#mutter's moor

[sitting-on-me-bum]

"Pretty in Pollen".

Mutter's Moor near Sidmouth, Devon, UK

Photographer: Tim Crabb

Nature TTL Photographer of the Year

[rubysunnday]

take my hand

summary: as much as y/n appreciates anthony's matchmaking efforts, it's hard to accept them when he's the only man she wants. luckily for her, a fall in the lake allows her to voice her feelings in more ways than one

a/n: 4.4k of pure angst/fluff and, yes, smut

Promenading was probably one of the most pointless endeavours the ton insisted on participating in. Miss Y/N Moore loved going on walks around the city. But when she was surrounded by the ton and their watching eyes and gossiping mouths, it was hard to enjoy anything.

"Stop glowering," her mother hissed, elbowing her in the side. "Smile."

Y/N sighed. But she raised her chin and smiled politely as they walked past the Featherington family.

There was only one reason why her mother had forced her out of the house: the Earl of Newburgh.

He'd been courting Y/N since the second week of the season. They'd danced together at almost every ball, gone to museum visits together and he'd had dinner at her house. Twice.

They were practically engaged in the eyes of the ton.

Yet Y/N wasn't happy. She liked the earl, there was nothing wrong with him. He was a lovely man. But there was no spark between them. Their relationship just felt like a good friendship.

She had never confessed it to her mother, however. If she did, Y/N was certain her mother would swoon.

"I do not see the earl anywhere," her mother muttered, rising up on to her tiptoes.

Y/N tugged on her arm and forced her back down. "He might not be here yet, mama."

"He did invite you to promenade with him, yes?"

"Yes -"

"Then why is he not here?"

Y/N kept quiet. Sometimes, when her mother got annoyed, she talked to herself, grumbling about anything and everything. It was easier to let her talk aloud and not acknowledge anything - otherwise they'd end up in a fight and Y/N knew how they always ended.

As her mother kept rattling on, Y/N gazed across the crowd gathered down by the lake. There were awnings pitched up along the edge of the clearing, providing shade to the families sitting under them. It was a beautiful day and the lake had numerous boats upon it, gently gliding over the water.

Y/N's roving gaze moved past and then came back to an awning nearest the lake. It, and the carriage, were both light blue. The carriage door boasted the Bridgerton family crest and Y/N's heart stuttered.

It was as if he knew she was looking.

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton looked up. He was sat on a blanket, his youngest sister Hyacinth sat by him, tucked into his side. They were making a daisy chain together. It snaked down Anthony's legs, growing longer as Hyacinth added to it.

It was as if the world stopped for a moment, blurring everything out except Anthony.

"Y/N, darling!"

Y/N jumped slightly. She turned and saw the Earl of Newburgh walking towards her, her mother practically hanging off his arm.

"I found him!"

Y/N tried not to cringe. She kept her composure and smiled at the earl, curtseying as he approached. "My Lord."

"Would you care to promenade with me, Miss Moore?" He asked, smiling at her as he offered her his arm.

"I would love to," she replied, threading her arm through his.

Her mother giggled. Giggled. Y/N tried not to sigh but her composure must've slipped as the Earl patted her hand sympathetically.

They walked down the grass, past the families and toward the water. Y/N could feel guilt eating at her every time she glanced at the earl. She didn't want to inconvience him or hurt his feelings. But she also didn't want to trap him in a marriage that was one sided.

"Miss Moore -"

"My lord -"

They both stopped abruptly, hearing the other speak. The earl laughed, shaking his head.

"Please, go first, Miss Moore."

Y/N sighed. "My lord, I apologise but I... I would rather we remain friends than take this any further. I value you and our friendship," she added quickly, "but I just do not feel any..."

"Spark?"

Y/N smiled and nodded. "I know I am running out of time," she said quietly. "And any other woman would accept your suit and gladly become a countess. But I yearn for a love match, as foolish as that might seem. I want what so many of the ton have and I am not quite ready to give up on that idea yet."

"I do not think you should either," the earl replied. He took her hand in his. "We all deserve a chance at true love, Miss Moore. I can only hope you find it."

"As do I, my lord." She curtseyed. "I hope to see you around."

It was as if her mother knew what had just happened. As the earl walked away, Y/N turned, glancing over at her. She could see the fury on her face even from this far away. Y/N swallowed as she began to walk back to her mother, bracing herself for the fallout.

"Miss Moore!"

She stilled. The voice as achingly familiar. She could smell him and it filled her with a weird warmth.

Y/N turned. Anthony Bridgerton was standing there, hands clasped behind his back, wearing a dark blue jacket.

"Lord Bridgerton," Y/N said, curtseying.

Anthony smiled. "I was Anthony last week," he said, moving closer.

"My mother is watching," Y/N replied softly. She risked a glance over her shoulder. "I just ended things with the Earl of Newburgh."

"Why?"

Y/N turned back to face him. She shrugged. "There was no spark."

Anthony nodded once. He glanced over her shoulder. "Well, would you like to come out onto the lake with me?" He asked, extending his hand out. "To escape your mother for a moment?"

Y/N looked at his bare hand. Slowly, she placed her own bare hand in his, letting him guide her hand to the crook of his elbow. She could feel the warmth of his body even through the dark blue wool of his jacket.

They began to walk towards the dock set up on the edge of the lake. The sun emerged from behind the clouds, sparkling off the water for a moment before disappearing again.

Anthony held her hand as she stepped into the boat. He kept her steady as it rocked, not letting go until she did. Y/N sat down on the chair built into the boat. Anthony sat down opposite her, grabbing the oars.

One of the workers untied them from the dock and gave them a gentle push out onto the lake. Anthony began to row, the oars splashing in and out of the water. Y/N sighed, relaxing back against the cushions, grateful to have escaped her mother's wrath for a moment.

Anthony was quiet for a while. He rowed them away from the dock, weaving through the other boats on the lake.

"What made you deny the earl?" Anthony asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

Y/N exhaled softly, letting her hand trail through the water. "There was no spark," she replied. "I felt nothing but friendship towards him."

"What is it you look for?"

"A love match," Y/N replied, taking her hand out the water and shaking the droplets off. "Despite how foolish it may seem, I yearn for a love match. One that matches the stories I read when I was younger. Whilst I know it will probably never happen, younger me isn't quite ready to give up on the idea yet."

"I do not think it foolish," Anthony said softly. He slowed the oars, holding them loosely in his hands. "Nor do I think you should give up on it."

Y/N found his gaze. The intensity of it almost took her breath away.

"I must admit, however, that I do not think the earl would have made a good match."

His words snatched her out of her dream. Y/N stared at him, affronted.

"Whatever does that mean?" She asked.

"Well, he lives in Scotland -"

"Do you have some personal vendetta against Scotland?"

"Other than the bagpies and the tartan and the constant rain?"

"Anthony, have you ever been to Scotland in your life?"

"Colin has."

Y/N sighed. "Your brother does not count." She paused. "Is Scotland the only reason?"

"Oh, I have a whole list."

"Oh for goodness sake."

Y/N knew Anthony had a soft spot for her. They'd been friends since she'd come out two years previously. He'd been a desired match despite his whining about not wanting a wife. Her mother had forced them to dance together numerous times and soon a friendship had formed.

Even if that friendship sometimes comprised of a very judgy viscount who seemed to make who Y/N was courting his business.

"Anthony, when will you realise that you cannot control who I court?" Y/N asked softly.

Anthony began rowing them back to the dock. "I do not claim to try to."

"But you do."

"If you want me to stop, you need only ask."

"Anthony, that's not what..." Y/N sighed heavily. "I do not get a lot of choice in this world, please stop trying to control the one thing I do get to choose."

"I was not aware I was," Anthony replied, brow furrowing.

Y/N didn't want to say it. But she knew she had to.

"Well, you are," she replied gently. "I appreciate the concern but... I do not have long left to find my true love. And you, Viscount Bridgerton, are not helping things."

She knew it was a low blow. All Anthony wanted to do was protect her. But he kept scaring off countless suitors - sometimes before Y/N could even speak to them. It was a miracle the earl had managed to bypass Anthony at all.

The boat hit the dock. Y/N looked at Anthony and could see the muscles in his jaw clenching. He cleared his throat and stood up, pulling his jacket down.

Anthony climbed out the boat and crouched down, tying the rope back to the dock. He said nothing. Y/N hated the silence. She'd upset him, she knew that.

But she could not allow him to keep matchmaking for her when the only one she wanted was him. It hurt to see him try to marry her off to another man. All she wanted to do was be with him.

She'd denied it for months. The feelings that had begun to blossom inside her. They had become uncontrollable now, taking over her entire being whenever she saw him.

She was in love with Anthony Bridgerton.

The man who was against love, against marriage, against happy ever afters. He had made his intentions clear and Y/N knew he was not going to back down on them for her.

Her heart belonged to him and he didn't even know it.

Anthony held out his hand to her. "Miss Moore."

"Lord Bridgerton." She placed her hand in his.

Y/N stepped out of the boat and onto the dock. As she did so, she glanced down at their hands, fingers still holding on to one another.

Neither one of them wanted to let go. Even as the seconds ticked by. Anthony ran his thumb along her knuckles, hovering over the ring she wore on her middle finger.

Then, as if struck by lighting, they pulled apart. Y/N and Anthony both took a step back together, not realising another couple were directly behind them.

There was a yelp of surprise. It was a tangle of limbs and ropes and suddenly, Y/N found herself hitting the water. For a moment, she was blinded, but then she found her way upright and surfaced.

She turned her head, catching the splash as Anthony awkwardly surfaced from the depths of the lake, arms wheeling. The other man they'd knocked into the water was glowering at them but Y/N didn't care.

In fact, she was finding the entire situation highly amusing.

A crowd had gathered at the edge of the dock, her mother among them. Anthony was angrily shedding his jacket and cravat, slinging them into the water.

Y/N made the mistake of looking over.

His white shirt was near see through thanks to the water. It clung to his torso, highlighting the muscles and giving her a near clear view of everything.

Her cheeks began to burn and Y/N turned away quickly.

"Anthony, are you okay?"

Y/N looked up at the dock. Daphne Bridgerton, Anthony's sister, was stood at the edge, looking down at them, his brother Benedict next to them.

Benedict looked as amused as Y/N did at the whole situation.

"No," he grunted. "This idiot decided to tie his boat where there was no space!"

"You walked into me, my lord!"

Y/N rolled her eyes as the two man began to bicker. She half swam, half waded away back to the dock. The crowd moved back as she put her hands on the edge and pushed herself up onto it, gratefully accepting Benedict's help as he pulled her back onto dry land.

She knew she looked a mess. Her dress was covered in grime from the lake and there was a stray twig stuck in her hair. Yet she didn't seem to care.

Y/N shook her head, pulling the twig out. She looked up as Benedict straightened, giving her a smile. He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet

Y/N watched as Benedict crouched back down and offered a hand to his brother. Anthony slapped it aside, glowering at Benedict as he laughed at his brother's misfortune.

Anthony clambered back up onto the dock and snatched a towel from one of the workers hovering hesitantly nearby. He marched off, giving Y/N a tilt of the head as he passed by.

Y/N watched him leave. A shiver danced through her body and she wrapped her arms around herself. A warm jacket landed around her shoulders.

"So you have a reason to come by," Benedict whispered in her ear as he stepped back.

Y/N smiled up at him, pulling the jacket tight around her.

She knocked on the front door of Bridgerton house, Benedict's freshly laundered jacket in her hand. It wasn't long before the butler opened the door and ushered her inside, taking her calling card.

Y/N waited in the foyer for a moment, admiring the paintings and the walls. Then, the butler appeared again and guided her up the stairs to the drawing room.

"Y/N!"

She'd barely taken one step inside the room before Hyacinth came barreling at her, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"Hyacinth," Violet admonished, hurrying over. "Please do not ambush Miss Moore."

Hyacinth beamed up at Y/N before skipping away, back to her marbles.

"Miss Moore - Y/N," Violet corrected, seeing Y/N open her mouth to do so, "what do we owe the pleasure?"

Y/N held up the jacket. "I believe this is your son's." She paused. "The artistic one."

Violet chuckled, taking the jacket from Y/N. "Thank you," she replied. "I do apologise for what -"

"Oh, it was not anyone's fault," Y/N said, shrugging. "A funny accident was all it was."

Violet sighed. "I wish Anthony saw it that way. He is still rather angry at being pushed into the lake."

Y/N knew that, whilst he probably was angry at that, it wasn't the only thing. Yet, she did not say so aloud.

"I apologise for the lack of people here," Violet continued. "All of them are out. Bar Anthony, he's in his office."

"Not to worry, I only came to drop the jacket off," Y/N replied. She paused, hesitating to ask her next question.

"What is it, Y/N?" Violet asked, her mother's instinct isntantly reading the heistation on Y/N's face.

"I may have said some things to your son that upset him," she admitted softly. "I should not have done so but..." She sighed. "I cannot explain it myself, to be honest."

Violet nodded, eyes full of understanding. "You do not need to. Your relationship with Anthony is a special one. I do hope that this does not ruin it." Violet smiled. "I always think it best to be honest with someone, Y/N. Even if it's scary. It almost always helps things."

Y/N nodded. "Thank you."

As she turned to go, Violet called her name, halting her.

"His office is behind the stairs," Violet said.

Y/N smiled at the older woman. She turned and made her way down the stairs. As she got to the bottom, she turned to the right instead of heading for the front door.

It was easy to spot Anthony's office. The door was slightly ajar and she could see his jacket, abandoned on a chair by the fireplace.

Y/N knocked gently on the door.

"Just a moment, Hy," Anthony called.

Y/N stepped in, peering round the door, holding on to the edge. "Should I be flattered that you assumed I was Hyacinth?"

Anthony looked up sharply, his quill scratching along the parchment in one, thick, ink heavy line. "Miss Moore."

"I believe it was Y/N the other day," she replied, throwing his own words back at him, hoping to lighten the tension.

It didn't work.

"Why are you here?" Anthony asked, gripping his quill tightly.

"I came to return Benedict's jacket," she replied.

His reaction was obvious, despite how hard he tried to hide it. His shoulders slumped and his demeanour changed.

"Ah," Anthony replied, turning back to his papers. "Did you get lost?"

"I came to see you as well," Y/N replied. She was still hiding behind the door. "But only if you'll hear me out."

"I might."

"And if you stop being so rude."

At that, Anthony looked up again. He stood up, pushing back his chair. "What do you want, Y/N?" He asked, walking over to a cabinet and opening the doors.

"To apologise for what I said," Y/N replied, edging further into the room. "I was stressed amongst many other things and I took it out on you. Of course I value your opinion and I appreciate your assistance."

"You did not seem to the other day."

"Well, I was having conflicting feelings."

Anthony scoffed. Y/N watched him pour out a glass of whiskey and drink it in one.

Y/N sighed softly. She walked further into the room, pushing the door shut behind her. "The truth is, Anthony, that... as much as I appreciate your matchmaking skills and your assistance with this whole thing I..." Y/N trailed off.

She could still change her mind. She could still lie to him, claim innocence.

But she didn't want to.

Now was her chance to tell him. To let it all out. It would hurt. The denial would sting. But she would get over it. And then maybe, she could find another match.

"I cannot have the man I love trying to marry me off to other men when the only one I want is him."

Anthony's glass clinked against the bottle he was holding. He went very still, frozen mid-pour. Y/N let the confession settle, the silence grow. She moved closer to him, the heels of her shoes against the wooden floor the loudest sound she'd ever heard.

"I can’t get you out of my head," she admitted softly. "You haunt my dreams at night and in the day. I find myself searching for you where ever I go, yearning just to hear your voice, to feel your hand in mine… your lips against my skin.

"You torment my very being. Whenever I see you, whenever I hear you there’s a spark inside me that demands to be let out. A spark that doesn’t exist with anyone but you, Anthony."

Anthony set the bottle down and turned to face her. Y/N didn't know how she expected him to react but the tears brimming in his eyes was not high on the list.

"I know that this might not be what you wish to happen," she added quickly, stepping even closer, "and if that is the case, I will walk away right now and forget this ever happened." She paused, breathing deeply. "But I think there is something, deep down inside, that yearns for this too."

That god awful silence fell again. The clock chimed from the mantle place, indicating that it was inching close to six o'clock. Anthony stared at her. Y/N stared at him. She let her fingers grip her skirt tightly.

"I will admit," Anthony said softly, his voice hoarse, "that I have felt something too. For a long time I have denied it." He swallowed. "I loved my father deeply and his loss aches even today. I fear to love anyone else as much or to allow anyone to love me as much because I do not wish to inflict that ache on anyone else.

"But what I have discovered since meeting you, Y/N Moore, is that the ache means that the love was so great, it cannot be put into words. We know what happens in the end, yet we love anyway. It has taken me a long time to accept that. To accept that falling in love will only mean more pain, more heart ache. But for you, I am willing to accept that. For you, I am willing to love again."

Y/N couldn't breathe. At some point during Anthony's confession, her breath had been stolen away by his words.

Here they were, baring their open and broken souls to one another. It shouldn't have felt this good. It shouldn't have brought her the relief it was.

Anthony stepped closer. Y/N followed his gaze, never breaking away. He lowered his lips to hers. It was slow and delicate yet the desire was there, the need for more was there. He pressed hard, pushing her lips apart slightly, wanting even more.

Then, they broke apart. Anthony took a step back. Y/N looked at him, breathing heavily. Anthony looked at her, his dark eyes burning into her soul.

There was a moment of stillness. A moment of calm.

Then Anthony surged forward, as did Y/N. They collide. His hands wrapped around her waist as he captured her lips again. They were desperate to devour one another, to know each others bodies, to feel one another after denying their feelings for so long.

Anthony lifted Y/N up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, never once breaking their kiss. He walked back and sat her on the desk, knocking over trinkets and piles of papers. His hands were frantic, desperately undoing the hooks at the back of her dress as she undid his waistcoat.

Desire coursed through them. The need to hold one another overwhelming them both. Y/N's dress fell down from her shoulders and ended up on the floor, forgotten.

As Anthony stepped back, Y/N jumped off the desk and pulled Anthony forward by his cravat. She smiled, licking her swollen lips as she pushed him down until he was kneeling in front of her.

Anthony chuckled, his hands reaching up and pulling down her stockings from around her thighs. Her drawers followed next. Anthony's hands danced over her hips and upper thighs as he guided the material down.

Y/N's hands caressed his face and combed through his hair with her fingers as he undressed her and Anthony tried not to moan in delight. He paused as her hands came around his throat, undoing the cravat and then drifting down to his shirt.

Teasingly, Y/N pulled the edge up, letting her nail lightly drag across his skin. A tremor went through his body, desire flaring between his legs. The shirt landed on the floor next to her dress.

Anthony paused, looking at her. “I will stop if you want me to,” he said softly.

"Please don’t.”

Anthony realised just how much he liked her begging.

Y/N lowered herself to her knees, looking Anthony in the eye. He recognised the look in her eyes and he slowly lowered himself down to the floor, the rug brushing his bare back.

She knelt over him, fingers dancing over his chest. Her hands moved down, brushing between his legs. He nearly came undone there and then. Y/N undid his trousers, sliding the fabric down his legs until they were both exposed.

Y/N lowered herself onto him, a sweetness growing between her legs as she did so. She yearned to reach down and relieve it. Instead, she straightened up, resting on top of Anthony. He tilted his head back, a groan burning in his throat. He let her warm to him, to his touch, and then he arched up slightly, encouraging her movements. Y/N moved with him, their limbs becoming one, entangling with the other.

Anthony reached the horizon of his desire, feeling it's release all over. Y/N rested a hand on his chest, breathing hard. She leant down, kissing his lips, the space behind his ear, his collarbone. She brushed her hand along the side of his face, taking in every mole, every detail.

Anthony took her face in his hands. He gently guided her up, until they were both kneeling again. Then, he pushed her backwards, letting her lower herself onto the floor. Y/N laid on the rug, looking up at Anthony, her eyes caught in his gaze. He knelt over her, his knees either side of her waist, his knee brushing her bare skin.

He smirked as slowly lowered himself downward, caressing every part of her body as he went. His hands ran over her covered breasts, hovering for a moment, before moving down to her stomach. He paused at her thighs and then, when he heard her whimper, went down further, to the sweet spot that yearned to be touched.

Y/N splayed her hands out against the rug as the sweetness between her thighs was eased by hands that knew exactly what to do and a tongue that knew just where to touch.

She didn't even hear the noises she made, so absorbed in the feeling of Anthony's fingers inside her. Her hips bucked up and he pushed them back to the floor, resting his other hand against her abdomen.

Needing something to grasp onto, Y/N reached for his hand. Anthony found it and gripped it tightly, riding with her as each surge of breath came in quick succession.

Y/N arched up, her head tilted back, exposing her throat, as she crested the wave of her release. Anthony finished off as she fell back against the rug, her skin glowing with sweat.

He laid down next to her, his hand coming to lie against her chest. He could feel her heart beating through the corset she still wore.

Neither one spoke - they didn’t need to. Y/N closed her eyes and turned her head, nestling into Anthony’s neck and breathing in deeply. His cologne was stronger there, evidently where he’d rolled it on that morning. Anthony’s thumb rubbed back and forth along her back.

In stark contrast from the hunger and desire that had gripped them moments earlier, they were both settled now. Anthony’s kiss was soft on her cheek, his hands gentle as he caressed her bare skin. Y/N found herself drawing circles on his bare back, following imaginary lines along the divot of his spine.

She sighed softly and relaxed further into his embrace, closing her eyes as she listened to Anthony’s heart beating in time with hers.

She awoke hours later. The candles had burnt down and the sky was dark outside the window. She was still in Anthony’s embrace, his hand lazily flung across her stomach, fingers on her thigh. She turned her head to look at him and he blinked at her sleepily, his hair mussed.

“I suspect I might have to marry you now,” Anthony whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I suspect you might, Lord Bridgerton” Y/N replied, smiling back. She brushed her hand through his hair. “Luckily for you, I’m all yours.”

“Lucky for me indeed,” Anthony murmured, pressing his lips to hers once more. Slowly. Deliberately.

For they had all the time in the world now.

[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.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Best Kept Secret on the Grid || Part Three

MV, CL, CS, LH, LN, PG x fem!reader Warnings: primal play, smut, oral, cumplay, mxm, foursomes WC: 3.1k

F1 Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

You asked, I answered - love Ollie xxx

Gentle waves lapped against the yacht as it was moored in the bay of the private island Max had hired for the week. Your morning had been spent enjoying the ocean spray and the sun with Max navigating the pristine waters of the Mediterranean before you had convinced him to leave the captain's chair and join you on the top deck. 

It was lucky there was nothing around for miles or the boat might have run aground when he saw you were sunbathing nude because he didn’t make it back to the steering wheel for quite some time. 

“I have a surprise,” Max said as he helped you step off the boat and onto the pier that led to the waterfront villa. 

Your already bright smile grew as a quad bike came down the beach and you grew impatient as Max failed to explain anything further. “Well, don’t leave me hanging,” you urged him. “What’s the surprise?”

“You’ll find out,” he teased before grabbing your hips and lifting you onto the back of the quad driven by one of the staff that maintained the villa. “Everything you need is in the backpack.”

He tipped your head back and crushed his lips to yours, nipping your bottom one as he pulled away smirking. “I’ll see you soon.”

You would have opened the backpack to try and figure out what was happening but the ATV revved and your hands were preoccupied with grabbing the handles as you were sequestered away. The ride was nowhere near as smooth as the yacht had been on the sea and you bounced around as the man Max had entrusted your safety to left the beach and drove inland, deep into the forest you had yet to explore.

“Nous voilà. Bonne chance,” he said as he stopped in a clearing with a small lake. Your French may have been limited but even you knew ‘goodluck’ when you heard it and you frowned as you hopped out of the offroad vehicle, grabbing the backpack before he left again.

“What the hell, Max,” you muttered as you were left alone and the sound of the bike was replaced with birdsong. 

There were staff all over the island, topping up supplies in the villa and maintaining the land, but they were very adept at keeping to the shadows to give you the privacy that was expected with your stay. You only hoped they were somewhere nearby as you took a seat at the edge of the water and opened the backpack to see an envelope with your name on it.

We know how much you love the chase and you know we love the competition, so while you and Max were off island we snuck on.  For each hour you escape us, another joins the hunt. Goodluck, Charles, Lewis, Carlos, Checo, Lando, Fernando, Pierre & George.

Your heart jumped at the thrill they offered and you opened the bag open further to see some warm clothes to go over the swimsuit you still wore along with shoes, food and water, as well as a map and compass. You unfolded the map first and saw there were places marked that offered more supplies before checking your watch. It was a little after noon and with sunset tending to be just before 9pm you could see yourself enjoying the night with all of them, if you could evade them for nine hours. 

It didn’t escape your notice that the names were in the same order of the driver standings and you knew it wasn’t going to be an easy task hiding from them on the island. It wasn’t that large but the forest offered the best chance with its cover so you pulled on the clothes and packed the bag up again before setting off into the bush, keeping your heading north with the compass.

The first hour passed quickly with you looking over your shoulder every ten seconds but the second hour grew a little tiresome as the initial burst of adrenaline retreated and the solitude of the dense trees left you going stir crazy. 

By late afternoon you knew Max, Charles, Lewis and Carlos were definitely about with Checo likely already having joined them too. It was Carlos’ laugh that alerted you to their proximity and you daren’t breathe as you dropped to the ground and rolled under a thicket of bush. Your ears pounded as your heart rate spiked and blood pumped furiously around your body. Excitement of the chase warred with the need to get caught and it took all your self control to keep still as they passed your hidden position. 

“Sucks to be you, mate,” Carlos teased, “you’ll be fighting your own brother for her next season.”

The thought of sharing the Leclerc brothers stoked the fire igniting in your body and your thighs pressed together tightly.

“Do you see any Alfa Romeo drivers here?” Charles shot back. 

“He makes a very good point,” Max said with a laugh. “But if you were champion you wouldn’t have to fight anyone.”

“Yeah,” Charles scoffed and you could picture him shaking his head.

“It’s not impossible to do, fucking difficult, don’t get me wrong, but not impossible,” Lewis noted as their voices faded off with the snaps of sticks under their boots. 

The last thing you heard was Checo suggesting splitting into smaller groups to cover more area and the others agreeing, you didn’t hear who teamed up with who.

Another two hours had passed by the time you reached the northern beach of the island, long shadows chasing the retreating tide as the temperature started dropping. It was quite the relief to find that a glamping tent had been set up and inside was a warm meal as well as more clothing and there was even a solar shower after all the walking you had done.  There was no way you were going to pass up the chance to have a hot shower and quickly stripped off your clothes before stepping under the refreshing water. 

If you weren’t so tired from the unexpected exercise the afternoon brought you might have questioned how the meal was hot or why the tent wasn’t on the map. 

“Well, well, look who wandered in,” Pierre chuckled as he stepped into the tent with a towel hung low on his hips, George at his side with wet hair and a grin on his lips. “This is a surprise.”

You froze as you realised this wasn’t a supply tent for you but where the guys were waiting for their time to join the hunt. “Fuck,” you cursed and stepped out from under the spray of water to grab a towel. 

“No need to cover up, love,” George tutted as crossed the distance in two long strides and blocked the shelf full of them. “I quite like you as you are.”

You looked at his watch and bit your lip at the heat of his stare. “You’re not playing yet.”

His thumb caught a drop of water clinging to your bottom lip and your nipples peaked as the air cooled around you. “I never play when it comes to you.”

Pierre watched with an amused look as he sat back on the bed that had been made with the same neatness as the beds in the villa. “It’s kind of a shame you’re here really, I was looking forward to hunting you down.”

Your chest rose and fell with quick breaths as you enjoyed the same thought. “You could let me go, there’s still five minutes.”

His head tilted as he pondered the decision but your attention was torn when George’s knuckles traced your jawline before trailing down your neck and over your collarbone, a soft sigh parting your lips at the touch. 

“Tempting,” George muttered, “but we can hardly let you walk out of here when you look at us like that.” 

A shiver rolled down your spine as your tired muscles were refreshed with an injection of adrenaline and a smile played at your lips. Unable to help yourself, you grabbed George’s hips and rose on your tiptoes to brush your lips across his cheek. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

Your fingers curled into his towel and pulled it from his hips as you ran out of the tent, Pierre’s deep laugh promising retribution as it followed you out. “Four minutes, chérie!”

Your feet were flying as you sprinted off the beach and back into the treeline knowing Pierre would be hot on your heels the moment the hour clicked over. You checked your watch to see how much time was left and cursed as you remembered taking it off to shower. 

You didn’t have a single clue what direction you were heading, all you wore was George’s towel and the low sun barely saturated the canopy of leaves overhead. Realistically, you weren’t sure you could outrun the guys for another hour to get your share of them all but you kept trying.

Your lungs burned and your bare feet hurt but you kept your head down and kept moving before bursting through the tree line into a clearing, crashing into the back of someone. You both fell to the ground with a surprised shout and he managed to wrap his arms around you before the impact came but the towel managed to come free. Rolling on top of him, you straddled his waist and pinned his shoulders down.

“Got you.”

Charles' stunned expression only lasted a second before he grinned. “The hunter becomes the hunted.”

“Where are your clothes?” Max asked as he picked up the towel and you saw Carlos in the clearing too, the trio making up one of the teams they split into.

You dragged your eyes up the length of his body and licked your lips. “Why, want me to cover up?”

“No fucking way, hermosa,” Carlos replied quickly as he took the towel from Max and balled it up before throwing it back into the bush. “This is perfect.”

“You look cold,” Charles commented as he pushed himself up on his elbows to flick his tongue over your nipples and a needy whine poured from you. “I think between the three of us we can warm you up.”

Your mind went blank at the promise of being between them and your hips rocked over his in search of friction. “Please…”

Carlos was already shucking his jacket and ripping his belt out of the loops with a sharp snap so he could kick off his jeans while Max was content to lean against a tree, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold before him.

Your head fell back with a cry when Charles bit the swell of your breast and your knees tightened around him in response to the bolt of lightning you felt in your core. “Fuck, I missed those sounds,” he groaned as he pulled away before tugging you up his body and positioning your cunt over his lips. “Not as much as I missed how you taste.”

The heat of his breath blowing across your core was nothing compared to his tongue as he tasted you for the first time in weeks and your jaw fell slack with a moan. 

“That’s it, baby, open wide,” Carlos praised, his fist pumping slowly up and down his cock as stepped closer. 

There was something wild and freeing with being lost in the middle of a remote island, the scents of the earth and natural light colliding with the dominant energy rolling off the men. And knowing there were even more of them out there searching for you made you feral with need. 

Your lips sealed around Carlos and your nails dug into his ass as you pulled him closer, burying him down your throat until you gagged. His hand found its way to the back of your head and he held you there as your eyes watered and you almost had to tap out.

“Dios mío,” he moaned as he watched you gasp for air before taking him once again, tears staining your cheeks. 

Your legs began to tremble around Charles and he moaned as your arousal ran down his chin. The tension that had been building all day finally peaked and stars danced around your vision as Charles’ tongue and Carlos’ cock found the perfect rhythm.

Carlos grinned as your eyelashes fanned across your cheeks, droplets glistening along them while your throat tightened around him. “That’s a good girl,” he praised and wrapped his large hand around your throat to feel your struggles with his size. 

Your orgasm shattered every inch of you and your cries were smothered as Carlos’ hand tightened, his hips thrusting forward as he joined you. His taste filled your mouth and you hummed as it ran down your chin before you climbed back down Charles' body and saw the mess on his face.

“Open your mouth, Charles,” Max said with a smirk as he pushed off the tree and knelt beside him. Charles obeyed in an instant but Max wasn’t satisfied as he caught his chin and opened his mouth wider. “Go on, baby, he’s dying for a taste too.”

You leaned forward and parted your lips, letting the thick stream of cum flow into Charles’ mouth before he pulled you down and shared the taste on your tongue with a deep groan.

“How was your warm up?” Max asked as he lifted you off Charles. Your feet touched the ground and though they were a little weak from the orgasm they seemed stable enough.

“Warm up?”

Max checked his phone and chuckled before he slapped your ass. “Run, rabbit, run.”

Carlos’ laugh echoed Max’s from where he was pulling his boxers back up his thick thighs. “Here come the wolves.”

Two British accents caught your attention from somewhere in the trees and everyone turned to the sound but while they were distracted you bolted in the opposite direction, your legs bumbling like a newborn fawn. You barely made it fifty yards before a pair of strong arms caught you and you let out a surprised scream as the ground disappeared from under your feet. 

Your already smarting ass took a fresh smack from Lewis’ large hand and you moaned as the heat spread across your skin. Peering up from where you had been tossed over his shoulder, you smiled as Lando caught up with his own lopsided grin. 

“Hey gorgeous,” he greeted before Lewis turned around to say something to him but Lando was a little distracted. “Oh, hello gorgeous.” 

His lips felt refreshingly cool against the handprints burning backside and you fell limp against Lewis’ back with a sigh at how good it felt. The upside down world starting to spin when Lewis held your legs apart so Lando could fuck you with his fingers and you quickly got lightheaded from it all. 

“Tu vas bien?”

You worked hard to push yourself up to see Pierre had found you with his trademark smirk painted on his face and you gave him the thumbs up as your lips parted with another breathless moan. “Just exploring the island.”

“So I see,” he chuckled as he circled around you. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads,” Lewis called before Pierre tossed a coin in the air and slapped it down on his hand, Lewis’ deep laugh vibrating through you at the result. For a second you were almost airborne before he caught you and lowered your feet back to the ground to see the damp mark on his shirt. His smile was one of pure indulgence as he held your eyes and lifted the material to his lips and tasted you with a hum of satisfaction. “On your knees, babygirl.”

Your fingers worked his belt open and pulled his cargo pants down as you sank to your knees, your hand wrapping around his thick cock before you wet your lips. A pair of hands gripped your hips and you moaned around your mouthful as Lando pulled you back to meet his thrust.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, gorgeous,” Lando groaned happily.

Needing to breathe, you pulled back with a gasp and peeked over your shoulder to see Pierre pressed against Lando’s back and your core clenched as both of their eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.

“Oh my fuck,” you moaned as a delightful shiver spread across your body and Pierre placed his hands over Lando’s, holding your hips too as he set the pace.

“You like that, babygirl?” Lewis asked with a knowing smile as he ran a thumb over your swollen lips. “You want to watch them too?”

You nodded eagerly and tongue lashed across the pad of his thumb before you sucked it into your mouth and his chest rose quickly with the deep breath he took. He pulled you away from Lando, the emptiness only lasting a moment as he spun you around to face them and stretched your cunt as he snapped his hips forward.

Your hands braced on Lando’s chest and he stole the startled cry by crushing his lips against yours. You broke away breathless and your head fell back to rest in the crook of Lewis’ neck.

“Open your eyes,” Pierre ordered and they snapped open at the command to meet his over Lando’s shoulder.

Your eyes trailed down Lando’s body to where Pierre was stroking his hard length smoothly thanks to your arousal slick on his palms. You could hardly breathe as Lewis matched their pace, his tattooed hand reaching around you to find your clit.

“Uh-uh, eyes, chérie.”

Heat spread up your spine and tremors followed as the pleasure built to breaking point. It was the deep moan that Lando made as he came that tipped you over the edge and your fingers gathered the cum that warmed your skin so you could taste him too.

“Oh, babygirl,” Lewis moaned in your ear before spanking his palm across your ass. “You’re so tight, I can’t even, ugh,” his words were lost to his bliss as he rolled his hips slowly, milking every last drop that had begun to leak down your thighs.

“Putain,” Pierre swore as saw the delicious mess that had been made and slammed his dick into Lando one last time before spilling his own.

For a moment the clearing was silent except for the heavy breathing from all the exertion but then a slow clap started and Max, Charles and Carlos stepped out from the trees.

“Please don’t make me run again,” you panted from where you were sitting on Lewis’ lap, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“You’re welcome,” Lewis chuckled low in your ear.

“Luckily, the villa is just through those trees,” Max said as he pointed behind you and sure enough there were lights when you looked properly. “You, my little rabbit, have earned a bit of recovery time. After all, we have all night.”

Click here for part four.

Tagging: @slytherheign @alwaysclassyeagle @godess-of-mist @leahstf @mydutchproblem

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

I bow before you my liege and would like to submit a virginity/innocence kink as tribute

(Sorry i have no idea what the actual name is!!!!!!!!!)

Haha, I think you have it right. My liege, eh? Perhaps you should not label me so nobly until you sample my wares...

"The Greatest Gift"

Loki comes home from war to claim the one who promised herself to him.

Content Warning (18+ ONLY): smut, virginity kink/loss, a sprinkling of size kink

Word Count: ~580

“Please be soft with me,” you whispered with anxiety. “Now that it’s time, I’m afraid I--I--”

“Shhh,” Loki replied with a long, thin finger against your trembling lips. “I know, sweet. You waited for me. Tonight will be a reward for both of us. I promise I will be gentle.”

Lying back against the fainting sofa in your library, you were welcoming Loki home after a lengthy conscription (years!) that had seen him grow from boyhood to manhood. The day he left, you’d promised to save your virginity for the night of his homecoming. He accepted your offer with a tender kiss that you carried on your lips for the entirety of your adolescence. 

There was something about the way you looked underneath Loki as he laid kisses all over your bare body, both needy and frightened, that forced his heart into his loins. You were such a worthy partner to receive him, and yet so innocent at once, putting every ounce of faith that he would pull you into the pleasures of carnality without bringing harm or pain to you. 

“Loki…” you muttered again, raising your arms and begging for him to fall into them. 

“I can guide you through it if you wish,” Loki offered. “I love a good, heated narration.”

You slowly shook your head. “I must be such a bore compared to your old mistresses!”

“Oh no,” he replied, taking a moment to caress your face and kiss you. “They were all one and the same. This gift is more precious to me than anything anyone has given before. I have been thinking of nothing other than making you mine for weeks.”

He ran his hands over your breasts. “Just the thought of being the only one with the honor of burying my cock inside inside you…feel how it makes me quiver, darling!”

Taking your hand, he guided it over his leggings, his erection filling your hand so full your fingers stretched. 

“How…oh norns…” you were both excited and hesitant. 

“I know what you’re thinking, sweet,” Loki purred, slowly moving your hands up and down his member as he began to make his clothes melt away with magic. Eventually, your hands cupped him. “You are wondering how it could possibly fit inside you.”

You nodded. Loki gave you another gentle kiss, which settled your quaking nerves. 

“It will fill you full, your walls will stretch nice and wide for me, and it may feel strange for a moment,” he warned, positioning himself between your split legs, completely in the buff now, his erection sprung free from its mooring to further intimidate you even as you grew soaking wet. “But the pounding pleasures you will take from it will send you into ecstatic fits. This is my promise. You will always feel heat rise in your face when you remember this night: the night I made you a bride.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

Loki shrugged as he leaned over you, cock in hand, the tip scarcely touching your opening, taunting you with promise. “I thought that was implied. We will wed soon, but I took one look at you this afternoon and knew that I couldn’t possibly wait until our nuptial hour to break you in.”

“Ohhh,” you moaned, his dulcet words relaxing your muscles, finally making you fully ready for your Prince. 

“This is our wedding night,” he asserted. “My triumph is not complete until I finally make you mine...and only mine.”

With this last declaration, he slowly entered you. 

ENJOY! :) Visit my new KINK DRABBLE MASTERLIST

@queen-paladin @fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @glitchquake @gruftiela @xorpsbane @loopsisloops

[dadsbongos]

yuuji x reader where the reader is nothing like his type at all (completely flat) I know you did a fic like this and i loved it so much but could you do a fic for the more flat chested girlies?? even a drabble is good! i loce ur work u are soo talented!!

oopsie i finished this the day i got it n then forgot to post it!! sorries!!

yuuji is so boy-coded in that he says what he’s thinking and doesn’t think it could be hurtful </3 also size kink hints

~~~ 18+ under the cut

“Angel face,” Yuuji grins like he’s proud of himself, and sadly, you know he is, “I got enough for the both of us.”

“Not funny!” you chuck the nearest pillow at his face, but your boyfriend easily catches it with a single hand. You watch his thick fingers dig and pull at the plush, he stretches the cushion between both hands before tossing it back towards you, “I’m trying to be serious, Yuuji…”

“So am I,” he frowns, all for show, plopping onto your bed beside you. He stares over your forlorn expression and his twists with sincerity, “Really, angel, I don’t…” he hesitates and you feel shame in how it makes your heart freeze, “I dunno how to explain it, but it doesn’t actually matter to me.”

You lean back onto your palm at that, raising an eyebrow at him, “It doesn’t matter?”

“Not really!” he shrugs, grinning sheepishly, “I just think you’re pretty. It’s not a turn off that you’re flat,” your wince at his choice of words does not go unnoticed, “It isn’t! You’re hot!” he leans into your space, bright grin now burning into your cheek as he kisses from your face and into the moor of your neck. He reaches up, fingers snaking under your shirt, “My angel’s the prettiest girl in the world.”

“You think so?”

“Baby,” he mutters into the hotbed of your skin, teething at the soft patch like a starved puppy, “I want you so bad all the time,” as if he senses your thrumming disbelief, he repeats himself, “All the time.”

His hands cover the entirety of your breasts and it drives him wild. Sparks something he’s unwilling to admit just yet: how crazy he goes for the way his body engulfs yours. Brain overheating and whole body jittering when he can feel your body pliant and dwarfed by his thicker frame. 

Besides, as much as he adores your looks, it isn’t as though your body is the most interesting thing about you. You’ve got Yuuji collared and leashed anyhow, the distribution of fat on your body couldn’t sway his heart.

Not in the slightest.

He digs his hands into your waist and laves your petite tits with violet kisses before stretching down to settle your thighs comfortably over his shoulder. Yuuji nestles into your warm body and digs out euphoria in earnest desperation. He’s certain that if he could curl up anywhere to rot away, he’d choose atop your body.

In the meantime, Yuuji excitedly works between your legs to remind you that he most certainly has enough thickness for the both of you.

[w2sology]

in your skin, harry lewis.

summary: harry feels like you two haven't been spending enough time together, only he doesn't want to come off as clingy.

warnings: language, reader has an occupation in fashion.

harry felt like he couldn't breathe or function properly. for the past week, he'd been doing nothing except attend video shoots and moor around the house until you got back from work, and even then you'd still be doing work.

he felt like you two were drifting apart a little, and after the years that you two had been together, that had become one of his worst fears.

today was no different, except you were working from home instead of at your office desk. a phone in one hand and a pen in the other, you jotted down important notes from your call as your eyes occasionally skimmed through your laptop, looking for any changes in this week's runway.

harry walked past, originally planning to go straight to the kitchen to get a snack, but his mind got the better of him and he found himself standing right at your feet in the living room.

looking up at him, you flashed a smile as you hummed in response to your colleague on the other end of the phone.

not satisfied enough with your answer, harry huffed to himself, throwing his arms up in defeat as he walked towards the kitchen.

"she won't even look at me for more than a second, what am i, chopped liver?" he muttered under his breath.

you heard him mumble, but didn't hear exactly what he said, choosing to brush it away.

"okay, so what do you think about adding a few more models to the shoot before the show?" you suggested to your colleague.

"hm, that's doable."

harry rummaged through the cupboards, settling on some winders to eat before making his way out of the kitchen, only to see you still on the phone.

you looked up to meet his gaze, raising your brows as if to ask him what was wrong.

"you're still busy?" he whispered.

placing the phone on mute so your conversation wouldn't be heard, you sent an apologetic smile towards your boyfriend. "i'll only be about fifteen more minutes, babe."

that was a good enough answer for harry, so he stuck by your words and sat on the couch opposite you, deciding to use his phone to pass time.

this wasn't a new feeling to harry, he always felt this way when he had been away from you for too long or when he felt like he hasn't been with you for long enough. to others, it was just the effect of being with your partner for so long. but to harry, it was like if he didn't have you, his whole world would come crashing down.

fifteen minutes turned into twenty, which turned into thirty, and before harry new it, you had began discussing a whole other plan to the one you were originally discussing.

frankly, harry was getting a bit fed up. his attention span was bad enough as it was but with you denying him any sort of attention, he felt like he was going to die.

tossing his phone next to him, harry got up and walked where you were, flopping in the spot that wasn't covered in notebooks, fineliners, unfinished designs, and gel pens.

you rolled your head to the side to once again greet him with a smile, and only then did you see the frown on his beautiful face.

mouthing a quick 'what's wrong?' to him, you brought your hand to gently caress his cheek, touching his forehead as well to make sure he wasn't feeling ill, which he wasn't.

at the feeling of your touch, harry swore he could've melted right there and then — his eyes began to flutter as you cradled his face, but his from was still visible.

"hang up on her," he mumbled, still clear enough for you to hear.

"i'm almost done, harry."

"you've said that four times in the past two and a half hours, y/n."

"someone's needy today," you giggled, seeing absolutely nothing wrong with your boyfriend's clingyness.

in fact, you found it wholesome how harry always wanted to spend time with you — some boyfriends would get sick of seeing their girls every single day.

"i'm not needy... am i?" he doubted himself.

"right, carly, is that everything then?" you began to wrap up your phone call, saying goodbye to your co-worker and packing up your notes and stuff.

"fucking finally, i was beginning to run out of air!" harry groaned, sinking down in the couch.

laughing at his dramatics, you put your things on the coffee table for now, before turning to harry.

his arms wrapped around your — his — t shirt, pulling you onto his stomach so you could be properly embraced by him. however, harry was never fully content until you had skin to skin contact, so his hands snuck under your shirt snd rested on your hips.

as you straddled him, your hands once again cradled his face, basking in the intimacy of the position you were currently in.

leaning forward, harry's eyes naturally closed as he met your lips with his, sighing into the kiss.

kissing harry would never get old, you still felt those jitters that you had the very first time that he kissed you.

placing small kisses on your lips before totally pulling away, harry looked up at you through hooded, love drunk eyes. "i miss you."

"i'm right here?" you raised an eyebrow.

"no, i know that," harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i just feel like we haven't been that close lately."

pouting at his confession, you pushed your body closer to harry's, wrapping your arms around his neck so that you could hug him as closely as possible.

he returned your hug, letting a smile drift onto his face at the form of contact.

"i'm sorry we haven't spent much time together lately," you whispered. "but i promise, i'm all yours now, and whenever you want me to be."

"do you pinky promise?" he asked, holding up his pinky finger.

with a laugh, you took his pinky and linked it with yours, both of you sealing the promise with a kiss. "i do."

"good." harry was about to kiss you again, before he was interrupted by your phone ringing besides you both.

turning your head to look at the id, you saw it was talia calling you. your mind was split between answering the call or tending to your boyfriend, who held the biggest mug on his face.

"don't answer it."

"but harry..."

"y/n..." he groaned, throwing his arms about. "you're my girlfriend, not hers!"

that line had you laughing, as you forgot about your phone, making a mental note to ring talia back before the end of the day.

"right. now i'm all yours." you mumbled against his lips.

[strangerdangerwrites]

the art of lies | t.s. (fantastic beasts) - chapter two

Chapter Summary: real partnerships need faux relationships.

Pairings: Theseus Scamander x Fem!Reader

genre: romance, mature audience intended

warnings: mature themes, implied sexual content, sexworker protagonist, pleasure house (brothel), smoking

the art of lies masterlist

YOU CAN TELL A LOT ABOUT A PERSON by the way of their touch.

Is it comforting? Like a mother who eases their child about the bruise on their knees.

Is it skilled? Like the pianist who is adept at playing the key to a composition.

Is it warm? Like the embrace of a friend whom you have not seen in years.

Is it tender? Like the palm of the lover carefully caressing your cheek.

Or is it dominating? Like the hands holding your neck, making you gasp for air while you could only comply. 

Every breath you take, clawing at the hands that tighten with every passing minute. Strangling you until all you see are the ceilings painted like the night sky, it would be your deepest desire to be held so gently, not like this. Not like this. Your lungs burning with every passing second, reaching for anything, a small gasp of wind would be enough to suffice.  The only thing that registered in your mind was how hard your heart was beating out of your chest. One more tightened grip and it would be your last breath, your feet wriggled right under his grasp, tears welling out of yours. You didn’t even know you could cry.

You didn’t want it to end like this, to be seen unsightly. To lie cold on the white sheets, eyes with a blank glassy stare and tear stains on your cheeks. The tell-tale sign that you were once alive is gone with your last breath. You didn’t want it to end like this… You were a fighter— you were fighting for a semblance of a home, the warmth, and the pure love.

With a gasp, you tapped on the arms that held your neck, trying to push off the undesired touch. You grabbed them harshly, as if your life depended on it, and pushed them off your frame. You sat still and coughed, the air you desperately wished went back to your senses slowly. You were alive. You are alive, Feeling the pulse of your veins right beneath your bruised neck.

The man on the sofa whispered but words fell on deaf ears, he muttered something, and all you could do was hum. Unlike earlier, the rough hands by your neck weren’t like the soft kisses he left on your shoulder, leaving the feeling of ice on your skin.

“I said tell me the truth. Did I hurt you?” He asked, warm breath tickling your skin. Looking right at your shoulder his arms circled your waist as he inhaled your scent. 

“You didn’t.” Intense eyes looked right back at you. His once-slicked-back hair was ruffled lying flat on his forehead, he looked at you. Scoping your reaction once more but nodded, nonetheless.

Lies. Lies. Lies. It comes naturally to you, like breathing.

And only one person had caught on to your lies. You take pride in having a knack for the art of deceptiveness, yet when Theseus Scamander looked at you, he knew that you had recognized Charles Moore. Mr. Scamander was far too perceptive and smart for his good, his nobleness would only lead to trouble.

The truth is it wasn’t even in the Amour Délicat that you had first met the missing assistant delegate, his thoughts were loud and clear, unbearable with the thought of your beauty.

‘She’s beautiful.’ The words you have seen a thousand times. 

And for the second time, Charles Moore presented himself in front of you, right in front of a jewelry shop, he held a flashy ring that glittered in the sun. You tried to look at your surroundings, to look for the people that accompanied courtesans every time you had to go out for help. But you couldn’t feel or see them, strange.

“Run away with me. I’ll make you the happiest woman on earth.” Charles Moore proposed, kneeling on one knee as a crowd of onlookers looked at the spectacle expecting you to say yes.

“I do not even know you; you must have had the wrong person.” You said as you turned around to walk another block, trying to get away from his hands as he tried to reach you. 

“You don’t understand, I am in love with you! You are the woman of my dreams. Why are you running away from me? I am your true love!” Your heart hammered in your chest; you couldn’t risk losing your job by creating a scene in front of the crowd. Madame Blanche kept you her secret, a weapon to investigate secrets and he is risking it by following you. 

When you have reached the dark alleys of Paris, streets that looked at you in hunger, you were sent back to a dark time where you had no roof over your head. You have seen life and decay in these very streets. It felt like you were back from where your stomach growled in hunger as you stared at the windows of a bakery begging for a piece of bread. You felt your lungs tightening in your chest like an incarcerous spell had taken hold of your chest, squeezing it until panic littered your veins. Your eyes darted at the crowd, looking for the protection that you desperately craved. Suddenly, multiple people stood in front of you, dressed in shabby clothing. They had followed you, looking at you with disdain asking if you were acquainted with the man earlier, you shook your head no as tears threatened to spill in your eyes, only for them to grab your arms harshly.  Every spell of protection flew over your head as your heart still hammered in your chest, stunning stem into their place you ran. The soles of your feet were sore and when you were back to the familiar streets of the red-light district, back to Amour Délicat, you could finally breathe. You stood there for what felt like a lifetime, only to hear the panicked breaths of people who were supposed to protect you.

That is the memory you had shown Theseus, who is now sitting on the sofa with his head propped up on a soft pillow looking at the ceilings while dissecting every memory of the encounter, For someone to force their memory on you it would hurt for the first time. You muttered a healing spell to ease his pain, while he lay on the soft velvet seats, collecting his thoughts.

“I would say that you are quite indeed a great liar, but the first time you looked at me I knew you were lying.” He said with a cheeky grin. Proud that he had seen through your facade of lies. His eyes remained closed, and you frowned.

“What gave it away?”

“Your eyes. My mother said you can see a lot of a person through their eyes, that’s why Hippogriffs only respect you if you look right into their eyes. And you didn’t with me, you covered yours with a smile.” Opening his eyes, he looked right back at you. “And that is your flaw, you’re too good of a liar that lies upon lies is the tell-tale that you are hiding something.”

What a funny thing, you failed to be the greatest deceiver. Now you were only obligated to an oath of truth to Theseus Scamander. You were a mere pawn in this game, all your life you were, and to be presented with a ticket out, you became a feral dog ready to taste the sense of freedom. Your truth is hard to come by because all you knew were lies. And the way he had you right wrapped around his fingers was a sure new record of low for you, what a pity you were. Madame Blanche would sure be ashamed. You and your rotten judgment would lead to your demise; you were certain.

Yet, he vowed for your safety. All that needs to be done is you get information as you’ve always done before. Gather secrets and tell him what he wants, that would be easy. The only obstacle was how you would communicate discreetly, all he needed to do was be within your vicinity for you to use legilimens to him. But, how, he couldn’t simply use his account to buy your time, he significantly declined that idea. His righteous beliefs prevented him from using you for that kind of service, ‘We are working together, you don’t need to think about ways to please me. Your help is fine.’ he says.

Madame Blanche would become too curious, too prying as to why the British auror had come to take you, therefore you settled on an agreement, every time you had to go out, he would trail by the shadows until both of you were all alone he would get the information he wanted.

You would ease into Mr. Scamander’s mind gently, give him the truth that he wanted. 

The man that lay on your sofa slowly unwrapped his arms around your waist. It was becoming a common occurrence for you to be lost in thought. Being deep into your head, made you make plans for the imminent future, like what would you or where would you go questions have circled your mind. Daydreaming has now been a habit that distracts you and makes you hope, and having hope is a dangerous thing.

You even forgot it was not Mr. Scamander in the room with you but a regular patron of yours, whose name you were forced to remember since he was a high-paying clientele. Pierre Baudelaire, the next-inline as the Duke of Baudelaire, a part of the royalty of pure-blooded families. And you were nothing but his mistress.

If you squint your eye, you would’ve thought it was the figure of a certain auror, something your mind didn’t expect it to play. Buttoning his suit with ease, Baudelaire acquires an extravagant box in his coat pocket. He kneeled right in front of you and grabbed your hand in his.

“What is this?” 

“A gift.”

“I don’t think I can accept—”

“Take it.”

Your hands fiddled with the box unwillingly, his palms pressed to it tightly, not giving you the choice to reject his offer. Nonetheless, you smiled at him not before you grabbed your robe and walked with him as he went to say his goodbyes.

With one last look, he turned around to step in front of you. His deep green eyes stared at you unblinking not before holding your neck, lightly this time. With his thumb, he tilted your head up at him not before giving you a kiss. Closing your eyes and the hold on your neck slowly tightened. The feel of your pulse right beneath his skin, you willed your heart to remain calm, afraid that the repeat earlier would happen again.

The touch of authority is evident in the way he holds your neck, making you want to submit to his desires that are still not satisfied. Back then you would’ve let them, it was your job after all. You would’ve been your ruin, a tool of satisfaction but now you feared. You fantasize about life outside these very caging walls. Back then, you would’ve been fine if your last dying breath was in between the sheets, and the taste of freedom far from your mind. But now it is different.

When the lift doors closed behind him and your clientele for the day had gone, you gave a tired sigh and rested your back among the door frames. Your hand touched your neck feeling the faint bruise slowly starting to burn, by the time you would have looked in the mirror you were sure that it would’ve been dark red. Going back inside the room, other elves started appearing and cleaning the room from the ground up. And at the corner of your eye, Bernadette gave you a comforting smile. A cup of tea in her hand

“I hope I didn’t take long. Bernadette.” Grabbing the warm cup of tea in hand, the crushed leaves provided you with the comfort that you needed. You muttered a ‘thank you’ not before hearing the creaking wall opening behind you. You followed her as both of you walked towards the hidden door in the room, the bricked walled lead you downstairs to the common rooms and large dining hall for every courtesan. Loud chatter and boisterous laughter could be heard echoing on your way down. 

As soon as you opened the large lounge where every staff and courtesan lazed around; there they talked about rumors of their own, happenings on the street, and what the client of the day did. Passing by some who flaunted their lover’s gift as they giggled at the thought of love. Not before you get stares of your own; thoughts you could hear loud and clear about how you were the cause of Maeve’s disposal. Not even caring that their voices were loud whispers.

If Maeve didn’t run her tattle tale mouth, then would have still been working here, It was not your fault she grew jealous of your status as the right hand. She did it to herself, you were merely a vessel to her downfall. At first, that former courtesan acted like you were the best of friends, clinging to you to make her status higher but you knew not to make friends; you could hear and see the disdain in her thoughts as soon as she saw you. Thoughts about how undeserving you were, and that you were never special to begin with. And when she realized that you were unapproachable and someone who never let her secrets slip, she knew that you would never open up. 

“Why did Maeve get to be punished, she should’ve been the one who left.” A comment that went past your ears. You paid no reaction and continued your way back to your room, all you needed to do was get out and talk to Theseus, passing him a piece of crucial information about how you were being trailed these last few days and how Maeve held no contact after being laid off by Madame Blanche. No letters to her friends in Amour Délicat, which is unlike her character at all. She liked to gossip and was often associated with the one who made the nasty comment about you, and to not get a peep out of the former courtesan was unlikely. Very unusual.

Passing down rooms until you reach the final door. Courtesans from Bouquet de Blanc had different sets of rooms. You were never placed to bed in the lower ground rooms, where one hall five people are being accommodated in their respective rooms, you stayed on the upper floors where a singular door resides. There were clothes designated for you to wear, to not lose their status, and you were only required to wear white, a sign of purity when the truth is you are embedded with sins. 

Opening the door, what greeted you was a simple room. No knick-knacks, just all the necessities to be considered a bedroom. There were no high ceilings or chandeliers like the room upstairs that decorated this simple abode. The only splash of the decor was the potted Epiphyllum oxypetalum residing at the dresser, its buds still not formed. It was charmed to be water daily while you were occupied by other means, you never miss it when it blooms once a year. This plant was a gift from the Madame, every courtesan had a flower designated to be their own identity. A cruel reminder that this is who you are in the establishment of Madame Blanche. A flower in her bouquet of courtesans.

Bernadette who has been by your side all this time summoned the golden tub, and immediately you succumb to cleaning yourself hastily. You scrubbed hard while the water still flowed to a full; Bernadette rushed as well as she poured an essence of floral shampoo right into your hair. The house elf saw the forming bruise right at your neck and touched it gently.

“Again? Please be careful around men like that Miss.” You flinched when her cold hands touched the sensitive skin, she whispered a healing spell. You could only nod as you hurried to dress yourself, in simple clothes, something inconspicuous.

“Are you meeting the auror again?” Bernadette asked. Worry was written all over her face.

“I have to, this— this contract is an opportunity I could simply not pass. When the time comes, I’ll make sure that you’ll come with me to be free. And this is the only reason for that to happen, trust me. Please.” Kneeling right in front of the house elf, she caressed your cheek and wiped the worry off your face. Bernadette nodded and put a tight lip on her lips signifying her silence. The house elf that you have trusted your whole life, embraced you in a hug like a doting mother would. 

The truth is Bernadette is your only friend, she is the only other person you ever trusted and cared for. When the world turned their eyes with disgust at you, it was empathy and a cup of warm tea that she offered. Bernadette took care of you as a loving mother would; not that you knew what it's like to feel a mother’s touch. It was she who gave you warmth, and sincerity. And even if you are not related by blood, the bond you have with each other is irreplaceable. 

“What would you do if she asks?” 

“I’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

“Stay safe.”

“I will.”

Walking towards the back doors, you stopped at the guard’s quarters to call upon Chen and Marc. The men who were assigned to watch your every move whenever you are needed outside. They did not only to keep you from harm but to prevent you from running away. Those were Madame Blanche’s orders. 

“Are we too lazy to go outside boys?” You crossed your arms across your chest and looked at their round of poker game.  Groaning, the two boys sat their cards down to fold. And just by hearing their thoughts out loud, they were dejected. Placing their cards down, they begrudgingly stood to follow you, calling out to their other mates about continuing the game later.

“Where are we going today, Miss? Another theater or a trip to see the Seine?” Chen enthusiastically asked.

Chen and Marc were great at their job, they knew to keep tabs on all behavior and what to report to Madame Blanche as soon as the trip was done. You had been doing this for years, and with experience, you knew how to throw them off your scent easily. All you need is a place wherein utmost surveillance would become useless when faced with difficulty; for that to happen you need an obstacle, an obstacle called the non-magiques. With the planned rendezvous in mind, you hummed not even trying to act overly giddy at the thought. 

“We are going to the non-magiques golden district, the Champs-Élysées Avenue.” With a loud choking sound, followed by a slap on the back you walked towards the double doors. The feeling of air right on your skin made you elated.

“What for?”

“I need a look… a look on how to be the perfect bride.”

For the non-magiques it would take them 10-12 hours to travel to Champs-Élysées Avenue from the Amour Délicat, but apparition came easy to you and there are portkeys scattered in Paris. Besides, the farther you are in Amour Délicat the better. You didn’t need prying eyes or ears to watch your every move, and besides the non-magiques tourists spots were certainly a beauty to look at, that was just an additional benefit. Marc and Chen could only comply with your demands as you looked at every boutique with wonder in your eyes. They were on edge and yet they couldn’t do anything about it, afraid that the Bureau des Aurors would show up any minute. They were not accustomed to traveling outside the wizarding walls, they were wary that they would be captured and jailed if they ever slipped and showed magic towards the non-magical people. Pinballs of sweat dripped to their forehead as their wands remained at the inside of their pocket, eyes darting across one another as they tried to remain calm.

“Did you hear about ‘Handcuff' Houdini? I believe he is now in Wales touring! How I wish I could’ve seen his magic again; my papa said it was like sorcery!” You nudged the thought loud and clear to the young boys who bumped past your escorts. Messing around a little more, you whispered the fear of sorcery in their veins. 

Another group of elegant young ladies passed by this time their thoughts were merely pure coincidence. 

“I’m excited, I’ll finally be able to go to Magic City.” You stopped to tap them on their shoulder, the girl stared up at you in wonder. You looked regal with your white coat and scarf, even in the eyes of the non-magiques you were a beauty to look at.

“Did you say Magic City? I don’t believe that I’ve been there, care to tell me where it is?”  You asked, voice loud and clear for the eavesdropping escort to hear. “Yes— yes the one by rue de l'Université. Their dance halls have the most extravagant balls and celebrations. I heard that it is the most magical place here in Paris. We hope to see you there!” 

“Is that so? Thank you and I do hope to see you too. Have a wonderful day!” You turned around at their pale faces and gave them a small smile.

“Do you think that is a wizard-owned location?” Chen approached you but you could only hum in uncertainty, placing doubts onto their heads.

“I don’t know… I do think it is.” Turning around, you smiled as you heard one of your escorts gulp nervously, whispering amongst themselves about this new development and how they would tell Madame Blanche. If it is a new competitor, then it would be a threat to the Madame’s establishment

“Come on Chen and Marc, you have to hurry we do not have all day.” You hurriedly walked, passing through throngs of people, widening the gap as the men behind you were slowly losing you among the crowd. As soon as you walked two blocks away, you walked inside the corner shop street. 

Ready to welcome yourself in, the floral ambiance greeted your senses, the name of the boutique long forgotten when you realized what kind of establishment it was. Countless white bridal dresses decorated its walls, and mannequins stood still wearing expensive-looking gowns. In another life, you would’ve rejoiced to be a bride, but now you despised the color white. 

White. Felt restricting; it reminded you of the control, the emptiness, the loneliness, and the lies. White made you feel empty. 

“Welcome to ‘Love Affairs’. How may I help you today?” The boutique assistant's voice spooked you and immediately helped you to snap out of it. She guided you to a sofa that held champagne and a catalog. It almost made you nauseous to see the closed catalog staring straight back at you, you thought that if you scanned through its pages, you would see yourself and the price under your name. You held everything in your will to force the bile from coming out of your mouth. This place felt sickly, it reminded you of Amour Délicat. 

But you remember Theseus, curse him for choosing something like this. Something that is triggering every parcel in your body to just run away. He had provided you with this exact location, a place wherein you can do it discreetly. He could not afford to use the hotels the Aurors were staying at, that would cause too much curiosity in his superior. And the tavern had too many curious eyes and ears, this place was the first best thing. A place where no one would look for you and you could come up with an alibi easily, here you know that Marc and Chen could not follow you or it would raise suspicion.

Mr. Scamander… Mr. Scamander was here. Forcing yourself to remain in control you asked, “I was wondering if an English man has come in here? He was supp—” Her eyes widened in delight before you could even finish your sentence.

“Oh, you must be his bride! What a wonderful couple you two are. Come with me!” She urged you to stand up and she grabbed your hand, almost dragging you up the stairs where you can look at the catalog of dresses privately. 

A lone stylist stood in the middle of the room, entertaining a man who was slouched down on the couch. His knees showing signs of nervousness.

“His fiance is here!” The girl called out and Theseus looked at you, he expected you to not even show up but when you did his fear was lifted. He stood immediately, engulfing you in a tight embrace as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Your hand hovered right behind his back, wary of your touch on his. You were afraid that if you became too close, he would flinch and push you away. All it took you was a second to decide before giving him an embrace of equal force, not too harsh that your bones would crush and not too soft that the wind could blow you away.

With his voice in your ear and his hand carefully drawing circles into your back, he whispered. “We need to talk, they almost thought you stood me up.” 

It did interesting things to you, his whisper felt like feathers on your back making you arch closer to him and parted your lips. You felt yourself tremble to his voice, almost wanting more; you almost wanted to be greedy and see where this would lead. You push back to stare at him, but this is not the time or place for it, you have a job. And your job is to give him the information that he needs, not your services but secrets; he needed your secrets. And you two were not alone.

Your palm caresses his cheek softly; “Follow my lead.” 

Dropping your hand back to your side, you turned to stare at the stylist, the white streaks on her told of her age. She gave you a genuine smile, and in her thoughts, you could see her admiration. Slowly his hand left your back to stay right in his pockets, the warmth leaving as he did. 

‘Just like me and my husband.’ The lady's thoughts circled in your mind as her finger fiddled with her own ring. 

You formally introduce yourself and shake the stylist’s hand, flattering your eyes. Like stepping in front of an opera house, you performed another lie of a lifetime.

“I had to apologize, I had to run an errand. It is hard to plan a wedding with only two people.” You gave them your made-up story, how quickly and easily it came to you. 

Theseus would’ve thought it was true, but he knew your truth. Your contract was to only tell him the truth and to be seen on the other side of your white lies, he knew not to meddle with an expert at hand. You were far too quick on your feet to lie between your teeth, it came easy to you. He admired you for that, you would make a great auror. 

“The way your husband came here was uncertain, we almost pushed him out of our boutique. He was a nervous wreck. Now that I know why he is like that, your case is something unheard of, we always thought that the groom would only see the bride’s dress at the wedding, not the planning. Yet, you do not need to worry about anything, we'll make sure that this is a wedding you’ll never forget.”

Theseus stepped to your left and closed your hand in his, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles, hiding the view of your ringless finger from the spectators in front of you. “We wanted it to be private, just the two of us against the world.” He declared, and the boutique’s assistant swooned at the thought of pure love. 

“Ah, then why don’t you let us do the magic, all you must do is trust us and we will surprise you with the collection suited for someone like you. We will not leave you disappointed.” The stylist said as she closed the catalog and ushered the young assistant down the stairs. 

With the given privacy, you immediately walked toward the round-stage podium and closed the curtains surrounding it, not before dragging Theseus inside. Charming a muting spell in the vicinity, you looked up at him with seriousness plastered on your face. Now you were back to business, putting down the facade of pretending to be husband and wife.

He fiddled with something in his inner breast pocket. “Take this.” 

In his hand, a small dainty ring resides. It didn’t need the most expensive of gems to look beautiful as it glittered through the sun's rays. The golden band protected the one moonstone right in its middle, it looked beautiful and delicate.

Not even realizing that you were traversing his mind, you found a memory behind it. It was his mother’s ring. In his head, you saw him in front of the dining table along with his mother passing that very ring with a smile on her face, her small freckles dusted on her cheeks looking the same as her son. You can see her muttering the words ‘When the time comes, I know you’ll give it to the right person.” His mother placed the ring in his hand and closed it tightly. You can see him being apprehensive but with one last look, he thanked his mother and hugged her.

“This is your mother’s. Mr. Scamander— I–I don’t think I am the right person for this.” You muttered, eyes darting back to his eyes. The palm of his hand was left unoccupied with the ring as you didn’t even want to touch something so special to him, afraid that your ruination would cause its destruction. Your heart was pounding loudly, mind muddled with the unknown as the thoughts of all people within 50 meters became one. The voices all came at you at once as the white noise grew louder. You were breathing heavily, your hand slapped right into your ears to make the voices of the people stop.

His eyes grew worried, as he held your hand beside your head. Muttering. He was muttering something. You stared at his lips as you leaned closely.

“They’ll think you’re lying if you are not wearing the ring.”

“Oh... Yes of course.”

You expected he was giving it to you as an act of commitment, but his thoughts were loud and clear, you just didn’t expect the disappointment that followed. Placing the ring onto your right hand, not before he stopped to carefully hold your hand and place it on your left ring finger.

“Vena Amoris. Vein of Love. You wear it on your left, closer to your heart.” He whispered, realizing what your implication meant. Air thick with tension and uncertainty made you step back, giving distance and formality once more. This is a job, you don’t meddle with a personal relationship with it; you should know better than that.

Clearing your throat, eyes avoiding his stare as his mouth opened and closed, trying to pull the words right out of his mouth.

“Should we start? We can’t afford to lose time by dallying around.” As professional as ever, you procure your wand to show him the memory. Shaking his head, he nodded and stood straight closing his eyes, as he waited for you to push the memory into his mind.

In this memory, you gave him the exact faces of the people who are trailing you, the same people who asked if you were acquainted with Charles Moore. Even giving him the exact location where and when these people were trailing behind you. Two men, a feat larger and burlier than he is and one small with a mean look in his eyes. 

For the second memory, you gave him the news about the unresponsiveness of the former courtesan Maeve. You gave him details about how she never answered letters from her friends and almost seemed like she disappeared from the face of the world when she was a person who is quite the opposite of that. You gave him details as to her last known location, giving him the harder part of the job. 

When you were done, he was gasping for air, almost as if he was drowning. Theseus almost tripped on the curtains as they opened when he fell. You tried to catch him but he was halfway on the floor when you caught his arm. You dragged him back to the couch while he regained his senses. Transferring memories with the use of legilimency is not an easy art to master, with time you’ll learn to endure the pain better but, for his second time, Theseus was faring far better. 

When the assistant downstairs heard the bustling noise of someone falling, she immediately came upstairs to see you hovering right above your supposed husband. Meanwhile, Theseus lay there almost as if he was asleep. The aftereffects of legilimency took a toll on him. 

“Is he okay? What happened? Do you need anything?” The assistant asked.

“Just took a tumble, do not worry. May we please have a glass of water? I think my husband is too tired and nervous for all of this.” You politely said. The girl immediately nodded and headed down the stairs. When you heard the pattern of footsteps disappearing, you sighed.

“Mr. Scamander?”

“Mr. Scamander?!”

“Answer me.”

“Theseus.”

Your voice commanding is still laced with worry as he remains to catch his breath, his eyes still closed and his skin still pale. Theseus muttered a sentence, way too quiet for your ears to pick up on.

“What? Can you repeat it?” You asked leaning forward, as pinballs of sweat and the colors from his cheeks started to come back.

“I said you didn’t give me time to gather my thoughts. Yes, you would be the right person for someone… I’m not saying you aren’t. Someday a lucky bloke would be lucky to have you as their right person.” Giving you the cheeky smile once again, he opened one of his eyes to stare at your reaction.

Slapping him lightly on his arm, “This is not the time for this type of conversation.” You sighed nonetheless when he laughed. When he laughs, you have never heard a sweeter and warm sound.  His laughter made you at ease. He was fine.

“Then when? Care to join me for a cup of fire whiskey later? I think we do deserve it, after all, you now called me Theseus, I assume that I am now your friend not just an ally.” He replied cheekily. Held tilted to one side, wiggling his eyebrows for you to agree.

“When this is done, we will drink fire whiskey and gigglewater until the next morning. And I’ll make sure that you are too drunk to remember anything. Happy?” You fixed yourself and stood straight arms folded across your chest, he nodded.

“And stop getting a reaction out of me, we are in the middle of a business here. And I can’t take it seriously to see you annoyingly smiling at me.” 

“So, you’re implying that I make you distracted?”

“Yes, you are a large distraction, an annoying one. I can’t believe I made an unbreakable vow to a cheeky person like you.”

“You know you would make a great auror someday.” 

“Ha! In your dreams.” 

You didn’t realize that the stylist and her assistant walked up the stairs with refreshments and too many dresses on hand. The lady looked at the couple in front of her with a large smile plastered on her face.

“Come on my dear, we must make you the perfect bride.” She dragged you as you watched Theseus sit straight and drink the refreshment in his hand, still giddy at the thought of you breaking down the facade of seriousness when you rolled your eyes at him playfully and stuck your tongue out at him.

“Real mature.”  You said to him when you knew that he wouldn’t understand a word you muttered but with the way you said it, he knew what you meant.

You didn’t expect it; the walls that were too high to climb, too tough to break down easily crumbled under a certain auror. The absence of difficulty and pretending came naturally, it came to you as easy as breathing. Whether it is because you're bound by truth or maybe it's just the way that he is, you are uncertain. All you know is that it felt nice not to withhold the true you. 

After pretending and having fun wearing white bridal gowns, you would think you lead a normal life; the high life of having a sense of normalcy felt nice. Mr. Scamander—Theseus certainly made his company a pleasure to be with. It was hours of leisure and laughing as the cheap champagne of the non-magiques stayed on your lips; bickering among throngs of dresses as he tried to ‘fight’ a particular dress he seemed to like. The stylist and her assistant were accommodating and made sure that the two had fun, and a ‘day you won’t forget’, but they were none-the-wiser, this was all a faux relationship. Looking at bridal dresses is a certain once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, where you don't need to worry about who is behind your back and watching every move. Maybe soon, you could be like this. You would find the love of your life, experience the freedom other people have, and possibly love the way other people love. Oh, how beautiful and bright that future would be.

Walking back to the steps, back at Amour Délicat you almost feel like a schoolgirl having a crush. Your own escorts who spent their whole day almost looking for you were tired. And yet their worries were lifted when you pretended that you had been searching for them as well. And behind them Theseus has to tip-toe out of their line of sight, waving you a small goodbye and a large smile plastered on his face. It almost seemed like a secret love affair, and you giggled at the thought. As soon as you open the back doors, all you can see are the courtesans gathered around the fireplace peering at something. Gasps of amazement filled the air. Their shadows danced right by the fireplace, passing on to something with great curiosity. 

“Isn’t this expensive?”

“Do you think our lovers could get that too?”

“Ah, I’m so jealous.”

You paid no mind to them, as you walked towards the halls to your room. At the end of the hallway, Bernadette is biting on her finger with worry. 

“There you are!” Someone behind you exclaimed, Turning around they gleamed. “The beauty of the night is here.”

The courtesan immediately surrounded you, and right in front of you was the black velvet box. And inside was a necklace with far too many pearls for you to count, and those weren’t just normal non-magiques pearls, these were siren tears. Acquiring siren tears is not an easy task, banned in most countries, and to do something so inhumane to a siren is punishable by law.

“What is this?” Staring at it with disgust and annoyance. 

“What are you talking about? Just wear it, it’s yours after all.”

And right in the middle was a note, written in golden ink. Sitting innocently and untouched. Picking up the note with an apprehensive hand, you wavered. This is something your mind couldn’t see or read with the use of legilimens, you needed to see with your own eyes to understand.

‘I hope you wear it. This is merely a downpayment worth 4,000 galleons and the life of a certain English Man.’

And right on your left ring finger, a lone simple ring resides; a ring no amount of value could surpass. An engagement ring that came with love, a love from his mother to him, a ring that has seen pure love. You felt it grow cold on your finger. 

text format: “dialogue” is in French.  ‘Dialogue’  are thoughts. a/n: cant be touch starved when you hate physical touch (I am a hypocrite)

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 1

I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who showed love towards the prologue and the memes I made, I've ended up gaining more followers in the last week than I have in the last couple years lol. Unfortunately Alastor isn't going to make an appearance for at least two chapters, but I hope you like what I've written so far. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 5278

Warnings: Period-typical racism and sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 >

PART 1: Chapter 1

Congrats! You're Adopted

Impluvius (Definition): Soaked with rain. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Tuesday, 11th June, 1929.

Arriving on your Aunt’s doorstep soaked to the bone in the middle of a hurricane was the last thing on your list of ‘crazy crap that could happen’. But alas, here you were, shivering and seething as you hauled your trunks up the steps to the front door. You were lucky enough that the area was only being battered by the edge of the storm, allowing you to find a sleeper train that was still willing to run from Montgomery to New Orleans, but it had left you in a sour mood when they had revoked their food services, because damn you were in the mood for a simple ham and cheese sandwich. And the mood only had to sour further when you found yourself standing outside the station for a good fifteen minutes waiting for a driver whilst you and your belongings were drowned by the ongoing summer downpour. Sure, you were used to the torrential downpour of the Yorkshire moors, where there were more wet days than dry, but you were prepared for that, not for the barbarous battering of the 70mph winds that forced you to stuff your useless hat away, leaving the once neat updo of hair that you had meticulously styled that morning to whip you in the eye whenever a gale flew past.

And, as if the gods had something out for you, the taxi that pulled up decided it would be hilarious to speed to a stop in the middle of the giant puddle that had accumulated next to the pavement, sending out a small wave that reached your ankles, soaking your frilly socks and favourite patterned heeled oxford shoes that your mother had gifted on your 18th birthday.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” You hissed to yourself, lifting your foot to inspect the leather. The driver was lucky that they were already three years old, otherwise you would’ve given him a glare deathly enough to send him to an early grave. Or so you hoped.

Thankfully, the driver didn’t pay you much attention, clearly too tired for small talk, simply asking for an address. Though he had paused when you spoke, turning to eye you up and down where you were cramped uncomfortably between your luggage in the back seat, grunting out a “You English?”, to which you nodded, muttering that you were visiting your aunt. The drive was silent after that, the only sound being the loud sputtering engine and the rain that pounded against the windshield. Minutes passed and you were quickly outside the house, which led to now: trembling in your boots, rapping your knuckle against the green wooden door with wet hair clinging to your face and eyebags that could rival a chronic insomniac.

It wasn’t long until the sound of locks clicking and unlatching reached your ears, and the door creaked open, an eye peeking through the gap. After it landed on you, it quickly swung open, revealing your Aunt Agnes in a nightgown and robe, with an oil lantern in hand. At the sight of her, you gave a half-wave and shaky smile.

She gasped your name. “Oh, there you are my lovely! I thought you got lost in the storm!” Realising the state you were in, she hurriedly placed the lantern on the hallway cabinet, rushing out to help you haul your luggage in. “I was so worried your train had been cancelled by the hurricane. Here, get yourself out the cold – you can put your coat to dry by the fire.” She handed you your leather duffel bag before crouching down and lugging the largest trunk into her arms with a grunt. Making sure everything was in the hallway, she went to close the door, though you didn’t miss the wary scan she took of the street, or the diligent focus of making sure every lock and chain was in place. The wariness soon disappeared, however, as she spun around to face with a grin, her thick braid of long, brown hair whipping over her shoulder.

Giggling as she bounded over, she wrapped you up in a strong hug, and you reciprocated with matching eagerness, but also trying your best not to cringe at the squelching noises your waterlogged coat made. 

“It’s so nice to see you!” You said exhausted as you released her, teeth still chattering from the chill. “The rooves were practically coming off in Montgomery, so I’m surprised they were willing to keep the trains running.”

“Well there’s no need to worry about that any more, you’re here now! Come, I must get you warmed up.” she asserted warmly, leading you with a hand rubbing against your back, down the hallway into the kitchen. Rummaging through a wicker basket, she pulled out a spare nightgown. “Go see if your spare underwear is dry, then head to the bathroom across the hall and change into this. I’ll go make you some warm milk and honey.”

Thanking her, you quickly made your way into the living room where your belongings had been left, unlatching the clasps of the trunk to reveal your damp clothing. Luckily, there was some underwear in the middle that had not yet been affected, so you grabbed them and returned to the hallway to try and find the bathroom.

After several failed attempts of opening the wrong doors, you finally came across the bathroom, eagerly shedding yourself of your dripping wet layers, welcoming the warmth of the soft, dry underwear and ivory coloured nightgown. Returning to the living room, you dumped your wet clothes on your trunk, before walking around the sofa. Planting your behind in the armchair closest to the fire, you melted into the cushions with a relieved sigh, sticking your feet out in front of the flames to try and get some feeling back in your toes.

It wasn’t long before the clinking from the kitchen ceased, and your Aunt came back through, meticulously balancing a wooden tray with two large steaming mugs sat on top. Placing them down, she handed you the one covered in purple flowers. Thanking her, you instantly took a sip, letting the sweet honey and heated milk warm your insides as you watched your aunt take a seat in her own well-loved armchair.

“Sooo,” she began with a knowing grin whilst tossing you a crocheted blanket. “How’s America been so far for you?”

You scrunched your face in thought. “…Surprisingly not as bad as I thought. I think Great-Auntie Beatrice had influenced my opinion a bit too much growing up.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “A bit?? That old woman has despised the country since that American lad up and left her back in the 1870’s.”

You snorted over your mug. “Well, she certainly has taught me to not raise my expectations about the place, but, I’ve got to say it has allowed me to be more impressed by what I see – especially the Appalachian mountains, they’ve definitely got a unique charm to them. Thank you, by the way, for letting me use your cabin up there.”

She waved you off. “Oh, it’s no problem, really. I would give you the place if the twins weren’t so keen on going up there.”

“Speaking of the twins, how are the three of you doing?” you asked.

Agnes let a weary smile cross her face. “We’re doing better, now anyways. The twins had some issues when starting school here – starting fresh at 16 in a completely different country certainly has its cons. It’s died down now, but in the first few months they were followed home by some kids who would taunt them for the way they spoke. Hell,” she laughed in disbelief. “they even had a teacher who thought they were Scottish for the first three weeks until I came in for a meeting about their grades and spent ten minutes explaining to her that not everyone in England speaks the same way as those pompous Londoners who squeal at the slightest bit of mud on their shoes.”

“What?!!” you guffawed, trying to stifle a laugh. “Please tell me they at least beat some of the kids up.”

“I wish.” Agnes sighed, sinking back in her chair. “But I don’t want anymore attention on them than they already have. Anything else and those kids will go looking for dirt on them and the last thing I want is for them to find out who their father is.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “You don’t??” you asked, perplexed.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Agnes said sternly. “I loved their father to the ends of the universe and back, but the two of them being mixed English-Japanese will garner the wrong type of attention here. God forbid, if it gets out their mum’s a pagan witch it’ll be the end of peace!” She vented, throwing her arms up in frustration.

You pondered her words for a moment. “But I thought New Orleans was considered a safer place for things like witchcraft? Isn’t voodoo a popular religion and practice here?”

“It is, but it’s still kept more on the down-low. When you have a religion originating from a place like Africa, white Christians can get reeeaallll iffy about it, and it’s no different here – I believe there’s laws in place against parts of the practice.” She explained. “But it doesn’t stop them from keeping their shops open. Our neighbour Neliah runs a gorgeous corner shop near the outskirts – I can’t and won’t practice voodoo, but I do treat myself with a visit whenever I need new herbs, I could literally fall asleep in there with the lovely way it smells.” You smiled at the way she seemed to get lost in thought, though she quickly snapped herself out of it. “But anyway! How’s my sister doing? How did Emmett react with the news?”

You startled slightly at the sudden change. “Yea, mum’s actually doing alright. Dad… took a while to get his head around what was going on, you know, when he found her Grimoire and spell books, and the fact that we’d been hiding it from him for years, but he’s surprisingly calmed down about it. They still go to church, to keep up their reputation and all that, but he’s letting her hang up protection wards around the house, he even got involved with casting a spell with us at one point, even though he had no clue what he was doing the whole time.” You snorted, memories of your father’s wide eyes as he watched your mother wave a stick of incense around him, reminding you of the time when you were around six, you had returned from the forest by your house, covered in mud and brandishing stick-swords, declaring yourself as the deer queen as you dragged a shedded antler you had found among the moss through the back door – the look on your father’s face when he walked in from work to see you tying pink ribbons along the muddy, moss-covered bone was priceless.

Agnes let out a chortle, before sipping at her drink, her expression shifting slightly to one of mild concern. “And uh, how did they react when you were – ah – found out?”

Right, the whole reason you were here in the first place. “Not the greatest.” You said dejectedly. “Mum was distraught when they said they were thinking of taking me away – calling them every name under the sun the second they said ‘asylum’. So when dad suggested coming here, she jumped at the chance, but was crying the whole drive to the docks. I gave them an itinerary of where I was going to be and when, and they’ve been using it to send me letters and gifts, but it’s been hard being fully alone for the first time in my life.” You sank into your chair, tears building in your eyes the longer you spoke.

Agnes looked you up and down, her eyes filled with sorrow for you. “Well,” she began softly, standing up to approach you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “you're not alone anymore, so you can forget about those stupid government officials and your, uh,” she squinted her eyes in confusion. “what do they call it?”

“Over action of the mind.” You forced out with a huff. “They don’t have an official name for it, but me being fidgety and forgetful is enough for them to call me insane apparently.”

She held her hand out for you to take, which you did, allowing her to pull you up. She said your name sternly. “You are not insane. You’re the loveliest, most intelligent girl I know – especially considering the amount of books you’ve read in your 21 years.” You gave her a small smile as thanks. “Now, I’ve readied your bedroom for you. It’s a little bare, but you're staying a while so I’ve left it to be up to your imagination, and with how fast your mind goes a minute, I’m sure you’ll make it the most fantastical and extravagant room in New Orleans.” She explained as she helped you pick up your luggage, leading you through the hallway and up the stairs.

Walking down the main upper hallway, you followed her down a second one to the left, until you came to a stop on the first door on the left side. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Agnes gestured to the door on the left further down. “That’s the bathroom. I’ve moved the boys’ stuff out and given them the second one across the main hall so you can have it to yourself.” She then gestured to the two doors on the right side of the hall, with a sign hanging on each, though the candlelight was too dim to make out the words. “That’s their bedrooms, so I’m afraid you’ll have to prepare for some loud wake-up calls.” She said with an amused smile.

Opening the first door on the left, she led you into a spacey room, that was, as described, quite bare, with only a four-poster bed pushed into the top-right corner, a dark, polished set of drawers and matching wardrobe facing the bed on the opposite wall, along with a familiar -looking changing screen in the bottom left corner decorated with storks flying above a Japanese landscape – you recognised it as one of the wedding gifts your uncle had gifted your aunt sixteen years ago. In the top left corner by the large open window was a vanity with clawed feet, holding up a large, ornate oval mirror, a cushioned stool pushed under it. Next to it was another door that led to the balcony. Nearer to the bedroom door was a large roll top desk, covered in drawers, shelves and pigeon holes, though the only object present was a small typewriter tucked under one of the shelves.

Excitement filling you, you strode across the room to the bed, the feeling of the fluffy rug under your feet a welcoming sign. Placing your trunk and bag down as gracefully as you could, you spun around to face your aunt with a wide grin on your face. “This is amazing!” you gasped quietly, mindful of the two other sleeping residents. “You didn’t have to give me all this.”

“Of course I did!” Agnes exclaimed, walking over to give you another hug. “Did you forget your mother and I practically lived and raised you and the twins together until just a year ago? I’m treating the three of you as equals until the day I die.”

Looking down at her, you observed the slight wrinkles appearing under her eyes, and the dark rings accompanying them that hadn’t been there the last time you saw her back when she still lived in York. Sighing, you stepped back. “I know.” You agreed warmly. “And thank you, for everything you’ve done so far.”

She ruffled the top of your head, your long strands of hair still clumped together with rain water and the clips you had failed to pin it back with. “Anything for you. Now get some sleep, it’s past midnight and the boys will be giving you the earliest and loudest wake-up call once they figure out you’re here.”

You agreed, bidding your aunt goodnight before taking the candle she left for you over to the vanity, where you spent the next ten minutes trying your best to find every pin and clip in your damp hair, then tediously trying to brush it smooth enough to then twist into a loose braid. You also quickly took out your belongings that were wet, hanging them over the screen and the drying rack you had found in the wardrobe. Satisfied you collapsed onto the double bed, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. Burying yourself under the covers, you blew the candle out, bathing the room in darkness, and using the rain outside as white noise, you slowly drifted off, mentally preparing yourself for the twins when they would come to wake you up.

Oh, and wake you up they did.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 12th June, 1929.

You were barely able to pull your heavy eyelids apart when the door in the far corner swung open, the door handle hitting the wall with a resounding ‘BANG!’, followed by a very loud “BOYS!!”, echoing through the house.

That wasn’t the end of it though. You had barely begun to turn over at the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps bounding across the wooden floorboards, when two very heavy weights crashed on top of you, causing your eyes to fly open as the wind was knocked out of you.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” you screeched, flailing about as much as you could until your arms were free, reaching over the covers to shove at the two long figure sprawled across you.

Loud giggling filled your ears, and you looked over your duvet to find two familiar identical-looking faces, with matching cheshire grins, peering over at you mischievously from where they laid across your body. Groaning, you flopped back down, choosing instead to stare at the forest green drapes strung across the poster bed. Though it was soon replaced by two mops of loose, curly hair as they peeked over the edge at you, one dark brown-almost black, the other a pale blonde. You were thankful of their opposite hair colour, because the only way you would’ve been able to tell them apart otherwise would be with the different freckles and moles dotted across their pale faces.

“Mum said you came in looking like a soggy rat last night.” Teased Allie, reaching out to prod at your cheek with a snicker.

Your own hand shot out, shoving his blonde head away. “Did not.” You responded groggily, as you tried to shove his twin off the other side of you. “Now get your fat arses off of me.”

They gasped in mock offence, immediately plopping themselves back on top of you, both reaching to poke and prod at your face. “You said a bad word ~” Ollie chimed in a sing-song voice, kicking his legs behind him playfully as he tried to shove a finger in your ear. Slapping them both away, you prepared for another onslaught, until determined footsteps drew closer to your door, and the two of them froze as their mother walked in, a wooden spoon grasped in her hand.

“ODESSEY. ADAGIO. Get off of your cousin before I send you to school WITHOUT breakfast!” She hollered, a thunderous look on her face.

The two of them collectively groaned. “Muuuumm, don’t call us thaaaat.” Whined Ollie, as he took his sweet time slowly rolling over your whole body before sliding off the bed to stand next to his equally grumpy brother. You followed not long after, sitting up at the edge to watch the ordeal with a smug smile.

“Call you what?! Your real names?! Well then, you better get yourselves downstairs!” she exclaimed, pointing at the door with the wooden spoon.

Reluctantly, they complied, but that didn’t stop Allie from poking his tongue out as he disappeared through the doorway, narrowly missing a swing from his mother’s spoon. Facing your aunt, you finally noticed that she was already up and dressed for work, donning a cream blouse with a blue ribbon tied around the neck, along with a matching blue maxi pencil skirt that reached just above her ankles. Her hair was meticulously styled in an updo similar to the one you had yesterday, her chestnut brown hair twisted back in swirls that ended in a loose low bun, with some strands neatly framing her face. She approached you, the short heels of her shoes muffled by the rug.

“Morning! Breakfast is ready.” She explained with a smile that you returned. “Freshen yourself up and come meet us downstairs, ok?” You agreed, and she disappeared back downstairs.

Rummaging through you clothes that were now thankfully dry, you opted for a loose blouse, and a pair of wide-legged tweed trousers, taking them to the bathroom. Slipping a leather belt through the loops, you quickly wet your hair over the bath, scrubbing in some shampoo and conditioner before rinsing it out and rubbing a towel over the strands until it was no longer dripping. Happy with the light makeup you applied, you headed back downstairs, running a hand through the wet tangles until you reached the dining table.

“I see what mum meant by soggy rat.” You turned to see Allie smirking over the table as you sat down in front of a plate full of English breakfast.

“I’ll turn you into a soggy rat.” You muttered back, stuffing half a hash-brown into your mouth, whilst simultaneously trying not to sigh in relief after not eating for at least 24 hours.

“OoOoh shiver me timbers!” he mocked back, waving his hands in mock fright.

Ollie’s tall figure appeared as he walked over from the kitchen - bacon, eggs, hash-browns and baked beans piled excessively onto his plate. “Mum told us you were going to be staying in our cabin up in the mountains.” He said as he sat down. “Did you like the gift we left?” he said with a grin half lopsided by the food he was shoving in his mouth.

You glared up at them from your plate. “Yes. The excessive amount of fake cockroaches in the bathroom was a very welcomed surprise. Odessey.”

The grin on your cousin’s face fell into a pout at the use of his full name. Letting out a prolonged grunt, he returned to his breakfast.

“Besides,” you started. “It’s not like I’m the only one suffering here. Apparently you’re both Scottish now.”

The two of them let out a collective groan, slumping in their seats.

“It’s not our fault Miss Sammie has less intelligence than a hamster.” Whined Allie as he stabbed an egg with his fork. “She thought Japan was part of China the other day!”

You let out a sharp laugh. “I hope that doesn’t reflect on your learning, or your mum will end up with steam coming out her ears.” You snickered.

“Thankfully it doesn’t.” replied Ollie, rolling his grey eyes as he stuck a whole wad of bacon in his mouth, making sure to not get any grease on his uniform. “Otherwise we’d be begging mum to move us back to England.”

“Speaking of moving, how are you guys finding it here?” you asked, hoping the answers were positive.

“Meh, it’s been alright.” Said Allie with a shrug. “The alligators are cool, but apparently we’re not allowed to wrestle them, which is soooo boring.”

“And the summers are shit. Nothing but heatwaves.” Ollie added.

“Well that’s what you get when you’re used to living in the North-East of England, where one of the nearest land masses is Norway.” You pointed out. “Plus English summers can be unbelievably humid, so I’m not sure what you’re whining about.”

“Oho, just you wait until July hits, then you’ll eat your words.” He retorted. “Hurricane season can be a bitch, too.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groaned. “I barely experienced the tail-end of one last night and it almost killed me.”

The two cackled at you, much to your annoyance, but is was cut short at the sound of your name being called. Looking up, you watched as your aunt poked her head around the doorway, the handset of a rotary phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, beckoning you over with an eager look, before disappearing back into the hallway. Quickly, you got up, marching round the table. Turning the corner, you watched as she ended the call. “Yes, yes. Thank you so much Mr LeBlanc, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Yes – buh-bye now. Bye.”

Placing the phone back on its metal cradle, she whirled around to face you, excitement prominent on her features. “Sooo, that was Mr LeBlanc on the phone…” she proclaimed, eyeing you with a growing smile.

All you could do was stare in confusion, silence filling the wood-panelled hallway. Agnes darted her wide eyes between you and the phone, clearly waiting in anticipation for your reaction, but you only knew two things about New Orleans: jazz, and that it had a river shaped slightly similar to the London Thames. So you continued to stare.

Seeing that you weren’t going to react, she let out a sigh. “Mr LeBlanc runs Héritage Amour Réparation D’Antiquités on Julia Street down near the Mississippi River, and he’s willing to take you on as an apprentice?” she said as if it was the most obvious thing on Earth.

You blinked. “Wait, you’ve been looking for apprenticeships for me??” You gawked. “Since when??? I don’t think I even mentioned that I would be looking for one in the letters I sent you.”

“Oh, you haven’t.” she assured. “Your mum told me in a letter about a month ago when you were up in New York, so I thought I would speed up the process by looking for one for you.”

You continued to gawk in silence.

“Careful,” smirked Allie from over your shoulder. “You’re gonna catch flies.”

You didn’t even turn to face him as you reached a hand back, ignoring his whine as you smushed it against his face, shoving him back into the dining room.

“You –” you pointed at yourself. “You got me an apprenticeship??” She nodded excitedly. “Jesus Christ Agnes. At this point I’m gonna be indebted to you for the rest of my life!”

She clasped her hands together, throwing her head back as she laughed. “It’s no problem, really. I just want you to get settled in as soon as possible. I told Mr LeBlanc that if you accepted, he’s welcome to come for tea on Friday to meet you, then, if he’s happy, we’ll go for a day out around the city centre, and maybe visit him in his shop during that time. Sound good?”

You blinked repeatedly, trying to wrap your head around what your aunt was saying. “I – uh, yea. That would be great, actually.”

“Great! I’ll give him a call back, and you’ll meet him on Friday.” She proclaimed, satisfied as she picked the phone back up, holding the headset to her ear whilst twisting the numbers into the dial.

Still in a small state of shock, you turned back towards the dining room, slowly making your way back to your seat. Plopping down, you were met with the smug smiles of the twins.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to splurge big time on mum’s birthday. Don’t ’cha think Allie?” said Ollie, turning to his brother with a shit-eating grin.

His brother returned his expression with equal enthusiasm. “Oh yea. I was thinking, perhaps a top of the range Gramophone? I heard they have the new model in down at that shop on Canal Street.” He turned to you. “What do ya think cousin? Ready to serve our mum for the rest of eternity?”

All you could do was flick egg at their foreheads.

——

Friday came running up on you before you even realised, and here you were helping your aunt prepare roasted duck and vegetables whilst simultaneously trying to keep the twins away from the desserts in the icebox – you figured the sneaky buggers knew exactly what creaky floorboards to avoid. When the doorbell rang, Agnes encouraged you to go answer it, so, putting on a smile, you opened the door to welcome in your guest.

Mr LeBlanc was a warm and chirpy type of man: 63 years old with white hair and a matching frizzy moustache and beard, dressed in a smart blue shirt and neatly ironed trousers and slacks. He was around 5’7 – around the average height for men at this time. Sticking his hand out, he gave you a wide smile, and feeling the welcoming aura ride off him in waves, you gladly grasped his outstretched hand with your own.

“Bonne soirée! I do hope I’ve got the right address!” he laughed, his accent a funny mix between French and southern American. You assured that he was at the right place, introducing yourself. “Oh, what a lovely name! I am Ralph LeBlanc, but I’m sure your aunt has already informed you of me.” He said expectantly, voice slightly croaky and hoarse from old age.

Giving him a smile and a nod, you invited him in, bringing him to the dining room where your aunt and cousins were just finishing the preparations for dinner, and you all sat down, tucking into the delicious meal.

The dinner was successful, Ralph happily agreeing to take you on as an apprentice whilst also assisting him with running the repair shop, as he was currently the only one managing it. You had informed him of your history degree, and your school awards in art, and after that he was very eager to agree, almost acting excited when he invited you to come to the shop next Monday for a ‘starter shift’ where he would show you the ropes and make sure you were settled. It was as if the gods switched up on your luck, turning it round from the horrific start you had arriving here, and you weren’t planning on losing this good streak anytime soon.

“Now,” said Mr LeBlanc as he stood putting his coat on by the front door. “Make sure you are wearing something comfy and flexible, preferably pants if you own any, as we don’t want any skirts getting trapped in anything.” You nodded, and he paused for a moment, looking up at you. “Odd question, but how tall are you and your cousins? I don’t think I’ve met many with your heights, especially a woman.”

You glanced at your feet, now conscious of the way you towered over him slightly. “Last time I checked I was 5’9, and the twins are 6 foot. I uh, got it from my dad – he’s 6’1, and they got it from theirs.”

His eyes widened as he puffed his cheeks out. “La vache that’s tall. And did you say the boys were only 16? Wow, I really ain’t trying to make this sound weird but those magazine people would snatch you three up if they knew you were here.”

You laughed shaking your head, albeit nervously at the thought of having your picture taken. Thanking him, you waved him out and said your goodbyes.

Closing the door, you let out a relieved sigh, grateful that the evening was successful, and you retreated back to your room for the evening.

Thought it didn’t stop your excitement for the Monday to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you've enjoyed it so far! The ending’s a bit rushed, and Alastor's not going to appear for a couple chapters, but I hope I can make the wait worth it. See you soon for Chapter 2!!

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[lostfirefly]

Now hush little baby, don't you cry, everything's gonna be alright

The idea for the fic came to me completely by accident. A friend who has a child talked about how she spends time with him. And I have no idea how to communicate with children. English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Buggy and F/Reader - Masterlist is here.

Description: You and Buggy have a little daughter. The ship is moored and you go to rest, leaving Buggy with the child.

Warnings: Fun (I have no experience with kids, sorry if there are discrepancies), Buggy is practically hysterical.

Words: 1815

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots

The title is taken from “Mockingbird” by Eminem.

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“Y/N, it’s screaming again!” Buggy growled into his pillow. 

“That's not it, Buggy, it's your daughter.” You muttered into his chest.

“This is your baby, velvet cake.” He buried his face in your hair.

“It’s as much mine as it is yours, Buggy.” You stroked his arm. “We made her together. Remember that night? At the end of sex you yelled that you would become king of the pirates.” 

“It was good!” He reluctantly got out of bed and walked towards the crib that was located not far from your shared bed. 

Inside the crib lay a little girl with Y/E/C and blue hair. Every time Buggy looked at his daughter, he was glad inside himself that she had not inherited his nose. 

“What should I do with her?” He asked loudly. 

“First of all, don't scream. Second of all, rock her first.”

“I'm not very good with children. Can I wait until she turns 18 and then start raising her?” Buggy looked at you as you stretched in bed. “How did I even end up with children?” He scratched his head and took the child into his arms. “So, what is next?” 

“Just rock her. Like this.” You took the pillow in your hands and showed how it should be done. 

“OK.” Buggy swung his daughter one way, then the other, then swung her one way again and the other again. "Seems to work, velvet cake! She cries less.” 

“You see, you're doing great, my love.” You got out of bed, put on your slippers and, shuffling along the floor, approached them both. "You'll learn everything in time, Buggy. Hello, my Lily Gold." You waved to your daughter. 

“It’s easy for you to say - you’ll learn.” Buggy chuckled and rolled his eyes dramatically. “You’re a woman, you know how to do it. It’s in your nature.” 

“Hell, no!” You shook your head. “It just somehow happened that I had to take one under my wing to raise one.” You pecked him on the cheek. “Big.” Smack on his lips. “Capricious.” Smack on his nose. “Child. So, I’ll go wash up and make us breakfast. I also need to go to the store on the island and buy something.” 

“What? Did something happen?” Buggy became noticeably nervous. “Are you feeling unwell? Is there something wrong with the baby?”   

“No, no!” You softened your voice, trying to calm him down. “Don't get me wrong, I love you both, but I want to get some rest. I have a spa appoitnment.” 

While you were making breakfast, Buggy sat next to you, holding your daughter in his arms. He was loudly clattering plates and mugs and yelling at anyone who came into the kitchen and spoke loudly (so it seemed to him, even though everyone was whispering). Buggy and your daughter at breakfast certainly made you smile, but at the same time it was a disaster. They were both constantly dropping things, getting messy in their food, and they both started whining if something didn't go their way. You would just roll your eyes, convincing yourself that he was the love of your life, the love you sometimes wanted to strangle. You got up from your chair, wiped their faces, and continued drinking your morning coffee.

You went to your room, Buggy and Lily followed you. He constantly asked how soon you would return, what he should do and how to get along with children in general. 

“Learn, daddy! You are the culprit of this creature.” You adjusted his bandana and looked into his scared eyes. “For the record, I have no regrets. I love our family. You and our daughter. But since this will be a copy of you, I need to gain strength. That's it, I'm off. Bye, my love. Bye, Lily! I'll be back in three hours.”

“THREE HOURS???” Buggy's eyes widened, but he looked at your slightly tired face, exhaled and kissed your forehead. “Fine.”

“Bye, my captain. I love you!" You pecked him on the lips and left. 

Buggy sat down on the bed, holding Lily in his arms. Fortunately, she was no longer a newborn baby, because that period was a nightmare for you. The baby was screaming all the time, Buggy was screaming all the time. 

“So. What should I do with you?” Buggy took his daughter and turned her over in his hands. She laughed happily and tried to grab his nose. “No, Lily! Not the nose! We don't touch daddy's nose.” He muttered and looked around. “Oh! You're a child. You must love toys, right?”

Buggy grabbed Lily in his arms, walked with her to the toys and put her on the floor. “Who do you want to play, me sweet candy? Pony? Lamb? Pig?" He sorted through the toys and showed them one by one. 

The girl looked at her father with batted eyes and grabbed his nose again. 

“Fuck! Lily Gold! You can't touch daddy's nose!” Buggy leaned back a little. 

“Honk!” Lily said and pointed to her nose. “Dad. Nose. Honk.” 

Buggy looked at his daughter doomedly. “Do you want dad to make a honk with his nose? Maybe you’ll choose the lamb?” 

She shook her head, made a face and crossed her arms.

He rolled his eyes, growled and said a dissatisfied “okay”, squeezing his nose so that it made a sound. “You like your mother, love to do this with me. Well, Lily. What else do you want to do?”

Buggy tilted his head and looked at his daughter. “Thank God you don't have my nose." He took her in his arms and said in a whisper. “But daddy will always protect you. You and your mom. I never let someone hurt you, my biggest treasure." Buggy kissed his daughter on the top of the head. 

Lily got off his feet, took the ball and handed it to him.

“Lily Gold, daddy doesn't know how to make balloon dogs.” Buggy shrugged.  

She immediately made a face again and began to scream, and cry. 

Buggy rolled his eyes and hissed through his teeth . “Mother fuc~. Okay, I'll do it, just stop yelling!" He took the balloon, somehow inflated it and made something that vaguely resembled a dog. He gave it into his daughter's hands, and the balloon immediately burst. And Lily yelled even louder. 

“Fu-u-ck! What does your mother do at such moments?” Buggy grabbed his head. 

At that moment, one of the freaks knocked on the cabin. “Captain?!”

“WHAT?!” Buggy barked and went to the door.

“We are almost replenished, and we know where the Straw Hat's are going.” The freak gave him papers.

“I don't give a fuck about the Straw Hat right now.” He threw the papers back in the man's face. “I'm sitting with the daughter while Y/N is away.” 

“Excuse me, Captian, you're not sitting with your daughter.” The freak shook his head. 

“What? What are you talking about! Here s~.” Buggy pointed his finger at the place where he was sitting a couple of minutes ago. 

“Where? Where's she? Where's the baby?” He grabbed the freak by the clothes and started shaking him. “Where is my daughter?” 

“I don't know, Capta-a-in!!” The freak's head was bobbing like a bobblehead. 

“Oh, fuck!! Oh, fuck!! Y/N will kill me. She will kill me!” Buggy grabbed his head and began to rush around the room. “Get out of the way!” He threw the freak aside and ran out of the cabin. 

Buggy practically ran around the ship, calling his daughter's name in a whisper. He was afraid that you might appear earlier. He turned the corner and saw blue hair flash. 

“Gotcha!” Buggy hugged Lily tighter and picked her up. “How did you manage to escape? For year and a half, you are a very fast girl! Don't scare dad like that again, okay?”

“Richie! Richie!” Lily grabbed Buggy by the hair and began to pull.

“Ouch! No-o-o! We're not going to Richie, Lily! He's probably sleeping.” Buggy carried the girl back to the cabin and sat her on the bed. “I don’t know what to do with you. Do you want to draw? Let’s draw!” He took out pencils and sheets of paper and gave them to her. 

“Richie!” Lily threw everything on the floor. 

“OK.” He scratched his head and looked around, “Do you want to play balll? Let's play ball!” He gave Lily a small yellow ball. “See? Are you happy? Please, my sweet candy, show daddy your happy face!”

“Richie!!” Lily threw the ball in Buggy's face. 

“Damn!” He rubbed his forehead. “What should I do with you?!” Buggy grabbed his head and was ready to scream. “I know! Let daddy show you some chop chop tricks!” He separated his hand and gave it into his daughter's hands. “You see how dad can do it? Cool? Please, say it’s cool!!” Buggy was on the verge of hysterics. 

“RICHIE!!!” Lily stomped her foot and threw her hand at Buggy's face. 

“Fuck!” He attached his hand back. “Okay. Do you want to see Richie? Let's go to see Richie. Maybe he'll finally eat daddy.” Buggy muttered under his breath, took Lily in his arms and walked down the ship. 

They entered the room where the lion was sitting, and Buggy put the girl on the floor. Lily looked at him and smiled. 

“What? Why are you smiling? Finally satisfied, little s~?” He crossed his arms.

“Richie-e-e!” Lily happily ran towards the lion and began to try to climb onto him. 

Buggy smiled and approached his daughter. He helped her climb up the lion and watched carefully to make sure she didn't fall. “That’s my girl! I'm so pr~” 

“What are you doing here?” Buggy heard your voice behind him. “I came to the cabin, and your freaks told me that you were with Richie.” You walked up to Buggy and kissed him on the cheek. “How are you?”

“We’re great. It’s easy to sit with kids. I don't understand why you're complaining.”

“Liar.” You hugged him and placed your head on his shoulder.

“Has it been three hours already?” Buggy wrapped his arm around your waist. 

“No. Just an hour. It turns out that I have a spa appointment for tomorrow. So you’ll have to sit with Lily tomorrow. By the way, I bought you a gift. Whiskey!” You pulled the bottle out from behind your back. “I also thought that maybe we could leave Lily to someone from the crew today and spend some time together? What do you think?” You snuggled closer to him and winked. 

“I like this idea. And you know what I was thinking of, my velvet cake?” Buggy looked at you with the corner of his eye, glancing at Lily.

“About what, my beloved Captain?” You asked softly and ran your fingers along his neck.

“Let’s have another child?!”

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Well... Here we are..... And here we are going omg. The poor reader doesn't even understand what she has signed herself up for ! Thank you so much for all the love and kind words and for coming along with me on this little journey hehehe &lt;3

Chapter 50: Farewell

It is not an easy burden to bear, being a woman. It is far harder when you are the eldest daughter at that. You will have to navigate your life at the whims of men. Stand pretty, but not too pretty. Be confident, but not loud. Be quiet, but have wisdom. 

To be a daughter, is a paradox. 

To be the eldest, is to be a second mother. 

You have to mature, and fast, whilst your brothers are given the allowance to grow slowly, and mature with age. You must support your parents and family at all times, and put the needs of your blood above your own. You are to be the doting daughter, sister, mother, wife, maid, and servant all in one. 

To be a nymph and a maiden. A teacher and a student.

To be a woman is a terrible thing. 

A life of struggle, doubled by the sex of your birth. 

Today you were faced with the hardest sacrifice of all. And whilst you would never be ready for it, your entire life had prepared you for this moment. To be wed to a man, who held no love for you. A political move no doubt, despite the attempts of your mother.

A man who is cruel and unforgiving. 

Many women had faced the same fate as you. 

And you would endure it.

Daemon and you had watched as Vhagar flew above you, light green belly passing over the castle, and the glimpse of a long scar on her back leg, curtesy of Syndor. 

None of you were left unmarked. 

Aemond, his eye. 

You, your side.

The large, dark ship had moored itself down in the waiting docks below, the green banner of the three headed dragon staring unforgivingly at you as it had approached. 

A vision of misery. 

A reminder of loss. 

The harbinger of sorrows. 

As you waited beside Daemon, two heads appeared, walking steadily up towards you both from the long winding path that led to the lush greeneries where you stood. The long face of Otto Hightower approached, flanked on his side by a helmeted Ser Criston Cole. 

You felt your father start to move, and you uttered beneath your breath at him. 

“Set aside your grievances, if not for mother, then for me.”

The Rogue Prince did not move after, standing beside you stiffly as they approached. 

Otto wore deep green robes and Ser Criston Cole wore his armour, bright white cloak clasped on his back. Such a funny thing to see on a man who had broken his vows. 

The white cloak is to signify purity, yet this man had been nothing but filth.

Otto, despite being at war with your father for years before Viserys’ death, lowered his head stiffly to address you both. 

“Princess Y/n.” He greeted you.

You shifted on your feet. 

“King Aegon wishes that he could be here to bear witness to this union, however he had more pressing duties to the realm. I have come as his Hand to witness this union, and ensure the agreements of his treaty.”

The Rogue Prince shifted, muttering beneath his breath in High Valyrian.

You nodded.

“The King in his wisdom,” Began the Hightower, looking just as pompous and self righteous as you remembered, “Offered this treaty to your House out of duty to the realm and its people. Blood needlessly spilt over the Iron Throne would destroy the realm, which was not the King’s wishes. By splitting the realm into two,”

Movement caught your eye.

You watched as Aemond walked down the grassy knoll towards you, dressed in the traditional garb of Valyria. The cream of the robes moved in the wind, whilst the seeping red brought out the violet of his eye. 

“Both King Aegon and Queen Rhaenyra may rule in seperate Kingdoms, bound to peace by this unification of each House.”

Aemond’s sapphire eye shone in the light of the sun, the depth creating small stars within the precious stone as he got closer to both you and your father. Wordlessly, Daemon turned to look at you, to see one last time if you wished to run. 

If you wished for him to fight.  

You gave him a small smile, and that was all he needed. 

Daemon walked to one end of the stone alter, opposite to where Otto and Ser Criston stood, where the Hightower continued to rattle on about the farce of the treaty. Aemond’s eye never left you once, and you felt heat rise into your cheeks. 

The robes fit him well, and you fought the urge to accept that he looked handsome. He had pulled half of his long, silver hair back, the top braided down gently, and you watched as he took determined steps towards you. 

Three Septon’s of House Targaryen walked up the path, large offerings in hand as they made their way to the table as both you and Aemond stood together, staring at one another.

Reunited at last. 

He towered over you, gazing at your face, and the headdress that sat upon your head. 

There was no going back. 

There was no running from this. There was no escape from the marriage that was about to be affirmed, in the tradition of your House. There would be no more Dragonstone with your family, and no more nights alone. 

The Septon who had married your parents stepped forward beside you, as you walked to stand before the alter together. 

It was so quiet, so silent in the space, that only the sounds of waves, wind, and robes moving about were heard. The gentle breeze brushed your hair over your shoulders, a slow shiver running through your body. 

The Septon wore a grey hooded cloak, with a golden vest atop, old Valyrian runes were embroidered on the front as he began the ceremony, eyes peering at the both of you, and then to your witnesses.

“Ānogar se perzys,” (Blood and fire) The Septon began, as the other two stood behind him, “Konir sagon skoros mazverdagon Targārien Lentor” (That is what makes House Targaryen.)

Your eyes settled on Aemond’s face as the Septon continued to speak behind you, his words lost to you as you looked upon your soon to be husband. His lone eye was soft as he gazed at you, appreciative, drinking in every inch of your face. 

His lips were not pulled into their usual smirk, nor their hard line, instead they were relaxed as he watched you. 

Your eyes inspected his scar closely, now that you were both still. 

No bickering or fighting, nor moving or yelling, no violence or lust. Simply observing what you had not been able to before. The scar was deep and the tissue had scarred a dark pink on his face. The lid where his eye had been was rippled and torn, permanently opened to the world. 

To witness his sins.

The skin around the flesh looked tired, dark and sore. You wondered if his scar brought him pain to this day, if the nerves had grown badly into the scar tissue, bringing agony to him at random hours. 

You hoped that it did.

The sapphire was a choice that you would never understand. It was beautiful, polished and shaped to fit perfectly within the empty socket, and shone under certain lights. Your fingers itched to reach up and touch it, to feel the smooth precious stone lodged inside of his head. 

You clenched your fist instead.

As you observed him, he observed you.

A lazy smile pulled from the corner of his lips. The most his mouth had moved this entire time. He had not greeted you when he arrived, he had not taunted you, nor had he mocked you. Instead he was quiet in waiting. 

“Perzys.” (Fire) The Septon spoke, handing two lone unlit candles into either of your hands. 

You both took the candles from the Septon, before each lighting the others with a soft lit wick. You held the wick to his candle, watching it come to life, and stared as Aemond’s long fingers moved forward to do the same to yours. 

When both candles were lit, you let yourself look up at him. He was already watching you. 

You turned to place the candles upon the many others on the stone alter, securing your position in Valyrian ritual, ensuring your candles sat amongst the many others who had placed theirs before you.

“Se ānogar.” (And blood).

Your heart raced in your chest as you watched Aemond pick up the sharp blade of dragon glass from the alter beside you. It looked so small in his grip as he moved forward towards you, slowly. 

You flinched as he lifted his hand up. His face remained still.

Slowly Aemond dragged the dragon glass down your bottom lip, almost with reverence, almost with care, as you felt the stinging slice cut through the soft flesh of your lip. 

How many times had he cut you? How much blood had he taken from you forcefully? How many times had he watched you bleed at his hands?

But this time, it was different.

This time, you let him.

You swallowed thickly, his eye drawn to the blood that had been to leak from the cut he made. 

His hand came up gently, thumb pressing into the slit, causing a dull sting, as he swiped blood onto his digit. He did so reverently, with caution and a carefulness you could not place. It was ritualistic, and confident.

It was intimate, and it was almost more than you could bear. 

It made your heart race and your stomach flip as he lifted his thumb gently, running the warm wet blood of your lips down the middle of your forehead between your brows. 

And then his palm opened to you, small blade resting atop his large hand. Hands that had killed, hands that had been inside of you. Hands that had forced yours into this marriage.

Your own grabbed the black dragon glass, lifting it up to his lips, less gentle as he had been, more anger than you should’ve had, and sliced roughly into his bottom lip.

His eye fluttered close as you dragged the blade down, revelling in seeing his blood pool from the cut, before you pressed your thumb sharply into it.

You wished to hurt him, you wished to maim, but you paused as your thumb pressed against his lip. 

His violet eye opened to watch you, as you held your breath.

Thumb pressed to his forehead, you drew an arrow with his blood, where he had drawn on you. You felt the smooth wet blood spread against his skin, its warmth diminishing as your hand lingered. The One-Eyed Prince looked down at you from his height as he breathed deeply. 

Taking the blade from you, he cut into his palm, the skin pulling apart gently, blood quickly rising to the surface and pooling in his palm. You grasped the blade and moved to do the same but stopped.

You looked as the tip of the blade pressed into the scar of your palm. The skin was raised where you had once grasped a piece of mirror, before plunging into the man before you’s shoulder. 

Aemond blew out a sharp breath out of his nose as he waited. You pressed the tip into the scar and dragged down slowly, revelling in the pain as you watched blood rise from the cut, the Septon’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts.

“Hen lantoti anogar.” (Blood of two.) 

Aemond’s hand pulled the blade away from you, placing it on the alter beside you, before he gripped his bleeding hand with yours. A sharp stinging shot through your hands as he held onto you, mixing your blood together.

It was the first time he had held you so softly since you were children. 

The Septon stepped forth to wrap red cloth around your bound hands, as you stared at each other.

“Va syndroti. Vaedroma.” (Joined as one. Ghostly flame.)

Another Septon stepped forth, handing the officiant another strip of material, soft black and embroidered in gold as he gently wrapped it about your hands, keeping them tightly together. You watched as blood began to drip from where you hands met, the thick liquid dripping onto the rock and grass below.

Joined as one.

Your blood and his.

Coursing through each others veins.

A bond that cannot be undone. 

A goblet was placed in your hand and you pulled to sip it, the unfamiliar burn laying on your tongue before slowly sliding down your throat as you swallowed. 

“Mero perzot gihoti. Eledroma iarza sir.” (And song of shadows. Two hearts as embers.)

Aemond’s hand reached forth to grasp the goblet from you, his fingers grazing yours.

It felt so wrong.

So wrong to hold him like this.

So wrong to be wed in the tradition of Old Valyria, and the mighty House Targaryen.

It felt wrong to feel a spark of something in your heart, and emotion you couldn’t quite out your finger on as he slowly raised the goblet to his lips, eye on you as he drank deeply. 

“Izuli ampa perzi. Prumi lanti seteksi. Hen jeny mazilarion. Qelossa ozundesi. Syndroro ono jedo.” (Forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time.)

And as you stood together, and the breeze brushed against your legs, you let your eye stray beside you, to where Lucerys had been, to where he had been you watching you the whole time. 

But now stood empty space, and that little piece of loss made you squeeze against Aemond’s hand in your grip, blood seeping out in thick rivulets into the cloths, before dropping to the earth below.

“Ry kivia mazvestraksi.” (Of darkness and light.) The Septon ended, and you felt a small piece end with you.

You gazed at each other, waiting to move, waiting for the inevitable to happen and you felt your heart race faster in your chest, shuffling on your feet before Aemond stepped forward, closer to you, his face in front of yours, nose almost brushing each other.

And then he closed the gap, lips coming to brush against yours gently at first as your eyes slid shut. You held still as he came closer, free hand coming to grasp the back of your neck, so soft, so unlike him that it almost startled you. 

It was so unlike him that wondered if it was him. 

His tongue pressed up against the cut on your lip, pushing sharply into it as he licked the blood, causing you to quietly gasp, mouth opening. He deepened the kiss, and you followed, nipping roughly at him, making the hand at the back of your head grip your hair roughly. 

And as suddenly as a warmth began to pool in your stomach, he pulled away, eye wild and lips smeared with the both of yours blood. 

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever.” Aemond purred, looking down at your lips as his tongue darted out to lick away at the blood that had begun to drip down from his mouth. (One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.)

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever.” You repeated back, voice quiet.

You both stood and waited as the Septon’s came fourth and undid the binding of your hands, gentle fingers pulling the ceremonial rope away, leaving your hand still firmly clasped in his, blood leaking slowly as your hand began to throb. 

The peace was broken. 

One small word. One little utterance under his breath was all it took for the gentleness of the ceremony to disappear. To wither and die, right before your eyes.

“Wife.”

Your husband purred, testing the word on his tongue as he smiled, hand tensing in your shared grip, causing more blood to leak from the union of flesh. 

“In the eyes of the Seven, and witnessed by King Aegon the Second’s Hand, the marriage of treaty between Prince Aemond, First of his Name, and Princess Y/n, First of Her Name, of House Targaryen has been confirmed.” Otto’s voice rung out into the air.

Your grip on Aemond’s hand faltered and he let yours go, your hand limply falling beside you as you turned to face your father who looked at you in both awe and pity. You found your legs taking you to race towards him before you could stop yourself. You threw yourself into his arms, his hands catching you as he held you against him, eyes piercing a hole through Aemond. 

“Shh, you did good. I am so proud of you.” He cooed quietly into your hair.

You pulled back away from him nodding gently.  

“We will have the Princess’ belongings brought down to the ship, before we make our voyage back to the King’s Landing.” Otto continued. 

And then it was over.

The ceremony was complete.

And you had been wed to a man who you never thought you would have since you were a child. Back when things were simpler between the two of you. Back when things were not murky, or clouded with hate, and loss and despair. 

You had thought when young, how good it would have been to be wed to him. How kind of a husband he would have been to you. How you could continue to read and play and enjoy each others company.

Back when he had done no wrong.

Back when he had not lost his eye, or become the cruel man he was now. Back when you had an unbreakable bond, though nothing lasts forever. 

Life included.

There would be no celebrations. There would be no joyous dinner. There would be no families coming together to celebrate the union, or end of the war. Because there was nothing to celebrate. There was no joy. And there would be no reunion of blood.

You all but raced back into the castle, sparing neither your father nor husband a glance as you moved to ready yourself to leave. Each step closer you got, the more your feet became heavy until suddenly you were standing outside of your chambers staring at Ser Darke. 

Your knight looked you up and down before giving you a soft and sad smile, opening the chamber doors, but you would not enter. You shifted on your feet, trying to delay the inevitable as you watched the dark haired knight step forward towards you.

“I wish I could come with you, My Lady. To protect you, as I was sworn to do.” 

You inhaled deeply and then out. 

“But you cannot, and so I ask you to protect them all in my absence. You are sworn to me, and must do as I command-“

“You do not need to command me to do this for you.” The Knight smiled, and you were grateful, as you gave him a short tight hug before entering the chambers where Saria and Aella waited.

Neither spoke a word to you as they undressed you, before you pulled on your riding leathers. They worked gently to quickly buckle you in before saying short and strained goodbyes.

You promised them you would be back, and they promised to wait in your absence. But you felt that they did not truly believe you.

You could not waste more time saying goodbyes, more time waiting about in the castle, avoiding the fate and future that lingered outside of Dragonstone’s walls. When you exited your chambers, your father stood waiting with your knight, both silent as he walked you towards the front of the castle doors.

Aemond, Otto and Ser Criston were all waiting for your arrival. 

Aemond was now dressed back into his dark leather riding garb too, and he looked you up and down shamelessly. The blood on his forehead and lips had not been wiped away, much like yours, and his hands were held tightly behind his back. 

Your palm itched. 

“The Princess will join us on our ship back to King’s Landing. Your belongings have been loaded for you.” Otto spoke, looking down his nose at you as Aemond smiled gently.

You turned to Daemon as he looked at you, before you stepped to hug him once last time. One last time for Gods know how long, would you be able to hug your father. To hold him. To smell his familiar and calming scent.

One last time in his presence.

It would never be enough.

The Rogue Prince pulled you tightly against him, placing a lingering kiss atop your head before muttering quietly.

“Dracarys, ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” (Dracarys, my little warrior.)

You buried your head further into his chest before pulling away.

“I’ll write to you.” You promised.

“When you are ready, Princess.” Otto interrupted, rushing you to leave.

You could not bear to linger any longer. Nor look at your fathers saddened gaze. It would break you. It would make you not leave. And so you forced yourself to go, before you broke in front of them all.

And with that you turned on the balls of your feet as you made your way to move up Dragonmont. 

They were mad if they thought you would leave your dragon here. 

They were mad if they thought they could seperate a Targaryen from their dragon.

“Princess!” Otto called after you, but you pushed on, hearing your fathers laugh in the air, which served to make you smile. 

Truly smile, for the first time that morning.

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[may-be-rae]

The Arcana Headcanons

Nights with the M6

Asra:

Asra tends to go to bed rather late. He’s not the type to get a full 8 hours, but instead takes a lot of smaller naps through the day. I’d say they’re usually in bed no earlier than 2:00 am.

He does take the time to eat with you and tuck you into bed. He’ll lay with you, kissing your forehead, holding you until you fall asleep. It’s only once your breathing deepens and steadies that he dares to pry himself away from you. He tells Faust to care for you in his absence.

Asra prefers to be awake at these hours because the stars and celestial bodies are something he finds deep inspiration in. His magic is the closest to him in these moments, and he enjoys dwelling in that presence. He’ll sit on the roof and either work on astrological charts or document spells. Sometimes, he’ll just lay there and simply meditate beneath the night sky.

Asra is also a habitual midnight snacker. It’s the time when his appetite kicks up the most. Their favorite is sesame crackers with either cheese or almond butter and preserves.

When Asra does come to bed, he tries not to wake you. He doesn’t wear nightclothes, but simply takes off his shirt and slides under the covers. If the weather is hot, he’ll strip to his undergarments.

They love to watch you sleep. (Yes, it did occur to him that that’s slightly strange, and he had to laugh at himself.) The little sounds and faces you make during dreams amuses them. “Sometimes you look like you’ve bit into a lemon.” He laughed one day.

Once asleep, he’s gone. Very heavy sleeper. They sleep on their stomach while hugging their pillow, and you’ve notice that he’ll smack his lips in his sleep. It’s terribly cute. Often whispers things between dreams and will sleep talk if you engage in his mutterings.

10/10 cutie pie

Nadia:

Nadia has a strict night routine that consists mostly of beauty regimens. It starts with a long bath, then a thorough brushing of her hair, and ends with skin care. She enjoys when you participate as she’s always ready to spoil you.

Afterwards, she goes into her tower for a private meditation. As much as she loves you, she requests to be alone at this time. It’s a time of deep self-reflection. Nadia is not only conscious of her physical health, but also her inner being. She puts on a brave face, but her time with Lucio made her so lost to her own self. Not to mention, she’d been asleep for so long…lost so many memories. You were the catalyst for Nadia to find herself again, but her past is still a heavy burden. The time in her tower is her own promise to to herself to never stop fighting.

When she returns from her tower, she’ll find you. Her mind and heart are tender in this moment, and she wants to be near someone she trusts. She’ll take you to a balcony that overlooks beautiful Vesuvia. The city market lights are just beginning to dim, and the dock is alive with ships mooring for the night. She’ll hold you with her head on your shoulder, sometimes sharing the reflections she had in the tower.

Hand in hand, you both will make your way to bed. She’ll wrap you in the covers before making herself comfortable. Even though she was once married, Nadia isn’t accustomed to sleeping with someone. She’d always avoided staying in a bed too long with Lucio, and when she did, she tried her best to maintain distance. You’ll often startle her with your affections. You go slow so as not to scare her, and soon enough she’ll snuggle into you.

Although Nadia does her best to be in bed by 10:00 pm, she does push that back if your cuddling lasts a little longer than anticipated. 🙃💕

Julian:

Julian does his best to be home by nightfall, but as a doctor, that’s a hard promise to keep. When emergencies arise, his heart is too soft to deny his patients, even if that means sacrificing his own needs and desires.

If he does return on time, his routine is fairly sporadic. He’ll cater it to whatever you’d like to do, whether that’s a night in or some fun at the Raven.

One constant is he takes a long bath before bed regardless of the time he comes home. He’ll sprinkle the water with salts, light incense, and dim the lights to a single candle. He finds this to do wonders for his senses, which tend to be overwound at the end of the day. Sometimes, you’ll overhear him singing Nevivon songs from his childhood.

After his bath, it’s often well past dinner. Since you worry for his health, he’ll take time for a snack. Most often, it’s a slice of rye or pumpernickel with butter.

Afterwards, he’ll read a book until he starts to nod off. Then, he’ll clamber into bed with you and try his best not to wake you with his limbs. He does indulge in a kiss though, usually to your temple or pressed into your hair.

Despite his tiredness, it’s still hard for him to fall asleep, but with you near, his thought are so much kinder. He’ll think of his day and the changes in his life. While there’s much less adventure…much less drama…his heart has always longed for stillness, for a place that he didn’t have to leave.

He’s a very happy man.

Portia:

Portia’s evening are much calmer than her mornings. After a long day at work, she comes home drained. And while her energy levels are still unmatched, they’re drastically lowered by Portia’s standards.

Despite her schedule, she’s much more faithful about coming home on time. Nadia is also insistent that her greatest assistant and confidant has a life outside of the Palace. She ensures Portia’s schedule is never overbearing.

When Portia returns, she greets everyone in a healthy round of hugs and kisses. There’s no point in trying to escape her suffocating affections. She swaddles you in a blanket and tackles you to the couch, nuzzling into your neck to plant tickling kisses.

After, the two of you will stroll through her gardens and pick any ripened produce. You’ll talk about each others day and laugh as Pepi chases butterflies.

By now, you can see the weariness on Portia’s features. She still insists on cooking since it’s something she enjoys, so you do your best to wash dishes as she goes to make clean up easier.

Once dinner is done, she drags you into the bath with her. You’ll help wash her long curls, and she’ll nestle into your arms. Over time, you’ll feel her breath become heavy and slow. You know it’s time to get your love into bed.

Muriel:

Muriel retires to bed early due to his early rise with the chickens. After dinner, you two will clean up the hut as he prefers to awaken to a clean space. Then, he’ll venture out to bathe and collect water for tomorrow. He enjoys it when you decide to join him.

There is a local waterfall deep in the woods that he bathes in. He brings his own homemade eucalyptus and rose soap. It’s a stark but lovely contrast to the usual myrrh.

Back home, you’ll sometimes offer to braid his hair. Since it’s coarser, he like to use a bit of rosemary oil. At first, this practice sent tension throughout his body, but in time he’s relaxed into you. It’s not uncommon to catch him dozing off in your lap. He’ll also offer to do your hair or give you a massage.

Afterwards, it’s very much time for bed. Muriel sleeps on the edge of the bed, so that you and Innana are safe to snuggle into him.

For some reason, he’s much bolder in his affections at this time. He loves the softness of you, loves tracing the gentle curves around your face. It’s so different from the contours he sees in himself. Again, at first, this made him horribly nervous. Would his callouses scratch you? Would he pull your hair too hard? But in time, it actually helped him be more comfortable and attune to his strength.

He realizes that he can be soft, too.

Lucio:

Lucio’s energy tends to manifest itself the most once the sun goes down. Want to visit Prakra? Let’s load up the horses. Craving another pumpkin bread? I’m sure Selasi won’t mind! You’ll have to somewhat force him into a night routine if you ever expect to get this man to stop.

You’ve noticed food is key to getting him to wind down. A nice hot meal that sits in his belly and weights his eyelids. Usually, it’s in the form of stew with fresh bread and dessert (he has an undeniable sweet tooth). While he’s balked that’s he can provide you much better cuisine from world class chefs, he secretly loves when you cook for him and you know how to satisfy his picky palate.

After dinner, he’s noticeably more docile. He’ll hold out his arms and ask for you to sit in his lap by the fire. He’ll nuzzle into you and chuckle when you play with his hair. It’s not uncommon for you to fall asleep in his arms.

Afterwards, he’ll carry you to bed. The two will help each other dress for the night and curl into the sheets. He appreciates it when you take his golden arm off for him. The glove’s purpose was to hide from his insecurities. When he takes it off, it’s a harsh reminder of how he really sees himself. You are so much kinder towards him than he is to himself.

[burnthoneydrops]

The Sun and the Moon II (e.b. x original character)

synopsis: the first ball for two recently debuted girls reveals a familiar feeling for one.

requested: no

warnings: none

word count: 1.6k

a/n: heyyyy, anyone remember this from over a year ago? im so sorry for the delay, i really ran out of long writing motivation there for a hot second, but hopefully i'm back at it? i make absolutely no promises though

My right glove sags unceremoniously from my arm and as I go to adjust it for the millionth time, Aunt Moore tugs at the back of my dress. I quickly retract my arm back to my side as we step through the double doors of the conservatory Lady Danbury had secured for the evening. She seemed a most formidable lady indeed, from what Aunt Moore’s staff had told me,  but the gorgeous flowers hanging from the walls were not overtly intimidating. Hearing that she was sponsoring two girls also foreign to the ton had put me at ease this afternoon, as I hoped I might find some comfort in a group of those trying to learn. I would never suggest admitting that I am an outsider to Aunt Moore, but I fear my accent has already done that for me. 

“Lord Cabernathy, the oldest of his mother’s five children, hardly objectionable,” Aunt Moore has spotted her first victim standing against a floral column. 

“Being the eldest is the only requirement making one suitable for a wife? The bar seems incredibly low,” I reply, much to my aunt’s dismay. 

“Must you be difficult when we have only just walked in the room?” She mutters through gritted teeth as another mama and her daughter walk past us with odd looks in their eyes. She smiles and waves at them, looking at my sideways to ensure that I heard her. 

“Is there anyone else, with at least more admirable qualifications?” I offer. 

“Lord Landry, a fine young man whose family owns a renowned horse breeding farm in the country. Good standing, only child so due to inherit a large fortune when his parents pass”. 

“Ah yes, wishing death upon people your age, my favourite pastime”. 

“I am merely stating that he would have a sizable income to take care of you,” Aunt Moore sighs. 

“I suppose the horse farm would not be the most impossible thing,” I try to sympathise with her efforts, thinking back to my family at home. 

Aunt Moore turns to me, and for a second I think she is stooping to an apology, when there is suddenly one voice ringing above them. “This is the season the Viscount intends to find  a wife!” 

As if someone had thrown a pile of breadcrumbs in front of some incredibly competitive pigeons, a flock of young ladies swarm the location of the voice. Standing on the tops of my feet, I see a rather uncomfortable looking man with his mother at the other set of doors. I recognize the mother from the presentation, Lady Bridgerton. Before I have time to recount this thought to Aunt Moore, she is pushing me towards the flock. I attempt to delay the process by dragging my heels into the ground, but her will is stronger than my calves, so I lose the battle quite quickly. I am stuck at the back of the half circle, watching girls fling their dance cards in the Viscount’s face, hoping he would sign his name. I would believe that half of these girls even felt blessed that he breathed in their direction, but I have slightly more hope for humanity than that thought would allow. 

As the circle of girls starts to diminish, thanks to those who realise that nothing productive will come of this swarm, I am left standing in front of the Viscount with Aunt Moore watching me from her seemingly perched position against the column. “Lord Bridgerton, it is an honour,” I state, curtseying as best I could despite the slight wobble in my ankles. 

“It is an honour to meet you as well,” he replies, though I can tell he is looking to get away as quickly as possible. His mother seems to pick up on my identity quicker than her son, as I catch her eyeing me in my peripheral, followed by her mouth forming a soft ‘oh’ of recognition. 

“You must be Lady Moore’s charge for the season,” she verbalises her thoughts, and it is then that Lord Bridgerton actually looks at me. 

“Indeed I am Miss,” I nod. 

“Lovely to be formally introduced. I noticed you at the modiste and the presentation, but it’s wonderful to properly make your acquaintance,” Lady Bridgerton smiles at me as I stand back up, finally being able to look both of them in the eye. 

“Perhaps a dance, Miss Moore?” Lord Bridgerton proposes as his mother wraps a gentle arm around his elbow. 

“I would be delighted my Lord,” I reply, extending my dance card forward so he may sign it. 

“I shall see you then,” he gives a curt smile before departing, leaving his mother and I by the double doors. I look back over at Aunt Moore, who is smiling like I have never seen before, and I excuse myself to head back over to her. 

“Very good start, I must say,” she says and I cannot tell if she is more proud of me or herself. 

It is soon after this that Aunt Moore goes to fetch herself a refreshment, and I make my way to a more secluded corner of the dance floor, hoping to watch and possibly learn the dances I had to forgo in my training. Though Father was keen on teaching me all the dances he remembered from his days in the ton, there is only so much dancing one can do while also running a family business. There appears another single young lady standing among the crowd, so I try to make my way towards her. It is clear she is watching someone else on the dance floor, and by the looks of it, it is Lord Bridgerton and the not-so-spectacular dance he is currently leading. 

“That young lady will soon be marked off his list I fear,” I comment, partially out in the open and partially hoping she will hear me. 

“Lord Bridgerton indeed seems rather frustrated,” she replies, keeping her gaze forward. “Would you prefer it to be you on that dance floor instead?” she continues. 

“Oh, not notably so. Though my Aunt would have you believe I do, she'll tell anyone just about anything to have me wed before the end of the season”. I pause for laughter, and when I am the only one who partakes, I continue, “do you wish for his name to be on your dance card?” 

“I am merely observing for my sister. She seemed most interested in him from afar, so I decided I would watch from the sidelines”. 

“What a fulfilment of sisterly duty,” I reply as Lord Bridgerton drops the girl’s hands, nodding curtly before heading outside. 

“Excuse me,” the dark skinned girl departs from my side and I suddenly feel alone once again. 

I stand off to the side for as long as I can stand, letting a few songs play through, before I realise that the next song is in fact my dance with Lord Bridgerton. I suddenly feel guilty, as if I am betraying the conversation I had previously with the mysterious other girl, but quickly depart from the crowd nonetheless so I can find my forced dance partner. He enters back in from the double doors and I am about to turn back around on account of how aggravated he looks, but Aunt Moore has somehow found me before I am able to do it. With a few words of aggressive encouragement, I am back on my trail, stopping right before the Lord and reminding him of our dance. 

The ensemble begins playing once again as the Viscount takes my hands, leading me to the right side of the dance floor. I do not dare start the conversation, both in fear of his current emotional state and that I might run my mouth and have my aunt dragging me out of the ballroom by my earlobe. 

“Your aunt is watching you for the season?” The Viscount starts. 

“Yes, my Lord, my aunt has been gracious enough to sponsor my debut this season”. 

“And your family, did they accompany you?” 

“Unfortunately not, the rest of them stayed back home”.

“And home is…” he trails off. 

“The Irish countryside my Lord,” I reply, looking between him and my feet to make sure I do not trample his. 

“You must miss them,” he supplies more to the conversation, though looks displeased at my inability to multitask. 

“Terribly,” I add as he spins me outwards. 

At that moment, I feel as though all time has stopped. No longer with the fear that I might step on the Viscount’s toes, I am spinning around the highly decorated room, attempting to keep my gaze locked on a stationary object. It is her. My stationary object is the girl I saw at the modiste and the presentation. Eloise Bridgerton. She stands at the edge of the dance floor, actively avoiding her mother I assume, fiddling with her dance card. I do not know what has happened between when I saw her last and now, but I cannot help but notice how radiant she looks. My vision becomes hazy surrounding anything that is not her, as if I can focus on nothing else. She cannot possibly know she is having this effect on me, as she is simply standing there. I fear I might lose all the saliva in my mouth with the way my heart rate spikes, and just as quickly as the moment started, it is ending. 

The Viscount is grabbing my hand once again, spinning back into him before we resume our normal facing positions. I glance quickly over his shoulder as we rotate clockwise to see if I can catch Eloise again, but alas she has run off. He nods at me once our dance has finished and hurries off to find the next young lady he promised a dance to and I am left there stunned. 

All I know, Aunt Moore’s pushing might have been more helpful than I previously imagined.

[deepouterspacecandy]

Dancing Shadows

It’s not that you were smitten with her.  

It’s just that when she accidentally brushed her leg against yours under the table, it set your body on fire. Warmth spilled from your head to your toes with an innocent touch and it was almost adolescent. The way her very presence caused you to avert your eyes the moment it happened, an instinctual reach for the nearest plastic straw or frayed string of your hoodie.

Anything to fiddle with to distract from the jackhammer between your ribs.

“Abby!” a familiar voice rang out.

You winced and immediately regretted it. You were never good at hiding your emotions.

Maybe nobody at this godforsaken table noticed your distaste for Owen. It wasn’t reasonable—your hatred for him, and you knew as much. Your reaction to his presence was based solely on boiling, unadulterated jealousy and so what? You were only human.

“What’s up?” Abby cooed, letting herself become smothered by the man behind her.

Okay, so smothered is a tad dramatic, but come on. Get a room.

“Just thought I’d check in with my favourite girl before shipping out,” Owen said. “This might be the longest we’ve been apart since we met.”

“Good riddance,” you mumbled.

Nora snorted at your near silent outburst, giving you a gentle kick. That tender brush of ankles beneath the table set nothing on fire but your attitude. You’d have to give it to her, though. She was always looking out for your best interest.

Owen Moore was the luckiest man in the entire compound, and you envied the way his dopey demeanor always seemed to put a smile on her face. Did he know how fortunate he was?

“I’m full,” you blurted, pushing away your half-eaten burrito. “Catch you later.”

You couldn’t bear to stop and analyze the shocked expression painted on Abby’s face.

She had saved you a spot at the table, the way she did every day. Her grey jacket bunched up on the bench across from her, awaiting your arrival. Her pretty face breaking into a smirk as you fumbled with your tray and her favourite coat.

She hadn’t muttered a single complaint when you opted for laying the fabric across your lap, even after dropping a stray piece of lettuce and mayo onto the collar.

She simply grinned and continued ranting about the current book she was reading. Well, that was before Owen turned up.

Abby called out to you, but your cheeks burned, and your stomach twisted in that uncomfortable way it often seemed to do in these situations. You hurried out of the chow hall without a second glance or destination in mind.

Your feet, one in front of the other, took you away from the source of the agony, and that’s all you could stand to process.

When you collapsed onto the couch in the library, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

This was your safe place. Your sanctuary.

Within minutes, the tight ball of rope in the pit of your stomach relaxed. Dim lighting and the weathered scent of old literature, the quiet hum of passersby in the hallway. The glide of battered paper between your fingers. The comfort of knowing that a temporary slice of peace was only a chapter away.

This little nook developed into a haven to have yourself a serious nervous system override, which your body desperately needed after a hectic week on patrol, coupled with far too many sleepless nights.

Fear wove its way through the stadium as the conflict between the WLF and the Scars mounted. In a matter of weeks, the ceasefire between the two factions disappeared.

When the Seraphites crossed boundaries they ought not cross, both in land and principle, Isaac retaliated without hesitation. And when Isaac sent his soldiers into their territory intending to cause abject harm, the Scars gathered their resources and fired back in short order. A vicious cycle perpetuated by ruthless leaders at the expense of loyal, dependent lives.

To say the conflict had transformed into a bloodbath was putting it lightly. You spent many hours in your bunk over the recent weeks, staring into the abyss in sheer disbelief.

How could human beings treat each other with such careless disregard? You didn’t agree with the way they lived, but at your core, it didn’t spark a desire for violence. You understood the importance of protecting your community, and you would do so without protest. It just seemed rather counterintuitive.

Could the war between your groups meet an end before your life wound up on the front lines as the next sacrifice?

It wasn’t until you started curling up in Abby’s jacket that you realized you’d taken it hostage in your frenetic escape. Heat trickled across the bridge of your nose, pooling in your cheeks.

“It looks better on you, anyway.”

“God, you scared me,” you huffed, clutching your chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Abby’s calm tone filled your chest up with wild flutters as she slid in next to you on the couch.

Was this piece of furniture always so small?

Suddenly, there was only the hard edge of it at your heels and the overwhelming strength of the girl nestled beside you.

“It’s that brain of yours, always fretting about something. It’s bad for your health, you know,” Abby said. Her fresh breath, so close to your own, caused your insides to capsize. You tried not to fixate on her blonde braid spilling onto your shoulder. How she reminded you of an autumn forest, her skin softened by a bar of her beloved pine soap.

“I knew you were hoarding packs of chewing gum,” you said. “Show off.”

She smirked, giving you a playful nudge with a wad of minty green pressed between her teeth. “Want some?”

“Hard pass,” you said, desperate to control the giggles building in your throat. “Keep all those Owen cooties to yourself, please and thank you.”

She nibbled at the dry skin on her bottom lip before giving you a sidelong glance. “You don’t like him much, do you?”

A pang of guilt struck at your core. There was a tinge of melancholy in her voice. The last thing in the world you wanted to do was make her sad.

“He’s alright,” you said with a lazy shrug.

She grinned. “Just alright?”

“I’m indifferent to his existence.”

“That’s so much worse,” she chortled, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them back up, bright blue and glossy, it felt like she was staring into your soul.

Your heart thundered, turning your mouth bone-dry. Perhaps you should’ve accepted her gum after-all.

“What?” you rasped. If she recognized the panic in your voice, she was kind enough not to draw attention to it.

“Just you,” she whispered.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You.”

“What about me?”

She shifted her body, and you all but froze as she moved onto her side, bracing herself to better look at you. It took all your might to muster the courage to meet her gaze. Her eyes flitted to your mouth for the briefest moment, and you swallowed hard.

“I think you’re really sweet,” she said. “Not very discreet, though.”

“Excuse you? And what exactly does that mean?” You graciously took offense, challenging her assessment. Her smile only radiated.

“It means I can read you like a book,” Abby said.

“Fat chance,” you teased. “It’s a miracle you can read at all!”

Her brow quirked, and her high spirit slipped into a tantalizing grin. “Can I take a crack at your disdain for Owen?”

Part of you wanted her to hit the nail on the head to tear your feelings for her wide open. Another part of you prayed for her to change the subject to save you from the heartache of the inevitable.

She was in a relationship. Taken. Beyond that, you were certain she was straight as an arrow, and it was nicer to exist in sheer denial of that fact for the time being.

“Well?” she pressed. “Can I?”

“Go nuts,” you said, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

She shifted again, this time to make room for her hands to fidget. Was she nervous?

“He’s terrible at tracking,” Abby offered, as the corner of her mouth hitched. “Right?”

“I mean, yes,” you groaned. “He sucks at tracking, but that’s—that’s not why.”

She blew out a ragged breath, a sudden wash of pink highlighting her freckles. She hummed to herself and then clicked her tongue, pretending to ponder. “Gotcha. Okay. Only two more guesses. I better make them good.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you asked, covering your face with your forearm.

“I know what it is!” she exclaimed, pausing for theatrical effect. “It’s because he interrupts everyone just before the punchline of a story, isn’t it?”

“Abby.”

“That drives me mental, too.”

“Abigail,” you grumbled. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

You hid yourself behind her crumpled jacket and the scent of this beautiful girl all around you turned your already racing thoughts into a dishevelled mess.

“Hold up,” Abby said. She reached for her jacket with such gentle intention, pulling it away from your face. “I get one more guess.”

Electricity threatened the mellow ambiance of the library, despite the adjacent hallway falling into silence. Everyone must be heading back to their duty assignments.

Everyone outside of you and Abby, of course. Surely, someone would come searching.

“A deal’s a deal,” you said.

The heat from her body prickled your skin with a million tiny beads of sweat. You wanted to swipe your sleeve across your upper lip, too conscious of drawing focus to your nerves.

Her gaze transformed into something deep and ethereal the more you squirmed. She seemed entertained by your anxious energy, and you swear you could melt into the couch with each expectant glance she sent your way.

“If I get this right, what will you give me?”

“Give you?” you scoffed. “You mean like, a prize or something? Do I look like a carnival to you, Anderson?”

“All you really need is a big red nose,” she smirked.

This is precisely why you adored her. She knew when to apply pressure and when to ease the load. It’s what made her an excellent leader.

Abby was so much more than a disciplined soldier.

“You calling me a clown?”

She wiggled closer, laying her head on your shoulder. She let out a long exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Maybe.”

You struggled to piece two coherent thoughts together. This conversation had already played out in your mind a dozen times, through many daydreams. You ached for Abby. Hopelessly charmed by her wit and her magnetism. But you couldn’t fathom being a secret of hers. A sneaky affair in the shadows.

Sure, you weren’t fond of Owen, but hurting him wasn’t at the top of your priority list, either.

You wanted Abby in the daylight.

Arms wrapped around her before a patrol, as her squad loaded the Humvee and Manny called over his shoulder about how utterly corny you two were. You wanted her to pull you onto her lap in public, a bashful smile on her face.

You wanted to be hers, and you wanted it to be okay.

“You make me feel things I’ve never felt before,” Abby said.

Her confession sent you over the edge, your heart beating impossibly fast. Could she feel it?

As you scrambled to find your words, she continued.

“I think about you all the time. Probably more than I should,” she said. “It’s making me crazy.”

You heard the echo of another hard swallow. This time you weren’t sure who it belonged to.

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked.

She lifted her head from your shoulder, and let it fall to the back of the couch, her sturdy features enveloped by the amber light of a nearby lamp. She was breathtaking. Sweat caused the short hairs around her face and neck to curl, bits of frizz peeking out from her loosening braid. You’d seen nothing more gorgeous in your lifetime.

“If I do what my body is begging me to do right now, it would be a very bad thing,” Abby said. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

You nodded with a mixture of disappointment and relief. “I understand.”

Abby rubbed her vascular hands along her thighs, seemingly absorbed in thought. “I still have one more guess.”

“That you do.”

She sucked in a breath, controlling her exhale. A gym method she no doubt applied to most stressful situations during her daily grind.

“You hate Owen because you want me to be your girl instead,” Abby said. Her eyelids became heavier as she tried to catch hold of your unfocused gaze. “You want me.”

You nodded again, unable to look her in the eye, terrified that the two of you might lose control.

“Tell me then,” she said. “Tell me how you feel. I need to hear you say it.”

You noticed her legs spreading further apart, her natural confidence rivalling the alarm bells going off inside you. She anchored herself to the couch and the sudden thought of straddling her showered you with an intense surge of heat.

“When you kiss him, I wish it was me instead,” you said. “I wish it was me you reached for whenever you crave comfort. I want to be the one you run to when you’re happy or afraid. I want to keep you safe and make you feel alive. All of it.”

“Are you sure?” she murmured.

“Beyond,” you said. “I have wanted you for so long, Abby.”

Her knuckles skimmed the outside of your thigh. Inconspicuous and so, so gentle. “Give me some time, okay?”

“Of course.”

“God, you’re so pretty,” she said, igniting you both in a bout of shy giggles. “I finally get to say it. That’s allowed for now, right? I don’t even care. You are so fucking pretty, it’s killing me.”

Before you could fall into another dangerous pull, the doors to the library cracked open. Manny poked his head inside to remind Abby of the duties she needed to tend to. There was a slew of small missions Isaac demanded she organize, some requiring her to leave the compound for the afternoon. You were grateful to be off his radar for the day.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

“I’ll be around,” you said, linking your pinky finger with hers in unison, your hands tucked between her thigh and your own.

“Good. I’ll find you,” Abby whispered.

[michealwilliams11]

New Found Love pt. 2

Wednesday x fem!reader

Masterlist Previous part

Summary: Wednesday learns more about you and from you.

Wattpad: Nekomale1

TikTok: micheal13245

You groaned, irritation all over your expressions. "Why won't it stay up." You whined, as you feel your long hair hit your back the fifth time. "I don't know but you look good with bangs. You almost look like Wednesday." Enid said before quieting down when you and Wednesday side-eye glared at her. You both rolled your eyes at the same time, which scared the group at the booth. It was Saturday and the group [ Bianca, Yoko, Ajax, Xavier and Enid plus you and Wednesday] wanted to go to the Weathervane. You had homework but your roommate [Yoko] dragged you here.

So your trying to finish your homework, Wednesday trying to read a book, Ajax is trying to rizz Enid up, Bianca flirting with Xavier and Yoko trying to get you and Wednesday to talk to each other. "Why don't you and Wednesday go back to Nevermore?" Yoko suggested, sipping her apple juice. You turn to Wednesday with an arched brow, she simple nodded. Making you quickly pack up and wait for Wednesday to get out. You and Wednesday got in your car and you started to drive back to Nevermore.

You and Wednesday went back to her dorm. Before you could even sit on Wednesday's bed, your phone vibrated in your Spotify hoodie. You took it out and read the message Enid sent you. "You should def get the guitar ;)" You chuckled and replied, " Sure" "I'm coming back Addams! Don't wait for me!" You said, waving off and quickly running to your dorm. "As if I would." Wednesday muttered with a roll of her eyes.

You came back with a guitar. Wednesday looked at you with a slight questioning face. "Who is that for?" Wednesday asks, looking at your guitar. "It's mine." You said with a confused face. A puff of air went out of Wednesday's nose, no smile but one might be there. "Of course, it's yours." Wednesday sarcastically said, with a small smirk. "I'm being serious!" You said with a grin. "Then play a song, it has to be old." Wednesday told you. You chuckled and sat down on her bed.

"I only know Elvis Persley." You said, waiting patiently for Wednesday's response. She huffed, "It will do." She said sitting next to you. "Do I have to sing?" You said, with a little tired pout. Wednesday nodded, signing to Thing to make a video with her phone-without you knowing of course-You sighed before starting to play the guitar.

[I couldn't find another guitar one so you sound like this or whatever you would like to sound like]

During the song, Wednesday could keep her eyes off you. The way you concentrated was cute and a little funny. Your voice was like an angels one. It was heavenly, all the words in the dictionary couldn't explain how your voice wooed Wednesday. A cloud moved away from the sun, and it shone on your face. The big window was a little open so some wind brushed your hair, making it move a little and show some of the back of your neck. Then she saw it. A tattoo. It was in Latin. "Spes est in lumine." It said. Which translated to "There's hope in light." Wednesday reached out and touched it, making you flinch and stop playing your guitar, breaking a string even.

"You have a tattoo." Wednesday stated. "No I don't." You said, moving away and sitting on the other side of her bed. "It's rather obvious you do." Wednesday said, putting her hand on her lap. "Um.....Yeah!" You shot up and put your guitar on her bed. "I forgot to tell Yoko to get me a new set of pens!" You lied badly. "I bought you a set last weekend." Wednesday stated, seeing through your lies.

"Well Enid took them!" You said, running out the dorm quickly. You took your phone out of your pocket and made sure you were a few meters away from Enid and Wednesday's dorm. You called Enid quickly, nerves running through your veins. "SHE KNOWS!" You yelled into the phone when Enid finally picked up. "Woah, calm down. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out." Enid instructed you. You did exactly what you were told.

"Now what happened?" Enid asked calmly. You explained everything that happened between you and Wednesday. "Oh shit." Enid said in shock. "She only knows the tattoo not the whole thing." Enid said, trying to reassure you but it didn't work. "You know Addams, when she sets mind on something she'll get it." You said unconvinced. "We'll talk later. Ajax just got me 5 plushies!!" Enid squealed happily. "No! Eni-" But it was to late, she hanged up. FOR PLUSHIES!! You groaned and went back in to see Wednesday trying to fix your guitar. You slightly smiled and went up to her.

"I heard everything." Wednesday stated, looking over to you with a glare. You ignored her statement and sat next to her, taking the guitar in your hands and taking out the broken string. "I knew this was gonna happen." You muttered, taking out a guitar string pack. "What are you hiding?" Wednesday asked, a little irritated you ignored her statement but didn't show it. You continue to fix your guitar up and made sure it was in a melody.

"I don't want to talk about it." You said, getting up from her bed. "Where are you going?" Wednesday asked, slightly sadden you were leaving. "To a friend of mine." You said, putting your books in your bag. [AKA your homework] "I knew it wasn't yours." Wednesday said, smirking and holding her head high. "It is mine, I just want to go to his studio." You said, also taking your jacket. "What kind?" Wednesday asked curiously. "Music." You said, making sure you took everything. "What are you going to do at his studio?" Wednesday asked, crossing her arms. "His apartment is quiet." You said, also crossing your arms and leaning against the wall.

"You said studio." Wednesday said confused. "The studio is in the apartment." You said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Can I come?" Wednesday asked, surprisingly. "Why? Your all alone here." You said, confused. "Enid might come back with your pens." Wednesday said with a glare. You looked down, suddenly your shoes were so interesting. "You can come." You said taking your bag and guitar. "Thought so." Wednesday said, rolling her eyes. She wore her shoes and left the dorm with you leading her to your car.

-

You opened the door for Wednesday and came in, closing the door behind you. "Your friend must be close to you." Wednesday said, looking at the family photos. You chuckled and walked to the kitchen. "Yeah, kind of." You said, taking out some water from the fridge. Wednesday opened a door and found a home gym. It has a wooden floor with grey walls. There was a punching bag, a treadmill, some dumbbells on the floor, a couch, a TV and finally a rock climber. "He must workout a lot." Wednesday said, looking at the watch on a nightstand next to the couch. "Yeah." You shouted in another room.

Wednesday left the home gym and went to find you. She went in a room with an open door and found you in an a home library. There were probably a million books here. There you were wearing reading glasses and your hair in a messy bun. The window next to you reflected your features. Wednesday sat in front of you and read the title of the book you were reading 'Frankenstein'. At least you had taste Wednesday thought. She then continued to study your face. Your little frown when you didn't understand a word or your little smile when there was a dark joke. Wednesday got up and got herself a book to read as well and you both sat in peace and silence.

-

So many missed fucking calls. And one now. "Can you please answer the phone Addams?" You said, flipping over a trunk driver who didn't have his light on. "Truck fucker." You muttered with a little frown. Wednesday huffed and put the big books you said she could take, at the back of the car. She kept the one she was reading on her lap and answered your phone that was on her lap. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS?!!" You and Wednesday side-eye glared at the phone.

You huffed, "Enid calm down." You said, turning a corner. "DON'T TELL ME TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN." Enid shouted screamed in the phone. "Sinclair." You warned with a raised brow. "Sorry." She said instantly, slightly surprising Wednesday. "We're coming back right now." You said, licking your lips and tapping your fingers against the wheel to the beat of a random song on your mind. "I'll be waiting." Enid said before hanging up. You huffed and hummed to the song on the radio.

It was "From the start" from Laufey. And many more came on while you were driving. Now you were almost to your destination. "We're almost there Addams." You stated, checking the gas to see it was almost finished and there was a gas station nearby. You parked your car, got some gas and bought 2 water bottles for you and Wednesday. You got in the car and found Wednesday asleep. Her head was leaned against the cold window as it started to rain. The book she was reading was still in her hands.

You carefully took the book from her hands, making sure to leave the black raven bookmark where the page she was on. You took the over sized hoodie from the backseat and covered Wednesday and for her head you put a travel pillow around her neck. It was a shocker that she didn't wake up. You put on some relaxing music and started to drive to Nevermore once again. You kept on checking if Wednesday was okay next to you.

You parked outside the Nevermore gates. Enid was standing there in her power puff girls pjs under an umbrella. You get out of the car, the rain hitting you strongly only 5 seconds and you're wet. Enid quickly runs to you, covering you with the umbrella she was holding. "Are you trying to get a cold?!" She shouted, giving you a glare. You shushed her and opened the passenger door. Wednesday's head hit your chest and you quickly wrap your arms around her to make sure she doesn't get wet from the rain.

Enid's mouth shaped to an 'O'. You picked Wednesday up; her arms went around your neck and her legs around your waist. She snored lightly in your ear. You froze before you quickly take the umbrella from the back seat and open it. You make sure to take the books you brought with Wednesday with Enid's help. You went up to Wednesday and Enid's dorm with Enid rambling about self-defense.

You gently put Wednesday on her bed, making sure her blanket covers her completely. You take a step back and huff. "Where were you guys?" Enid asked with a little frown. Slightly calm now that you and Wednesday were back. "Pete's place." You say, putting the books Wednesday borrowed on her desk. " A date?" Enid asks with a small smile. "I'm glad your moving on." Enid said, smiling.

You froze, unconsciously tracing a pattern on your hand. You looked down and there was a dark aroma covering the spot you traced at. You wiped your hand again in panic and it went away. "You okay?" Enid asked in worry. "Yeah, just tired." You said, turning around with a tired smile. Enid came forward and hugged you.

You hugged her tighter. "I don't want to rush things." You say, letting go of Enid. Enid nods. "You both were hurt." Enid said with a comforting smile. "I bet you Addams was glad." You joked, breaking the tension. Enid giggled, glad you were now joking. "See ya. I've got to be an MMA coach tomorrow." You said, giving Enid a little hug before leaving. Enid locked the door and looked at Wednesday. She was holding your favorite hoodie.

-

There was a long bang on your dorm door, making you fall off your bed with a thud. You groaned and got up from the floor. You were in a trackpants and a white tank top. You opened the door with tired eyes. "Hello?" You said, trying to figure out who was in front of you. They were saying something, but you only heard gibberish. You slapped yourself and listened closer. "Walk my dog in the sea." They said with a scowl? "Walk your dog in what?" You said, rubbing your eyes. That's when you felt fresh cold water on your face.

You gasped and wiped it of your face to see Enid trying to get a water bottle out of Wednesday's hands. "She woke up." Wednesday stated with a faint smirk. Enid looked at your wet face and tried to wipe it, tried. You lightly smacked her hands away. "What time is it?" You asked, yawning in the end. "Its 7." Wednesday stated with a scowl. As soon as she says 7 your alarm rings.

You lookback at it with a glare and turn back to Wednesday with a smile. "Thank you for waking me up." You said with a smile that confused Enid and Wednesday just scowled. You turned around and walked over to your phone, turning off your alarm. Enid and Wednesday took this as an invitation.

You took a towel and your outfit for the day. "Give me 5 minutes." You said to Enid and Wednesday. You quickly showered and changed into some comfy clothes for the day. When you got out Wednesday gave you a glare. "That was 10 minutes." Wednesday says, with a hint of irritation in her tone. You rolled your eyes.

You took your MMA bag as you, Enid and Wednesday, went to the cafeteria for some breakfast. "Seen Yoko?" You asked, turning around and walking backwards. Surprisingly not bumping into kids.......yet. "She went to Divina's dorm." Enid answered after greeting about 10 students who were passing you guys. You nodded and turned around, only to bump into someone. Hot coffee was spilled all over your uniform.

"I am so sorry!!" The girl you bumped into said. "Shit! It's okay." You said, looking down on your hoodie and sweatpants. "No its not!" She said, making you look at her. "You new?" You asked, watching her take out a couple of tissues. "Yeah, came last week and still don't know how to navigate this place." She joked with a slight giggle. "So your Mia!" Enid shouted joining the conversation. "Yeah, I'm guessing your Enid." Mia said chuckling.

"The one and only!" Enid joked with a big grin. You chuckled but hissed when Mia started wiping the coffee of your hoodie. "Don't worry about the hoodie, I can clean it but I need to go back to my dorm for the pants." You informed the two other girls. Mia stopped wiping your hoodie and pants. You quickly said goodbye before quickly rushing to your dorm and trying to find something else to wear. Then you finally found something.

You wore black cargo pants with a grey NBA sweater with the sign and a pair of Air Jordan 1 Retro High OG - 'Black Toe'. You sprayed yourself with some perfume and left the dorm. But quickly screamed when you saw Wednesday. "Jesus Addams." You said, putting a hand on your chest, like you were having a heart attack. Wednesday rolled her eyes. "Addams is fine, thank you." She sarcastically replied. You rolled your eyes as well.

"What's up?" You asked calming down now. Wednesday looked up and then you looked back at you. "The roof. Why?" She asked sarcastically with a tilt of her head. "Haha, very funny." You said with a big grin. But it quickly fell when you turned serious. "What do you want?" You asked, crossing your arms. "What is your schedule?" Wednesday asked. "I'm meeting with the coach at 9 and at 12 I'm teaching some kids MMA till 6." You said, checking your Apple watch.

"Why?" You asked, looking back at Wednesday. "What time is it?" She asked, ignoring your question. "7:30." You answered confused. "We have time." Wednesday said, grabbing your wrist and dragging you down the halls. "Wait! What about breakfast?!" You protested, very much hungry. Wednesday quickly turned around, took her bag off her back with swift motion. She took out those Thai takeout boxes-2- and a pair of chopsticks with some Pepsi and Coke in a white plastic bag that you sell at the stores. "Hold this." Wednesday said, hanging you the plastic bag. You held it, smelling the delicious Thai noodles inside. "Lets go." Wednesday rushed, taking your wrist again.

-

There were books scattered on the table and some coffee cups on it as well- only 5, from you- you were reading an old history book as well as Wednesday. You sometimes took notes on some stuff. The library was empty, only you and Wednesday there. It was peaceful, until you spoke. "Why do you wanna know so much about Greek history?" You asked, putting the huge history book down. "History test coming up." She answered, not looking up from her book. "The teachers said that the exams only start in 4 months time." You said, confused since that's what the new principal told you.

"I'm testing myself." Wednesday answered again. "Well wont you know all the answers since you made the test?" You ask, in an obvious tone. "A teacher is making the test." Wednesday answered, irritated that you were getting smart in catching people lie. "Teachers aren't allowed to help with anything of test because then you can cheat easily and it would be unfair to all learners who studied hard." You said, crossing your arms and leaning back on your chair. Wednesday huffed, in a corner of whether to tell you or not. "I'm trying to find out about your tattoo and your file says you're family threatened the school not to tell anyone about them." Wednesday confessed, putting her book down and looking you in the eyes.

"I told you to stop." You said with a serious tone and your smile dropping. "Ill investigate if I want too." Wednesday said with a scowl. "Your not a detective Addams." You deadpanned. "I don't need to be a detective to see your hiding something." She shot back. "Yeah and I'd like it still hidden." You shot harder. "Curiosity kills a cat, didn't you say that yourself?" You said, with a glare. "And yours died." Wednesday shot back with a colder glare. "Aswell as the dogs who killed her." You answered, not backing down. Before Wednesday could answer, your Apple Watch rang. You dismissed it and got up. "We'll continue this conversation later." You said, packing up and leaving with a scowl.

But you quickly switched your scowl into a smile when Mia came up. "Hey." She greeted you shyly, but now Wednesday was listening in the convo. "Hey, what's up?" You asked, fixing you bag straps. Mia looks up. "The roof." She joked, with a giggle. 'I've heard that one before' "Hahaha, very funny." You said before chuckling. "Whatcha need?" You asked a little serious now.

"I uh, heard that you are coach of the MMA club. Is that true?" Mia asked, unsure about the rumor. "Oh yeah. Why?" You ask, checking the time, "Great. I was wondering if I could join?" Mia asked, fidgeting with her hands. "Oh yeah, but, can we talk about this later? I really need to go. I have a meeting with coach." You said, quickly walking past her. "Oh yeah, see ya!" She shouted. You waved goodbye and then ran to the staff room.

-

You laughed as you left the staff room. As the door closed, your smile faltered-all that laughing to dad joes hurt your cheeks- you started to walk back to your dorm, you couldn't stop thinking about your bed. How warm it will be and the wonderful dreams you will have in it. "Hey Y/N!" Mia called from behind you. You huffed-goodbye comfy sheets- "Hey Mia!" You said, turning around with a fake smile that tricks everyone.

"I was waiting. I was wondering if we could talk about me joining MMA through coffee." Mia asked, unsure if you'll say yes. "Sure, lets go." You said gesturing forward. "Great!" Mia said, she started walking to the parking lot were your car was? How did she know that? You shook your head as you got in the car, unaware that an Addams was following you.

-

"So what made you join Nevermore?" You said, thanking the barista that gave you your coffee. "I mean, its a great school and-" Mia started but you interrupted her. "No its not. I mean the education is good but last year was a train wreck. I mean, don't get me wrong but, who would let their child here after the Hyde case? It took me a lot of begging and chores, just to come back here." You said, taking sip of your coffee now and then.

"You do know about the Hyde case, right?" You asked, comfirming. " Of course, Enid filled me in about everything." Mia said with a chuckle. "Of course she would." You muttered. You looked down at Mia's file and opened it, starting to read. "You were born at New York?" You said, frowning slightly. "Yeah, why?" Mia asked. "I'm just confused as of why you would move from New York to Jericho. This town has a lot of bad history." You confessed, putting Mia's file down.

"I know, I'm glad you care for my safety." Mia smiled, putting her hand on top of your hand. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat and cleared your throat. You removed your hand from Mia's and drank your coffee. "So am I in?" Mia asked, after taking a sip of her coffee. "Well, we would have to take a test, to see if you can enter. If you do enter, I can write what you need on a piece of paper and you must buy it." You said, explaining.

"Physical test?" Mia asked. "Physical and mental because you would need to know how and when to attack. For example-" You rambled on and on about the different types of ways to attack and defend for a solid 30 minutes. You checked the time and huffed. "Why don't we get started?" You asked, getting up and gathering your stuff. " 'Kay." Mia responded. "Let's go." You said, leaving the cafe with Mia following closely, and far off Addams as well.

"So, what brought you to Nevermore?" Mia asked, trying to make some conversation. "I was curious of what they meant of 'A school for outcasts'. " You answered, turning a corner. "Why are we walking when you have a car?" Mia asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Good for your legs and probably your last moments with them." You said, winking at her after. You guys talked for a while before you got to the building. "New girls first." You said with a sly smirk. Mia giggled before going in and you following behind.

Wednesday thought long and hard before entering. Little did she know that someone else was stalking you and Mia-now her. "Everything's good boss." A shadow man said on his earpiece. "Good." The so-called boss said and hanged up. The shadow man walked in the building as well.

-

"My legs are so sore!" Mia whined as she walked out of the building with you next to her. You chuckled, "I warned you." You said, with a grin. "I wished I listened." Mia said, almost limping. You chuckled. You and Mia walked back to your car, and you started to drive back to Nevermore. "How many hours is it until practice?" Mia asked, sipping on the water you gave her. "About an hour." You said, checking your watch. Mia nodded and went back on her phone.

You and Mia enjoyed the silence in the car. It being the only silence you got today. You then remembered what happened with Wednesday today. You decided to call her, the phone ringing in your hand. You know she doesn't like using her phone but she takes it everywhere with her, just for emergencies. You heard a ringtone in your boot.

Mia gave you a confused look. You slowly stopped somewhere at the forest. The car stopped and you got out. You knocked on the boot before opening it. There she was, caught in 4K, Wednesday Addams herself. You panicked and quickly got her out and shoved her in the backseat. You swore you were going to kill this girl! You looked around the trees, trying to catch them, getting weird glances from both Mia and Wednesday.

You quickly got in the car and started it. You started to speed to Nevermore. "SHIT! Y/N CALM DOWN!!" Mia shouted, holding her seatbelt for her dear life. You quickly scrambled for your phone and quickly dialed Enid's number. "Hello?" Enid answered with her usual sparky personality. "Lockdown." You said, doing a quick turn. "Kind?" Enid said, as you could her shuffling in the background. "Stalker." You said, looking at Wednesday with rage.

"Got it!" Enid said before quickly hanging up. You stopped in front of the gates before quickly telling both Mia and Wednesday to get out of your car. They both tried to match your speed as you ran through the hallways. You knocked on the door with 5 knocks this time and Enid immediately opened the door for you guys. "What the fuck is going on?!" Mia said, also now panicking.

Both you and Enid walked to the balcony and looked out. "Shit" You and Enid say in unison. There he or she is standing, a shadow no one can see, only the people with light in them can see them. "I don't see anything." Wednesday noted with knitted brows. "Me neither." Mia also joined. You then suddenly got a call.

"Hello?" You said, answering the call with speed. "Evening Ms. L/n." The shadow beast greeted with a raspy and deep voice. "What do want?" You asked, watching the shadow with caution. "Your little jealous girlfriend helped me find you. Well, to get your guard down for a while. Just for that, I found your brother." It said with a chuckle. You sent Wednesday a glare.

If looks could kill, then this would be a blood bath. "What are you planning?" You asked, gripping tightly on the ledge. "Nothing, but any sudden attacks on me and his dead." It said with confidence. "Why?" You asked, your voice cracking. "War." It spoke. "If you think I'm bluffing then I'll send you a pic." It spoke.

Then there was a video.

"Babe, I told you I don't like being recorded." He chuckled as he covered the camera with his hand, ending the video. The video ended with his smile on the screen.

You panicked; they weren't just in the house, but they are pretending to be someone else. You were in some deep shit. You put the phone back at your ear. "I want to talk with your girlfriend." They said on the phone. You looked at Wednesday before giving her the phone. She looked at it before putting at her ear. "Thank you, I've been trying to get close to her, enough to navigate where her brother is. You were a great help; I offer you immortality." The demon shadow said to Wednesday.

Wednesday looked over to you, Enid and Mia were rubbing your back as you kept in your tears. "Why are you doing this?" She asked as she scanned your face. Your usual smile was gone, the wonderful glint in your eyes also gone, as if it never existed. That made Wednesday regret her decision and her blood to boil. "For thrill! Her family and my family have been in war, plus her ex. You coming in will make it better." The shadow creature said with excitement in its tone. A vein snapped on Wednesday neck.

"The fact that it only took me to follow L/N for you to threaten her is idiotic. You're all powerful and bold but can't even come up with a great plan. You need a teenager to help you, how pathetic and bribing? I expected so much more. You can shove that pathetic, idiotic and insane immortality shit up your ass." Wednesday said, with flames in her eyes. The three of you were shocked at the fact she could swear and for both you and Enid, that she threatend them.

"Wrong answer!" They said before another call came through. The contact name was 'Noah'. You quickly took the phone and answered it. There were whimpers and some grunts. " Y-Y/N help me, p-please." Noah whimpered, before yelping. "Noah?!" You shouted in the phone, your eyes were shaking. There was some shuffling and then....

It was quiet.

[geminimoonbeamx]

She’s Got Bette Davis Eyes

A/N: I'm going to be real; I miss Steve’s loser in a sailor uniform era. I’m not sure how I feel about the return of King Steve but well. Don't even get me started how much I hated the forced throat fucking that is the Duffers trying to make Stancy a thing again. Despite all that, I’m happy to have our baby boy back. 

Warnings: Smut. Road Head. Steve getting his shit verbally rocked. 

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Steve Harrington has been on like, a hundred shitty dates this month alone. He really doesn't expect his date with you to be any different. 

The movie the two of you had gone to see was garbage. Zombiethon. Literally as horrible as it sounds, you’d pushed for that new Demi Moore flick but Steve had become a bit of a movie connoisseur since working at the Family Video.

A bit of a douche too, but then like. Hadn't he always been one?  You’re contemplating why you’d accepted the date at all while he pokes at his coke float with a straw. The diner is in full rage, loud enough that it drowns out any chance of conversation- 

Steve’s corny pick up lines are lost to the hustle and bustle, drowned out by the jukebox and old team mates coming up to pay homage to the former King of Hawkins High himself. 

You’d gotten ready for this. Like, really. Taken hours primping and priming. Your hair fell, practiced and shiny. Your lip gloss gleamed in the light. The denim skirt you wore was just on the right side of slutty. This worked for you, with guys- always. And still, it seemed like Steve wanted to be anywhere but sitting across the table from you- 

And you? Yeah, you’re taking that pretty personally. 

If he thinks he’s going to get a kiss at the door and a second date after this he’s dead wrong. 

You let him ramble, about his dumb job and his dumb hair and his weekend trip to Indianapolis a month ago. All the while smiling, nodding, giving a quip and taking the cues. 

You're more than happy when the check comes in the form of the older woman with a smokers cough. You're pulling out your purse before she’s even dropped it on the table. 

“No, no, no. I invited you out, It’s my treat-” he pats at his pockets. 

You ignore him, pulling the crisp twenty out of your wallet and handing it to the woman. Nora, her name tag reads. “Here you go, keep the change” 

She smiles at you, before turning sharp eyes to Steve, muttering about how all the real men died in Nam’.  

Your pounding pavement towards his car. Funny, all throughout high school you’d yearned to ride passenger in the maroon BMW, and now you weren't too sure you wanted to get in it at all. It wasn't that much of a walk, back you your house- why had you chosen these tall ass wedges?

“I had that tab, back there. You didn’t have to-” Steve starts the engine, sounding uneasy and unsure for the first time tonight and hah. Good. Misery loves company, and you’re the petty bitch that will enforce the fact. 

“You snooze you lose” 

“Uh-” He makes a face, confused as you play with his radio. If he wants to be a dick fine, but you refuse to do another awkward car ride filled with his shitty taste in music. Megadeth it is. 

Your house is just outside of town, at least a thirty minute ride. 

At five minutes in you decide what the hell. You turn the knob, metal fading  “Quick quesh, why did you ask me out if you’re obviously not interested in dating anyone?”

“What? That’s not true. I date, all the time-” 

“Ah, so just not interested in dating me. Like in particular” 

“No, I wouldn't have asked you out if I wasnt interested in you. Dating you. Dating anyone” 

“Can I share my theory with you? I mean I did let you explain the entire synopsis of Casablanca back there so like, my turn” You get comfortable in the leather seat, wiggling so that you're leaning bag against the door, directly facing him. He’s cute, that dumb little look on his face. The confused nod. 

“So you haven't really been with anyone since Nancy Wheeler- 

“Not true” 

“Yeah you’ve dated like half the girls in this town. But boyfriend, girlfriend? Not since Wheeler. Suspicious? Kind of” 

“It’s not suspicious, I just haven't been with anyone that I wanted to take that next step with” Steve defends himself, bristling a little bit. Fuck if your going to let this go. Who cares if he’s uncomfortable? This is the most fun you’ve had all night. 

“Sure. It’s okay, I’ve done the hung up on the ex thing too- like for years. I just wish you would’ve told me” you shrug 

“Told you what exactly?” 

“That you weren't on the market for anything other than…physical relationships” you pick your brain for the right words. 

His mouth gapes, open, snaps closed. Nose scrunches and well. “That's not something I really go around just advertising. Girls aren't into that” 

“Aren't they?”’

“Are you?” He rebuts, doubtful. Hopeful, but mostly doubtful.  

Bingo. Right on the money.

You bite your cheek, trying to contain your grin as you reach over the console, your hand on Steves denim clad thigh “I think as human beings, it’s kind of fucked up to deprive ourselves of touch. It’s one of the five main senses and all that. I mean, so you don't want to get married...that doesn't mean you can't get your dick wet” 

Steve hisses as your fingers drag, right over his fly. “Y/N”-

“Shh, just keep driving. Don't you wanna have a little fun?” you massage his bulge and reach over, because fuck it. You're in this deep already. Rejection would sting but this date had already been horrible. 

You aim for his stubbled cheek, but he turns his head last minute, his plump lips meeting yours. Fuck, this is the good stuff. The legendary stuff. High School mythology etched on the walls of the girls bathroom, whispered in reverence between friends. Steve tastes like mint, feels like sunshine. Uses the perfect amount of tongue. 

You pull away after a moment. “Eyes on the road, hot stuff”

Now why did he take you to the worst movie of all time, when the two of you could’ve been doing this all night? Boys are so stupid. Even pretty rich ones with good hair. 

You nose behind his ear, drag your lips down his throat as your fingers begin to work on his zipper, giggling when he swallows roughly. 

“All this fun’s gonna get us killed” 

“Come on, you're a great driver. Just focus, okay” you pull away, and his head leans, following without his permission. “Or do you want me to stop?” 

You spear your bottom lip between your teeth, staring at him with big bright eyes. The shadows of your eyelashes dancing in the passing streetlights. 

“That's killer, you know that? Not fair at all. If we end up in a ditch, it’s all your fault” He sighs, concedes, reaches down to lean his seat back. 

“You worry too much. But wouldn't that be kind of rad? Death by road head. We’d have the coolest gravestones ever” You whisper wetly into his ear, tugging on the lobe with your lips. 

He just shakes his head. 

Turns out a thirty minute drive is more then enough to make Steve Harrington turn into a puddle of goo. His chest heaves and he white knuckles the steering wheel as you work him over. 

It’s sloppy and crude, the squelching and gagging echoing around the car. His thighs shake and it takes everything to keep his eyes from crossing. He sneaks a peak, down at your bobbing head, at the way that your’e putting your all into it. Those little hurt sounds you keep making when the fat head catches the back of your throat, just right. He snaps his hips up, cruel. Needing to hear it just a little bit louder as you struggle. 

He can’t do this. 

“Y/N- fuck. Ease up-” 

You double down. 

Elm Drive 

He makes a wide swerve of a turn before stomping on the breaks. Your house is just down at the end of the block. 

When he comes , with a shout and his fistful of your hair, it's blinding. He feels like he’s been sucker punched in the gut, before his spine turns to liquid. 

He’s wrecked. 

And you? You’re fine. Just peachy as you pull off with a pop. Spit and cum smeared across the bottom of your face. He accepts the little peck you give him eagerly. 

You’re wiping your face clean, reapplying your lip gloss and dabbing at the corners of your teary, mascara smudged eyes as Steve tries to come back down to earth, his chest still heaving embarrassingly when you seem so…composed. 

He inches down the street, feeling a little high. He probably shouldn't be driving right now- 

When he pulls in front of your house, porch light on and quaint, you instantly grab your bag. Ready to go. 

“So I’ll um- call you? We should hang out again. Soon? Preferably” 

You throw your head back and laugh, almost meanly “That’s going to be a no from me. This was the worst date I’ve ever been on. Like ever. Lose my number, Harrington” 

You’re out of the car before he can wrap his head fully around what you’d said. No? What? The passenger door slams. 

He’s pretty sure you’re going to leave him high and dry- take the steps up to the porch and call it a night. Instead, you freeze, contemplating for a moment. Your eyes scan the street, peeled for any sign of your neighbors before your wiggling your thick thighs, reaching up under your skirt. 

“Something to think about. If you ever decide that you want to…take that next step” You grin leaning into his driver side window. Handing him the pair of baby blue panties. Still warm. Very much wet. 

Steve poor dick jumps. “I’ll take it into consideration” 

He can’t help but grin. That stupid look on his face the entire time he watches you walk the path, shut your front door behind you. 

Steve had taken out no less than a dozen girls in the last few months, everyone leaving him feeling more unsatisfied than the last. He looks at the blue lacy fabric in his hands, and thinks yeah. 

He’s pretty sure he owes you a second date. 

Welp. This was filthy. If you're interested in reading a part two of this, let me know! I think these two could be really fun. Also, food for thought. My ask box is open.