger his secret was in.

"You will unhand us, or you will know the meaning of pain in every sense of the world. This I tell you. I will feed you to my chickens. I will cut up your flesh and grind it into paste and then fertilise my vegetable garden with it. You will regret crossing me."

Jon let out the faintest whisper, something Danny would've never heard if he wasn't a ghost, and a master of quiet sounds. "Really selling the normal kid act here, Damian."

"On the contrary, lovely chlidren, I believe it is you who will soon become ghosts. NEYEHEHEYEHEH" Oh god here comes the gratuitous laughter. "I can't believe such a t~~tttttTANTALISING opportunity has been out there for me this whole time! AHAHAHAHAAH. And for you, my little children, to have come to this wonderful little science expo alongside your dear old daddies only to become part of the exhibit?" The Joker cracked into laughter, slapping his knees and collapsing in fitful giggles.

Each of the free boys gulped, each of them considering how to save the apparent civilian(s) among them without exposing themselves...

@impyssadobsessions

[screamingcryingandthrowinguprn]

Jealous (Wally Clark x Reader)

A little Wally Clark blurb, because I love him.

Warnings: A little angst, but fluffy comfort! Tried to keep it gender-neutral, and did not use (Y/N)!

Hope y'all like it, and other people will start writing for Wally too!

xXx

You loved you boyfriend exactly as he is, an outgoing and very likeable guy, extremely welcoming. This extended to everyone he met, with the new girl, Maddie, being no exception. You were sympathetic to her situation. It was not easy finding out you died, especially considering she was murdered with no recollection of her death.

It seems like Wally made it his life mission to cheer her up or at least make her feel a little less miserable. While you loved that he wanted to spread his cheer, you felt a little left behind as he shifted his focus to her.

So, when Field Day came, you saw it as a way to not only trash the school on retaliation for your imprisonment, you could also blow off a bit of your anger at the Wally-Maddie situation. As soon as you made it to the field, you picked up a metal bat and began swinging on a wooden pole nearby you. When you heard a vehicle pulling up, you perked your head up, hearing the laughs of Wally and Maddie. You watched as he guided her swings against the vending machines, then whipping off his shirt as he runs around cheering.

As stupid as it was, you could feel angry tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You quietly slipped away from the group, heading back to the school. You had almost made it back without being noticed, until you heard Mr. Martin softly call your name. You stopped, wiping your eyes, and turned towards him.

"Where are you going? Field day is out here," he asks, motioning towards the group of ghosts causing unseen chaos a few yards away.

"I think I'm done for the day. Just need to go take a walk inside, Mr. Martin. A little break from the crazy," you explained, trying to come off as nonchalant. You could tell Mr. Martin did not fully believe you, but he let you go without any further questioning, letting you know you could talk to him later if you needed to. You nodded and slipped back inside.

You roamed the halls of the school, allowing memories of your time whilst alive swirl through your head, some from after your death as well. Anger and sadness swelled in your chest, and paired with your slight jealousy of Maddie, as ridiculous as you knew it was, sent you over the edge. Hot tears blurred your vision, leaking down your cheeks as your forehead met with the cool metal of the lockers. Your fists slammed against the red, the sound echoing down the halls as a soft sob left you.

You were angry at yourself for getting this upset. You knew Wally loved you, that he would never intentionally hurt you. And you were sure Maddie was not looking for anything more than friendship, if she was even looking for that among her investigation.

Your loud thoughts and sobs left you deaf to the boy calling out to you from down the hall. you weren't made aware of his presence until his hand made gentle contact with your shoulder. You whipped around, startled, until your eyes met the rich brown eyes that you love so much. His eyebrows furrowed together as he glanced at the wet marks running down your face.

"Hey, what's wrong," he asked, concern laced in his voice.

"It's nothing, Wally. I'm just being silly," you replied, moving your arm to wipe your face.

"It's not silly if its making you this upset." His hands moved to your face, cupping your cheeks and tenderly wiping the wetness from under your eyes. You groaned, wanting to hide your face from him as you realized he wasn't planning on letting you go without an answer.

"Okay, okay, I have been feeling a little off lately," You started, only continuing once he nodded at you to. "I feel like I should be used to being dead by now, and I am pretty accepting of it, but days like this just remind me that I AM dead. Then I start thinking about my life, which sucks. But also… I haven't seen much of you recently."

He urged you to continue, bringing his face closer to yours.

"You've been a bit busy lately… With Maddie. Don't get me wrong, I love that you are trying to make her afterlife a bit better, and there is no one who can do it better than you. I am just feeling a little left behind."

Wally's eyes widened as a panicked look shot onto his face, dropping his hands from your cheeks, opting for wrapping his arms around your shoulders, crushing your body against his.

"No, no, no. That's not even close to what is happening, I swear. I just want to be friends with Maddie, nothing else," sincerety was apparent in his tone. You let out a quiet chuckle, wrapping your arms around his midsection and holding him as close as you could, burying your face in his chest.

"I know, I know. Call it paranoia. You would never hurt me," you mumbled against him. He pulled back, cupping your face again, staring into your eyes.

"Never ever. You're it for me. All I want and more."

"I don't regret meeting you. You are my everything, Wally Clark."

Your lips met in a sweet, firm kiss, trying to convey all the love you held to each other.

[the-fiction-witch]

Just Breathe With Me

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet as Sugar!

Requested Can you please do a Jack Dawkins x reader who has a panic attack? ( comfort/fluff no smut ) wait omg plz do 🙏 only if you're comfortable of course

Warnings: Panic Attack In great detail! Please be careful!

I opened my eyes and was forced into this world, for a few brief seconds I enjoyed my peace until the chaos ensued. 

Olivia cried in her crib, her little body in her baby clothes stood up in her crib, her hands on the top of the bars as she shook them, her face red and her eyes squeezed tight with tears streaming down her face. 

Luna screamed on her bed, wearing her little white nightie, she jumped up and down on her bed screaming at Martin, as he tried to take her teddy. 

Martin shouted as he was took all the various teddies and toys to steal for himself, half-dressed but nothing more than his socks and trousers.

Lucas hits his stick on various things in the house, not dressed at all so he runs around naked, each hit makes a loud bang. 

He even knocks off a vase causing it to smash and sending broken pieces all over the floor. 

I forced myself up out of bed, my body exhausted but I had little choice but to get up and function. I quickly cleaned up the broken vase and just got on. 

I briefly became an octopus or I wish I had,  as I managed to cook breakfast, get each of my siblings washed, dressed, hair brushed and presentable, get myself dressed, changed Olivia, quelled four arguments and made the beds Before we even hit the top of the hour. I felt faint but Ignored it and pushed on. 

And right on time once every job was done, my mother trudged down the staircase from her bedroom upstairs in her nightie, her hair matted and messy, her whole body stank of whiskey, she sat herself in the chair and snapped her fingers.

The snap caused my heart to jump from my chest to my throat, beating rapidly, I hated myself but I handed over her spirit bottle. 

She immediately took an intense swig of it, and the first words out of her mouth were harsh and bitter,

"Where's my vase?"

"Lucas broke it this morning," I told her,

"Find a replacement today."

"Yes Mother," I nodded, 

"And we are out of food."

"Yes, Mother I will get food at the market."

"and I need more drink."

"Yes, Mother I will get some,"

"They'll be late for the schoolhouse."

"I know, I'm just taking them." I nodded, "Come everyone school time." I told them to sort them all out with their books and what little lunch I could give them and got them all out the door on time, 

"You won't see me later, I'm going out."

"Yes Mother," I sighed "Perhaps not too late-"

"Dont. Say a word." She demanded, 

I nodded and just got going into town. 

Of course, the town was bustling with the commotion of carriages, horses, carts and people all going about their business. I did my best with Olivia on my hip to make sure everyone else behaved and avoided getting hurt, having to juggle the three of them to the schoolhouse. a twisting in my stomach but I didn't have time to dwell on it, 

As soon as they were in the school house I had to scamper my way across town to drop Olivia off at her nursery, then before I had much time I had to get myself to my work in the local tailor pushing open the door and heading in grabbing my apron as I went catching my short breath. 

"You're late again!" He snapped,

"Sorry Mr Ashworth, I had to drop my siblings off," I said quickly sitting at my old rickety sewing machine almost fifteen years old this machine but still I had to use it every day to do hems and repairs, the pile as tall as me beside my table, having to go slow but not too slow or I'll never get finished, fast but not to fast as to damage the fabric, or catch my fingers, or break a needle, every time I had to rethread the machine with a new colour or type of thread for a different fabric or use I held my breath for a few seconds it took to change but every second counts and I can't afford delays. The longer the day went on I began to lose feeling in my fingertips, with tingling of pins and needles in my fingers and toes, but I pushed through even if it did mean I cut myself more often as without feeling I got dangerously close to my scissors and needles.

As soon as work was over I had to rush across town and pick up my siblings from the school house, I tried to keep them all in line as we headed to the market, and I got all the things we would need for the next few days while also batting at their hands to try and get them to settle and not steal things even if some things had to be paid for because someone ran off with them, all the while I kept feeling these flashes or heat, or chill but I don't have time to dwell on temperature.

Once I got all the food I took them home and left them to play dropping the groceries off too before I returned back to town to go looking for a replacement for my mother's vase, it was slim pickings but I managed to get one and haggle down the price to what little I had left for this month. I knew by now my legs were trembling, and my body felt like giving in but all I needed now was to pick Olivia up, go home, make dinner, do a round of baths and get everyone to bed. Ready to do all of it again tomorrow. 

When a young boy ran past knocking into me sending me tumbling down to the ground the vase hitting the ground and smashing into a million little pieces.

"No... no... no no no no" I muttered trying to put it back together. 

And the moment it smashed, I completely broke open. 

Tears streamed down my face, as I cried hysterically, my breath short and shaky, my throat choking and tight with every breath, my mouth dry and sickly, my heart raced jumping in and out my chest, my fingers and toes numb, my head dizzy almost to faint, my every limb shook and sweated, my stomach churned and turned like a hurricane, I couldn't even think, or even begin to know where to start to fix myself. 

"Oh my goodness, are you alright?" A voice asked but I couldn't pick up much about it I just was lost almost distant from my body as it went through this agony, "Come on, with me." He said helping me to my feet and leading me to a rear alley out of sight of others, he helped me to lean against the wall and began to speak to me his voice soothing, and with his every word I began to slowly feel like I was swimming like I was at sea, my body a boat and slowly I was swimming back to it. "Okay, it's okay, Just breathe. Just Breathe with me... Breath in." He asked and I did my best even if I felt so short and so breathless, "And out." He asked so I did as he asked between my tears, "Okay, Just follow me just breathe with me, In... and out." He reassured He walked me through each breath he would make me inhale for five whole seconds, hold it for five more and then release for five seconds, he walked me through this for a good while until my breathlessness began to disappear, and between my tearful eyes my vision cleared and I saw him. 

He was a young man,  I wouldn't say much older than me, in brown trousers, a white shirt, a blue waistcoat, a green tie, a slightly purple jacket, and a hat, he had deep chocolate eyes and seemed to genuinely want to help me. 

"There we go, That a little better?" he asked and I nodded even if I still couldn't stop, "Alright, I want you to do some things for me, alright? Can you do that for me?" he asked and I nodded, "Alright, I want you to tell me three things you can hear, doesn't matter what just focus on the sounds and repeat them back to me."

For a moment I couldn't hear anything my ears ringing and burning but I knew one thing I could hear and I forced it out "You're voice."

"My voice,  That's perfect," He smiled, "You think you can do another one for me?"

I tried to listen to pour all my attention into my ears and I could hear "The Market Stalls,"

"You can hear the market? That's perfect, one more for me? One more thing?"

I listened closely trying hard to hear anything else "horseshoes,"

"Horseshoes, Excellent, what do you think they're from?"

"A carriage maybe?"

"Yeah I think so too," he chuckled, "You able to tell me your name?"

"Y/n."

"Y/n, That's a very lovely name." He smiled, "I'm Jack. You feel a little better?" he asked and I nodded "Good, That's very good. Just slow down, keep breathing for me, just stay here and stay still  a moment."

"I can't I need to-"

"The only thing you need to do right now is to get better. Trust me I'm a doctor. You're strung out to the limit and in the middle of a panic attack. Whatever it is I'm sure it can wait a moment." he said, "Y/n I want you to tell me three things you can see, doesn't matter what any three things."

I was nervous and still struggling but slowly my symptoms began to slow and I noticed just how fuzzy my voice was from the tears and how tunnelled my vision was, "Uhhh I uhh I see you..."

"Good, that's good you see me," he said, "Anything else?"

"The uhhh the sky."

"You see the sky, that's perfect, it's a very nice afternoon. One more I know you can do it."

"The wall, for the bakery."

"That's perfect, the bakery wall. Can you imagine all the lovely cakes, and pasties, and fresh loaves in there?"

"I uhh I can." I nodded,

"Excellent, One more little thing y/n, I want you to tell me three things you feel okay?"

as he said it I noticed just how little I really noticed but with each thing I listed to him I became more aware and more into this world again, 

"I, I feel the wall."

"How does it feel?"

"Cold, uhh stoney I suppose."

"Stoney?" he laughed, "what else?"

I slightly moved my feet feeling the dusty dirt around my boots slightly move to the side like sand as I did so, "I feel the dirt, as it pushes away."

"How does it feel against your boots?" 

"Rough and small" 

"That's good, one more for me, just one more."

As he asked it I felt almost normal, and I noticed "Your hand." I said, His hand graced mine his fingers on my wrist checking my pulse, the other on my neck but not harshly not as if attempting to harm me or threaten my throat but merely rested there as if he was monitoring my every gasp, 

"How do my hands feel?"

"Uhh Warm,"

"Good." 

"They feel rough," I blushed a little trying not to giggle while also trying to you know not insult the man who helped me, 

He chuckled, "Yeah, Surgeon. Sorry about that." He chuckled,

"Does that mean they are dirty?"

"I mean... yeah probably, I'm sorry for that too." 

"It's okay. I uhh Thank you." 

"You're welcome," He smiled, "I saw you were struggling I thought you were having a heart attack and first but no, a panic attack, Do you get these a lot?"

"unfortunately yes." 

"Alright, well. The best thing I can say is to try to manage your stress so it doesn't overflow, maybe slow down a little but those three sights, sounds, and feelings are really good it help calm and ground so use it when you can alright?"

"I uhh I will do my best." 

"I assume you have a stressful life?"

"Understatement." 

"If I let you go right now are you going to go straight back to the level of stress you were at?"

"I uhh... I am late from picking my sister up, and I need to get a new vase for my mother, and I need to get home and do dinner and get everyone to"

"Okay. Okay." he said stopping me, "I'm getting bloody anxious just listening to that," 

"Sorry-"

"It's alright, I was heading home anyway I can come give you a hand if you like?"

"No no, I couldn't-"

"It's no trouble, you need to relax a little if I can take something off your plate anything it'll help. In fact as your doctor at this moment I insist." 

"Well okay, my mother insists I come home with a new vase."

"Okay, I can find a vase. anything particular?"

"No, just a vase."

"Okay." He nods,

"I uhh but I don't have any money left."

"You let me worry about that, it's on me." He smiled, "I'll meet you back here when I'm done." he smiled heading off back to the market, 

I blushed but smiled and headed on my way picking up Olivia luckily she was asleep by now, and I returned to the alley where Jack already waited with a vase in hand. 

"Did I do good?"

"It's beautiful. How'd you-"

"It's best not to ask questions." he winked, "Aww who's this little lady?"

"This is Olivia." I smiled letting him see her but not wake her,

"Aww, she's beautiful, your daughter?"

"Sister, well half-sister really... though I don't honestly know." I answered, "But thank you so much, I really need to get home now,"

"Alright, I'll walk with you, so long as you don't mind,"

"Ohh no of course not, thank you."

"It's alright no trouble, here you take this, and I'll take this little lady." He smiled handing me the vase and taking Olivia letting her sleep on his shoulder as we walked, by the time we got home I felt a rush of anxiety as the house was a tip and my siblings losing their minds from being home alone so long, 

"Oh no no no."

"It's okay, don't worry. You take her and get her to bed. I'll take this lot and sit with them in the garden we can have a play around and get some energy out"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, it's no problem," he said,

"Alright, Okay everyone outside with Mr- uhh"

"Dr, Dawkins."

"Everyone out to the gardens with Dr Dawkins," I told them and of course, a chance to play outside was not passed up, he went out with them and I began work I put Olivia down to sleep in her cot and cleaned the house as best and putting the new vase on the shelf. Once done I sighed in relief and went out keeping the door open as I saw Jack helping my siblings, playing with them, playing a game of knights. Luna is a princess, Martian is a dragon and Lucas is a knight with Jack narrating them and helping them play. 

I smiled and took a seat on the bench outside the front door taking a rare moment to... be at peace, 

"You feel a bit better now?" He asked sitting beside me, 

"Yes, thank you, Jack."

"you're very welcome. they're great, a lot of energy."

"Yeah well the get cooped up a lot." 

"You know talking does wonders for anxiety." He smiled, "I'm not that sort of doctor but I'm happy to listen anyway?"

"I don't want to burden you, you've done enough."

"It's not a burden I want to help, and I admit I'm curious about you." 

I chuckled a little, "Well, we live here all of us."

"All five of you?"

"Six my mother too."

"Ahh, your father?"

"Never met him."

"You said Olivia might be your half-sister, where's her father?"

"They all are my half-siblings, as far as I know. None of us have the same father, as far as I am aware. None of them have ever met them."

"I see. You're mother she a -"

"She was,"

"That explains that then."

"It does, yeah."

"Then... why are you looking after them?"

"Mother... likes to drink."

"Ohh."

"yeah."

"I see. So she just goes out and drinks all day? leaves you alone with them?"

"Pretty much, sometimes she's here just... hungover as all hell."

"So you do... everything I guess?"

"cook. clean. baths. bed. back and forth to school."

"I'm surprised you didn't crack sooner..."

"Well, sink or swim I guess."

"I suppose so, still school gives you some break time I guess."

"I wish, got to go to work while they're at school, and Olivia isn't old enough yet."

"Hold up- You work?"

"Yes."

"You have a job! on top of basically full-time caring for four kids?"

"Yes."

"what do you do?"

"Tailor's assistant in town, I run the old machine in the back doing alterations."

"Ohh my god- that's a tough busy job. You work quickly in there."

"We do, two days or less for your garment to impress he really likes that motto." 

"I know, I got this repaired in like a day last time I got a rip in it," he said looking at his shirt,

"Yeah I think I remember it," I laughed looking at the familiar shirt, "Yeah, I was going fast the seam is crooked," I laughed 

"Ohh? I never looked that closely at it." He laughed, "How many hours do you work?"

"Eight hours a day seven days a week." 

"Holy- no wonder you're running yourself ragged. I'm a doctor and I don't work that much!"

"Well, I'm the only income coming in, got six mouths to feed."

"You are amazing, you know that?"

"I am."

"You are. That is insane, and the fact you do it with such grace. It's astonishing."

"Thank you," I blushed. 

"If I may be so bold, If you need an extra pair of hands, and you do. I'm more than happy to come help."

"I couldn't ask you to do that,"

"You're not asking me, I'm asking you. You're only going to get worse unless you lighten your load, and all although panic attacks are best just ridden out... they can cause serious damage." He explained, "I want to help, even if its just little things. I can take one job off you a day, or take them for an hour and go play in the garden just, something to lighten your load a little."

"You'd really do that?"

"I would,"

"Why?"

"Becuase you need help, and as a doctor, I can't stop myself from helping those who need it. and right now... you need it more than anyone."

"Thank you Jack," I smiled leaning my head on his shoulder,

"You're welcome Y/n" He smiled, kissing my head. "Now, how about you look after them I'll get dinner on?"

"It's a deal."

"Good girl, What uhh... what am I cooking?"

"Soup,"

"Soup?"

"Yeah,"

"What kind of soup?"

"Leek soup." 

"Just leek soup? you have any bread for it?"

"No."

"Okay, new plan you wait here and look after them I will get dinner as my treat."

"I can't ask you to-"

"No. No. I'm doing it. at very least getting bread if nothing else,"

"Alright."

"Good, I'll see you as soon as I can." he smiled kissing my cheek before he took his stuff and headed back toward town. 

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Chaos and Calm

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 1551 Tags: fluff, domesticity, single dads, pre-relationship, outings in the park, feeding the ducks, rain

Notes: For Day 1 of Dreamling Week 2024 as organized by @mr-sadman, for the prompt 'hunt'. Also dedicated to the wonderful @chaosheadspace, whose single-dads AU Castle in the Sand rotates in the back of my head quite often - I meant to have this coincide with your birthday but didn't quite make it, alas.

Summary: Searching for rain boots and meeting friends in the park. No real plot, just meandering domestic parenting vibes.

On AO3

"Robyn! You 'bout ready, kiddo?"

Hob winces at the sound of something heavy thudding on the floor above, and then his son appears at the top of the stairs. "I can't find my boots!"

Hob suppresses the urge to sigh. "Do you remember where you had them last?"

Robyn's brow furrows. "Maybe? They might be in the cupboard? But I think I might have used 'em as astronaut boots and forgot to put 'em back."

"Did you check by the washing machine?"

"Not yet."

"Okay. You keep looking in your room; I'll check down here and then come help you look if I don't find them."

"'Kay." Robyn scrambles back up from where he'd started down the stairs and dashes back to his room, and Hob heads to check the coat cupboard in the front hallway.

They're meant to be meeting Dream and Orpheus at the park in fifteen minutes. The day has turned out to be dreary and grey, light rain off and on keeping it misty and damp and a raincoat plus wellies are definitely called for.

If only he or his son could be relied upon to consistently put things back in their expected places. Ellie had always scolded them about it, gently, and for all the years since she's been gone Hob has kept trying to do better, but it's not always top of his mind and they're both surviving okay, despite the current inconvenience.

He checks the bottom of the coat cupboard; no boots.

He lets the sigh out this time, since Robyn's not there to see the frustration. He checks the utility room next, where last year's too-small snow boots are still sitting next to this year's because Hob hasn't gotten round to dropping them off at the charity shop yet. This year's snow boots will have to do if they can't find the wellies, but he's not giving up yet.

He's not going to tear the house apart looking, either, though; he's eager to get going. Letting Robyn spend time with his best friend is important, but also. Hob really looks forward to seeing Dream, for—well. For lots of reasons, that he's comfortably aware of but cautious about acting on because the kids would be caught in the middle if it didn't work out and that's the last thing he wants. Right now he just wants to let himself enjoy the possibilities. Hanging out, conversations while the kids play, watching Dream's pretty face go soft and expressive as they talk.

So. Best check all the likely spots in this comfortably-cluttered chaos he lives in, then, so they can find the boots and get going. It would certainly be easier if his home was less messy, but he's a single dad with a very active kid, he teaches secondary school, and taking the time to make his home look like a magazine spread is just not on his agenda. And sure sometimes it bites him in the arse, like now, but most times the chaos is of a manageable level and more importantly, it works for them.

Just. Not today, apparently.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, fires off a quick text to Dream.

May be a few minutes late We've a crisis of missing wellies over here Keep you posted

Dream's response comes through almost instantly.

I wish you luck in your hunt, then. We will wait.

Hob smiles, tucks the phone back in his pocket and heads up the stairs to join the search.

Robyn's room is a little bit of a disaster zone, as he's been throwing things around in his haste, and Hob kneels to crawl around the floor and help him look. He'll help him straighten up later, too, but for now they're boot-hunting.

Robyn is a little worried, as it turns out. "What if Orpheus and his dad leave before we get there? What if they think we're not coming because I can't find my stupid boots?"

Hob laughs, a small laugh full of kindness. "They wouldn't," he assures, pulling his kid into a one-armed hug as they sit on the floor. "And besides—I texted Orpheus's dad so they know we're running late." He drops a kiss in Robyn's hair. "Now let's find those blasted wellies so we can get going, yeah?"

The boots are not under the bed, or the desk in the corner; they're not in the toy chest, nor the basket for Robyn's dirty laundry, nor under the laundry that hasn't quite made it into the basket. Hob helps that last category get to where it was meant to be and sits back with a sigh, making a mental note—and hopefully he'll remember later—to be sure to run a load of Robyn's clothes.

"Alright, kiddo, is there anywhere you haven't looked yet?"

Robyn ponders for a moment, face scrunched in thought, and then lights up. "Oh!" He scrambles off the floor and over to the wardrobe, yanks it open. Hob would have thought that would be the first place to check, so he hadn't looked himself but obviously he should have, because Robyn dives into it with a little yell of victory and emerges with a boot held high in either hand and triumph radiating from his grin.

~ They're only a little bit late to the park; Robyn and Orpheus spot each other at the same instant and yell in excited unison, charging across the wet grass and crashing into a hug that also involves a lot of jumping up and down. Hob grins at their enthusiasm, eyes searching beyond them to find Dream looking for him as well; the smile that blooms on Dream's face, visible even at this distance, makes Hob's heart do a pleasant little flop in his chest.

"Your hunt was successful, I see," Dream says, when they are close enough for speaking; they are trailing after the boys, who are cavorting in the general direction of the duck pond, splashing in collected puddles on the path. Dream's got his umbrella up, even though it's not raining right this moment, which somehow just enhances his general goth vibe.

Hob stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, time to do a major cleaning. His room's a bit of a mess but we finally found his wellies in the wardrobe. Which honestly would have been the first place I checked if I'd realized he hadn't. Kid brains work on different logic, I suppose."

"True." Dream shifts a little, casts a glance sideways at Hob. "Robyn is fortunate to have a father so skilled at finding lost items."

"Got a lot of experience misplacing my own crap," Hob offers, laughing to cover the flustery warmth seeping into his chest at Dream's simple compliment. "And he found the boots himself, just needed some help thinking it through."

"As I said. He is fortunate to have your guidance," Dream reiterates, and Hob is saved from having to respond when Robyn comes running back to where the two of them have stopped at the path's edge. Orpheus is over by the pond, bending down to peer between the rails of the short wooden fence that surrounds it as several ducks swim toward him.

"Dad! Did you bring the peas? The ducks're hungry!" There's eager excitement in Robyn's voice and Hob smiles.

"'Course I did, kiddo, here." He rummages in the bag at his hip, slung comfortably across his chest, and hands over the snack-size freezer bag of peas; Robyn thanks him and dashes back over to Orpheus. Whether or not the ducks are 'hungry' is arguable, but Hob won't deny his kid the human joy of personifying the world around him nor of feeding the ducks, which is generally their purpose in coming to this park. He glances sideways at Dream—who is Hob's own private secondary reason for any of the activities they do together with their kids—and finds him watching the boys with the softest little smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

He's so beautiful.

It starts raining, then, just a light misty sprinkle. The boys put up the hoods on their raincoats and carry on tossing peas to the eager birds who've gathered for the feast; Hob is about to dig his own umbrella out of his bag but Dream steps closer and shifts his own broad umbrella over Hob as well. His arm presses up against Hob's, from shoulder to elbow, and Hob swallows the urge to lift his arm and put it around Dream's shoulders, leans solidly into the touch instead. It's nice.

It's so, so nice, and Hob revels in the imagined warmth he can feel seeping into the contact despite the layers between them, the way that seconds turn to minutes and neither of them moves away, how they both watch their boys in comfortable silence. Hob's thoughts and emotions often feel chaotic and jumbled up in the same way his house manages to be a mild-but-functional disaster zone but this—sharing an everyday domestic moment with Dream, the casual unremarked closeness between them—it quiets something in his head, makes anything and everything seem gloriously possible.

This, this is a feeling worth finding, a feeling he did not even realize he was searching for.

He is still entirely grateful to have found it.

= Started: 6/2/24 Drafted: 6/3/24 Posted: 6/3/24

[stem-sister-scuffle]

STEM SISTER SCUFFLE: ROUND 3 MASHUP 2

Ms. Frizzle (The Magic School Bus) vs Winry Rockbell (Full Metal Alchemist)

Ms. Frizzle is a Science Teacher!

Winry Rockbell is an Automail Mechanic!

Why you should vote for each contestant:

Ms. Frizzle:

"*gestures at entire magic school bus series*"

"Embodies the true spirit of scientific discovery: barely-contained chaos."

"She is very knowledgeable about a wide variety of sciences, and uses that knowledge to further the educations of many people. Teachers deserve the world; they do so much for so little in return. (shout out to Mrs. Goates)"

"She loves science and loves teaching kids about science. I love her. Idk I saw she only had one submission and that made me sad so now im here submitting her"

"She is an icon and has cool earrings"

"SHE'S SO COOL!!! She's so smart and so fun and genuinely just an icon. ALSO she has a little lizard on her shoulder. I saw an ask abt the submissions for Ms. Frizzle and the sender was the only person who submitted her.. I couldn't let this go. ALSO one of my professors irl called herself the irl Frizzle and she's a doctor of biology so make of that what you will"

Winry Rockbell:

"The best automail mechanic in the whole of Amestris: need I say more? She’s also the only person who can really get Edward Elric to listen / scare him"

"She's super smart and is crazy about mechanics, but she's also so kind and compassionate! She helped deliver a baby, she cares really deeply for her friends and family! She truly rocks!"

"i’m a biomedical engineer so she is the best women in stem"

"she’s extremely skilled and dedicated to her craft, her work is very high quality (she’s also the personal mechanic for one of the protagonists) and she has a dedication to improving the lives of the people around her in any way she can (and she has so much autism swag about automail, it’s a joy to watch). i love her your honour"

"She's so good and so fun and she's trying her best. She makes sure the prosthetics work and they're super plot important!!!!!"

"She can build and repair robot limbs AND attach them to human nerves"

"She’s only 15 and is repairing magic-infused heavy machinery for fun"

"Spunky, kind, and smart as hell... one of the shounen manga girls of all time."

"At age fifteen she could build a whole metal arm in 3 days (pulling all nighters)! She geeks out over the work of other prosthetics engineers and earned herself an apprenticeship where the shop's costumers began to prefer her after only a few months! She's kind but takes no shit and narratively symbolizes the goodness of humanity. also she read medical textbooks as a kid (her parents were both doctors) and was able to apply that knowledge for successful impromptu midwifery years later!"

"She is practically a child engineering Genius! Designs and makes prosthetics. She takes her work very seriously and geeks out over other people's designs. She is such a beautifully written strong female character that holds her own in a fandom full of amazing strong female characters and a great role model. She's Hella cute"

"She is considered a prodigy in her field, and is known as the “Automail Otaku” because of her unending interest of any machines and tools in the building and repairing of automail. She is incredibly smart, sincere, and passionate. She works hard for what she wants, is full of optimism despite what she has suffered, and is very loyal to her friends."

"built a fully functioning prosthetic arm for her friend when she was TWELVE basically by herself and has been his regular mechanic since. also heavily dabbles in the medical side as well as the mechanical side (for example: she successfully delivered a baby single-handedly at fifteen having only ever read about the subject before). she is so skrunkly she’s an icon a legend and she is the moment"

"Listen any girl who can master mechanical engineering, electrical engineering, and biology in order to build prosthetic limbs by the age of 12 is Impressive. She’s the one that got me onto an engineering career path I’m very biased"

[despisedtoolofsatan]

[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me Part 17 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: Ok, I told y'all last chapter this would be loaded with angst. Enjoy the feels.

Warning: Daddy Steve/ Sir Eddie and Sub Fem Plus size reader, SMUT, gentle loving passionate smut :), ANGST, the mall catches fire but not due to the events in the show since this is an AU, Boys get hurt :(, they need to depend on her which is hard for them, Steves parents make a cameo and fucking suck, mentions of fear of loss, I think that's it, FLUFF, These three always talking about their love for each other <3

Word Count: 6037

You don’t think anything of at first when a girl runs into the classroom before it begins. In this college setting people usually come in if not right on time then a few minutes after. What made you sit at attention was when she whispers something to her friend who in turn tells the person beside her. 

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“You haven’t heard?”, the girl asks with wide eyes. “The mall caught fire. The whole thing is gone.”

Without saying a word, you grabbed your things and ran out the door, bumping body first into Masie.

“I was coming to get you! I just heard. Come on.”

****

“Look, we just want to know if two people are even fucking here. Can you tell us that?”, you best friend growled at the nurse as you panickily looked around. Other family members were waiting in the lobby, crying as they waited for any news. 

“Even if I had any information, which I don’t, you say you’re not family—”

“She’s their girlfriend!”

“She’s not the only one trying to find a loved one! Half the people who were in the mall are still missing, some of the people brought in didn’t have ids, and some are…unidentifiable at the moment.”

You stumble away from the desk, disturbed by the thought. 

“Robin!”, you shout as her face comes into view and you quickly tackle her into a hug. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Where’s Steve?”

Your heart fell. “He wasn’t with you?”

“No, he helped usher some of the younger kids in the store and I guided people out through the back. I lost him after that.”

One of the backroom doors opened and Masie gestured with her head for you to go. After quickly running through, you were met with a new chaos. Doctors and nurses shifting from patient to patient. Every curtain you looked behind had a new hurt face but not the two you were looking for. 

“Fucking help him!” Your head swiveled around at the sound of Steve’s voice. “Let me go, goddamn it!”

“Mr. Harrington, you can’t be in here and you need attention as well. Come on—”

“I’m fine! He’s my best friend fucking—” His heart shatters when his eyes land on your worried face. Pushing through people you both run to each other and he immediately lifts you into his shaking arms. “Fuck.”, he winces as he places you back on your feet. 

“Are you ok?”, you cry as your hands cup his face.

“Yeah, I’m ok. I went back for him…he was stuck under something…Y/N, they just left him there.”

You hugged him again as he held you tightly to him. Letting you go, he grabbed your hand and brought you to the far end of the area where doctors were running around an unconscious Eddie. They had him attached to a breathing machine and had cut off the front of his shirt and the right leg of his pants. 

“Fuck.”

Turning around, Steve was hunched over grabbing his arm. Pushing him against the wall, you lifted up his shirt and noticed burns along his side and upper shoulder. 

“Steve, these are bad—”

“I’m fine.”

“Steve! Please, baby.”

“How did you get in here?!”, a nurse shouted as she pointed towards security to remove you. 

Your hand immediately hooked to his as they tried to pull you away. “No, hey! She’s my girlfriend. Let her go!”

“Mr. Harrington, we have a process that has to be followed.”

“Fuck your process! I’m scared and I want her here!”

You didn’t think it was possible for your heart to break even more but it did. Steve had never mentioned being afraid of anything. He was always the big, strong protector and made sure you were never worried about anything. 

Was this how they felt when you had your injury? They needed you and you were being literally tugged away from them. You felt incredibly helpless as they detached you from each other and dragged you into the waiting room. 

##############

As names were announced and people were found, the waiting room dwindled. Your parents came down to be with you and your mom stroked your hair as you cried. When Wayne appeared you sobbed in his arms after telling him what you saw. To your dismay, Steve’s parents showed up a few hours later, glaring at you before heading to the desk to get more information. 

“For Steven Harrington and Edward Munson?”, a nurse called and everyone jumped up, following her as she walked and talked. “We put them in the same room because Steve told us they knew each other and after what he did, we thought he should be able to keep an eye on him.”

“What did he do?”, Mrs. Harrington asked. 

“Well, he’s got some second degree burns along his side and arm. According to him, he pushed a shelf off Mr. Munson’s leg so he could get him out.”

“God bless that boy.”, Wayne sighs.

“As for Mr. Munson…” Eddie’s uncle finds you hand and brings you forward next to him so you can hear better. “He had a lot of smoke inhalation but the oxygen and medication seem to be helping. His leg is broken so we do have it elevated and wrapped. Now we’re just waiting for him to wake up.”

“Should we be worried?”

The nurse glances at you with sympathetic eyes. “At this point, no. Now with Eddie, it’s just a waiting game.”

After opening the door, the Harringtons run through to find their son who was sitting on the end of the bed with scrubs on and gauze wrapped around his injuries. His mom carefully pulls him into her arms and you watch as he doesn’t reciprocate. With his eyes, he gestures you towards the other side and you walk with Wayne to check on Eddie. 

Just like she had said, his leg was up in the air in a sling and an oxygen mask covered his lips. They had attached an IV to his hand where medication was slowly tripping in and changed his clothes, placing him in a hospital gown. 

Masie, Robin, and your parents stood off to the side, waiting for everyone else. 

“Are you ok?”, Mr. Harrington asks in a gruff tone. 

“Like you fucking care.”, Steve growls. 

“Really? We’re doing this now?”

“Don’t pretend that just because this happened everything is back to normal or changed at all. You’re still an asshole who called my girlfriend a whore and kicked me out.”

“I didn’t kick you out. You—”

“Stop it.”, you seethe. “If this is how you are going to be then get the fuck out. They both could have died today and this how you want to be?! I won’t have it. Not today, not here.”

Mr. Harrington stepped forward, prepared to argue but your dad cut him off putting his body between you two. 

“She’s right, Bill. This could have been so much worse and it sounds like Steve is a hero. You should be proud of him. But if you insist on acting like a jackass then we’ll treat you like one.”

He huffs as he stomps out of the room, stopping to call to his wife. She hesitates, her hands running along his face and through his hair. Ultimately, she still leaves with her husband and Steve’s head hangs. Your mom comes up to sit beside him and tenderly rubs his back. 

“It’s ok, baby. We’re proud of you and we’re glad you’re safe.” He sobs in the nook of her neck and she holds him tighter as Robin comes to sit on his other side. 

Wayne looks down at his nephew, gently tugging on the gown he’s wearing. “Oh, he’s going to hate this when he wakes up.” He smiles when a breathy, exasperated laugh leaves your lips. You hand intertwines with Eddie’s as you sit beside him and fully let go.

############# 

A couple of hours later the night nurses said that only one person could stay per patient overnight. You and Wayne stayed while everyone else left saying they’d be back tomorrow to check in. Steve crashed on his bed, occasionally wincing as he rolled over. 

He startled you when he woke up screaming and you let go of Eddie’s hand to sit beside him. 

“Steve! Baby, it’s ok! You’re okay!”

“Eddie…fire…Robin…You…”, he panted incoherently as his ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

“Eddie’s over there, honey. He’s still asleep. Me and Robin, we’re fine. She’s coming back tomorrow. Everything is okay. I’m right here.”

“Can I hold you?”

“Of course. You never have to ask for that.” You glanced at Wayne who smiled your way and nodded his head, silently telling you he’d watch over his nephew as you curled up on Steve’s side. As your hand ran along his chest, you felt his breathing slow as he calmed down.

“I love you, Y/N. So fucking much. I thought about you the entire time I was running in that mall. I just needed to get him so we could get back to you.”

You tilted your head so you could bring his lips down to yours. Holding him to you, you relished his taste remembering the fear just a few hours ago that you may never taste or have him in your arms again. 

“I love you, Steve.”

When you woke up a few hours later, you quietly crawled out of his embrace to sit with Wayne who gestured towards the tv. The sound was off but you read the subtitles. Apparently, the mayor cut corners when building the mall and one bad wire set it ablaze. 

“Fucking prick.”, Wayne growled. 

“Are they going to arrest him?”

“Who knows, sweetheart. They better.”

The feeling of tapping on your arm got your attention and you turned your head to see Eddie’s gorgeous brown eyes drowsily looking your way as he tried to reach for your hand. 

“Eddie? Thank God!”

“I’m going to grab a doctor.” His uncle immediately stood, power walking out the door. 

“Are you ok?” He sluggishly nodded as he reached for the mask over his mouth. “No, baby. No. You have to leave that on for right now.” His eyes swung around the room before looking back at you and raising his hand in the air to make a writing motion with his fingers. Hastily, you dug in your bag, grabbing a pen and some paper. 

You watch him as he shakily wrote something, seeming exhausted when he finished as his arm fell to the bed.

“Steve?”

“Steve? He’s ok. He’s asleep in the bed beside you.” You got up and moved his curtain so he could see his friend more clearly. “Do you want me to wake him up?”

He shook his head, writing something else on the paper you left by his side.

“You?”

You tried to hold back your tears as you took his palm and brought it to your cheek. “I’m ok. I was so worried about you.” Eddie’s thumb gently slid under your eyes and the action just made you cry harder. “I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to either of you.”

His hand feebly moved behind your neck to try and bring you closer but as soon as the doctor walked in, you kissed the back of it and held it on the bed. 

****

They took him away to get some tests done and when he came back he was asleep once more. 

“He’ll probably be in and out of it for the next few 24 hours or so but his x ray looks a lot better. We’ll take off the oxygen mask tomorrow morning if he’s still improving. He most likely won’t be able to talk but…”

“Oh, he’ll hate that to.”, you smile towards Wayne who grins back. 

Your parents, Masie, and Robin do come back a little later in the morning with food for everyone including Steve. 

“Thank you so much but I’m not hungry right now.”

Sitting beside him, you run your fingers through his hair as you lean closer to his ear. “Daddy, baby, you have to eat something. Even just a little bit.”

He nervously swallows as he looks towards your parents before tilting his head towards you. 

“I, um, I’m having some trouble lifting my arms especially…” Steve gestures towards his hurt one. “I…I don’t know how to be…vulnerable like this, Y/N.”

Caressing his cheek, you lift his face so his eyes meet yours. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”, he whispers as his forehead leans on yours.

“Let me take care of you.”

After reaching for the plate your mom handed you, you hold the fork to his lips and he slowly bent forward to take a bite, softly smiling in your direction as he nodded. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N. This is good.”

Robin sits beside him, eating her food silently before finally turning her head toward her friend. “I’m glad you’re ok… I mean who would I have to do stupid shit with at work in this town without you?”

Steve laughed and you silently thanked God for Robin Buckley. 

****

Your mom stayed behind as your father drove Wayne back to his trailer to get some sleep and freshen up. Masie said she would get any assignments you missed but said that the professors understood after she told them what happened and where you were. She left to head home and drop off Robin saying once again they would both be back tomorrow.

“Do you want to go home and clean up to? I can stay with them.”

“I’m ok, mom. Maze is going to bring me some fresh clothes and they have a washroom here so…” You glance her way before turning back to look down at Eddie. “I can’t…I can’t leave them.”

The metalhead groaned a bit as his eyes opened once more, still a bit heavy but seemingly much more aware.

“Hey, Eddie. How are you feeling?” He nodded as he looked over at your mom and waved his fingers at her making her smile. You were prepared when he made a little writing motion with his hand, grabbing the paper from the table beside him and handing him the pen. Eddie didn’t write anything, pointing to where he put Steve’s name yesterday. 

“I’m here.” Steve wobbled over and leaned against his friend’s bed. “Are you ok? You scared the shit out of me.”

Lifting the pen, he shakily wrote down what he could.

“Thank U.”

His fingers yanked on the boy’s scrubs, bring him down to his level as he tried to hug him. You could vaguely hear it through the mask over his lips but when they pulled apart there were tears in his eyes as he continued to cry.

“I’m going to go get some coffee.” You mother patted your hand, leaving you so you three could have some alone time. 

You filled him in on what the doctor had said and everything they would be doing for him. Eddie reached up to lightly touch Steve’s gauze, making the boy wince slightly. 

“Yeah, it still fucking burns believe or not. Do you remember anything?” The metalhead makes a so-so motion with his hand as the other man sits on the edge of his bed. “When I found you, you were by the back door of your store. One of the shelfs had fallen on your leg pinning you to the floor. I moved it but your side of the mall was a lot worse than ours. There was fire everywhere. I carried you outside and stayed with you till the ambulance finally fucking arrived. Took them long enough.”

“What caused fire?”, he wrote.

“Our fucking Mayor cut corners to get the mall built. There was a faulty wire and it just spread from there. The news is saying it’s amazing it didn’t happen sooner.” 

“Thankful U weren’t there.”

Your chest caved in as you heavily exhaled. “You’re in the hospital with your leg in a sling and can’t talk yet you’re still worried about me.” Your head fell as you started to cry. Eddie tapped you, getting your attention before tapping the space beside him. You climbed in, kissing his cheek, and leaning your head on his chest. “It scared me so bad when I saw them cutting your clothes and you were unconscious. I love you so much, Eddie.”

Steve held the notebook for him as his pen scrawled messily across the paper. 

“Love you babe.”

##########

The next couple of days were rough on both boys. Steve’s burns were looking better but he was still struggling with his mobility due to his pain and the medication they gave him made him extremely drowsy to the point where he would crash for long hours at a time. The doctor said that was fine and would help him heal but it made you nervous. After everything that happened, you couldn’t help but be terrified he would knock out like Eddie and wouldn’t wake up.

With Eddie, they finally removed the oxygen but he still struggled to speak. His throat was raw from inhaling the smoke but the doctors said it would clear up in no time especially at the rate his chest was. When he was finally able to eat real food, he stared at it not moving.

“Do you need help, baby?”, you asked and he shook his head. “Eddie, you need to eat a little bit or else they are going to attach that food IV to you again.” He blinked back frustrated tears as his jaw tightened. Just as you had with Steve, you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “It’s ok to ask for help, Sir. I’m still yours no matter what.”

As you began to pull back, he tilted towards you to kiss your forehead. This time when you repeated your question, he nodded. That night he tossed and turned, groaning in his sleep; they both did. You couldn’t wait to get them back home so you could lay with them in one bed. 

A couple of days later, Steve was discharged but he remained by your side at the hospital as you watched over Eddie. It took a while but when he finally said your name it was like music. 

That morning he was petting your head as you slept, placing soft kisses on your face randomly as he watched the tv. When your eyes fluttered open, he tenderly smiled down at you. 

“Hey, princess.”

His voice was still gravelly but he could speak and you cried in his arms as you kissed his lips. 

“Hey, Munson. How are you feeling?”, Steve grins as he leans towards him. 

“Hurting.” He gestured towards his throat and leg. “But okay. You?”

“I’m doing alright. They said I should have a good scar.”

“You and me both.”, Eddie winks before he begins to cough. “Did they say when we could go home?”

“In a couple of days, depending on how well your tests look.” You crane your neck to kiss his cheek as you lay your head back on his chest. 

“Baby girl, why don’t you go home, huh? I can look after him here.” You ignore him, closing your eyes as you squeeze the metalhead tighter. They both exchange a glance. In any other circumstance, you would be punished for not responding, but after everything you three just went through, they weren’t sure what to do. 

****

A day and a half later, Eddie was finally released and the three of you were able to go home. His cast around his leg was slightly cumbersome but he thought it made him look like a badass as he drew symbols on it through day. His friends from Hellfire came over and added their own touches, making you smile as you watched the man you love gradually return to his old self. Steve’s burns got a lot better especially with you always on top of making sure his bandages were changed and his wounds were clean. 

They both were prescribed medication and you made sure they took it when they were supposed to. To you it was nothing; you didn’t even give it a second thought but for them it was a lot harder. They weren’t used to being taken care of at all let alone in this way. They felt useless, not just to you but in general. After a while it finally boiled over… 

A few weeks later, you went with them to the doctor so Eddie could get his cast off and they could do a final once over of Steve’s burns. When they called their names, you reached over to grab the metalhead’s hand and he snapped at you. 

“I got it, Y/N! I can stand from a fucking chair.”

You blinked back the pain as he used his crutches to go where they wanted him. 

“Maybe, you should stay here.”, Steve smiled softly and without waiting for an answer left you alone in the waiting room. 

############

“Who would have thought walking would feel so fucking weird.”, Eddie mused as he hobbled back out cast free. 

“Yeah well, you’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Come on, babe.”, he motioned for you but you didn’t move. “Baby?” You stared into the void as they came over to where you were sitting. “Y/N?” He sighs as he reaches out to push some of your hair behind your ear. “Look, honey, we’re sorry. We just thought…”

You didn’t even allow him to finish as you rose and headed out the door towards the parking lot. Without a word, you handed Steve the keys and climbed into the backseat. 

The drive home was excruciatingly quiet and as you entered the apartment you were anything but subtle as you headed towards the kitchen, banging around things as you pretended to clean. 

“Really? You’re going to act like a child because we wanted to see the doctor alone?”

You chuckled under your breath as you slammed a couple of dishes in the sink and headed for your bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed, and folding your arms. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Talk to us.” Eddie had grabbed a chair from the table, bringing it with him as he sat across from you. 

“When I found out about the fire, Masie and I immediately ran to hospital.” As you spoke, Steve sat beside you, turning his body so he could see you both. “The waiting room was…chaos. No one knew where anyone was or what exactly happened. The front desk nurse was short with me when I asked about you two so Maze jumped in and defended me. I-I just wanted to know if you two were even there because if not I was going to fucking drive to the mall and dig through that rubble to find you.” An exasperated laugh left your lips as tears began to slowly escape down your cheeks. 

“I snuck back there when the door opened and found Steve who led me to you, Eddie. Seeing you like that…scared the hell out of me…but…nothing will ever compare to those thirty some odd minutes when I had no idea if you were even alive.” Your glassy eyes met the metalhead’s. “If I’m being too clingy and you need some space, I get that. If you need to do things on your own, I understand. But…don’t you ever speak to me like you did in that waiting room. I may belong to you but I think you guys forget that you’re mine to. I love you both so much and I deserve respect to.”

“You do, baby.” Eddie got up to sit beside you and pull you into his arms as he pressed your head into his chest. “You do. I’m so sorry. We know exactly how you feel, we should have known better. It’s just…”

“…We’re supposed to take care of you.”, Steve cuts in helping his friend when he pauses. “We’ve never had to depend on someone before. We spent so much time looking after ourselves and then you…”

“…Which is something we love to do, princess. This fire literally took that away. Not only could we not take care of you but we could barely take care of ourselves. It’s a weird helpless feeling. Not like when you got hurt but it feels like…”

“…We failed.”

“Jesus Christ.”, you sigh as you pull out of his embrace. “No. Fucking, fuck your parents especially yours Steve. You both don’t fail because you can’t take care of me. I love that you do but it’s ok to let me help you. Even if this hadn’t happened, it’s ok to let me love on you the way you do me.” You hang your head as you push your hair behind your ear. “I heard you tell the doctor you were scared. I saw it in your eyes, Eddie. I just wanted you to know you were safe.”

“I wasn’t scared of dying or the fire.” The metalhead’s tone was flat as he stared off into the void of his memory. “The fire alarm went off while we were stocking the shelves. It happened so fast. One minute people are running past the store, the next it’s fucking burning. Me and the other employees headed for the back because it was closer but I guess customers were panicking and one of them knocked over a stand.”, he shrugs. “That part I don’t remember. Just that suddenly I was on the floor with this heavy thing on me that I couldn’t get off. People tried to help but… I laid there and… all I could think about was you.”

“I was so fucking terrified of never…seeing you again and how my death was going to hurt you. I was scared that Steve wouldn’t make it out and you’d be left here alone. That’s the last thing I remember before hearing your voice and waking up in the hospital.”

As his eyes met yours, you pulled his head to your chest as he began to cry. Leaning back on the mattress you brought him with you as his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you to him as you kissed his forehead and ran your fingers through his hair down his back. 

Steve laid on your other side, placing his arm just below Eddie’s as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek. 

#############

When Eddie’s eyes opened again, you were still holding on to him and gently rubbing his back. Stretching, he leaned back to look at your face as you softly smiled down at him. 

“What are you thinking about, pretty girl?”

“Do you remember the last time you made love to me—”

“God, forever ago.”

You giggle as your index finger comes up to trace along his jawline to his lips. 

“You asked me if I ever remembered seeing you in school or when we were younger and I said no but while you were asleep, I was thinking…I did see you once. We were in seventh grade and one of the popular kids shoved me in the hallway. I fell and was sobbing on the floor—”

“In a blue dress.”, he cut you off.

“Yes.”, you grinned. “In middle school we had to dress nice on game day. I remember a boy with a buzz cut helped me to my feet and then immediately ran down the hallway to tackle the kid.”

“My uncle used to show me those movies where cowboys or knights would defend a girl’s honor after they got hurt or mistreated. I saw the kid push you and I heard you crying so I kicked his ass. I told Wayne I was suspended for protecting a pretty girl and he took me to get ice cream.”, he chuckled as his palm ran over your cheek. “You didn’t even look up at me. That’s why I didn’t remember your face when I saw you in detention.”

“Seeing you…break like you did…triggered the memory. I passed by the front office and you were sitting there waiting to talk to the principal. You looked so upset and I remember thinking ‘I wish I could give him a hug.’ After that, I guess I lost you again.”

Eddie’s lips find yours as his hand slides down your sides to your lower back bringing you closer to his chest. “You’ll never lose me, sweetheart. I love you so much, Y/N. Thank you…for everything. Not just these past couple of months but…since school. Maybe…we should remind you more. Show you how grateful we are…to have you.” His hips grind against yours as he continues to talk between each passionate kiss.

“Baby…baby, wait. Can we…are you…I’m just worried about you the…the most because…of your lungs…”

When his eyes meet yours, you see the conflict within them. You’d had this conversation with them before when it comes to their bodies. They assured you they knew their limits and would never even put you in a position that would make them or you uncomfortable. Eddie’s immediate knee jerk reaction is to remind you of this and assure you with a confident Master tone that also reminded you he was in charge. 

But he also understood what you had just been through and knew this may need a softer touch. Steve was always better with the Daddy comforting tone than he was but he had to try. 

“I’m fine, princess. I swear but if it makes you more comfortable, we can go slow and I promise to check in with you every step of the way, okay?”

“Okay, Sir. Thank you.”

“Thank you, baby.” 

Laying you flat on your back, he removed your garments, and gently kissed down your body as your hand tenderly played with his hair. Steve’s breath warmed your cheek as you felt his palm caress you face. 

“He’s right, you know. We should be reminding you more how grateful we are for you.” You gasped when Eddie’s tongue pressed against your clit. “I’ll check in with you to, baby girl, ok?”

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

“God, it’s been so long since I’ve tasted you, sweetheart. Fuck I missed this pussy.”

You groaned at the metalhead’s words as his mouth wrapped around you bud, his head moving from side to side as he devoured every part of you. Steve licked the pads of his fingers, running them over your erect nipples as his lips sucked and bit the sweet spot on your neck. Eddie’s tongue continued to work its magic as he slid two fingers into your entrance. 

“Fuck! That feels so…so good.”, you mewled as your eyes rolled back and closed. Steve connected his lips to yours as the other man moved at a faster pace, swallowing your moans as his tongue danced with yours. 

Pressing his face further into you, you grinded your hips till you felt your release, throwing your head back as you came. Both men sat up and hastily removed their clothes, Steve sitting up with his back against the headboard. 

“Hang on, honey.”, he cautioned as you moved your back closer to his chest. 

“Are you ok, Daddy?”

You heard him spit behind you and the wet sound of him smearing it along his cock.

“Yeah, I’m alright. You can come back now and keep your ass open for me.” You nod as you do what he says, both of you groaning as he guides himself into you. “Fuck, baby. I missed being inside you."

As you slowly bounced your hips, you leaned against his chest and placed your lips on his own. Turning your attention to Eddie, the man behind you wrapped his arms around you as he kissed along your shoulder. 

The metalhead smiles down at you as he moved closer, taking hold of your thigh as he gripped the base of his shaft. 

“Stevie, I’m going to be a bit closer to you in this position. Is that ok?”

After the man nods his approval, he guides his cock into your entrance, growling at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him. Eddie’s head fell on your shoulder as both boys thrust into you while you ground your hips to meet theirs. Your hands roamed them both as the continued to whisper praises in ear followed by how much they loved you.

“Shit. F-fuck.”, Steve whimpered and you immediately turned to him knowing that wasn’t a sound of pleasure. 

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Nothing… just…can we…can we lay on our sides? I’m sorry, guys. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Eddie pulls out and helps you two carefully roll on to the side that wasn’t previously injured. Your hand takes ahold of his as you tenderly kiss the back of it. 

“It’s ok, baby. Thank you for being honest. How about you, Sir?”

Laying down in front of you, he lifts your leg over his hip and slides his dick back into your core as he rests his forehead on yours. “Mmm—never better, princess.”

“I love you both so much. I’m glad you’re mine.” They both pumped into you harder as their fingers gripped your body tightly, Eddie clinging to your thigh as Steve holds your bicep. Their grunts and pants became louder and the sound was music to your ears. “Mine. MY Master. MY Daddy. F-fuck… please make me cum.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as they honored your request. They needed this just as badly as you did. You moaned their respective titles with pride as you came hard around them. Eddie pressed your head into his chest as he released his seed inside of you and Steve followed after burying his face into your back.

You didn’t see what happened next but you felt it as the metalhead reached over you to pulled Steve closer and in turn the other boy wrapped his arm around his back, hugging each other with you in the middle.

“Thank you for coming back for me, man.”

“You’re one of my best friends who’s been there for me even when I was an asshole. Of course, I’d go back for you.”

“ONE of?”, Eddie chuckles as he releases you both and leans back. “Who else are you cheating on me with, you slut!”

You laugh at his joke, thankful that his sense of humor was returning. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the pretty girl we’re dating!”

“Aw, Steve Harrington. Are you saying I’m your best friend to?”

“Um, I don’t see any other women we’re dating here.”, he grinned. 

“Ok, but like, am I more of a best friend than him or…?” You laugh harder when Eddie tries to playfully put a pillow over your head. 

###########

“How much longer do you think it will take him to finish his hair?”, Robin whispers to you as you sit on the couch scrolling through the tv.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s like you don’t know him.” You both giggle as Eddie comes out of the bedroom and grabs a drink from the fridge.

“Oh shit.”, Robin sighs as she points towards the screen and you turn up the volume. “I didn’t think they’d actually arrest him.”

The metalhead comes up behind you guys as he watches the mayor taken out of town hall in handcuffs and thrown into an FBI cruiser. 

“Good. Fuck him.”, Eddie growls before leaning down and kissing your lips. “Have fun with Masie, babe, and I’ll see you later.”

“Good luck!”, you shout after him as he runs out the door. “He has an interview at the music store down here.”

“Ok, sorry, Robin. I’m ready.”, Steve announces as he powerwalks out of the room and searches for his applications.

“On the table, baby.”

Robin pats your thigh as she stands to gather her things.

“Ok, honey. Have fun. Be careful.” He lightly tugs on your hair, pulling your head back for a kiss. “And EAT something before you go, please.”

“Good luck you two.”

Steve winks in your direction as they both head out the door to their first stop Family Video. 

############

@manda-panda-monium @sherrylyn628 @eddiesguitarskills

@needylilgal022 @local-stoner-bitch @katethetank

@strangerfreak @sidthedollface2 @mandyjo8719

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[codenamesazanka]

AFO+Shigaraki Tomura/Shimura Tenko Role Reversal AU

*

Terrorist Shimura Tenko, age 26, has been sentenced to death for his heinous crimes. Morning before he goes though, he's carted over to Central Hospital.

Little AFO, age 12, is brought before Shimura to give him five quirks - this will surely overload Shimura’s brain, but since he's about to be executed anyways, it doesn't really matter.

But right before the procedure starts, Central Hospital is attacked. It's the League of Villains, here to rescue their boss. As he marbles Shimura, Mr. Compress also ends up marbling AFO and taking him along.

Hours later, in a secret hideout, the League congrats themselves on a successful rescue mission, but wonders what to do about this weird kid they've kidnapped. They’ll have to act quick - Heroes and HPSC will come for them soon. The HPSC have to come for the kidnapped kid, because, the moment the League realized who the kid is, they know AFO as the central piece of HPSC's new direction for society.

*

Four years ago, the government made a paradigm changing announcement - they've gained the ability to take away quirks and will start doing so as part of criminal justice.

This is a great thing, as it solves the century-old question about what to do with Villains. Really Bad Villains will have their quirks taken away, and put into regular security prison. Mild Villains can exchange their quirks for a shorter sentence. Dangerous quirks can now be eliminated. Human rights will be improved. Society will be safer.

—At least, it will be, once the chaos the announcement created settles down. Because the remnants of the Meta Liberation Army straight up revolted, along with other groups and other people.

The League of Villains did not start with this upheaval - they were already active two years before the announcement, led by Shimura Tenko, as just particularly notorious Villains doing whatever they wanted, whether it was heists or killing heroes or feuding with other villain groups - but they have become embroiled into the fight through a loose alliance with the MLA, and due to the HPSC holding members of the League up as the reason why the new law was enacted in the first place.

The HPSC have kept very, very top secret the exact method they’re using to take away quirks. No one knows for sure whether it was a drug or surgery or implant. There was a rumor that it was a quirk that was doing this, but it was just a rumor—until now.

Though, the League didn’t expect that it would be a kid. So what will they do with him now?

*

For all nearly all twelve years of his life, AFO (and his younger twin brother) has been in care of the HPSC. This is the first time he's ever been kidnapped, is in real danger, but he knows exactly what to do:

Nothing.

In all honesty, AFO would rather destroy this 'League of Villains' - just a bunch of insignificant insects running around causes messes and ruining everything (like his day!) - and just go home using his own power. He doesn’t like being away from Yoichi; he still has schoolwork to finish; the new chapter of Captain Hero: New Ultra is out Monday; he’s got his life to get back to.

But AFO has been relentlessly counseled and drilled by the HPSC for this exact scenario: He is NOT allowed to use his quirk. No matter what happens, he is only to wait for rescue.

Not that using his quirks might help much. AFO has never been taught to fight, and besides his own ‘Give-and-Take’ quirk, he’s got only five other low-tier quirks he had only taken this morning that he’s never used. The HPSC won’t risk letting him keep the quirks, see, so the system they’ve come up with is this: the quirks taken from criminals are transferred immediately to a Villain scheduled for execution. (Given the explosion in criminal activity and revolt over the past four years, death row has just the right and regular numbers to supply.) They’ve even got a machine just for him, just for tracking his quirk(s), invented by the famous American scientists David Shield and Toshinori Yagi, so they know exactly what he takes in and lets out.

When AFO has just his own original quirk, it’s as good as no quirk.

The HPSC has to do this, because AFO is a born villain. They know it; he knows it, everyone who’s ever met him knows it. It’s just hard to describe otherwise a child who came into this world stealing everything within reach: his mother’s life, his twin brother’s health, and every person’s quirk he ever had come into physical contact with even as an infant - the homeless woman who rescued the twins from a decaying corpse, the police who later found them while investigating a dead body that was registered in the system with a quirk but autopsy had revealed zero quirk factors left, the doctors that examined the twin babies.

AFO has heard this story many times. He’s got a too-strong quirk that’s made him clinically diagnosed kleptomaniac with a Cluster B personality disorder. Quirk counseling, behavioral counseling, regular counseling, art therapy... He’s been handled extremely delicately and thoroughly his entire life.

And that’s…fine. That’s how the world works. That’s the price of power. It’s better than being dead in the grave with the mom he killed, or out there in the chaos, if the HSPC had never found them. AFO’s on the side that’s calling the shots and set to dictate the final reality of a post-Advent world - he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. One day, he’ll grow up and he’ll become part of the HPSC and he’ll get his rightful piece of the cake - really, they’ve let him have some of it already, when he first started taking quirks away for them five years ago (first year was trial year, before they went public).

His itch to use his quirk is scratched regularly. He got to keep Yoichi, who had once almost been adopted away. Being on his best behavior means he gets most of what he asks for. The worst AFO can say is that he’s bored - which is expected, his brain is wired differently after all.

All he has to do is stay calm, play nice with the League, and wait for Heroes to arrive. Someone will come save him soon enough.

Everything is in order.

*

But of course, this encounter with Shimura and the League will be the catalyst that will destroy that very order.

(In one universe, AFO tells Tenko he'll teach him how to take his rage and give it purpose.

In this universe, Shimura tells little AFO he'll teach him how to find his rage.)

[stealingpotatoes]

hi!! so i got a lot of skywalkers apart au asks last night and rather than obliterate everyones dashes with like 5 posts, just doin it all in one!!!! and i made a banner so this post looks cuter

YEAH he rlly does!!

its a little awkward when they reunite -- don't get me wrong, SUPER loving and everyone's trying so hard to make it work and like it-- mostly does work? but there's a lot of growing pains lol especially given Luke's only been raised by his very civilised mum, so suddenly having a dad that's 6'2 of bug-eating chaos is a bit of whiplash loll. but they all love each other very much and the twins are old enough to mostly understand their parents' decision

luke's rlly going thru it tho loll he's got that family going on while he's also dealing with going from senator's son to recently-liberated-force-sensitive-rebel-fugitive

LMAO i mean i assume they don't BLAST (in a lot of cases you don't want to let the enemy know you've got an ace up your sleeve lol) but you can bet there's been a couple times where they've found their least secure comm to say it over lolll. then again if you see a blue lightsaber absolutely whipping everyone's shit on the battlefield you can just guess, who needs an announcement <3

BUT LMAO I LOVE THAT Anakin gets back and Leia's like I CANT BELIEVE THAT ACTUALLY WORKED??? meanwhile Obi Wan and Ahsoka are like ohhh that tactic. classic. and Leia's even more shocked that he's made this work MORE THAN ONCE??

@mayordomogoliat loll i mean. he was a jedi fugitive!! he can't predict when the empire'll spot him!! sometimes that's during grocery shopping when he's got his baby daughter (who's weirdly gleeful in the fight??) strapped to him!

oooo SICK LINE

LMAOOO YEAH "if i could avoid falling, so could you. do better" hes not angry hes just disappointed

YES ABSOLUTELY i mean obvs i've drawn Kanan fangirling but so many other younger jedi would be so happy to see him omg also COOLEST PERSON TO BE SAVED BY!! tbh anakin not falling definitely leads to more jedi survivors (as in ppl not the game) partly bc palps doesn't have that immediate killing machine

loll anakin's absolutely spending any downtime he doesn't spend with leia working on ships etc. probably gets annoying sometimes bc "Hey mr jedi can u do this mission" "no look i worked out a way to make this ship respond .3 seconds quicker i NEED to finish this first" local jedi forgets he's a useful jedi and thinks he's just a mechanic

yes absolutely. like canon threepio's absolutely ???? all the time bc nobody tells him what's going on and

@british-sarcasm YEAH!!!! palps is so pissed off he didn't turn anakin bc that means he's alive and rebelling and MY GOD is he annoying for everyone involved.

and omg YES good for them. if they ever ran into each other/ did a mission together they'd make everyone there regret ever signing up for the empire

[strange-destinations]

Kitty can I please request the Mysterious Benedict Society squad (all of them, not just the main four) as to ''who will survive castle dracula''?

(......I initially meant ''the Benedict twins and Rhonda and Number Two and Milligan and SQ'' when I said ''all of them,'' but ngl a hilarious bonus question is ''if the ten men got trapped there too what chaos would ensue'' so I'm gonna add that on as well XD)

sigh, here we go. @canyourfavesurvivecastledracula, tell me if you want me to stop tagging you.

Overall, I don't think many of the characters in the Mysterious Benedict Society series have a really huge belief in the supernatural regarding vampires and things that go bump in the night.... but then again, a lot of the plot revolves around a machine that influences everybody with subliminal psychic messages, and also there's a toddler who's inexplicably naturally psychic. And everyone pretty much takes all of this as 'a bit strange! But okay, I'll believe it!' So in general let's assume a baseline of, 'sure, vampires, why not' from the entire cast.

okay, let's go kids first. That's right, we're subjecting children to the horrors of Castle Dracula.

Reynie Muldoon - is very much a Jonathan Harker-like kid to start with, actually. May accept the crucifix out of politeness. Most likely to be able to hold Dracula's attention in conversation. I feel like Dracula is like Mr Curtain in a lot of respects, and the vibes between Reynie and him would be similar. Many tense, charged games of chess may occur. I believe in his ability to survive the psychological torment, because he's got a hell of a strong will, but I don't believe in his physical ability to escape. Either the GFs get him or Dracula himself does.

Kate Wetherall - would accept the crucifix, not out of any particular politeness or religious belief, but just because you never know when you might need a handy cross-shaped trinket! Into the bucket it goes! Least likely to hold Dracula's attention, she's way too ADHD and not really the sort of person who'd interest him apart from being an adrenaline-filled bloodbag. MOST likely to stage a daring escape using the contents of her bucket, which Dracula will not be able to steal or throw out the window because of the crucifix handily concealed within. Most likely of all the kids to survive this.

Sticky Washington - oh boy, Sticky. His encyclopedic knowledge of vampire lore will probably give him a bit of an edge... but not much. Sticky on-his-own isn't brave enough to go exploring/sneaking around extensively unless things get really dire. And Dracula himself would scare the shit out of Sticky to the point of near-nonresponsiveness, to the point where I don't think Sticky would seem that interesting to Drac after a while. Would a photographic memory and lots of vampire trivia help him survive? Probably, for a while. Would it help him escape? Probably not. Sticky's only sticking around in Castle Dracula for a little bit. Also Dracula would smash his glasses 'by accident' as a power play.

Constance Contraire - grumpy toddler showing up to Castle Dracula?Cool, it's basically vampire DoorDash! ...would be Dracula's first thought - before he realizes that she's psychic. Constance doesn't have a lot going for her, all things told. She's not particularly physically able, she's obstinate and stubborn and not a great conversationalist, I doubt she'd take the crucifix out of that same stubbornness, and also she'd compose some really unflattering slam poetry about Dracula, Dracula's castle, Dracula's girlfriends, etc etc etc. Escape isn't really an option here. It would all come down to a battle of wills between Dracula and Constance.... which I'm not sure Constance would win, on her own. Sorry, the baby's dying here without help.

To nobody's surprise, the Society would be able to survive Castle Dracula if they were all trapped in it together, and in fact that's an incredible fic idea that I don't have time or energy to write. However, on their own... they're just a bunch of kids. They're not going to do so great.

What about the others?

Mr Benedict - is most certainly accepting the crucifix, but his good luck ends there. Everything about Castle Dracula is designed to heighten anxiety and make your emotions go into overdrive. And it's definitely not a good place to go around falling asleep in random places because you get upset or overwhelmed. The moment Dracula twigs to the narcolepsy situation, Mr Benedict's pretty much fully screwed. The one thing that might save him is the fact that he's an incredibly intelligent and brilliant man, and Dracula might want to pick his brain a bit.

Mr Curtain - would most certainly NOT accept the crucifix, he's too proud for that. Assuming he somehow manages to get his wheelchair up the mountain - or going by TV!Curtain, where he doesn't have a wheelchair at all - he's immediately going to set about trying to strike up a business deal with Dracula to expand his global reach. Either the Count kills Curtain, or they make each other worse and everybody else is going to have a bad time. It's kind of up in the air on that one.

Number Two - has an incredible advantage over literally everyone else here in almost never needing to sleep. I don't think she's going to be especially happy about it, but having the full run of the castle during the daytime despite Dracula's best efforts (and, if we go by the TV show, being a completely unhinged force of destructive chaos) is going to mean that she'll probably manage to sneak out using an inventive and clever strategy.

Rhonda Kazembe - I can't think of anything that gives Rhonda more or less of an advantage than your average person - would probably take a similar approach to Number Two in escaping, with a bit more social skills re: talking to Dracula.

Milligan - doesn't need a crucifix. Beats up Dracula singlehandedly and throws him out a window because he left Kate down in the town and promised he'd be back for her. Does the same for the vampire GFs, no problem, not even a moment of hesitation. Rips up his own clothes to fashion a rope to climb down out of the castle, treks by foot all the way down the mountain. Rocks up to town several weeks later, heavily injured and looking awful but still alive.

SQ - there's no easy way to say this: SQ doesn't have anything at all going for him in this situation. He is, unfortunately, not particularly smart and not particularly agile. He's a great artist, but that's not helpful here. I think he's just a handy snack to Drac unless someone shows up to help him.