#she likes to eb tall

[lovebugism]

hey honey can i request a shy!reader x grumpy!eddie , maybe they’re pumpkin picking with friends & something angsty ensues but then fluffy & after they all go eat at the diner and get spooky themed orders 🤭

thanks for requesting lovie! — eddie gets grumpy on a fall outing with the gang (shy!reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, 1.3k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie’s a big ol’ grump at Eugene’s Pumpkin Patch, but he’s being really brave about it. He follows you like a puppy, visibly unamused about the whole thing but trying hard to be a good boyfriend despite his woe.

“Ah! Look at this one!” you gasp at the sight of a pumpkin, in a sea of bright orange pumpkins. 

Swallowed whole by your sweater, you crouch in the tall grass and reach for the tiny round thing hidden in it. The runt pumpkin sits neatly in your palms. “It’s so wittle,” you singsong up at Eddie in a tiny, high-pitched voice.

He smiles despite himself, laughing even though he’s grumpy, ‘cause you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m gonna get this one,” you announce affirmatively when you rise to full height again.

“You made me drive an hour out just to get the tiniest pumpkin they have?” Eddie asks, laughing still but with a subtle bite of annoyance.

You try to ignore it, though the weight of his aggravation makes you writhe. “But it’s cute…” you defend with a weak shrug. “And also, you have to get one, remember?”

You take a tentative step towards Eddie, standing chest to chest. He huffs and puts his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His chocolate eyes flit around the expansive farm, dull and unimpressed. “They all look the same, so… I don’t think it really matters.”

“It does matter!” you insist, girlish and quiet and stubborn. “You have to pick the one you like the most— that’s the whole point!”

“You’re telling me there’s an art to pumpkin picking?” the boy teases with a crooked grin, tilting his head to the side so his curls bunch at his shoulder.

Still clutching the tiniest pumpkin either of you have ever seen, you nod. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

He scoffs again in a curt laugh. He looks around again, only to point to the one sitting by his feet.

“Alright… How about that one?”

“Eddie!”

“What?” he whines in the same pouty tone as you.

“Can you at least pretend you’re having fun?” you murmur, a bit sad you have to even ask. 

You always spiral when he gets weird, secretly terrified that it’s all your fault. He doesn’t talk, so you overthink. Your brain gets mean, and you need Eddie to make you feel better — but he can’t because he’s weird. It’s unbearable. For both of you.

“It’s cold and rainy and Steve’s pants gave me a headache on the way over and I don’t feel good, okay? I’m sorry,” Eddie rambles with a pout, looking visibly pained about all of it.

Any excitement you had left leaves you like an ebbing tide. “Okay,” you mutter with a soft nod.

“I’m gonna go smoke,” the boy announces. 

He smacks a fleeting kiss to your cheek before he goes but doesn’t bother to invite you to come with him. He doesn’t feel very deserving of your company right now, too selfish in his woe and painfully self-aware about it.

You stand in place while he walks back to the van, feeling utterly alone and unwanted.

“Where’d Eddie go?” Steve wonders when he walks up to you with Robin at his side. 

They carry two pumpkins each, struggling with each of them because they’ve somehow managed to find the biggest ones on the whole farm. You figure they made a bet about it because everything’s a competition with them.

“Um… to smoke, I think,” you answer shyly, embarrassed to have been found alone for a reason you can’t name. “He just kinda… left.”

Robin scoffs. “I think he’s on his period,” she jokes with a gritty laugh.

“Yeah. He said my pants looked stupid before we left. I knew something was up.”

The brunette girl side-eyes the boy beside her. “I think he might’ve been right about that one, Stevie.”

You make a quiet exit when they begin to bicker back and forth. You duck through the bustling pumpkin patch and try not to trip in the tall grass on your way to Eddie’s van. 

Your boots crunch over the gravel of the parking lot. You find him leaning against the trunk, blowing out smoke from his pink mouth, slouching like he’s weighed down by his own sadness. 

“You okay, Eds?” you ask to announce your arrival. 

His eyes widen when he realizes you’re there. He’d pretend to be fine if it didn’t take all the energy he had left. “No,” he answers honestly, then quickly corrects, “I mean— I am, but… I feel bad. I was acting like a dick…”

“Yeah,” you concur with a nod. “You were.”

He’s too shocked to hide it on his face. You’re never normally so confrontational. You’re usually too quiet for that, too soft. And you still are now, because you always are, but he feels like he deserves to see this sterner side of you.

“But it’s okay. I know you didn’t wanna come in the first place.”

He turns on his shoulder when you stand at his side, towering over you as he flicks the butt of his cigarette. “Yeah, but… I didn’t have to be such an asshole to you about it. I feel like I fuckin’ ruined this whole day, you know?”

“We all have our moments, Eds. It’s no big deal,” you assure with a weak shrug and a stronger smile. “We still have the whole afternoon left— you didn’t ruin anything. Doesn’t make me love you any less, either.”

Your words make him grin. Like, really grin — all wide and rosy and boyish. You make him smile like nothing’s ever hurt him. Like nothing’s ever been wrong in his life. Fuck, he’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.

“I love the shit outta you, you know that?” he mumbles but doesn’t give you a chance to answer. He tosses the cigarette to the ground and snuffs it out with his sneaker right before kissing you absolutely stupid.

He wraps his arms around your neck, smothering your face with his. No one’s ever been kissed as hard as he’s kissing you now. The realization makes you smile too wide to kiss him back.

He pulls away from you with a hearty smack. With pinker lips and chocolate eyes, he grins hopefully down at you. “So you’re not mad at me?” he wonders, gentle like a child.

“Yes,” you nod, playfully firm. “I’m very mad, actually.”

Eddie’s smile widens. He knows you’re joking and decides to lean into it. “What can I do then, huh?” he murmurs lowly to you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How can I make it up to you?”

He wants to kiss you again. He wants to get you in the back of his van in a vacant parking lot. He wants you to tell him to make you feel good and not to stop until you’re pushing him away.

You know all of this, ‘cause you can practically read his mind, so you decide to drive him crazier. “I want you…” you start in the same low tone, bordering on sultry. 

Eddie’s already nodding. 

You smile and continue. 

“…To go pick your most favorite pumpkin in the whole patch, and then take me to Benny’s Burgers.”

Feeling slightly disappointed and utterly teased, Eddie searches the entire patch and finds the weirdest-shaped, wartiest pumpkin the earth has ever grown. He drives the gang to the diner after and sits you in his lap when all of you squeeze into one booth. 

He shares his milkshake with you and lets you have the pickle slice that comes with his burger when you ask for it (‘cause everyone knows it’s the best part). It’s the purest form of love, if he has anything to say about it.

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶"Can I kiss you?"✶

NSFW — smut, blowjob, swallowing, ball worship, cock worship, grinding, dry humping, first kiss, slow burn, flirting, mutual pining, eddie is touch starved, mild angst, 18+

chapter: 10/20 [wc: 25.1k]

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

AO3

Chapter 10: The Intentional Second Date

Smoke trembled past his lips in stuttered bursts.

It was Eddie’s second cigarette of the morning. Not completely out of the ordinary for him; sometimes he needed a second one when Adrie gave him trouble before preschool, or if he had a bad night’s sleep and relied on nicotine to help delay the impending headache, but that’s not why he was smoking again today. Adrie woke up, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and told him she loved him in the carpool lane. She was a dream. His nightmare, on the other hand, was coming to fruition. Because of course he couldn’t remember where he’d set his wallet if it weren’t chained to his pants on a sober day, but drinking enough to where he should’ve been plastered? He remembered it all. He remembered it all.

Oh, he remembered it all.

And when he heard the front employee door to the auto shop unlock, he held his breath, and counted down the routine seconds for you to pop your head out in the alleyway and greet him, and when it didn’t happen.. He knew you remembered too.

The morning smile did not come. No greeting. No laughter. Just nothing. Nothing happened except for the glass door to the lobby opening, and you going inside.

He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucking fucked up.

He made things weird, and now you were avoiding him, as you had every right to after he tried to initiate phone sex without warning— Consent? Consent. Both of you were inebriated to some degree, and he’d never felt more like a creep.

Oh, God.

His knees went weak.

Anxious bile sloshed in his seizing stomach. His face broke out in a cold sweat. Knots constricted tighter. Heart beating in his throat. Decisions—mistakes—put stars in his vision. His world was ending, and it pounded at his temples. This was it. This was it. He fucked up.

“Good morning, hand—Oh?”

Eddie froze.

You leaned more than your head out the door, and stepped onto the concrete slab. All your tender attention was on him, studying his pale face, and his hunched form. Your eyebrows swooped in worry at how he was crouched to the reedy weeds instead of standing tall with his back against the gray bricks. A frown slighted your smile, insulting your beauty when you saw him bent down, knees to his chest, holding his head while his other hand shook hard enough the cigarette pinched between his fingers fell amongst the rocks.

“Eddie? You don’t look good. Are you okay?”

His lips parted.

Was he dreaming? Was the lift of delight in your tone when you first went to greet him, and then the drop to concern ebbing your voice deeper when he appeared ill a figment of his imagination? Were you about to call him handsome? Was this the second chance he didn’t deserve?

“Eddie?”

“Yeah!” His exclamation helped him stand, and the twitch of your lips battled his nausea. “Yeah, I just had a long night,” he lied.

Lightheaded, he concentrated on keeping balanced in his woozy lurch towards the wall.

Sharp edges of rocks slid against one another under your winter boots. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Your apology was sincere, as was your silly quirk of swinging your arms to point finger guns towards the garage. “I brought donuts this morning, and went ahead and made coffee, so they’re both fresh if you’re the type to dunk.” You mimicked dunking a donut into a mug of coffee. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

Endearing. Genuinely, honestly, so fucking adorably endearing.

“Yeah, that sounds great right now.” The pet names returned to their restricted status for now. He had to know for sure. “Did you, uh, like playing with us Saturday?” It was a coward’s way to dance around the real question burning his esophagus, but it was a valiant introduction.

“I did! It was a lot of fun. I’m glad you invited me. And, hey, uhm, I didn’t say anything weird to your friends, or anything like that, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” he responded in an even tone, stomping his curiosity from fluctuating his cadence with hopefulness when you chose that of all things to ask him.

“Good! My memory went a little fuzzy after my fourth drink, you know, when Lloyd kept trying to get us to sing along to that adventuring song he made up. I didn’t know if I said anything weird, or rude, or something by accident.”

Salvation reigned upon him.

Eddie’s lungs allowed him to breathe at the kindness alcohol spared him, and finally, he could relax. Your fretting stemmed from making a good impression on his friends, and with his reassurance, you stopped fidgeting at your nails, and the color returned to his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about that. Seriously, they loved you.” His grin struggled to blossom. “Do you not remember anything else?”

In contrast, your grin was a field of wildflowers swaying under the summer sun.

“Not really, it’s pretty spotty around the time they left, but I do remember a few things,” you said, taking another step towards him. “I remember you throwing a napkin at the back of my head. I remember falling asleep in Robin’s car. I also remember asking her to pull over on the side of the road. I remember waking up in the living room, on her dad’s recliner of all places. And boy! do I remember being hungover.”

Closing the few feet of distance remaining, your confidence was established in your ability to pinch the sleeve of his coveralls and tug at it in a playful, flirty way, coasting your frosted sigh over his embroidered name patch.

You claimed him, heart and soul, “But I remember us dancing, too. I’m so glad I remember us dancing.” Softer, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“I’m the sweetest?” he repeated in a mumble, complying with the tug to open his arm in a curve, which you fit into.

“Of course you are. You sure you’re not sick? You still look like you’re about to puke.”

As if your grip on his tricep wasn’t enough of an anchor on reality, the backs of your fingers gliding down his cheek were, checking his temperature like he was worthy of being doted on. A fortunate thing, a blessing; having your hand guide him from the river Styx with a simple brush, thumb tracing the edge of his lip.

Yeah, his heart clenched. “I’m okay,” he rushed to whisper, wanting the words to sprint after your fingers falling from his chin. He kept the connection alive by copying the stroke along your spine, over your denim jacket. 

The wintry redness returned to his face, he knew. His racing pulse brought it there, splotching warmth to his skin. There was not enough bravery in the world to ask how much of the dance you recalled; whether your memory ended at your head on his chest, or your wrist to his lips, or your foreheads together with your noses smashed to the other’s cheek, but he did gleam one thing for certain.

You beamed up at him with eager eyes, as if those intimacies flashed in the sun’s reflection, and you wanted more of them.

He said, “I think I’ll feel better after a donut. Or three.”

“Or a nap, or three,” you countered.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, a rasp present in his throat from smoking, “I’m not gonna waste my time napping when I could be eating donuts with you.”

A wry laugh played at your lips. “How romantic.”

“I’ve been known to be romantic from time to time.”

You hummed in interest, arching an eyebrow. It was a challenge. Oh, really? you asked. Show me, then, you said.

Stepping back, you dragged your hand down his arm and embraced the motion, seeing it through to his elbow, forearm, the heel of his palm. Feeling but a faint outline of his form beneath the thick sleeve of his canvas jacket and light blue coveralls, yet still clinging to him as if he were your heater. Your warmth. Another body laying next to you in a cold bed.

“C’mon, handsome.” You urged him inside by your feeble grip around the stretchy knit cuff covering the plastic bead bracelet around his wrist. “Let's see if getting some caffeine in you helps you look less like a corpse.”

He snorted, and obeyed. “Whatever you say, dear.”

By all means, it seemed you didn’t remember the phone call. No doubt you were stone cold sober for the bad jokes, dorky innuendos, and inappropriate behavior that would be frowned upon at work, but you didn’t bring those up, so he didn’t either. He was in the clear.

Fate forgave him. And now, he could move on with the ‘thank you’ he owed you in good faith.

————

It was days later when your stapler ran out of staples.

You clamped it shut a few more times until you realized, and opened the second drawer on the short filing cabinet beneath your desk. After a cool slide of metal on metal came a rattle. Instead of your extra sticky notes, folders, and office supplies being visible, a foreign object sat on top of them. Perplexed, you reached in and grasped the lime green box. An index card was taped to it, and removing it jolted the waxy candies inside, sliding them against the cardboard in a merry cascade.

Setting the Mike and Ikes aside, you read the thin, angular handwriting on the note, written in red.

DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? (circle one)

              YES    or   NO

ARE YOU ONLY SAYING YES BECAUSE ITS YOUR POLICY?

              YES    or   NO

By outward appearances, your mouth was tugged downwards at the corners, but make no mistake, it was not a frown. No, no. What your expression was overcome with was so sentimental, so empathetic, you had to pout.

Besotted, you hugged the card to your chest, and reflected on the heaviness of his expectant gaze when he passed by your desk this week. The longer eye contact, the anticipatory lift of his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead when you waved at him. He must’ve put this in your drawer days ago, and you had kept him waiting by accident, poor guy.

You weren’t about to keep him in suspense any longer.

(Though, maybe he should’ve put it in the top drawer, which you opened daily for your highlighters, if he wanted a quicker response.)

Pen to paper, you selected your answers, jotted a line, and tucked the notecard inside a manila folder with two invoices he needed to fill out. You pushed your rolly chair away from the desk, and dug through your purse before going to the breakroom where Eddie sat hunched over the round table, shoveling a chicken Rice-a-Roni meal in his mouth (haphazardly) with his left hand while writing in his DND notebook with his right.

You stood at the vending machine with your hip jutted out, sinking to one side with utmost concentration on your pursed lips, perusing the rows of choices. There were just so, so many categories to choose from. Chips, candy, chocolates. How could you ever decide? You crossed your arms, and tapped your chin at the dilemma, taking your time. This was a wise use of your work hours, of course. Flirting with your coworker by passing notes, and watching the side profile of his smirk break through his curtain of curls in the glass reflection.

Finally, you settled on F4, and slotted in your quarters, punching those buttons.

The Kit Kat bar was deposited in a loud clunk.

“Hey, didn’t know if you saw,” you started casually, and held the manila folder out to him with an imposing grimace, “but you forgot to fill out a couple of lines at the bottom of these invoices. Can’t have you slipping up, and not finishing your paperwork before working on your little roleplaying game, now can we?”

Eddie shifted his gaze from the bulky folder failing to stay pinched closed, to your face. Fawning, he arched into an overly apologetic expression to match your performance, and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Did I forget to do that? Silly me.”

“Better not let it happen again, Mr. Munson,” you warned, placing it on the table and leaving.

“Never, never,” he promised.

Back at your desk, you sat in your chair, calm and poised. And approximately two seconds later, you kicked off the floor into a fierce spin, dizzying the lobby around you. The place was a blur, your stomach swirled, and still, your goofy grin refused to wane. But, you did stop eventually. The antics had to come to an end. You did have work to do, afterall.. Which you ignored when you heard him rip into the foil wrapper in the other room, and you couldn’t possibly concentrate on calling a warehouse to check on an order of headlights when your ears were tuned to the flimsy chair scraping across the tile, and his heavy work boots stomping down the hall.

“Filled out those forms for ya, sweetness,” Eddie said with a wink.

There was a weight to the manila folder when he dropped it on your desk, and tapped twice on his way out to the garage. Not a physical weight, but a gravity that wasn’t there before, now concentrated in his keen eye contact. An invisible significance.

The relationship had changed, just then, in the trade off of boring invoices.

Opening the folder, the index card was deemed more important than the paperwork. Your gaze stalled on the thick circles around YES, and NO. Yes, you’d go on a date with him, and no, it wasn’t because of your policy. Below them, your thick handwriting flowed together.

what did you have in mind?

I RETURNED THOSE KIDS MOVIES FOR YOU.

  YOU CAN THANK ME FOR SAVING YOU

    THE LATE FEE BY WATCHING SOME

       HORROR WITH ME AT MY PLACE

PICK YOU UP SATURDAY AT 6?

Fighting back another sickeningly stupid willowy sigh at his charm, you wrote a lovesick reply.

In usual Eddie fashion, he left the very last box on the second form blank, so you had to go out to the service area, and address the mechanic bent over a car engine. Not that you were complaining. The back of his coveralls hugged the slight curve of his ass, and his hair was not only pulled into a low bun at his nape, but he wore a bandana tied to keep his bangs off his forehead.

“Hey there handsome, couldn’t help but notice you left the date box on this form blank again.”

“Oh, did I, pretty girl?” He spun, and rolled his eyes to mock himself. Wiping the grease from his hands on his coveralls, he took your pen. “It’s my old age, y’know. Things always slippin’ my mind.” Mumbling to himself, he pressed his palm to the back of the folder, and sketched out a sentence into the page longer than a few numbers warranted. During the arduous process, he looked at you with sorrow, and complained, “These dates are just so tedious to write out, it may just take me all night to complete.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction of a smirk at his (possible) insinuation.

All night? He wished.

Eddie surrendered the folder and pen, and smiled at you, stretching the streak of soot on his chin and cheek. “There you go. All filled out. Not a ‘T’ uncrossed, nor an ‘I’ left undotted.”

“Thank you,” you over-enunciated as a goodbye.

The very second the glass door came to a slow close behind you, you sat at your desk with the folder, and threw a subtle glance out the window to the garage to make sure Eddie wasn’t watching you lose your mind over two short words exchanged in quick succession.

sounds perfect :)

YOURE PERFECT =)

For the second time since you moved to Hawkins, you had a date. And judging by Eddie’s sway from foot to foot with his hands laced behind his neck and his head hung back, listening to the traffic outside echo off the cement walls, he was thrilled for his second date, too. He dropped into a steady bob at music that wasn’t playing. A too-large grin teased at his mouth as he paced to the motor he was repairing, and bent over it. His boyish excitement spilled like an overpoured mug of coffee into his unabashed giggle, and glance in your direction.

Eyes locked, he didn’t steal your breath. You gave it to him willingly.

————

Saturday’s setting sun was just another audience member to your date night routine. Robin and her mom leaned in the doorway of the bathroom the entire time you were shaving, and due to the opacity of the shower curtain, you were unable to convey your glare to the degree it deserved.

“Well, why doesn’t she wear this instead?”

There was a shock of laughter mixed with Robin’s scoff. “Mom, if she wore that Eddie would pass out on the spot. What if he hit his head, and they had to call an ambulance? You know she can’t drive him to the hospital. No, this bra still gives sex appeal without causing an injury. And besides, calling 9-1-1 would put a damper on them—”

“Rob,” you groaned.

“—spending a wonderful evening together,” she finished.

The thunk of a walking cane neared, and her dad’s hoarse voice sounded from down the hallway, “My! The rowdy Munson boy is getting lucky tonight, is he?” he proposed in a faux British accent after watching BBC nature documentaries all day. “Do you think he’d have dinner with us tomorrow? We haven’t seen him since Robin threw that New Year’s party years ago, and almost set the roof on fire.”

Oh dear God get me out of here.

Once you were finished with your shower, freshly scrubbed and smelling nice, you humored them by wearing the outfit they picked out. It was pretty much what you would’ve worn anyway. A short black skirt made modest by nylon tights to stave off the chill from Eddie’s trailer, and an oversized crocheted cream cardigan with tiny pink flowers, the hem of which hit you at your waist, showing a tempting preview of your stomach when you raised your arms to fix your hair. The pale lavender bra (the reason for their debate), was covered by the aforementioned sweater, and you weren’t sure if the sheerness of the lace mattered much when Eddie’s daughter may be present, or in the next room over. It didn’t occur to you to ask if he’d have Adrie with him, so, such is life. The bra may stay a secret despite their efforts to doll you up. But the sudden realization he may see you in it tonight clenched your stomach with excitement..

The clock struck 5:55, and an ominous roll of thunder put everyone on edge. It electrified nerves, and stood hair on end, setting forth premonitions of bad weather and foul fortune. Doom, it was; and it came, and came, neverending. Except.. It wasn’t thunder. It was Eddie Munson’s brutal music.

His little black car came flying down the road, and swung into the driveway, screeching to a halt heralded by flung rocks spat by his tires, and a flock of songbirds splitting the sky.

And yet?

Charm bowed before Eddie’s easy strut. Pebbles dodged his stride. Clouds of hellish dust evaded the shine on his laced up boots. His tight jeans flaunted the subtle flex of his thighs, and his belt sloped on his narrow hips with each uneven stride, daring the world to stare at the extra length of stiff leather flopping outside the confines of the belt loops, attracting all the attention he desired to the places he wanted.

You were still in the living room struggling with the buckle on your Mary Janes when the intense, raw screams of his heavy metal music stopped, and the muffled guitars faded away. He showed up, shockingly, on time, and you shot out the door before the heavy slants of sun breaching the leafless trees could beat down on his trademark jacket rattling with dainty chains.

“Hey there, sweetness.”

“Hey!” you blurted in a huff, racing down the steps. Flustered by his punctuality, you made the first move of the night by snatching his hand and dragging him away.

Slighted by your absence of drooling over how cool he looked, Eddie grunted in objection, but let himself be steered away. He glanced over his shoulder at the three faces peering at him from the window, and spared them a tentative wave. They were nosy, but not in the unkind way he was used to, and for that, he was thankful.

You apologized at a hurried pace, “Sorry, but if you step foot on the porch, they’re gonna ask you a bazillion questions, and never let us leave.”

“Ah,” he said, short of a laugh, “but let me get the door for you. Wanna impress them.”

“Impress them?” Dregs of sleepy sunlight highlighted the twist of your lips. “You come in here like a bat outta hell, blaring your music loud enough that I’m surprised you’re not hard of hearing, and you’re worried about impressing Bobbie’s parents?”

Refusing to let your fingers slip from his when he felt your grip go weak, he tightened his hold, and opened the car door with his other hand, sidestepping awkwardly to avoid the wide swing, towing you around him.

“Is that so strange?”

“It’s a little strange.”

“Good.” He established the bond of your palm cupped to his until you sank into the red plush passenger’s seat. At the groan of the hinges, and a hard slap on the metal, he finished, “I like being strange—” Punctuated by the door slamming shut. His cackle was far away. Shrieking silence filled your ears, interrupted by your elevated pulse pounding in your chest, and the tink of a pebble pinging the bumper when one was unfortunate enough to come into contact with his boot as he strode around the front of the car with his hands in his back pockets, stretching his shirt over the curve of his stomach.

What a lovely thing he was, truly. To lord the power of sheer captivation over you, and still ground you with a humble gaze and tender smile through a windshield flecked with dirt, as if stealing one of your five senses was a normal feat and returning it to you wasn’t an act of benevolence.

He folded himself into the seat beside you and staggered his legs until he could relax fully into the position, and turned the key in the ignition. His music took residence in the sense he stole. You tensed in anticipation, but it wasn’t offensive. The previous song was ending, and with you being boxed in with the speakers bullying your ears from every angle, you heard the animalistic screams as something more haunting, more beautiful. They were organic. Emotional. Conveying a longing which flowed into the next track; a restrained piece laced with sweltering lines, where each croaky utterance heated your cheeks fiercer and fiercer. Carnal of a different nature.

Intentionally avoiding eye contact with Eddie, you twisted enough to see the carseat behind you was empty. “No Adrie?” you asked to confirm a suspicion.

“She was invited to a sleepover for one of her friend’s birthday parties tonight,” he said.

You reeled at the information, but not for the reason you assumed. “Wait, what? There’re people out there willing to have a hoard of five-year-olds running around their house? Like, with the screaming and everything?”

“Crazy, right? Some people still have their sanity, I guess.” He stamped the gas and clutch, revving the engine with an amused answer poised on his plump lips. “Or enough downers to get them through the night.”

The guitars increased in ferocity, drowning out his wistful reminiscing on such substances helping him through the day, pre-Adrie.

It was then you noticed an interesting detail about his compact car you didn’t fully appreciate last time you were in it: there was no center console. You didn’t need to check. The lack of separation was confirmed by the heat radiating from his heavy palm draped over the gear shift, and the blunt edge of his nails skimming your tights when he clicked the stick into a lower slot, dragging it along your leg. The armrests were raised, and they too touched at the base. It was no surprise when his long hair swept your clothed shoulder as he twisted around to look out the back window and put the car in reverse, avoiding the Buckley’s dented mailbox, and lurching you against the seatbelt.

The lyrics peaked in sultry aggression.

So, no Adrie. “Am I meeting your uncle, then?” Oh, how your question was thin against the strong note the singer held. His wavering timbre penetrated you in waves, releasing a ripple of tingles from head to toe. Creating a change in the tension existing between you and Eddie when he answered in a deeper register.

“No, he’s uh, he’s gone for the weekend,” he said, drumming his rings on the steering wheel, squeezing his fingers over the gear stick to shift it into drive. “Out playing poker with his friends. So, uh, it’s just you and me. S’that cool?”

So, no Adrie, and no uncle.

“Yeah—Yeah, that’s cool,” you replied. Whereas his voice went lower, yours went higher at the acknowledgement. Fainter, wispier. Fluttery with the nerves in your stomach. Restless like butterfly wings beating on gusts at the explicit implication matching the subject matter pumping through the speakers.

Tonight was your first real date with Eddie, in his trailer, alone.

Soon, the dense thicket of rural Hawkins was replaced by houses and population; gone were the fields of deer, and approaching in a blur were stout brick buildings, and stop lights swinging in the slight breeze.

He slowed at the intersection where Family Video’s neon sign struck red over the black pavement, and stopped. Eddie, being an opportunist, saw the boring wait for the light to turn green as fortuitous. It granted him the ability to gaze upon you as he wished, ready to take you in after your rushed greeting. You had robbed him of the movie-esque scene where he’d walk up to your door, knock three times, greet you with a stunning grin and compliment you until you were giggling and swooning in his arms. It was only fair he drank you in now, in the low liquid blue of the early night.

Beyond bewitched, he didn't register how methodically he traced his eyes over your body; devouring details the generous neckline of your cardigan allowed him, reaching the narrow channel of shadow where your bra assisted your chest, and the small gaps the tiny pink flowers woven into the yarn created in the chain loops, gifting him a charitable preview of the delicate lavender beneath. Appreciating how below that, your skirt wrapped your legs snugger than his arms had ever been privileged, and your tights graced skin he’d never felt. Perhaps he even lingered on the strap of your Mary Janes draped around your ankle, wondering if he’d be lucky enough to circle his fingers there one day, too.

Flattery raced your heart. You’d never been the subject of someone’s study to this degree, as if you were artwork to be admired. Not from any of the dates you’d been on, anyway. Not in a meaningful way, consumed wholly by someone you considered a close friend. And not while a man sang about vulgar acts in a gorgeous way.

Eddie remembered to breathe when green flashed in his periphery, and his gaze evened the playing field when he caught you dedicating entire prayers to the indecent crease at his hip and inner thigh where he rested his large palm.

“Baby, you’re beautiful,” he exhaled.

Not you look beautiful. You are beautiful.

Meeting him head-on, you smiled. “I don’t have the lexicon to describe you.” His expression faltered to a confused pinch between his brows, and you reassured him, “Handsome isn’t good enough anymore. Never was. No words are. They need to invent new ones.”

Leaning in, he scrunched his nose, and teased, “You can just call me hot.” Which would’ve been a decent line; imposing himself so near his words caressed the gloss on your lips, and finishing the hard plosive—Hot—with the bite of his charismatic wolfish grin. But the aggravated honks killed the mood.

Two cars behind him laid on their horns, and he was startled into the reality of holding up traffic. You openly laughed at his change in demeanor, at how he scrambled to get the car going before they got angry again, all flustered and stomping too hard on the gas, sending you both slamming backwards in your seats.

“Yeah, real hot stuff you got goin’ on,” you teased in return.

He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he checked the rearview mirror, speeding to put distance between him and the other cars. Dangerously, he slid his gaze to you once more, prioritizing you over the road. “Are you really gonna deny I'm the hottest guy you’ve ever met? Even with all your city boys, actors, and freaks who’ve been on bigger stages than me? Guys who took you to fancy sit-down restaurants in a suit and tie? Men who drone on about finances because they chose a viable career not covered in grease? Are they really hotter than me?”

His tone was flat, and his face neutral, cracking a cavern of curiosity wide within you.

Your instinct was to treat the insecurity as genuine, but the moment you opened your mouth to restore his confidence, he smirked.

“Just kidding, baby,” he broke the act. “I know I’m the favorite.”

Glowing with confidence, he took his hand off the gear shift to jab at your ribs, but he underestimated how thick the crochet was. Instead of tickling you, it was more of a soothing stroke along your side. And he didn’t stop. He kept up the intimate gesture, brushing the fabric with his curled index finger three times. Giggling, himself, at nothing other than his own thoughts.

Gone was the swell of empathy clogging your throat. “My favorite idiot,” you corrected in an exasperated mumble, yet leaning into the shy affection.

The cassette played static, then began a new song. Angsty still, but not quite as on the nose as the last. This, along with another dig at each other, eased the pressure preventing you two from relaxing into the evening. The awareness revealing itself in nervous glances and dry swallows digressed into your normal dynamic as friends with the benefit of flirty innocence without the stress of expectations. Those motives could stay locked between your clenched thighs, and aching against his jean’s zipper. Tonight was the first foray into real time together, and if you watched movies and it ended there with no moves made, or romantic elements explored, then so be it. There wouldn't be any unnecessary impatience, or snap decisions made to cross those final platonic boundaries if one of you chickened out. This date would be perfect, regardless.

Right?

You could endure another day of him acting confident in front of others, only for him to buckle under the pressure and pussy out before kissing you, right?

..Right?

Whatever. The night was young, and oh, how Eddie’s giddiness for spending time with you emerged. The instant he arrived at the trailer, he jammed his thumb into the seat belt latch and commanded you to stay put. Naturally, this didn’t go without a snort from you, but it escalated to true laughter when he stumbled out of the car, and sprinted around the front in a flustered jangle of chains beating on jeans, only to play it off as cool once he reached your side and opened your door for you. “You’re silly,” you commented. His chest rose with a panting breath, and his lips jumped into a playful smirk at his own oddities. He stepped back, and swept his arm in a classic bow.

The friction burn from the seat belt slipping through your grip was balmed by the chilled leather beneath your fingers when he offered his elbow to you. You set your heeled shoes on the uneven ground, and wobbled on the deep tire tracks scoring the dried mud, and again, he was twisting this way and that, trying to figure out the best gentlemanly way to help you balance. Not that his brave palm on the small of your back wasn’t warranted in the treacherous battle of shadows in the underripe evening, but even you couldn’t stop your snicker when he, too, met you with a side-ways glance.

“Nervous?” you asked, bringing attention to the situation for what it was.

“Me? Nervous?” He arched his eyebrows up, then brought them into a swift furrow. “Nah, never. I’m just making sure my girl doesn’t twist her ankle before I get to cook for her on our second date,” he ended with a suggestive tone, canting his head to yours. Foreheads near.

Ah, the buzzing of springtime bees was trembling your fingers again, gripping him when the hive in your stomach fed honey to your hungry heart, pumping, pumping a sugar rush.

Acknowledgements. His girl. Cooking. Second date.

He was sweet. And you were trapped in the sticky nectar thrumming in your veins. It was a futile effort, after all, to convince yourself you two could act as normal friends do around each other. Truly, you lost that war when you inclined your head to his, and divulged in the same grin he wore.

“Cook for me?” you repeated in a voice of ambrosia, which he partook.

“Mhmm,” he hummed amongst the drone of television programs filtered through bug screened windows. “I wanna watch movies with you, cook you somethin’ nice, and remind you that I’m not the guy I was at the movie theater—” He flinched at the last part, accepting your weak slap to his chest. Pleased with himself for finally swooning you, he trained his gaze on your giggly sway, and squinched his eyes with mirth.

“Eddie, I’m well aware you’re not that guy.”

“Oh?” he lilted. “But aren’t I? Still got the outdated haircut, stick in the mud attitude, and leather jacket.”

You slipped a finger beneath the jacket, and poked at the macabre skull on his tee. “Got a different shirt, though. Last time you were wearing a rattlesnake, now it’s..?”

“Metallica,” he finished. A softer expression deepend his dimple. There may have been a particular meaning behind it you were missing, but he didn’t share. “Good memory, but may I also bring to your attention that it’s fucking freezing out here?”

Overcome by a shiver, you retracted your prodding, and he removed his hand from your lower back. The warmth was sorely missed. You agreed, it was fucking freezing and pantyhose were not a replacement for snow pants.

Eddie jostled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door for you to enter first, trailing behind you with a welcome to his humble abode, as if you hadn’t been there several times before. But you supposed the circumstances were different when he showed you in, and a certain coziness defrosted your cheeks. The trailer was lit by a singular lamp in the living room and the nightlight from the bathroom. An electric radiator generated heat near the armrest where his pillow stayed, and at the other end of the couch was a messy pile of blankets in varying textures and thickness. A stack of three VHSes sat on the coffee table near a collection of never-used cork coasters. In the kitchen, a spread of groceries occupied the counter, along with a page from a magazine, but Eddie stole your attention before you could puzzle together the ingredients he laid out.

“So, which one do you wanna start with first?” Eddie asked, drawing your gaze to the VHSes fanned in his palms, fingers stretched wide to contain the movies.

Subtly, he wiggled the one on the end. The green HORROR sticker on the cover appeared new; unblemished, without creases or dirt. You recognized the drippy blood stylized title as the same one printed in the local newspaper warning mothers of its gore and perversions. Less subtly, he darted his eyes to it, and made encouraging noises while presenting it closer to you. It's not like you cared what order you watched his surprise selection in, so you went with the new release he was most eager for, as opposed to the other schlocky B movies.

“Sweet!”

Adorably, he told you to make yourself at home, and you both found yourselves bumping into each other in the entryway. You bent to unbuckle your shoes, and he shrugged off his jacket. Maybe you swung your knee into his shin, and he flopped the leather sleeve atop your head in retaliation. And when you stood, he jabbed his elbow into your arm before kneeling to untie his boots, and you picked a long, curly auburn hair off your sweater, holding it out and away from you as if it were revolting. “Is this what it’s like living with you?” you asked with an excessive amount of mock disgust.

“‘Fraid so,” he consoled, looking up at you as he worked the knot out of his laces. “At least—until I go bald.”

You tilted your head as you tried to picture him without his wild haircut, and after some consideration (and curious fingers kept laced tight to discipline yourself from running them through his curls to test the tamability of such rowdy layers cut without rhyme or reason), you concluded, “I think you’d still be the most attractive person I’ve ever met.”

His expression widened at your honesty. Pushing himself upright, he rocked side to side as he toed off his boots, and stepped beyond them, narrowing the distance between his ego and your lifted eyebrow. “Most attractive? Yeah?”

Before his head swelled to hot air balloon status from a compliment he pried out of you, you stopped him.

“Bald or not, you’re still Eddie,” you expressed. “And that’s what I like about you the most; your Eddieness. Regardless of your hair, you’re still that guy that’s willing to trip over his own feet so he can open a door for me.. and cook for me, apparently.”

You drove your gaze to the ingredients on the counter, but he distracted you from venturing into that part of the date.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked. “Movie first, then dinner. I’ve been wanting to see this one, so make yourself comfortable. Get some blankets too, I know the radiator sucks.” The warmth it gave off rarely brought circulation to his toes when he was sleeping, much less kept him from shivering on the windy nights. “Lemme get us something to drink, and I’ll put on the movie.” He chose to fill two bright red plastic glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. They were the type of textured cup one would find at a pizzeria, and he set them directly on the wood, because why bother with coasters when most of the varnish had been worn away over the years.

Water itself shouldn’t be a surprise, but the fact he chose it over beer stood out.

Interesting. You made yourself snuggly as instructed, and sat in the middle of the couch where two cushions met. Amongst the pile, you picked the thick blue and white striped comforter, and draped it over your not-quite-numb legs. He crouched in front of the TV, and popped open the VHS case, brushing his calluses over the frosted plastic cover, and shut the case with a satisfying snap. Lining the movie up with the VCR slot, he pushed on the flap, and it was accepted into the mouth of the machine—kuh-chunk, slide, whirring reels, a fuzzy high-pitched noise—staticy snow played, then the first commercial started, flickering a woman’s face mid-scream across the screen.

Eddie turned off the lamp, and in the sudden darkness, he slid his socked feet in timid steps across the carpet to avoid a pinky toe colliding with the coffee table, and he fell into place next to you.

The cushions sank with your combined weight. The seams separating you clashed. Hip, thigh, shoulder. Layers of clothing blazed from the heat of his proximity, setting fire to your cheeks. You weren’t touching, not really, not yet, and you both stared at each other with lips slightly parted.

Your voice went unnaturally airy as you offered him the blanket, “Want some?”

And his voice was lost to the sensation of his bare arm making contact with your sweater.

He nodded.

Predictable for the genre, the next commercial advertised a pair of tits before the camera cut away, and the woman was assumed to be brutally stabbed by a masked serial killer.

He shifted. You shifted.

The comforter slid across your lap. He stole the warm pocket of air you were generating for yourself, and replaced it with the cold half of the blanket. It may have been an innocent movement, but him yanking it caused you to press against him more than you already were. His arm went rigid with tensed muscles the further you sloped into the crevice where the cushions met, stiffening against your soft body like a brick wall you had no choice but to lean on. You tried to help the situation by breaking the silence between the next commercial.

“Do you want to know another Eddieness I find endearing?”

During the first part of your sentence he didn’t react. He watched the TV; jaw tight but not clenched; it was only on the last word did he turn his head, and set those big eyes of his on you.

You went ahead and answered, “It’s how shy you are.”

The hint of a deeper emotion eased from his gaze when he closed his eyes in a slow blink, and raised his brows, processing what you said. “’M not shy.” His smile grew at that, stretching half his mouth in shadow, making his nose appear larger, rounder.

“And awkward.”

“I’m not awkward,” he complained, tone soft and playful.

Lit by the soft grain of the movie starting on a scene of a young boy running inside pitch-black house, Eddie’s eyelashes clung to the remnants of light, curling longer, and longer. His lips lifted at the corners, testing a sneakier grin at the idea of you finding him both shy, and awkward. Words he hadn’t heard in years. Descriptors he would’ve called himself when he was still in high school and dipping his toe in the dating pool, but not since then. Not since he dabbled in liquid courage at parties and gained some experience from the confidence alcohol afforded him.. and lost when he discovered the consequences of acting impulsively, and his casual assuredness was ripped from him when his daughter was born.

Or, yeah, maybe he was always shy and awkward as you presumed, he just didn’t care about people’s opinions when he wasn’t invested in starting a future with them. Which was fine by him, you could call him dorky if you wanted, because here he was in the midst of a boyish rush of adrenaline when the lack of stressful music coming from the TV became ominous, and the excitement of his plan working vibrated in his chest.

“Oh! And you’re—” Whatever adjective you were about to use was bitten short.

Paying more attention to him than the movie, you missed the build up of the masked killer’s reflection in a mirror, and were caught off guard by the boy’s sudden blood curdling scream trilling above the heart-racing violin screeches. It wasn’t even a good jumpscare—totally predictable—but you still jolted from it.

Eddie lurched into a devious smirk. “Movie getcha, pretty girl?”

It was your turn to be defensive. You pouted, “No. It just surprised me, is all.”

“Aw, come on,” he implored in a gravelly urge. Under the thinning comforter, between the mountains of compacted cotton from overwashing it, there was movement, and the unmistakable contact of the back of his hand on your nylon tights. He bumped you once. “Here, if it’s that scary, you can hold my hand, okay?”

As snarky as his teeth glinted, as teasing as his words were, both of your chests rose with a mutual suspended breath.

This was the line. The barrier. The emotional boundaries were dust, only the physical ones remained. He invited you over them as gingerly as a grown adult man could when on his first true date in years, and the fresh fear of making a move on his crush spiked his rejective-sensitive nerves.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you exhaled. Holding his gaze with the same fondness which existed in your heart, you found the edge of his hand after some sightless venturing. At the graze of skin on skin, you dropped your head to the side, and appealed to him, “It’s so scary.” Across the room, the TV played a calm, serene daytime scene with birds chirping in the background. “So terribly scary,” you repeated, facetiously pitiful. “There’s no way I’ll get through to the end all on my lonesome.”

But rather than hold hands perfectly between the both of you like the pious churchgoing teenagers you’d felt yourselves become, you went in for the kill.

Drawing back, you wedged your fingers between his arm and his ribs, and after a beat, he understood and lifted his elbow. You snaked your hand along his forearm, and down to his awaiting palm. His jeans were rough; his palm was too, torn asunder by his trade to ensure a roof over his and his family’s head, but the spaces between were softer. Love gentled the joints digging into your bones. Your fingers had to stretch to accommodate him, and the wintery dryness pulled at your unlotioned knuckles, but the twinge was forgotten when you focused on your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand.

You dragged your attention away from the entanglement of your selves finding a missing half under the blanket, and searched his face. His eyes flicked from the same knot stirring under the comforter, and the wrinkles in his expression flourished. He thinned his lips into a tight smile. His cheeks were never that full, but there was a roundness there you’d give anything to discover by touch. You’d been closer to him before, like in the kitchen when you counted his freckles after your painfully geeky dagger innuendo, but if you leaned in any further, your vision would blur.

An obvious awkwardness dwelled in the intimacy of your entwined arms, and tensed bodies.

“So, so scary,” you promised during the exposition dialogue taking place on a sunny morning between the characters eating cornflakes at a large dining table. “I’ll probably have to cling onto you the entire time with my eyes shut.”

His voice cracked high pitched, “Yeah?” Feathery soft, on the verge of disappearing altogether. “Guess I’ll have to be the brave one, then.”

“So very brave,” you said, sweet as sugar.

He snorted whereas you giggled, converging with heads together, and a laugh shared, hands held so very bravely. A breakthrough. One second at a time, you melded into his shadows, as you belonged. You angled yourself toward him and tucked your legs onto the couch, freely huddling your knees against his thigh. Your joined hands were nudged onto his leg more, and the clasp became sticky from perspiration. That was okay. There was a thrill in being the reason each other sweated. He curled in his fingers harder, nesting them between the peaks of your knuckles, and you returned the honor by hooking your fingers between his, lightly squeezing him back. One second at a time, he sought your sunshine, as he belonged. He made sure the pressure of his arm and elbow boxing yours in against his side wasn’t painful, slouching a bit so the top of his leather belt wasn’t digging into your forearm. He was thoughtful that way. Concerned for you and your comfort. Didn’t matter if his lower back would be killing him by the end of the first movie, you were wrapping your free hand around his bicep and rubbing your thumb under the short sleeve of his shirt, back and forth. Back and forth. Then, you were resting the side of your head on his shoulder.

He heard you—felt you—inhale deep. Why? Was it to fill your lungs with the scent of his deodorant, the cheap cologne he spritzed at his chest, the drip of Old Spice aftershave on his shirt collar? Was any of that better than oxygen?

Curious, he tilted his head as if something in the movie had him stumped, and he put his nose to the top of your hair, and took a small breath.

A different shampoo than usual hit him first, but below that, clinging to your clothes, was the smell of Robin’s home. He was struck with the thought of what his home smelled like. Was it good? Bad? Could, over time, over months, over difficult questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, could maybe by the end of summer your two homes combine to make one unique scent?

That would be the dream. And a dream, it may remain. But what a lovely reality it would be; you staying, and your scents mixing to create a new one.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t predict the fake-out jumpscare of a murder of crows taking flight after an eerie bout of silence, and he was the one to flinch.

“Aw, movie too scary for ya, big guy?” you cooed.

Eddie sealed his lips in a frown, and tucked his chin to create the maximum amount of wrinkles when he looked down at you. “Maybe a little. Good thing I have you here with me, though. Right?”

You nodded most ardently, squishing your cheek over his scorpion tattoo—just another place on his body you made your home—and grinned up at him.

“Of course, babe.” You called him babe. He smiled so fucking hard. “I’m here if you ever need me to hold your hand.”

You squeezed.

He squeezed back.

Scenes went by on the tiny TV across the room beyond the condensation pebbling on the plastic cups threatening to fall on the coffee table where Adrie’s box of crayons spilt into her coloring book. A story unfolded in the flash of blade, a clatter of piano keys, and a quiet neighborhood who knew no better. The movie played, but neither of you paid attention.

Your gaze was keen to the way his lips stayed parted after he licked them. His gaze was invested in your expression, how you viewed him with such kindness he was seldom shown. A tenderness he was rarely given. He tried to show you the same sincerity, but your eyes were fixated on his mouth.

Self-conscious, he asked, “Is there something on my—?” He rubbed the back of his wrist over lips.

You answered him with a belittling pat on his chest. “No, big guy. You’re good.”

Your tone didn’t sound ‘good,’ but you pulled the blanket up to your chin, and laid your head on his shoulder again, wrapping your other hand around his bicep until your fingers were stuffed between his arm and side. He interpreted your change in mood as a signal the conversation was over, and put his eyes on the movie. Though, his brain was busy toiling over why you were staring at him, and wondering if the pats on his chest were still echoing beneath your ear, or if it was simply his heart threatening to strangle him from the angst of not understanding if he did something wrong already.

At least he was holding your hand like a real boyfriend would. That had to count for something.. Right?

~~~

The credits rolled, and neither of you moved until you pointed out a name scrolling by, and a laugh so akin to a man being punched in the gut wheezed out of him, it caused you to erupt into your own embarrassing goose honk laugh, causing you to both double over in a fit.

Somehow, his nose was nuzzled to your hair. His inhale was cool on your scalp, and his words were a humid huff. “Bart Horsedick,” he said, “Whatta name.”

“You should name a character after him in DND.”

“Mm! You know what? I will. He’ll be a local legend with all the ladies, and tries to charm his way into the party by constantly making passes at the girls. Erica will kill him for sure.”

With a groan and a wince, he sat up straighter, and you lifted your head off his shoulder, making similar complaints about your neck. It was tough work being brave during the scary parts for each other, regardless if neither of you were paying enough attention to care about the reveals.

He asked, “How’d you like the movie? Even that last scene kinda got me.”

“Yeah, it was good,” you answered in the same tone, searching for anything to say that wasn’t, If you don’t kiss I’m going to fucking scream. “I wasn’t expecting the second killer to be the news reporter. That was kinda cool. And that final death was super gory, with the guts ‘nd all, but uh, I’m starving, and ready for something campy.”

Heeding his lady’s request, Eddie dashed around the room, turning on a few of the eclectic lamps, and jabbed the backwards arrow button on the VCR until the movie was playing in reverse at a hilarious speed. “Be kind, rewind, y’know.” Once it clicked, he took the tape out, and put the next one in.

You followed him into the kitchen where the groceries were laid out on the counter. Some were things he already had, like the half-empty bottle of olive oil, and two government supplied cans of vegetable stock, but from the fridge he added an unopened tub of butter, a container of mushrooms, and a wedge of parmesan cheese. He put them beside the onion, fresh sprigs of parsley, and special bag of rice. Ingredients he bought specifically for a meal he didn’t know how to make, but knew it was impressive, and wanted to try cooking it for you.

You picked up the magazine clipping and raised your eyebrows at the recipe.

He fidgeted, spinning his rings. His voice was hesitant; falling back on self-deprecating humor as a crutch, “I know you’ve probably been to France, or, uhh, Italy or whatever,” he guessed, “and’ve learned from experts on how to make it perfectly, but I thought maybe I’d give it an attempt and hope it turns out edible. Just forgive my shit knife skills, and if I pour too much broth, or don’t stir it the exact number of rotations, or some pretentious bullshit like that,” he finished, gaze solidly on the floor, toeing at a scuff on the vinyl to occupy himself. “‘M not exactly a chef outside a can of Boyardee, so..”

Some of his mumbling was lost on you as you read the bottom of the page. Narrowing your eyes at the title printed beside a number in the corner, you put your fist on your hip. “Edward Munson.” He snapped out his worrying at the use of his full name. “Did you rip this out of one of my lobby magazines at work?”

He rolled his lips inward to curb his grin. “No, no, of course not, dear,” he promised, finding it the most opportune moment to turn away, and organize the ingredients in no practical order.

“I swear if I go to work Monday and find Better Homes and Gardens missing page 57—”

“Okay, okay—I’ll tape it back in, but give me some credit, will ya? I didn’t rip it out like some animal.. I cut it out neatly with scissors.” He eyed your harmless smirk, and plucked the mushroom risotto recipe from between your fingers. “Now, if you’d like to get out of my hair, you may,” he said, gesturing at the TV with a knife. “Skedaddle. Go watch the movie.”

“You don’t want me to help? Or at least to keep you company?”

It wasn’t often he was tripped up on what to say, so when his mouth hinged on a mute excuse to get you to leave, you registered what he was going on about earlier, and shook your head.

“Wait, Eddie, I worked in kitchens prepping vegetables when the cooks were too drunk to come in on time because they went home with some random woman from a bar, and were too hungover to know what day it was. That’s why I’m like, okay-ish with a knife. You don’t really think I’d judge you for how you chop an onion, do you?”

A few words were stammered. You shushed him from bothering.

If his confidence had trouble surfacing when everything was out in the open and not hidden under a blanket, then you’d give him another nudge; a single stroke of your knuckle along the monster tattooed on his tricep. The muscle reacted to you, flexing the wyvern’s clawed feet. You did it again. And again. Pinching his sleeve and tugging at it, doing all the cutesy, flirty things you’d learned over the years, including dropping your gaze to his pretty pink lips. Employing your best strategies, you laid it on thick; swaying your hips, and bringing in your arms to frame your chest. “You could heat me up a can of Chef Boyardee, and it’d be the best meal I’ve ever had, as long as I got to share it with you.”

Shy, shy, shy. He brought his shoulder up and ducked his face from your view, giggling at your heavy adulation. “You don’t have to flatter me like that,” he mumbled, sounding not unlike he was wrapped in a ball of lovesick yarn. Overly smitten, ooey gooey with the warm fuzzies in his chest. So very, very adorable, sneaking a glance at you with an unbelieve amount of precious crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

How sweet.

It’d be sweeter if he could take the hint and share those kinds of things with you, but you could be patient and wait until he was ready. Again..

Just.. keep making everything so obvious for him, and try to ignore the sting of rejection when the guy you’ve liked for months finally invites you over for a date, and still won’t kiss you.

At least you were saved from the worst of your downward spiral by the bad B movie and its body melting scene.

“Ooh!” Eddie pushed the cutting board away. “That effect was really cool!”

Since he was already making his way to the TV, you trailed at his heels, and crouched beside him, sinking to your knees while he pressed the rewind button, and clicked Stop/Play twice. The lead up to the moment played again. You sat in anticipation, wholly aware you’d just watched this interaction between the college girls putting their best effort into delivering their lines, only for them to fall flat when their acting was off the charts horrendous. Eddie regarded them with the same sort of awkwardness, rotating his hand in hurried circles until one of them got obliterated into a goopy pile of human remains, and you began to dissect the undulating puddle of sludge.

“How do you think they made that one?” he whispered, mesmerized. “The way it pulses like that?”

“I think it’s from a balloon inflating beneath it. Watch the way the flesh cracks, and the blood oozes out. I think it’s something like that pushing it up from under.”

He hummed, and rewound the tape a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, tapping his finger on the thick curved glass. “And look at that bone. It actually looks like a charred, brittle skeleton instead of those cheap femurs everyone gets at the party store for Halloween.” You also agreed with him in a hum. The extra touches of effort were impressive for a low budget film like this.

The movie continued inches from your eyes. You rested on your calves, flattening the plush carpet under your shins. The harsh fibers were dulled by your pantyhose, and if this was a spot Eddie had to scrub clean after Adrie spilled juice, you weren’t aware of the stain; you were only aware of the hair-raising sensation of being watched.

You directed your attention to Eddie’s pointed stare on the side of your face, about to ask if there was a reason behind his adamant inspection when—

He dropped his gaze to your lips.

Sparks ignited behind your ribcage. Hopefulness latched onto each long second wherein he resisted flicking his eyes back to the screen. Each passing breath a choice to follow the gentle curve of your mouth, and stay there to revel in the simple pleasure of studying the unspoken language evolving between you two, sinking into his own warm grin for you to decipher. He was still crouching on the balls of his feet, and you had to wonder if he leaned over to kiss you now, would he lose his balance and cause you both to fall to the floor? Would he catch the back of your head in his palm to soften the crash? Would his hips fit perfectly between your legs? Would his jeans drag along your inner thighs? Would he whimper when you held him? Would he grind down on you at the first sign of reciprocation? Would he already be hard?

Your thigh muscles ached at the racing thoughts, clenched so tight in response to the needy throb between them.

Was the unspoken language shouting now?

Eddie’s throat bobbed on a stuttered exhale; his chest shook at fractions of his inhale, as if he was experiencing the same tightness there from the rosy desire blooming so greatly, struggling to cope with the oxygen in his lungs when there were far sweeter things they’d rather be filled with. “I—” He stopped. “I read a review on the back of the box that said this movie was scary too,” he informed you in whisper, right when a godawful green alien appeared and shot the worst CGI laser you’d ever seen from your peripheral vision. “Better hang out with me in the kitchen, where we can keep each other safe.”

You urged your yearning away from his mouth to the neon colors of a spaceship glancing off his cheeks, to his large nose, to the tips of his bangs skimming his eyebrows, to the bags under his eyes, and finally, you caught the last moments of him roaming your features with utmost care before your gazes locked.

The floor beneath him creaked.

Briefly, you considered closing your eyes.

The carpet flattened in a muffled rustle.

Briefly, you considered uttering his name.

The dry air in the room vanished with his humid huff coasting over your forehead.

Briefly, you considered begging him when he pushed off his knees, stumbled slightly towards you, and stood, offering you a helping hand.

He said, “Gotta make this dinner for you before I starve, sweetness.”

Kissless, you fought against your inner bitterness, and accepted his fingers. To hide your wilting resilience, you put a swing of vigor in your voice, and happiness on your face. “Yeah, watching hot blondes perish into goo really makes one hunger for sloppy rice with mushrooms.”

Well, at least you could always make him laugh.

~~~

Onion skin crunched under Eddie’s heavy chop. The papery layer was discarded. Laying the halves on the textured cutting board, he dragged the knife in long slices out from the root, then rotated to dice it into cubes. He blinked away fresh tears, and beside him, you scraped the sweated mushrooms into a bowl, and placed the pan back on the burner for him to sweep his prepped vegetables into. They sizzled on impact. You stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, and made sure nothing seared to the bottom.

Steam rose from the bowl of cooked mushrooms. Slippery oil slicked their surface, adding to the smells of onion and garlic. Condensation fogged the tiny window above the sink. The rice began to toast. A burnt popcorny, yet pleasantly floral fragrance mixed with the sour note of cheap white wine bubbling down to nothing, and salty splashes of broth.

Mostly, the continuous stirring was done passively because you were both watching the movie from across the room. When it was your turn at the stove, you grasped the skillet handle and moved the spoon around in some sort of pattern, but your upper body was twisted towards the TV. When it was his turn, you took his place at the wrap around counter, bending over to rest your forearms on it, savoring his body heat baked into the surface under your palms before it faded and was replaced by your own.

The last VHS was inserted. No commercials on this older tape.

You grated the last of the cheese into the rice, and tipped in the mushrooms. Behind you, there were two metallic latch sounds followed by two loud bangs. Eddie sucked in a hiss, and apologized. You were too busy portioning out the risotto to see what in the world he was doing, but the sharp clicks of his lighter were distinct, as was the notch turns of the unnecessary lamps being turned off, casting you in dimmed ambiance.

Garnishing the meal with parsley, you scooped up the bowls and turned.

“Ta-da,” he said meekly, opening up his arms with weak pizazz.

You were stunned at the effort.

The collapsable ends of the green table hung by their hinges, making the surface area impossibly intimate. On top, there were three lit candlesticks to set the mood, and underneath, the seats of the chairs almost touched. The whole thing was incredibly sweet. Thoughtful. Endearing. He had trouble meeting your eye.

Eddie glanced at the unscented candles burning bright for practicality’s sake. The first wet drip of wax joined the others melted down the side since the last time he used them when the power went out. Not exactly romantic. “Has, uhm, anyone made you risotto before?” he asked, and tacked on, “At home?” when the fear of not being the first smacked the words out of him.

“No,” you stated. “No one's ever done something so sweet for me.”

His lower lip twitched, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to quell the giddiness from exploding. And to stop himself from celebrating too soon.

As you carried the bowls towards his attempt to recreate a fine dining experience, he tried to push aside the thoughts of inadequacy—the candles, the fact he couldn’t take you to a real restaurant, the flowers he decided against because he no longer had a vase, the nagging voices in his head that told him this whole idea was stupid—and instead, he focused on anything else. Anything, anything else.

“Here, lemme help you, sweet—Ow, ow, ow, ow—Jesus, do you have hands of steel or somethin’?” The candles wobbled when he dropped the bowl on the table, and you both froze as they teetered back and forth, praying your second date didn’t go up in literal flames.

When they came to a rest, you both sighed.

“Hands of steel, huh?” you mused. “I think they feel kinda soft compared to yours.”

Quickfire, he picked up on the age-old flirt you used on him months ago (back when he was dumb, and genuinely thought he was the one flirting with you by suggesting you come back to him when you found a spider as big as his palm), and he concurred, “Maybe we need to compare them again. Y’know, really get in there and make sure I have the toughest hands in the Midwest.” Adopting a southern drawl, he stuffed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and puffed out his chest. “Can’t let a lil’ lady who answers phones with ‘Yellow?’ have stronger hands than me, now can we?”

You pinged him with a wry expression twinged with cringe, and sat down, scooting your chair in, and looking up at him still standing. “You are so pitifully dorky.”

“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said proudly, falling into the chair across from you.

Your knees collided under the table; bone on bone due to his inability to wear jeans without holes in them. They knocked painfully, and while he did remember to apologize when you winced, he was distracted by the silly notion that his bare knees were the second body part to make contact with your tights. The back of his hand during the movie didn’t lend much to his senses, now he had a better feel of the texture, and how it rubbed against his skin. A strangely marvelous thing. And he was getting ahead of himself, sure, but he wondered how your tights must feel under the same rugged palm he was offering to you upturned on the table while below, his thoughts were erring away from respectful visions of circling his thumb over your knee cap while you were stretched across the couch with your legs in his lap, to something he felt unworthy to ask for.

Oh, but how he ached to be the one who was trusted to keep you warm when you were undressed..

Your chair squeaked. You changed the position to where your legs were bracketed by his wide spread. Perfect, because he brought in his stance and crossed his ankles behind yours, locking your thighs and calves between his, as if you were his possession, unable to escape. Indulging him, you giggled, and squirmed to the edge of your seat, taking his hand. His right, your left. A polite union of criss-crossed fingers. Mountainous calluses mapped against rolling hills of satin. Flickering candlelight dancing off the silver band of his ring. Kind, and sweet.

He gripped his spoon in an unnatural way, dragging it through the risotto, and bumping the ceramic.

“I can hold your other hand,” you offered, motioning at where you could link his non-dominant hand in the space between your bowls.

His voice was made of mushy tenderness, but his clipped tone left no room for argument, “Nah, I like it this way.” If you didn’t understand why yet, you did when you traced his gaze to his wrist. The beads had shifted from where they dug into his flesh. Squares from the blocky letters left indents in his skin, as did the corners of star beads interspersed throughout the round ones. Opposite D-A-D-D-Y, your sleeve was bunched up from cooking, baring the precious nickname M-O-U-S-E.

Your eyelids fell half-closed. The fondness on your lips wasn’t a result of the risotto—as delicious as the first bite was—no, the sentiment was much too darling. Almost as if you could hear the dormant vocabulary you awoke running hot in his veins. My girl, my girl, my girl is wearing the matching bracelet my daughter made for us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than another excuse to call you my girl out loud; I want it so bad I could cry.

“You did such a good job on this,” you complimented the risotto after taking another bite.

Fate. “It only tastes good because I had my girl’s help.” Under no circumstance was he about to make eye contact after saying that. In fact, he avoided sound altogether when he angled his spoon so he wouldn’t scrape it along his teeth a second time, and blew on the porridge-like rice before sliding the richness over his tongue, alighting his mouth with mellowed complexities for such unassuming ingredients. As he ate, he listened to you eat too. As he glanced, you glanced too. As he embellished his grin with a secret, you snuck in one of your own through the mysterious sharpness in your eyes boring into his too. He didn’t question it, didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound above the panicked yelling happening in the movie in the other room; for now, he was content with holding your hand and calling you his girl.

The pressure to continue conversation waned.

He squeezed.

You squeezed back.

~~~

Dinner was finished in cherished bites. The movie was in the process of concluding, as most of the cast had been killed off by the time Eddie uncrossed his ankles and released you. He blew out the candles and stood, already regretting the act when the imprint of your body faded from his between his legs.

While he filled the sink with soapy water, you put away the forgotten ingredients, and wiped up the counter with a wet rag in absentminded circles, thoroughly invested in the slasher’s “forest chase scene” probably filmed in someone’s mom’s backyard.

Once the frothy bubbles sloshed to the rim with each dish put in, and the clammy air was brightened by the scent of blue Dawn liquid soap, Eddie rolled the stretchy bracelet up his forearm and began dunking the glass cup used for measuring the broth. He ran his hand around the inside to rid it of the gritty residue left behind. Dipping the thin washcloth, he submerged his hands up to his wrists in skin prickling hot water, and brought the cup out, exposing his chafed knuckles to the sting of cold air. He washed it, rinsed it under even colder water, and handed it off to you. You toweled it dry, and put it in the cupboard next to the fridge.

Over and over, he washed, you dried. He washed, you dried.

Routine, monotonous, robotic and quiet.

Outer input died away. No more movie, no more hot water, no more spoken conversation, no more meaningful glances, nor more intimate nicknames, no more inappropriate touches stolen under the guise of a drunken night. Just his thoughts, insecurities, anxieties, and hopes and the instant foreboding stress wrenching his stomach with fear of those hopes never coming true.

The air was thick with awareness.

You were in his home. The date was coming to an end, and so was his bravery. This was his chance, and he was letting it slip by him. Again.

He’d run out of excuses. Or rather, he reasoned with the excuses, and now he was facing the real problem. All the stuff from months ago about him not knowing if you liked him, your flighty lifestyle, the dynamic of being coworkers and worrying if it’d make things weird, the conversation he never had with Adrie; forgoing divulging his hobbies, his music, or his past with you because he didn’t see the point; those things he conquered. Those things no longer bothered him. Those things had answers putting them to rest.

Now, there was nothing keeping him from pursuing you except his own inhibitions..

Sad, how even when he had the courage to get this far with you, the differences in your lives served as a reminder he was just a poor boy from Indiana whose greatest aspiration was owning a trailer of his own so his uncle could have his room back. You had a drama degree—hell, you went to college in the first place. You had real dreams, and achieved semblances of those dreams before coming to Hawkins. A star as bright as you shouldn’t have to peter out in a town in the middle of nowhere. You needed the city to thrive, to perform on stage again. It was your calling, wasn’t it? Munson wasn’t calling you like your previous life, was it? You spoke of your accomplishments so highly. Would you ever learn to speak of him that way? Would he, one day, become one of your stories? A memory you moved on from?

Or did he deserve to ask you to give up everything you loved and earned to settle down in a dead-end shithole that hated him, and help him raise a child that wasn’t yours, tying yourself to his reputation forever?

What if he asked those things of you? Would you say ‘yes’?

Shit.

While the sea of doubt churned in his head, he rinsed off the ceramic bowl you used to eat from, and blinked the sting from his eyes after staring off into space for too long. He waited to hand it to you until you had put a pan away in the lower cabinet under the wrap-around counter, and accepted the bowl, drying it off and ping-ponging to the other side of the kitchen to the upper cabinet above the toaster. You didn’t have to guess. You knew exactly where it went. You were familiar with the precise drawer the spatula went in, next to the cutlery one where you tossed in the spoons. There was a beautiful domesticity to it all; washing dishes with you as if it were a nightly occurrence. Like you lived here. Together. You, him, Adrie, and his uncle—preferably not in that arrangement, and not in this trailer, but the vision.. the vision was there. You and him rejecting the bullshit small town mentality, and creating a life in Hawkins you could both be proud of, free from strife. A do-over, in a way, with you at his side, and his daughter on your hip.

The pit of self-loathing in his stomach yawned.

Those idyllic fantasies were too much to ask for. Too much to even risk speaking out loud. He could feel the rejection welling up behind his eyes as it were, wobbling at his bottom lip. The crushing reality of being a lonely single dad with nothing to offer—

You slammed the cabinet door shut, and tossed the towel aside. “So, are we gonna pick up where that phone call left off, or not?”

Eddie stilled under your loaded stare.

You remembered you remembered you remembered—

“If you adore me so much..” you added.

Jolted into action, the last dish slipped from his fingers, splashing and bouncing sluggishly off the bottom of the sink. Adrenaline hit him in droves. Frantic stings of want pushed him forward. Chores were forgotten. Mind blank. The soft thuds of his stride thundered off the thin walls. Pace quickened. Pulse beating in his throat. Vice grip on his heart. Months, weeks, days, hours of keeping his starvation alive through longing looks and inside jokes and hands brushing hands in fragile innocence, denying the vital comfort he craved to experience with the one person who made him feel special; the yearning reached its peak.

Predatory hunger rushed color to his cheeks at the remarkable sight of his dearest dream going slack with surprise.

He secured his fate with his arm wrapped around your waist, sweeping his hand upwards and dragging your cardigan with it. Water dripped to his elbows, cooling the wicked fever igniting his skin. He poured his strength into bringing you into him at the same time he stepped into you, forcing you back, back, back until the distance keeping you apart was eliminated, caging you where you gave him his final nudge beyond the brink of composure. His hips coaxed you side to side. His legs boxed you in where he commanded. Each motion pressed his strong, needy body to yours, driving the edge of the countertop into your lower back. Sway by sway, a dance of insurmountable patience built over months met its breaking point. You went pliant for him. No fight, only a small noise when he engulfed you in his aggressive embrace.

You gathered the hem of his shirt in your weak fists. His sudden leap over the platonic line broke goosebumps across your exposed midriff, tightening your nipples against the delicate lavender lace. The tremble in your knees was juxtaposed by his steady hand tilting your face up to his.

Sudsy bubbles burst on the peach fuzz beneath your ear from where he cupped your jaw. Droplets trickled to the base of your neck, curving over your breasts, and beading on the surface of your cardigan. He swept his fingers in an untamed stroke over your cheek. He tested a deeper angle, fitting his broad grasp to your chin and compelling you to lean in with the heel of his palm guiding you, drawing you forward, supporting the pout of your bottom lip with the base of his thumb.

His nose whistled when he took a shallow breath. The wet, soapy trails left in his hand’s wake went cold against his sigh coasting over your skin. Again, he tried another breath. Deeper; initiating the unadulterated intimacy of his stomach filling out and pushing against yours. More. The great expanse of his shoulders squared with confidence, and his muscles braced under your tender exploration. Your weak grip left his waist to climb up the confines of his arms, passing over his ribs and the flat plane of his pecs to place the lightest touch at the base of his neck. Closer. The serious glint in his eyes blurred as he neared.

The tip of his nose butted the apple of your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he spoke aloud for the first time, words breaking on the whisper.

You answered him in a faint, insatiable, “Yes.”

He imposed himself more. Frame on frame. Unyielding body leaned and curved around your softness, channeling every repressed feeling he’d had since you met into pinning you against the counter. Gradually, he dropped his head into a better angle; grinding forehead on forehead, tracing his perfect nose along yours, tilting so his mouth hovered fractions above a decision.

He teased, “Are you only saying that because it’s your policy?”

You smiled against the edge of his thumb after spying his sly grin through your heavy lashes. “No,” you stressed the single word, speaking through the mild irk of impatience building like an itch that could not be scratched in the marrow of your bones.

Anticipation clung to the prolonged gossamer blinks before they lulled into closed eyes, and slow swallows of air until lungs were poised on a held breath.

Every syllable of his next question dragged his lower lip across yours. “Are you my girl?”

“Eddie—”

The whine. The beg. The genuine plea of his name.

Organically imperfect, he smashed his mouth to yours. It was a harsh collision of teeth to lips, and a startled grunt at the abrupt impact, but neither of you cared. Reservations were off. You clung desperately to his shirt, stretching the cotton around his neck and biting the ball chain necklace into his throat, striving for a needier kiss; sparking a heady rush of awareness to the oversensitive areas reacting to the animalistic push and pull of him gaining control, advocating for his own fight in the flex of his thighs driving you into the creaky doors of the cabinetry. The fervency spurred him on. You combed your fingers through the downy curls at his nape, and he did not hesitate slipping a hand under your sweater to smooth his palm to your bare waist. And fuck, how you arched your back on instinct.

Nasally grunts of pain descended to pleasant hums from the throat.

Unable to divide his attention, the kisses went sloppier. Rushed. Awkward, and clumsy. He slotted his mouth to yours with too much force, to the point of bruising your spit slicked lips, and the wet smack pulled a submissive whimper from the places he’d yet to take. The flush blotching his throat ran hot like flames, heating the Old Spice aftershave on his skin. The scent aided the dizzy lurch in your head, lost to the dull lamplight beyond your eyelids, rocking you onto your toes and falling back on your heels in the swirling give-and-take of his unstated needs reaching levels of crisis only you could solve. A pain you could cure as you crammed your nose to his cheek, spread your fingers firmly against his skull, and kissed your friend harder than he kissed you.

Hums lowered into a depraved moan.

The intensity of your reciprocation fueled his ego. Seeking, he moved his chivalrous hand from cupping your face, downwards. Grabbing, seizing, squeezing. After refraining from so much for so long, he was mesmerized by the curve of your shoulder, the sway of your lower back, the waistband of your scratchy polyester skirt. He roved until he found your ribs, and he molded his fingerprints there, branding you with the sensation of his thumb beneath your underwire bra. It was a messy exploration. His excitement had him bearing his weight down on you, and when your strained feet failed to steady him, your ankle gave. Knees bumped; he stepped on your toes. He fell into you and matched the pain of the counter prodding your tender flesh with the bulk of his leather belt scraping your stomach. No apology. Not with words. It was the safety and protection of his arm crooked between you and the laminate countertop which rescued you, and as a reward, he dropped his forearm from the cusp of your hips and feasted his thick fingers on a handful of your ass, rocking you into him.

There was no other way to react to the blunt suggestion.

Heavy, uneven breaths were panted across the other’s sore lips as you both withdrew to gauge the next step. He scoped your features with urgency, darting from your relaxed brows, to your keen gaze. There was an etching of insecurity marring the honey in his gentle brown eyes when you were too dazed to remember to smile, jumping to conclusions in his worrisome ways.

He really did worry too much.

Bringing your hand out of his curls, you grazed the strained tendon on the side of his neck, and worked your way up. You trailed your knuckles along his cheek, swept them under his wispy bangs, and put your fingertips to his temple, triggering a shivered sigh and fluttering lashes at the new touch.

You answered him as you combed his hair away from his face, “I’m your girl.”

The instant sincerity of his red, swollen lips kicking up into an uneven grin invoked a raw tenderness to his pink nose scrunching in playfulness, and the corner of his eyes going tight with happiness.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice hoarse from the exertion of kissing you senseless.

“Yeah,” you promised in another caress.

For a moment, he held your gaze with the importance of someone understanding what it meant to be by his side and to be seen with him out in Hawkins public; as if he were on the verge of crying from the sheer gratitude of your policy landing you here, in his arms, on this night, wanting to be his.

Eddie peered into your eyes again. His wide pupils and dusky cheeks spoke of the nature of his body, but behind that, lurking beneath his fibrous sinew was the same innate marrow telling him this was okay. This was right. Just let go.

Just let go.

He listened.

As wild as he took you minutes before, he was ready to luxuriate in the nuances of affection. He pressed his mouth closed in a dry swallow, and raised his hand from your ribs, beckoning your cheek into the stifling heat of his palm. The throbbing pulse in his neck beat a rhythm to his chest, rising and falling in a quick cadence until he was able to discipline his attention away from the obvious snag of his zipper on your skirt.

He relaxed into another kiss. It may have been the hundredth of the night, but it was pivotal. Something changed. The frantic clashing lessened, and the cravings heightened.

Consistent as he was in taking things slow, he knew how to make you feel cherished. He took your bottom lip between his and dragged it as he broke the chain from one kiss to the other, as if the extra second he claimed a part of you was crucial to his survival. Truly indulging in the full potential of someone witnessing the many bad days of his life and still wanting to cook dinner with him. Someone enjoying the harmonized hum of your lips converging while you scratched small circles on his scalp above his ears. Someone willing to hear his shameful complaints about fatherhood, and not judge him when he took his lunch break in his car, cranking the seat back to rest his blood-shot sleepless eyes, instead of sharing a coke with them in the breakroom. Someone he’d come to rely on; a constant in his life.

He poured his coffee pot’s worth of trust into you, and you answered him with the blissful endeavor of your fingers scaling his forearm, brushing through the thin hair growing like wheat and pushing the beaded bracelet up to his wrist, cupping your hand over his on your cheek. D-A-D-D-Y. M-O-U-S-E. In turn, you drank his insecurities and added your own, overflowing with the mutual truth that neither of you had been in a stable relationship lasting longer than a month, and this whole thing should’ve been very scary.

But it wasn’t scary.

It was slow and steady.

The heaviness of his body returned. Hands wandered aimlessly. Arms entwined, untangled, confused themselves on who was where. Attentive fingertips glided over woven yarn and cotton, following the dips and curves and slopes; basking in the reverence of married threads and validation. Legs shuffled, spreading and accommodating. Jaws went slack. Languid tongues merged, lazy and hot. He palmed your ass in a lax grip, easing your hips flush against his. You answered with a purposeful roll intending to earn some friction, but you couldn’t reap the benefits on account of one problem..

Your skirt was stretched to the fabric’s maximum allowance, creating a taut buffer keeping him at bay. Any motion was nullified by the hindrance. Noticing this, he shifted to be better cradled by your thighs, and a delicious gift was granted with the tandem action of your bodies joining.

He flattened his hands on the countertop behind you and blessed you with a proper long drawl of his hips; pausing in an open mouthed kiss because the noise you made—the noise you made—the noise the noise the noise you made—

Your quick inhale faltered, flattering the hard press of his cock with a shameless gasp.

Eddie halted at the top of the motion from your involuntary praise, and locked eyes with you. Just like when he made you laugh, he wanted to witness your pleasure, soak in your reverent stare and pride himself on the way you asked for more—by sinking back and away and rutting upwards, instigating a filthy tension on the layers separating you; panties, nylon, polyester skirt, seams on seams on seams of harsh denim, and his choice of boxers; and God, you thrived on the bulk behind his zipper caressing you for the first time where climaxes were born. Your moan hinged on his satisfaction, and in a dare, you pivoted the descent of your roll towards the right, capturing between you his stiff length tenting towards his pocket. And when you arched into a slow grind on the base—sliding him along the curve of your clothed heat—he released his own pretty noise.

“Mm—fuck,” he groaned into your mouth.

Gravitating elsewhere, he left messy kisses on your jaw and brushed his nose over the peach fuzz on your cheek to put his love-bitten lips to your ear. Gravelly with want, he asked, “When did you remember what happened that night?”

A dirty throb pulsed where he buried himself between your legs, striving for the angle which had you grasping at his narrow hips as a silent plea for him to drive into you harder.

“Oh,” you panted into his hair sticking to your mouth. Answering casually as you could despite your face running hot, and your voice straining light with a joke, you answered, “I never forgot. I lied when you asked me.”

“You—?” The word was a quick huff of air against your neck. He pulled away enough to look at you, but not divorce your stomachs from touching. Two deep creases formed between his brows, shadowing his squint with incredulity. “You lied to me?”

A pang of doubt weeded its way into your insecure hands around his waist, forcing you to question if he was really mad at you for pretending you didn’t remember the exact details of last weekend in order to bolster his confidence into asking you on a date instead of wallowing in silent guilt for thinking he did something wrong and end up pushing you away, sabotaging himself from ever acting on this.

You were about to speak your mind—that is, until his lips crooked up, and he invaded your space with his big eyes, big nose, and even bigger grin.

“You lied to me,” he said with a snap of wolfishness, tonguing his sharp canine after the bite of his words; hosting an overabundance of admiration in his half-lidded gaze raking over you, alighting every sinful nerve in your body.

Time to pick up where that phone call left off—

“Yeah, I did.. But you didn’t.” You sank your hand between your bodies, and flattened your palm to the front of his jeans.

His breath hitched.

Skimming, teasing, playing with him, you strung his lust taut, tracking your fingertips over the hardness and sweeping them to the very end, circling an outline around his head like a Siren’s call to his fiery blood. His biceps flexed against your arms. The laminate counter squeaked from his sweaty grip on the edge. Vinyl flooring creaked at his antsy rut into your hand, and you gave in to your own curiosity.

Wrapping your fingers as best you could through the thick denim, a spike of cold excitement washed over you at the sheer girth you struggled to handle—much less the long, long drag of your palm from base to tip—sending an ache to your cunt begging to be stretched by him.

Slightly over seven inches, indeed.

Lacking poise, you blurted an unintelligible word, and his smirk underscored his heavy kiss.

“Told you I didn’t need to overcompensate,” he taunted.

His newfound smugness was allowed. Encouraged, even, by your firm strokes, again and again, creating a damp patch on his pants at every pass of your thumb. You were fascinated by his ability to engulf you in another tender union of lips when your senses were overwhelmed by the impressive size filling your palm. Intoxicated by the gentle glide of his considerable tongue along your bottom teeth. Dazed by his pitiful groan when you increased your pace, building and building the wicked friction burn from his jeans on your soft skin, tending to the flames of your arousal, sensitive nipples peaked and receptive to the warmth of his lean chest pressing down on you.

Needing him, you closed off the kiss and played into your appeal with a saccharine pinch to your expression, and a cloying sweetness to your tone. “You do so much for your family,” you murmured. “You work so hard to provide for them, always staying late at the garage, covered in grease and dirt, fixing cars until your hands are torn and your back aches. Making sacrifices without a second thought. Always putting their needs first.”

Stroking his hard cock, you asked, “When was the last time someone put your needs first?”

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and fit the bridge of his nose to your forehead. When he spoke, his embarrassment influenced his mumble, “S’been a long, long time.”

“Sounds like you need me to take care of you, handsome.”

He tensed to suppress his shiver from your sultry tone, and withheld his whimper at the prospect, meeting your gaze in a nervous flick. “I don’t, uhm.. have..” His assured demeanor ebbed to stuttering shyness. “I didn’t, uh, buy any condoms, and all the stores are closed by now..”

Your face fell flat.

You threw your exasperated stare to the ceiling, and searched the series of events which would lead to him asking you on a date, at his home, at night, without anyone else present, and somehow not think to buy condoms. “Why didn’t you buy any?”

He shrugged, frustration evident in his tone. “I was afraid of being a dumbass and leaving them out in the open where you could see them—like with the groceries or some shit—and give you the wrong impression, like my goal was only to invite you over for that reason, and, I don’t know, think I’m coming on too strong, or something, and make you uncomfortable.”

You gripped your beloved dumbass by the chin with your unoccupied hand, and put an end to his fretting. “Or, I would get the right impression, and we’d have that box opened within ten minutes of me walking through the door.”

He blinked dumbly.

Before he could ask if you were serious, you steered the conversation to its original topic with a gentle squeeze where the dark spot on his jeans bloomed, and said, “We’ll worry about condoms next time.” He throbbed in your palm. Next time. “After all the romantic stuff you’ve done for me, I want to show you my appreciation.” You slid your fingers through his belt loops, and leaned up, nosing your way through his frizzy waves to whisper a fantasy in his ear. “I want you in my mouth.”

You put the power of suggestion in your aggressive tug, snapping your hips together.

Ripples of electric pleasure stood his arm hair on end. The alertness in his expression glazed over. He lazed in the feeling, hardly able to open his eyes to follow the bounce of your eyebrows and the deep cut of your smirk; matching with his own goofy smile going lopsided with enthusiasm.

Since his birth, there were few instances where he felt wanted, or loved, and for his dream girl to waltz into his life and be so brazen about her attraction to him with no hidden motives, empty sweet-talk, or ill intentions—

For possibly the first time in Eddie’s ostracized existence, he felt desired.

Each low tug on his jeans was another boost to his self esteem, guiding him step by step further beyond the platonic line. Deeper, and deeper into new territory. Crossing the threshold from cracked vinyl to plush carpet, and with it, entering the fear of the unknown he wasted countless hours resisting. There’s no going back after this. Acquaintances was a laughable notion, coworkers was a tricky dynamic left to be dealt with on Monday, and friendship was the foundation of him opening up to you.

Every decision persuading you to the edge of his bed was made in careful consideration. Choices were presented and chosen without impulse. Nothing about him was casual. Not anymore. The slow crawl towards this relationship was impeded by his past, and instead of giving up, you stayed true to him. Because you saw him as worthwhile.

Eddie sank to the couch, and before his back made contact with the cushions, he had his fingers cupped to the backside of your thighs, proposing a bend to your knees. In a fluid motion, he dragged his rough palms up your tights and coaxed your legs on either side of him, running his heavy hands over your skirt and up to your waist. He relaxed into the sitting position with an arm crooked around your ass while he treated himself to a handful, gathering you as close as possible until he was satisfied with the places he could reach. Not once did his eyes leave your face. He tipped his head back to watch you go from standing at the end of his knees, to straddling his lap. Wholly enamored.

Blue cast from the TV’s standby mode contrasted the dim glow from the old lamp on the kitchen counter, highlighting his blushy cheeks in eventide colors, and cleaving a defined shadow down his bobbing throat.

Earned muscle and bulky denim and seven inches of bliss prodded the delicate meat of your inner thighs. You sat high on his lap, releasing the tension in your body in increments, settling yourself on top of him. He kissed you. Short and sweet; a brief encounter compared to before, but with your senses amplified by the deeper connection you two fostered for one another, it was the best kiss of your life. And it served as a chaste prelude to his next devotion.

Taking the lead, Eddie moved on from your lips, working downward in a dreamy, drunken daze, reveling in skin-on-skin. Want—more—please. When he couldn’t access the vulnerable underside of your chin, he urged your head up with a determined bump of his nose to your jaw, and continued to praise you in stray kisses and greedy palms. He showed you what he wanted by dragging you forward in his lap, and you didn’t need to be told twice by his white-knuckled grip.

You grinded down on him, and your mouth went slack with a fragmented moan.

“You’re so pretty when you do that,” he slurred, voice husky and low.

The bulge behind his fly parted your aching cunt. With your legs spread wide, you found your perfect middle and worked the stiff seams against your need. Each rut glided him along you, slipping over the nylon and stretching your pantyhose taut. You beared down harder, obeying the faint throbs of desperation, and turned them into inadequate stirs of pleasure, fleeting at each pass.

The first stitch of nylon broke. Then, another.

His generous kisses went wayward, favoring your jawbone as a means to end, tucking his teeth into the pocket beneath your ear and nipping at your vulnerable pulse. You swallowed under the threat, and dropped your head back, revealing the neglected expanse for him to cherish.

Cascades of euphoria flowed down your neck. Teeth grazed, his tongue tasted, the cold tip of his nose drew sentiments on your throat. For every dull sting of his untamed bite, he apologized with a softer, and softer affection. Lessening in aggression. Soothing your sweltering skin with cooling breaths on the streak of spit he left behind. You shivered despite the sudden break of sweat in the humid entanglement and embraced your urges, squirming against his jeans and circling your hips in measured thrusts, tilting into the motion for your own sake and blanketing your thigh over his achingly hard cock by chance. “Christ, sweetheart.” His muffled moan set your blood on fire. Your fingers went tight on his shoulders, digging into the muscle shifting beneath your nails, wrinkling the fabric of his favorite shirt.

More nylon stitches popped.

Too lost in your own efforts, you hadn’t noticed the loss of his possessive hold on your waist until your hard nipples brushed two solid objects.

Yarn fibers tickled overtop the sheer mesh cups of your bra.

Eddie nuzzled at the base of your neck and rested the slope of his broad nose there, moving his lips on your skin when he remembered, but otherwise his attention deviated elsewhere. At his leisure, he thumbed the top button of your sweater through the loop, and drifted to the next. Another, and another, exposing the sheen of perspiration on your chest to the stagnant air in his living room. His deft fingers undressed you with undue ease. Each loosened button raced your heart, and you repaid him by widening your knees and sinking fully onto his lap, laying your plush inner thigh on top of his length in a satisfying squish, and staying there.

A weak whine tinted his pretty, “Feels—good.”

Feels good played off the thin walls stacked with ceramic mugs. Feels good joined the sporadic pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof streaming to the grassless earth outside. Feels good warmed you like the oil filled radiator at the end of the couch, popping and crackling when the heat droned higher. Feels good manifested in your cardigan slipping from your shoulders and falling to the floor in a mute drop; rooted itself in his ringed fingers dipping into your waistband; was proven by his other palm molding to the curve of your hip as if it were shaped by the same artist; and confirmed by the unambiguous focus to your right side.

Feels so fucking good burst forth in his hand’s unyielding snatch on your waistband and decisive jerk forward, ripping through the last of the strained seam trapped against your satin underwear.

The pantyhose split at the gusset, and your plump pussy spilled out, perfectly framed by the gaping nylon hole presenting your wet cunt to the thick denim. You draped him sweetly. Curved over the immense rise behind the creased zipper, creating a stiff peak before sloping to the soft give of his stomach. It didn’t take more than a single experimental thrust for your thin panties to slide into your sticky need, working them snug to your heat and inciting the first true tug at your core. Whispers of relief roused at your center, but it wasn’t until your second try, when you tilted your hips and Eddie guided you down onto him, genuine satisfaction was achieved.

The low rumble from the bottom of his chest filled you with oozy pride.

You concentrated the friction on your clit, and Eddie concentrated on anything else.

He stopped sealing his kisses, letting the envelope of his lips fall open, slack, and inarticulate, never beginning nor ending the ode to your neck. His mouth hovered wherever his head hung, and in his stupor, he could do little more than use his tongue to cut a fat line through the luster beneath the hollow of your throat, letting the salt sit in his mouth before swallowing, grateful. With each movement, the scratchy grain on his jaw from that morning’s shave buffed your sensitive skin, and he lapped at the rawness he caused in apology. The higher you rose over the swell of his cock, the lower he prized you in sloppy drags of his ample lips. He cupped his ringed fingers to the underside of the lavender lace and used his heavenly tongue to lick the top of your breast, accentuating the curve for his teeth to savor you in a lovebite. Your nipples begged for him, and your back arched for him. Your mouth fell open with a gasp—”Eddie”—drawing out the last set of vowels before they devolved into a whimper. Soon, his head was a heavy burden between your tits, and you wrapped him in your naked arms, cradling him there with your fingers in his hair. Spit from his sloppy kisses smeared on your cleavage, wetting the stubble on his cheeks, and he remained smitten, moaning into them with each bounce on his lap.

He was so wrecked on intimacy. 

Loading your lungs with another sigh of his name, you rocked your hips in whichever way felt best, not paying attention to the way your inner thigh rolled over Eddie’s fat cock, again, and again. Satin on denim; faster, and faster, tensing your leg muscles and releasing them like a quick stroke down his length. You embraced him with your chin to his hair, panting over the frizz sticking to your lips. Tender, always. Committed to lauding gentle kisses to his scalp even as you chased the one thing on your mind. Grinding in quicker thrusts. Listening to his muffled praise, but not hearing him go quiet, or noticing his body go still when his thighs edged into a hard flex under your ass. You were oblivious to his hand falling from your bra, and his fingers anchoring onto your waist. You were too engrossed in the act, rutting like animals do. Lurching towards the inevitable one desperate grind at a time, quicker.. quicker.. Heeding what your body wanted. Racing, faster.. faster.. 

Abrupt pain bloomed where he shoved his palm into your thigh to stop you.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he panted in a ragged breath.

A new heat rushed to your cheeks. The dirty word spoken from his mouth engulfed you. It tingled and danced over your skin, firing signals of excitement in pulses. With clarity, you realized the few direct strokes during what was supposed to be foreplay had him tensing and trembling, trying to keep his release from arriving too early and making a mess of himself before getting to the real deal. Your nipples tightened at the knowledge, and your legs clenched on instinct. You almost made him cum his jeans. What a compliment.

Your puffy clit was sore from the brief friction, and you felt every centimeter of space he put between you and your reward, but it was like a switch flipped in your brain.

The sharp throbs of his fingers clamped onto the meat of your thigh and his thumb jammed into the soft muscle were forgotten when you looked down at the man who shied under your observation; his face aflame with the awareness he ruined your release as well and his, and his bashful eyes worried with remorse. He was the reason you craved the early dawn, and weekday nights. He was the reason your heart crowded your throat when you woke up and your first thought was to reach for the bracelet on your bedside dresser. He was the reason you took a liking to heavy metal and board games. He was the reason your body reacted to wafts of earthy tobacco in the air, only to be disappointed when the person behind you at the grocery store was just another smoker who hand rolled their cigarettes, as if they had the right to smell like Eddie Munson.

You looked down at the man who lived an isolated and thankless life, who found joy in the small things and loved with his whole heart, who had few outlets to express himself and receive love back, and nothing mattered to you more than giving him a reason to look at you differently come Monday morning.

You thumbed the edge of his jaw with a promise. “I’ll go slow, pretty boy.”

He made a choked off noise in response.

Eddie’s eyes followed the nuances of your movement as you rose from his lap and planted your feet on the carpet. His stance widened to make room for you, chest falling with a silent exhale; peering at you with a question between his brows, as if he were contemplating his luck. When you bent over and placed your palms on his thighs, you stole his gaze from the intimate way your cleavage shifted under gravity, and honored his lips a last time for the foreseeable future, about to show him how fortunate he really was.

You sank to your knees, dropping dry kisses onto his shirt in a path to his belly as you went, and lifted the hem. The bottom of the inked sword and dragon greeted you. Sparse hair fanned as you raised the shirt above his tattooed navel, and pushed it to the crease where his sternum and belly met. His stomach wasn’t as flat as when he stood, giving him a slight curve where it pushed past the edge of his belt—a roundness when he sat relaxed. You laid your elbows on his thighs, and avoided touching the large subject in your peripheral, instead shaping your hands to his hips, and bowing your head.

His muscles jumped under your lips.

Finally, you knew his ticklish spot.

He sucked in a breath, and squirmed at the scattered kisses to his sides. You applied more pressure, mashing your mouth to him with a giggly hum, and teased your wet lips through the thick curls leading downwards. The hairs grazed the sides of your mouth and nose. The warm metal from his belt buckle brushed your chin. You’d never guessed you’d come to know these sensations when you first met him and he made it clear your enthusiasm for life was not appreciated, but here you were, stroking your thumbs up his leather belt, bordering your grin with his happy trail.

Eddie skimmed his fingers over your wrists. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned.

“That’s fine,” you assured him in a quick peck to the significant outline you’d become obsessed with, feeling him twitch beneath your lips. “We have all night to work on that.”

“What—? Jesus Christ, uh—okay.”

Sitting back on your calves, you held his gaze while you pulled the extra length of his belt through the loops in a smooth rush, and worked it through the handcuff buckle. You tightened the slack and loosened the pin with a nimble finger, undressing him with the ease of an expert.

Asking from a place of your own curiosity, you wondered, “How often do you jerk off?”

His eyebrows disappeared behind his tousled bangs.

Not yet used to you being so forward with him, he stammered on his tongue, but held his composure, much to the surprise of both of you. “Not that often, I guess.. Uh, a few times a month.”

You snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know that, right? You can tell me if it’s everyday, I don’t care. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you.”

The two halves of his belt flopped to either side of his waist. With it out of the way, you pinched at the stamped button at the top of his stupidly tight jeans, but you had trouble getting a good grip on it. Here, let me—he mumbled in a small voice, lifting his hips off the couch to undo it himself, popping it through and revealing the waistband of his forest green boxers.

It was with great determination you aimed your gaze above his obvious grandeur when he started talking.

“I’m not lying,” he said during the sturdy grind of the zipper being tugged down. “Not exactly like I have a door to lock when I need some alone time around here, sweetness. Plus” —he grunted at the freedom his unzipped jeans granted him, pushing them lower on his hips— “I’m usually too worn out after work, and just wanna crash on the couch. Not to mention taking care of everything around here is exhausting. Just don’t have the energy most days.”

Reading the precious draw of sympathy between your brows, he sat on the edge of his bed, and reached into the fly at the front of his boxers. “But, uh, there has been a recent change in my life that’s motivated me to.. take better care of myself. More often.” A certain motivator who sat between his legs with her hands in her lap, piqued and obedient. “Lot more often than a couple months ago, before she started working with me.”

He wrapped his fingers around himself and stroked upward, moving his knuckles against the fabric. He’d been rambling to ease the anxiety from his nerves until only the adrenaline remained, and with his pretty girl biting her bottom lip at his impure thoughts, his stalling came to an end.

Out came his hand—broad palm and thick fingers stretched full—and you stared in silent awe.

The back of his pale wrist and rosy knuckles were the first to show. Prominent blue veins led to his crooked hand, thumb and foremost fingers grasping his base while the last two struggled to collect the rest. His wet tip grazed the top of his boxers, peaking the fabric and dragging it along in a mouthwatering sweep towards the opening, and out it bobbed in flushed hues of pink and needy red. Below, he used his other hand to lower the fly, and cupped his palm to his heavy hanging fruits. They slipped out one plump roundness at a time to display their greatness against his dark jeans in a weighty sway.

Eddie’s cock leaked a bead of anticipation for you.

Starting with a lazy tug, he stroked himself. The arousing sheen smeared around his tip glistened, shining anew with the pass of his fist. As predicted, he curved to the right, and the fact he could hardly overlap his thumb to get a good hold on himself spoke of his size. All of him was beautiful, and you felt beautiful when another drip of precum swelled from his pretty head, threatening to fall before your very eyes.

He was thrilled by your shock. “Want it?”

“Need it,” you responded in a faint exhale.

With a smirk deepening his smoky tone, he kept moving his hand up and down, and granted you permission, “It’s all yours.”

You snapped your attention to his face, and inched forward until you were snug against the couch, eager and motivated by the lustful stretch in your thighs exposing your soaked cunt to the air. Good and pleasing, you clasped your hands politely in the folds of your bunched up skirt, and framed your arms around your chest.

Dipping your head, you lolled out your tongue for his approval.

His expression was the highest compliment; revering you with crinkles at the corners of his heavy-lidded gaze, lips stretched into a genuine smile which emphasized the elusive dimple on his cheek, and defined the bags under his eyes. Strands of his finger-swept messy curls stuck out at odd angles after you had your way with his hair, grazing his high cheekbones, and thick neck.

His heart pounded louder in his chest the longer he stared at your offering.

Weight pressed down on the plush middle of your tongue. It left, then happened again, again. Again, he tapped the fat head of his cock to the sticky wetness, mixing his salty taste with your spit. Bestowing you the gift, and taking it away. Teasing you. He slapped his heaviness down in a dull throb of owning you, and lifted it off to run his fingers over his own length, jerking himself off at an easy pace he wouldn’t cum from before putting his weeping tip to your tongue once more for you to admire, but not indulge. It was the cruelest, and hottest, thing he’d ever done to you.

When he next rubbed his head along the supple muscle and took it away, you tempted him into giving you mercy.

His lungs stuttered at your first demure kiss to the underside of his cock. You listened to his shallow breath on the second, released in a short ahh on the third. On the fourth, you vied for privilege to spoil him. He relented. How could he not?

To give himself a better angle to watch, he propped one of his hands behind him, and dropped his cheek to his shoulder, where his hair poured in a mass of tangles. The broad grin he wore waned to a subtler emotion as you hummed for the silky skin thrumming against your lips, feeling him shift when he lifted his thumb from taming his hard-on down.

Eddie marveled at how you balanced his cock on your pout. Amusement—and an unending amount of tenderness—gentled his features. He was sweet on you. You were sweet on him.

Treating him how he deserved, you rolled your tongue around your mouth to gather spit, and pushed it past your lips to wet his slick head, making your kisses slip against him in a smooth glide. You showered him in small pecks at first. Short kisses with the cutesy sounds pressed to the sensitive ridges which earned Eddie’s involuntary moan; low and thick, drawing from the months of pining for this moment. Venturing into more, you darted your tongue out to test his reaction when you licked the valley between the halves of his plump tip, and you winced. His cock kicked up, and fell in a smack. It was painful, probably bruising the delicate inner flesh of your lips when it smashed them against your teeth. You thanked him in an acquiescent whine.

It was addictive—a daze. With nothing but gravity to keep him in place, you cherished your favorite mechanic’s cock openly and honestly. You flattened your tongue to him in a loving lap, and chased it with a long drag of your lips up the underside to the round head, struggling to keep your eyes open from the bliss of tasting his reward, and suckling noisily for more.

Eddie accepted defeat in a sudden, disappointed grunt, “Yeah.. I’m not gonna last long.”

He fell backwards in a dramatic flourish.

Sprawled almost flat, his shoulders hit the cushions, and his body melted into the position with his fingers laced over his eyes as a shield. A groan of despair reverberated in his throat. Poor Eddie, can’t last long with his favorite receptionist’s mouth around his cock. A giggle bubbled from your chest, and you were about to repeat your promise to go slow, but the words wouldn’t form.

Your mouth had other plans than wasting their time on reassurances.

In his melodramatic moping, his dick left your lips and flopped onto his belly—which was a loss you felt in your soul—but with how he slouched into the cushions, a fruitful endeavor presented itself. Swung, and bounced, actually.

You leaned in, and became acquainted with your hand around his girth; familiarizing yourself with the naked warmth in your palm, and his airy whimper when you did.

The top of his boxers brushed your knuckles as you drifted your hand up in a single stroke. One fluid glide on the cock which belonged to you. He did say it was yours, after all. And though the thought alone had you wishing it was stretching your tight cunt in a blend of pain and pleasure, you had a yearning for what else moved up and down when you pumped your fist.

“Eddie?” you called. He peered at you from the shadow of his fingers. Innocently, you traced the bottom of his sack, and oh so carefully settled them into the nest of your unblemished palm. “Are these mine too?”

A croak broke his speechlessness. “Y-Yeah, those are yours, too. If you want them.”

Please was written in your grateful lurch towards his cock. Thank you was expressed in your lush moan when he entered your mouth.

“Baby,” he whined in a docile sigh.

You sank his cock into the wet heat he needed, but only for the purpose of curving your tongue to his begging tip and bathing him in your spit, using your hand to work it down his shaft. Except, you got carried away. A few strokes in, and you put your lips tight around his head, and already there was a warning forming between his brows.

You backed off. His face went lax in relief.

“Feels too good, sweetheart,” he praised from the depths of his gravelly voice. “Gonna make me cum like that.”

Your pussy ached to be spoken to that way.

Moving your attention away from how pitifully empty you felt, you loosened your grip and twisted your wrist to massage the base of his slick cock; not exploring upwards, just giving him enough friction to keep him on edge without spilling over. A perfect amount of pleasure, you guessed, from his red face emerging from behind his hands, raising them to comb his bangs off the fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead, and blinking himself out of his haze just in time to see you lower your face between his thighs.

You tended to him first with a kiss. An opening, or introduction, to your lips finding the spot beneath your working thumb where the hardness ended and the velvety skin began. He tensed. His legs flexed around your shoulders, bringing his knees in all shy like, like he was self conscious to have you down there. And maybe it was one thing to have his balls cupped in your palm, but it was another to have you nosing around the opening of his boxers when he hadn’t gone through with his plan of trimming back the hedges.

All he could do was stare when you inhaled his scent after he spent the day cleaning his home, running errands, driving across town to pick you up, and sitting next to you during scene after scene of horrors playing on a screen directly across from the terrifying event of holding your hand while trying not to out-sweat his t-shirt.

His bewilderment was apparent, but so was your enjoyment.

You burrowed your nose at the narrow opening of his fly, and tilted his cock to the side, finding the thick thatch of curls growing around his base, and admiring his heavy musk breaking through the perfumed Dove soap. A heavy purr of pleasure rumbled in your throat, coming out as a nasally moan against the wrinkled skin you kissed. So enraptured by his body, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to part your lips, and run your tongue along the seam of his sack. It was with a dire urge you stopped at the bottom, and flaunted how big he was by snuggling your nose to the heft and lifting.

You draped his balls over your mouth.

It was silly to him, and you didn’t mind the tss of laughter, but to you, earning his baffled smile while your giggle was buried under his sack was vital to your design. Their ripe heat enveloped you. The stripe you licked was wet on the tip of your nose. His natural scent swaddled you. Both corners of your lips were encumbered by the wonderful weight hanging on either side, brushing your cheeks as you swallowed the taste of his tangy sweat. You kissed up into the excess skin stretched over your face, and they rolled to your chin when you changed the angle you were teasing his cock, disciplining him towards his stomach so you had more room to worship the pome.

Warming him to the idea, you flattened your tongue to one side and ran it along the fullness, curving up, and dragging down in a long caress. In a breath, he placed his hand on his stomach where his shirt gathered, and skimmed the other over his body until it laid on top of his jeans, in the crease between his hip and thigh. You could see his fingers work themselves into the loose denim out of the corner of your eye, and heard them relax when you traced the other side of his sack, ending with a murmur to the textured skin.

“Too much?” you asked—he shook his head before you could finish the question, still hanging onto a suggestion of his fascinated squint at what you were doing to him.

With his approval, you indulged.

The gentle licks evolved to sloppy circles, eager to prize and polish, ensuring there was no part of his balls gone neglected. Lapping at, kissing at, making out with another spot on his body out of a necessity to fawn over every inch of him. Willing to nuzzle your way between the plumpness and have your drool drag wetly across your cheeks in his name. Fully content with messier and messier affections, cozying your nose to the base of his curls until he understood how little it bothered you to be smothered by his nature.

Unable to resist satisfying him how he deserved, you dropped an open kiss to the squish of his sack, and suckled on a small section, checking his reaction.

Not an ounce of protest glimmered behind his lashes, eyes falling almost closed at the intimate gesture between two people who were never supposed to be more than coworkers.

You parted your lips, and accepted a mouthful. 

Eddie whimpered.

His toes curled into the carpet at the novel sensation. There was an incredible amount of trust required to fight the instinct to pull away. Even his fingers strained the denim when you drew your lips around one of his balls, and slackened your jaw. It was with great respect you brought him into your mouth, and cradled the weight on your tongue, cheeks stretched full and soft. You held him there for a long second. The rain was a steady noise of the roof, but your exhale was loud in the space between his thighs. Quiet suspense followed your hand climbing his shaft.

You wrapped your fingers around his hopeful tip, and fitted your thumb to the valley on the underside. In perfect sync, and with your eyes steady on his face, you hollowed your cheeks and squeezed each of your fingers at the same gentle pace.

“Fuck, baby—”

At once, Eddie’s unabashed groan inspired you, and his balls jerked in response to the direct touch in the places he needed it. From pinky to index, you massaged his fat head in a smooth pulse—matching the strokes of your thumb—and though your grip was light, he was already kneading his hand along his inner thigh and clamping it down close to your face. You soothed him on your tongue as best you could, and eased him into having more pressure from your lips, sucking harder on the most sensitive part of him.

Concentration stressed a shadow between his brows; chest braced on a held breath.

The telltale sign of his skin tightening in your mouth, along with his clenched stomach and abnormal silence, had you testing his limits. But it was too fun feeling his legs squirm at the effortless flow your fingers performed, coaxing him closer to coming undone and still daring to smear the swells of precum over the pleading edge of his tip, again and again, but slower. Slower. Memorizing the metallic slink of his guitar pick running along the ball chain necklace when you released him, and his chest sank with a sigh.

His voice cracked a notch higher, “Jesus, you’re really into this, huh, sweetheart?” he asked, but you couldn’t answer.

Before committing to his other ball, you spat into your cupped fingers, and put them to his cock, adjusting how you held him until you could look past and see the handsome glint of respect in his eyes, and he could gaze into wealth of adoration in yours.

“Love being on my knees for you,” you mumbled sweetly, kissing your way to the other side of his sack. “Love your cock, Eddie.”

His name, spoken where it was on his body, brought out a smugger twist to his already prideful grin. “Yeah? You like it?”

Rushing at the chance to compliment your man, you straightened your spine, and punctuated your words along the thick vein leading up to the drips of seed. “Love it,” you promised in a syrupy yearn, swallowing the bitter salt. “Love your cock; love it so much. It’s my favorite.”

“Is it the best?”

The question was tonally rich with confidence, but just in case there was any doubt woven into the wording itself, you regarded the man who went to work early on a day he had off for the purpose of leaving flowers on your desk, and smiled.

“Yeah,” you confessed, recalling a memory from the earlier months, after your first failed date, when he shared his can of Coke with you at lunch because the vending machine was out, and two sets of chapsticked lip prints were left around the metal rim. “It’s the best.”

You hugged his cock to your cheek, and nuzzled the warmth as you would any other part of him, humming a sunshiny hum, and parted ways to return to your true calling further down.

This time, Eddie groaned in relief when you settled his other ball in your mouth—”That’s it.”

With your newly slick hand, you slipped your palm over his desperately purple tip with ease. His thighs jumped into a flex, and his stomach fluttered with tension—almost like he was going to lose himself right there—but he exhaled hard through his nose, and became better at existing in the mutual pleasure. This was as much for you as it was for him.

There was a scrunch of determination above his nose, and a strong edge to his jaw, but otherwise, his fingers were gentle on your temple. 

“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said, tracing his knuckles downward, lacing multitudes of meanings behind the sentence. Physical, and emotional.

He prodded his thumb into the hollow of your cheek, feeling how full you were of him; how his calloused fingerpad rocked in the same rhythm of your lips sealing around him and sucking; and you leaned into the tender gesture of his open palm, to which he cupped your jaw with a sentiment tantamount to what you were baring.

A sweet man through and through, even as he trembled in your fist.

You curved your tongue around the tight skin in your mouth, and moaned prettily for him. Frequent moans, ardent moans, moans appealing to his ego, moans you’d hear on a tape rented from the backroom of a competing video store with a black curtain separating it from the wholesome movies up front. Performing for him, finding what he liked. Which lick, which whine, which speed had his cock leaking over your fingers. Which trick made the creases between his brows mature, and his mouth fall open: the answer was two fast pumps over his throbbing head, and back down to his base for a respite, prolonging his release with a thank you on his heavy eyelids.

Prolonging, at least, until two fast pumps became a naughty blur of more—Oh, fuck, baby—and his brushes along your cheek went rare, and he licked his dry lips in the fog of his ramping high, and he hung his head back to the dense cushions, and his question escaped his throat in a hoarse huff, “You wanna—?” and it wasn’t a question at all.

You pushed your lips in soft goodbye to his sack, and his fingers under your jaw communicated his wish, aiding your chin up with a light pressure until your mouth was tasting the result of his aching lust. Slow and steady, you lavished his head in tame licks, building into a long sweep over the top. Warming yourself up to the painful stretch your lips were about to endure while his kind fingertips coasted over your hair, and found themselves at the back of your neck. Drawing out the seconds he tucked his thumb behind your ear, and rubbed circles. Sitting in the moment of something delicate, before things changed, and the platonic line became a horizon.

You drove his tip past your lips, and channeled all your appreciation into sucking Eddie’s cock.

He whimpered in surprise. A different whimper than before; not a drowsy noise he may make when rolling over in bed, but a sputtered note expelled in bursts of heavy breaths, singing a hymn to your blood.

The pace was not shy.

You descended to meet your fingers wrapped around his shaft, and reached your temporary depth where his hardness caressed the back of your mouth, and your throat clenched. Pulling back, you focused on his head, wetting his length with the sudden drool, and busying your other hand with his balls, cupping and stroking them in gentle passes.

“Ri–Right there, yeah, God, right there, sweet girl.” The syllables were mashed and dropped and disconnected on his whine.

Flicking your gaze up, you thrived on his fixated stare, bobbing your head on his tip only. Sliding your lips back and forth over the luscious ridge which had his tongue pressed against his bottom teeth. Massaging your wet heat around the center of his pleasure; encouraging a pinch in his expression as if he were in pain when he was in anything but.

Being higher on your knees meant your tits could be seen, and what a delicious sight it was for him to covet. Braced by your bra, your cleavage bounced as you pumped your fist along his cock, grazing your nipples above the opaque floral applique, cresting them beyond the sheer lace. It was enough to make his stomach squeeze, and his fingers tremble in the baby hairs at your nape.

His cock twitched twice in your mouth, conveying a message.

You welcomed him to the back of your throat, gladly this time, accepting the overfulness making it hard to breathe and the soreness surely to come, using your hand for the rest you could not take. No amount of uncomfortableness would make you shy from showing him the recognition he earned. For years he didn’t see the value in himself, and knowing the person who saved a Laffy Taffy wrapper to tell you the joke on the back didn’t prioritize his own happiness compelled you to take him deeper, faster. You shaped your tongue to the outline of his cock, and chased your lips with your fist, hollowing your cheeks at the top, teetering him on the cusp, rousing him until your skin buzzed from the friction and his hips pitched. Bringing him so close to the edge that when you broke away to catch your breath, his muscles shivered, and the shadows between his brows lessened as they arched higher from the mounting pleasure, where every touch on his body felt better and better and better than the last.

In the brief seconds you wrapped both your hands around his length, he made a pleading noise with the added weight of his warm palm at the back of your head—an urgency in his disheveled state, but not without the option of choice.

At once, he was at home in your throat.

In a union, your fingers wrenched his waistband into your damp palm, and he laid his hand across your knuckles. The control was yours, but the pace was his. He fucked himself into your pliant mouth in short, quick thrusts; ever attentive to keep his thumb strokes on your cheek unquestionably loving.

“Gonna make me—” He found the angle to cant his hips so you could watch him unravel; eyes falling closed and face tipped to the ceiling. “—Make me cum, baby,” he finished, voice light as air.

Throat flushed bright pink, cheeks dark red. Eddie panted into a shaky moan of true relief, and your core craved to be the one to take care of his needs, but there was something special about proving your attraction to him in every way you could.

The ridges of his greedy tip found where they were best brushed, and his hips lost their tempo. His stomach sank and stuttered in pulses. A dear emotion clutched your chest, letting loose when he crashed into his climax.

His knees closed you in, crowding you to his lap. “I’m gonna—” he gasped, rough and breathless; presented as a warning for the shot of bitter taste at the back of your throat, filling your mouth and spilling over your tongue with each throb of the thick vein pumping over your swollen bottom lip.

Something undeniable feathered the vulnerability of the position.

You swallowed.

And when more remained after it slid down your throat, you steadied his twitching cock over the offering of your tongue and jerked him off, stealing more drips to satiate you, swallowing with your lips pressed in a kiss to his overstimulated tip. “Baby,” he begged with his head thrown back, legs shifting restlessly around you. He sucked in breaths. Squirmed. Bit his tongue. Tugs of laughter played at his screwed up mouth, so desperate to resist giving in to a true grin when you rode out his high until he was beginning to soften, and the euphoria wore off to a dozy tingles, and the tingles dissipated into you giving him mercy, and mercy gave way to the aftermath.

In all the awkwardness of reality, you unceremoniously wiped your hands on his jeans, and right as he properly tucked himself back into his boxers, he beckoned you with open arms, gripping at your hips and bringing you onto the couch in a clumsy tumble; straddling his lap with his eager kisses seeking your jaw, your neck, your mouth which worked so hard for him. “Fucking amazing, baby,” he mumbled at the corner of your lips. You didn’t need the words—you’d heard them all before—but the reassurance of his arms locked tight around your middle, and the golden rays of honey shining so bright in his eyes allayed the tiny ball of worry at the pit of your stomach telling you he’d next follow it up with an excuse to send you home, as did every man before him.

“‘Mazing, ‘mazing, ‘mazing,” he mushed together on his way to your slack lips, bringing you out of your thoughts and into a kiss. “And dare I say, ‘amazing?’”

His ability to make you giggle when your bare stomachs were pressed together was the sort of tenderness you sought, and he provided.

You rubbed the tip of your nose along his, so very aware of his broad grin, and sweet nature. “You’re silly.”

“That I am!” he stated proudly.

Dipping to complete your gentle smile with his, you sank into the acceptance of him wanting to take your bottom lip between his, and flatter himself with the knowledge of where it’s been, what parts of him it became intimate with, instead of avoiding what was only human. He noticed your cold skin beneath his hands, and ran them along your back and upper arms. There was a motive behind his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt, and palming you forward—where your heartbeats hammered together, and heat stirred in the lack of layers separating you—but still, there was one more affection you thought he deserved before the night moved on to your own.

Shivers chased his thumb braving the roundness of your breast, edging closer to the sensation of due pleasure yearning to be released. He spoke straight to your needs by putting the suggestion in your hips, “It’s your turn now.”

You stopped yourself from toppling to the cushions, and upheld your decent balance through your grip on his shoulders. “Wait,” you complained without malice, forgiving him for not reading your mind, “I’m not through with you yet.”

The word choice sparked intrigue across his face, then it cautioned to curiosity at the ominous roll of thunder rumbling through the trailer, clanking the mugs on the wall behind him.

He turned his head to the side, eyeing you. “What does that mean?”

~~~

“God, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, right there.. A little to the left—Oh fuck, right there.”

“So fucking good, sweetheart, keep going.”

Perturbed, you asked him, “Do you ever shut up?” and kneaded your knuckles harder into the knot of muscle between his shoulder blades, earning a louder groan than when you had his dick in your mouth.

One of the horror movies played on the TV, volume turned high for the alien’s gargled dialogue to be heard over the storm. Eddie’s lanky body was limp with sleepiness, melting under the smooth strokes of your palms starting at the base of his neck and gliding downward over his shirt, dragging another grunt out of him when his voice was hoarse from shameless use, not tempering it for a late night where he’d employ his range outside of singing for Corroded Coffin. He mumbled another praise, but his face was smashed to his pillow, rendering what he said unintelligible. His strong back rose with a shallow breath, and you moved with it. The couch was crowded, but you insisted he get comfortable, even if you had to straddle the curve of his ass with one knee fallen to the alarm of crayons and crumbs stuck between the cushions, and your other leg hung off the edge. This worked for him, though. It gave his hand a place to hold you, fingers clasped to your calf and thumb tending to you in little sweeps of truth. I need to touch you. The room was smothered in darkness, save for the brighter scenes highlighting the glossy line of his eye fighting a losing battle one massage of your thumbs into the pockets of soreness at a time.

You worked at the tense muscles with his comforter draped around your shoulders. It slipped down to greet the chafing air, rushing goosebumps over your skin. After the fourth time adjusting it, you left it gathered at your waist. Making sure Eddie was taken care of was more important. And the college girl turning into goo occupied what was left of your attention.

Though, soon, your tendons ached from effort, and staying-up-late stole the water you yawned from your eyes, and the comfort of being with someone who appreciated you wore heavy on your bones.

You grabbed the blanket, and leaned forward.

Brushing back the mess of curls covering the side of his face, you combed through the strands of hair stuck to his stubble, and found his chubby cheek smushed to his shoulder. You kissed him. “I adore you.”

He put a weak squeeze in his palm behind your knee, and spoke through the grog, “I adore you too, baby.”

Adore. Using the endearment in place of another word, and still, the weight was understood by the both of you.

Housed in the cozy heat of his body, sheltered from the rain lashing the windows in sheets, and the howling wind whistling past the corrugated metal roof in gusts, you sighed. Thunder vibrated from the floor, to the couch, to him, to you.

“You’re too sweet to me,” he said, sounding more awake.

“I’m exactly as sweet as you deserve.”

Instead of using his words to express he wanted to turn over, he just started rolling beneath you, forcing you to rip yourself from his divine warmth, and settle upright on his lap.

You were reminded of the reason you were cold when his eyes trailed over your naked skin, not afraid to show their appetite for your chest. The hunger in his hands returned, scaling the plush expanse of your thighs, and feasting his thumbs higher on the sensitive inner haven he’d yet to pay tribute to.

A smirk cut across his mouth. With a slow breath, he rocked his hips, grinding his half-hard cock against your neglected need, now attuned with the perfect tilt to achieve that pretty noise from your mouth which riled him like nothing else.

Oh, he was very awake.

Eddie exhaled with a pitying sound with attentive eyebrows, almost like he was mocking your moan. “You look so good up there, sweetheart,” he admired through his teasing. “Could get used to it..”

“Yeah?” you questioned. Reaching between your joined bodies, you held no qualms about circling your fingers over his cock, and honoring just under his head, ending your stroke just before he could reap the benefit.

He tipped his head back to gain his wits, finding his answer in the darkness behind his eyelids. “But you keep forgetting this night was about you, and thanking you for everything you’ve done for me. And then you go and add that on top of it.” Private fantasies took hold of him, influencing his heavy moan and thumbs climbing higher, higher. “Gotta thank you for so many things, sweetheart. So many.. However many you want,” he said, alluding to his way of showing gratitude. Fresh lust rushed to your soaked heat hugging his length. “Gotta get you out of these, though.” He scratched a nail over your pantyhose.

You snorted, accidentally ushering humor into what was a sexy exchange. “Why bother? You already ripped them.”

“I what?” Plain confusion marked his face.

Treating it like an ordinary thing, you bunched your skirt up to your waist, and drew his gaze to your mismatched black panties. You gandered at them as well, second guessing if you should’ve taken the extra time to find the lavender pair somewhere at the bottom of your drawer.

“Yeah,” he groaned; as his chest fell, his cock swelled. “I’m gonna show you just how thankful I am, again, and again, and again,” he trailed off, each word fluttering the heartbeat at your core—

Lightning struck, and the phone rang.

Jolting, Eddie stared at it from a long moment, breath held as if that alone would will it into submission from ringing a second time. Spikes of prickly anxiety stabbed at your chest, frightened out of the moment worse than any jumpscare.

It rang a second time.

He took the initiative and sat up, consoling you with his hand on your back and a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, just stay put and make yourself comfortable, sweet girl. I’ll be right back.”

Use your pet names all he wanted, his voice didn’t instill confidence when it went flat and wavered.

He got up from the couch and you were left feeling exposed, nestling into the blanket as the rain picked up, and the buzzy feeling he left imprinted on your skin faded.

“Hello?” he answered, rubbing his stomach above the open fly of his jeans.

As he listened to the man’s voice on the other end, he dropped his hand, and his shoulders sagged at the information.

Turning away, he huddled the receiver to his ear, and asked, “Is she okay?”

His question didn’t have the direness a parent should have if someone were hurt, so you stood up and padded softly to the kitchen, straining your ears, listening intently and discerning a few sniffles. But one little girl’s cry rang above them all. A shrill call for her Daddy to save her from her greatest fear.

Thunder rocked the trailer.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I’ll come get her.”

The phone clicked into its holder on the wall, and like that, the illusion was shattered. It was no longer just you and him spending a night together, carefree. Responsibility took precedence, and when Eddie faced you, his mood was tainted by all the things he explained about being exhausted from just existing his thankless life, judged by all.

He stared into your optimistic gaze knowing this is when you’d get a dose of his reality as a single father.

Fatigue and dread haunted his expression: this date is over.

[danikamariewrites]

Could you write a story with shy reader x Azriel?

How would Azriel get the reader to come out of her shell? Thanks!

Shell

Azriel x f!reader

Warnings: none

Ever since you were a child you were quiet and shy and nervous about everything. You had been best friends with Rhys ever since you were kids. You two were complete opposites, with him being a loud and adventurous child, you were quiet and a homebody. The friendship never made sense to either set of parents. But both were happy each child found someone to socialize with.

Rhys had introduced you to Azriel and Cassian when he was home from Illyria permanently. You had hidden behind Rhys giving them a tentative smile and a slight tilt of your head.

Over the centuries Cassian, Azriel, and Mor became your friends too. You were very comfortable around Mor. You saw her as safe person because she was a female. She was also ok with doing whatever you were comfortable with. She had planned girls nights with you to have a break from the boys.

You had been scared of Cassian at first, he’s just so tall and muscular you were afraid he’d hurt you. As you got to know him, you found he was a gentle giant. Cassian was also a huge jokester so he felt accomplished when he made you laugh.

It took a longer time for you warm up to Azriel. He was a silent shadow and you felt like you had to constantly look over your shoulder for him so he wouldn’t scare you.

Azriel popping up did come in handy though. You were walking back to the Town House late one night all alone. A pair of males were cat-calling you and got way too close for comfort. You had tried to ignore them, you’re not a confrontational person by any means. So causing a scene in the middle of the street was out of the question.

Just when you were about to start yelling for Rhys in your mind, Azriel landed in front of you. His shadows ebbing and flowing threateningly from his shoulders. His eyes narrowed at the males and let out a growl. They turned the other way and booked it down the street, weaving between people. Azriel asked if you were ok and all you did was hug him tightly around his torso.

He froze. He was so taken aback by the hug, but very happy about it. He had wanted to talk to you but you were always so shy around people he didn’t want to make you nervous. So he had kept to himself. Azriel hugged you back and flew you home.

From then on, you were attached to Azriel and he wasn’t complaining. He was always so happy to be around you, you were a calming presence among the chaos of the inner circle.

You had never told anyone but you had developed a huge crush on Azriel after that night. You’d make any excuse to be around him. Even if you couldn’t find the words to express your feelings, just being with him was enough. You were nervous you’d say the wrong thing.

You and Azriel had helped each other with your insecurities over the years. He helped you find your voice, teaching you how to speak up for yourself. You helped Azriel see his hands weren’t something to be afraid of. And that was coming from a girl who was afraid of everything.

The first time you held his hand, Azriel was shocked. You stared at it, smiling, and played with his fingers. He tried to pull away but you just held on tighter. “They’re nothing to be ashamed of Az.” His heart skips a beat at the use of his nickname. You had only ever used his full name. “They tell a story. And they show how strong you are.” You took a risk and kissed the back of his hand lightly. Azriel blushed at the show of love.

He didn’t think it was possible but he fell even more in love with you. Azriel so badly wanted to tell you how he felt. But he was afraid of scaring you off with his emotions.

After the war with Hybern, Azriel was afraid you’d regress back into your shell. You’d made so much progress over the years and he didn’t want you to be afraid anymore.

You had surprised him, and your whole family, by stepping up and taking on more of a leadership role in the court. When you announced at family dinner that you wanted to help Rhys was elated. Mor swore that was the most she had ever heard you speak. You all had a good laugh at that.

Seeing you finally have fun and be your true self with everyone, Azriel made a vow to himself to be the same way with you. To be honest about his feelings for you. To finally ask you out.

Approximately two days after family dinner Azriel found you reading in the garden of the River House. It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and Elain’s tulips were in bloom. Making the garden look like a sea of pinks and oranges. You looked so peaceful sitting under the shade of the willow tree, the slight breeze occasionally blowing your loose strands of hair.

As he got closer your scent came with the breeze. Vanilla and jasmine. It always relaxed him.

Azriel stood over you, clearing his throat to gain your attention. You jump a little, placing your hand over your heart. Smiling up at Azriel you laugh out, “You scared me.” He smiles back. “Sit with me.” You pat the soft grass next to you. He sits next to you, stretching his large wings, wrapping one around you.

You let out a small giggle. You loved when he tucked you in his wings. The dark leather was like a safety net from the world. Closing your book you place it on your other side and look up at Azriel. “What’s up?” He shakes his head, “Nothing. Just wanted to say hi.”

You bite your lip, not totally convinced. Azriel’s eyes wandered to your lips. Mother above that drove him crazy. He wanted to bite your lips, wanted to kiss them. They just looked so perfect.

He cleared his throat again shaking his head a little, causing loose strands of his onyx hair to slip onto his forehead. You bring your fingers up to push them back. Azriel’s face tingles at the touch, blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“I can tell when something’s on your mind Az. What’s up?” You give him a reassuring look. He lets out a huff through his nose. No more holding back. He needs to be himself with you.

“For a long time now, longer than I’d like to admit, I’ve had feelings for you. More than friendship. As I’ve watched you come out of your shell with us, I’ve fallen in love with you. You’re so perfect y/n. More than perfect and I want to be with you. If you want that too.” Your face is set in shock. Your eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. Azriel was getting nervous that he made you uncomfortable. He shifted a little, in a panic you places your hands on his chest and sit on his thigh. Azriel’s eyes widen as he looks down and quickly looks back at your face, which has gone beet red.

Your eyes quickly scan his face as you suck on your lip. You take in a shaky breath. This is what you’ve hoped for, for years. You needed to get over yourself and say something before he slipped away from you.

It was like everything had stopped and it was just the two of you in the garden. In the world. The only thing you could feel were his leathers under your fingertips. The only thing you could hear was his heart beat and your mixed breaths. When did you get so close together?

“I’m in love with you too Az.” You say, just for him to hear in a small whisper. Azriel’s nervous face breaks out into a big smile. He pulls you close to him, resting his forehead against yours. You fully climb into his lap and wrap your arms his neck.

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel breathes out. You brush your nose against his and nod, “Please,” Azriel’s lips slot against yours. Mother above his lips were perfect. He tilts your head back, cupping your jaw for a better angle and deepens the kiss.

You’d never kissed anyone before. So you let him lead. You had no idea what you were doing, but you knew it was right. His lips on your just felt right.

You break apart for air, still leaning in close to each other. “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?” He asks breathlessly. “I’d like that a lot.”

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane

[darlingdarkly]

New Year New You Part 6

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

4k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, alcohol consumption, use of drugs against one’s will

Part 1, 5, 7

It’s been five days of radio silence. You don’t show up the morning after your last session ended just to let Johnny know your free trial is up, although you do walk past the gym every morning before work, even though it’s eight blocks in the wrong direction and makes you leave thirty minutes earlier than you usually do.

You don’t text him and let him know that you won’t be coming in the next day or ever again for that matter, although you do start the text, writing and deleting and rewriting variations of the same “Hey Johnny, I just wanted to let you know-“ and “Johnny, I just wanted to text you and say-“ and also “Hey there, I’m just texting to tell you-“ All typed with bravado and deleted as your nerve deflates.

The one constant is your homework, you do still do that every night like clockwork, three sets of sit ups, two sets of toe touches, ten lunges and your stretches. Your soreness had ebbed after two days of rest and on the third day after you’d washed your dishes and sat down on the couch you had stared at the wall for ten uncomfortable minutes, fidgeting with your nails until you caved, moved the furniture out of the way and did your exercises, even if you couldn’t muster up the nerve to call him so he could watch.

Your days took on a blurring quality. Get up, go to work, go home, sleep, repeat. You felt the monotony settle over your days like a heavy dark blanket, it blotted out the sun and as though your disposition held any real world consequences, as if the very shift of your mood held sway over natures cosmic tides it started to rain and hadn’t stopped since the morning after you’d last seen him.

You were at work, typing away at a report when Nancy approached your desk. She sat down across from you, scooting the chair as close to the desk as her legs would allow and leaned in on her elbows until you finished your sentence and looked up at her, a bit dreary. She frowned and reached out across the desk to touch your hand. “Come to lunch with me.”

You looked back at your computer, the cursor blinking impatiently. “I can’t, I’ve gotta get this report done, I’m gonna work through lunch.” She tipped the monitor in her direction before scooting it back into place. “No you don’t, those reports are all old, I’ve got to send out the updated ones before you can type that report up, or else you’ll just have to do it all over again.”

Your brows furrowed as you reviewed your work. “What do you mean? These are all-.” As you looked back at her she was smiling and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Nancy.”

“Come to lunch with me.” She brooked no argument and you relented, saving your progress and following her out to her car. She unlocked it and you slid into the passenger seat, letting her carry you to the little cafe the pair of you hadn’t been to in ages but used to visit frequently.

You sat down at a little table close to the door and a tall skinny man brought you two menus and took your orders. Nancy also ordered two glasses of prosecco to go with the meal and you stared at her in disbelief as the waiter took the menus from you and walked away.

“Starting a little early today are we? You do plan on going back to work after this right?” She smiled and unrolled the napkin and bundle of utensils on the table in front of her. “Of course, one glass won’t kill you. Besides, you need it. You’ve been moping around the office all week.”

Just then the waiter came back with two flutes of wine and set one in front of each of you before turning away. Nancy picked hers up and brought it to her lips, taking a sip before setting it back down on the table in front of her and folding her hands in her lap. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

You picked the glass of wine up and took a sip, letting the sweet fruity juice marinate in your mouth before swallowing. It was good and you had to admit it made you feel better.

The alcohol helped to loosen your tongue and you found once you started you hadn’t stopped until your plate was set in front of you. Nancy sat across from you and watched as you unwrapped your own napkin and dug into your lunch. She picked up her fork, took a bite and thought everything over.

“You know what you need.” You reached out for another sip of wine and looked at her tentatively from across the table. “What?”

“You need to come out with me tonight.”

“No!”

“Yes!” You rolled your eyes and shook your head, the last thing you wanted was to go out. It always ended badly. Either you'd wake up in some strangers bed or you’d drink too much and wake up with a throbbing headache. You had to go to work in the morning and nursing a hangover at your cubicle at seven in the morning sounded like the exact opposite of what you needed.

“You need to let loose, live a little. Forget about him!” You didn’t want to let loose and live a little, and you certainly didn’t want to forget about him. He was so beyond anything you’ve experienced in so long, so intense and weird and you thought he might be a little crazy but he had said you were his and he was yours. But then why isn’t he texting you? Why isn’t he calling you? Hell, you wouldn’t be mad at him showing up at your house, you half expected him to be there when you didn’t show up for your session that next day. But he wasn’t.

Maybe Nance was right. Maybe you should forget it, forget him. Maybe your previous first impression was more on the money than you’d given it credit for, maybe he was only cozying up to you so you’d buy a membership. Maybe the sex was just more casual and meaningless than he made it out to be.

So you agreed, reluctantly, to go out. You didn’t promise you’d stay long or dance or even talk to anyone that wasn’t her but she agreed that as long as you were getting out then it was a step in the right direction.

You finished your lunch, downed the rest of your wine and left feeling a little better but still uneasy. It was hard to admit to yourself that maybe you’d let your guard down and fallen into some sort of infatuation with Johnny. He made you feel good, wanted, sexy. He hounded you like a dog for a bone and then when he got it he only seemed to want more and more, craving all of you relentlessly. He seemed so committed to you and your goals but maybe it was all just a clever ruse.

But that felt like one maybe too many so you went home after you clocked off with clear instructions from Nancy to be ready at eight. You cooked, showered and got ready, nothing too fancy but dressed up enough for wherever she might have planned. You looked yourself over in the mirror, putting on a few finishing touches when your hand came to rest on the Fitbit around your wrist.

You still had it, still wore it everyday, it was useful to help track your steps and it was an expensive gift to just let sit on your dresser and collect dust, you wouldn’t admit to even yourself that it felt a little like taking off a wedding ring so soon after a divorce, it would be absurd for you to have grown so attached to something material in just a weeks time but it stayed on your arm nonetheless. You switched out the band for the gold chain, dressing the high tech jewelry up and grabbed your purse as you heard the cab pull up outside, laying on its horn.

If she arranged for a cab then she really must have meant for the two of you to drink tonight. You raced down the stairs and slid into the seat of the cab as she drew the door open for you. “Are you ready for some fun?” You smiled and matched her energy but still felt wary about the whole thing. She leaned up and spoke to the driver before the cab pulled away from the curb and out into the night air. Nancy adjusted her makeup with a compact from her purse and you stewed in your thoughts as the buildings flew by out the window.

It had been awhile since you’d been out and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that kind of scene again, the crowds, the lights, the music. But before you could imagine the various elements of your future perils they were before you as the cab pulled up to a building pulsating with sound, a throng of people spread about the exterior talking, laughing, huddled close together in tight groups.

Nancy handed the cabbie a tip and stepped out onto the curb, pulling you out into the amber and pink neon light of the club. The ground shone bright with prisms of color, the rain slicked pavement mirroring the lights and creating a floor of brilliant light. You could feel the thump of the music even from outside and listened to it drastically increase in volume as a couple pushed open the door and stepped into the building, holding onto each other as they disappeared down the dark corridor and into the belly of the building.

You and Nancy pulled out your IDs and showed them off to the bouncer who gestures for you to pass. Pushing open the door Nancy pulled you into the dark hallway, the only light coming from a small window in the door behind you, it faded to nil as you traversed the passageway.

It curved and then was vibrantly lit by various entanglements of neon lights, the first set made a pair of hands, fingers interlocked, the second a half of a woman’s face, her neon eyes fierce and piercing. The third a fibonacci sequence, swirling ever inward upon itself. Passing down the corridor you could tell you were descending, the music getting louder and louder with each step.

Eventually there was a turn and radiating from the corner was a prism of bright, quickly changing light, the rays shifting from pink to gold to green. A fog began to build, a miasma of stale air, sweat and alcohol that burned your nose.

As you rounded the corner the music hit you like a physical wave, deafening in its volume. The lights, bright and strobing, illuminated the writhing bodies wall to wall, you’d entered the belly of the beast. Nancy tugged you by the arm up a set of stairs letting onto a balcony, it wrapped the length of the building on all sides, turning the floor below into a pit of life.

You weaved between the groups of people, brightly colored cups in their hands, their eyes ran over you as you invaded their spaces and passed, their pupils blown and dilated from more than just alcohol, sober they looked like strange monsters but after a few shots their outlines would begin to glow, golden and radiant and they’d appear as gods.

She stopped at the bar, packed with people all along the length and she had to muscle her way between bodies to get the bartender's attention. “Four shots of Bicardi.” You vaguely heard her yell over the noise of the house.

You survey the scene behind you, people passing back and forth, streaming up the balcony towards the bar bumped by people freshly hydrated and looking to dance headed to the floor. None of the faces are distinguishable, a blur of noses and eyes and lips, none catch your eye but you’re still not looking for any interaction, if the most you can do tonight is let loose and dance with Nancy then that’s fine by you.

She turns around behind you, four shots held delicately between outstretched fingers as she tries to maneuver away from the bar. You grab two shots from her hands and she thanks you, motioning with a roll of her shoulder for you to follow her. You follow at her back, a shot in each hand as she finds a deserted table. There’s half empty drinks spread over the top but the booths are empty, which means the people who previously occupied it are feeling good and more than likely down in the pit sweating it off.

She sets the shots down and you follow suit, slumping for a moment into the booth. She sat opposite of you and passed you a shot with a sly grin. “This’ll help.” You took it, eyeing up the clear liquid, knowing it will burn, anticipating it as the saliva built up in your mouth from muscle memory.

You looked up from the tiny glass to meet her eyes, they held yours as she brought it up to her lips and tipped it back, a loud crisp “Ahhhh” resounding from her as she brought the empty shot glass down with a bang on the table. She beamed, the picture of a woman in paradise beckoning you to join her, free of responsibilities, free of pain. Take the shot, join me in paradise.

You did. Picking the shot glass up and downing it, the liquid hardly touched your mouth, barreling straight for your throat, it was sweet and spicy and it burned. Your mouth refilled with saliva, chasing the harsh juice down your throat. As you set the empty shot glass down she was picking up the second, in for a penny, in for a pound. You grabbed for your second shot, lifting it with a smile as you felt your bad mood slip to the back of your mind. You’re out, you’re here, might as well enjoy it. You swallowed the second dose of rum, feeling it burn and not minding so much the second time around.

She scooted out of the booth and grabbed for your hand, you came willingly. She bustled through the crowd hell bent for the floor. The song changed, you didn’t know it but it didn’t take long to pick up on the rhythm as you made it to the edge of the mass and penetrated its ranks.

It was a much tighter fit than weaving through the bar crowd. Bodies pressed up against each other, moving in time with the music. Wandering hands found grinding hips, one press of silhouette shifted into the press of another until they became indistinguishable, you could be dancing with one person of four simultaneously. You kept hold of Nance as she slipped through the crowd and into the middle of the floor.

Satisfied with her depth she turned to you and grabbed your hands, pulling you through the last of the crowd into her space. It was safe and you felt at ease, joining hands with her and dancing without care. Why had it been so long since you’d done this? Why did you always have to fight it? It was better when you could just move, move and forget.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, dancing in carefree bliss. You felt invigorated and alive. You felt a body at your back, not Nancy, she was still in front of you plus this body, molding itself to your back was strong and hard, the hair on the back of your neck stood up, you held your breath as you spun around, expecting very familiar brilliant baby blues but they settled on eyes as green as deep forest moss and even under the potent haze of your buzz you felt your heart sink a little.

The man currently getting physical with you was dark haired and handsome. Strong jawline, stubbled and his green eyes held yours intensely. This wasn’t an accidental bump on a crowded floor, this was a come on.

You turn back to Nancy for help only to see an exact mirror of the man behind you, behind her. Her eyes are cast over her shoulder as the man slides up close to press her back against him and she seems to melt into his touch. When her eyes turn back to yours, they’re excited and you know she’d be no help.

The men simultaneously bend down to whisper in your respective ears, you see the one behind Nancy and know it’s mimicked by the loud deep whisper you hear from behind your own ear. Twins, oh boy.

“Hey there gorgeous, I’m Andrew.” The accent is exotic, from somewhere you can’t place or even point out on a map if you tried but it’s deep and rumbly and if it weren’t for your current predicament it would have been very appealing. Nancy grabs your hand and pulls you forward to speak where you could hear over the music.

“They’re twins.” You could hear the excitement in her voice, there was no way she was letting one or both of these guys slip out of her grasp. “I don’t know Nance.”

She pouted, lip stuck out and all. “Come on. Let’s just see where it goes. Free drinks.” You knew she’d get her way in the end so you went along with it, letting them lead both of you back up the stairs towards the bar. They ordered in front of you a set of four shots and you picked them up directly from the bar, wasting no time in tipping them back.

Nancy was already giggling at whatever her twin was whispering sweetly into her ear but you were still resisting the charms of yours, you had said you weren’t looking to talk to anyone and you really meant it. After a few attempts he noticed you weren’t picking up on his advances and so he did something you really hadn’t expected.

“Look, I can tell you’re not interested so how about we start over as friends. Hi, I’m Andrew.” You looked up at him, trying to get a read. His eyes held no malicious intent and he had a genuine smile on his face so you took him at face value and gave him your name.

The four of you spent a good chunk of time in an open booth talking and getting to know each other, it was actually a good time and the guy who’d originally strided up to you on the dance floor kept his word and didn’t try anything once you started to open up a bit.

The four of you were very intoxicated at this point and you had long forgotten the pit, much preferring to stay upstairs. One of the twins was regaling a tale of how he and his brother nearly died sneakily train hopping through Europe when they had just turned eighteen.

It was a hilarious story, all of you in various fits of giggles, even Ian, Nancy’s twin and the one telling the story, couldn’t keep a straight face as he talked. You were coming off a fit of giggles when your full bladder made its presence known. You excused yourself from the group to take care of it, coming down onto the dance floor and heading for the bathrooms. You really had no idea where they were but you thought the front of the house was the best place to start.

As you traversed the club you realized you really were intoxicated, stumbling as someone bumped into you and struggling to regain your balance, swaying dangerously like a man on the bow of a turbulent ship.

You grabbed the wall to right yourself and stared up at the first set of neon art on the way towards the door. The Fibonacci sequence of lights, natural patterns in bright fluorescence, now more mesmerizing than it had been on the way inside. You don’t know how long you were there staring before the urge to pee made itself known again.

You made your way up the hallway and finally found the bathroom. It was pretty busy there, girls adjusting their hair and makeup, talking, laughing. One girl was crying surrounded by a group of her friends who were doing their best to console her. You found an empty stall and went in, locking the door and doing your business, listening to the chatter as you relieved yourself.

When you were done you came out and the group of girls had vacated the room, leaving an open sink. You came up and began to wash your hands, taking a little longer than normal because of your inebriated state. You dried off and checked yourself over in the mirror, your eyes drifted to the jewelry on your wrist and you became lost in your thoughts.

Johnny came to the forefront of your mind and you saw yourself frown in the mirror without even realizing you were doing it. You dropped your gaze from the reflection and elected to stare down at the sink instead. You felt oddly ashamed about these thoughts, you shouldn’t be thinking about him, you’re out and having fun and there’s a guy, who seems like genuinely a really nice guy who is interested in you and that should be what you’re focused on.

Only that it wasn’t. It was the stupid watch! Why had you worn it out? Why were you still wearing it? You turned your wrist over and fumbled with the clasp until it fell loose into your open palm. You opened your clutch and dropped it inside. Feeling better but not great, you came out of the bathroom and made your way back to the table, mood ruined. You engaged as much as necessary in conversation but now that you’d thought of him, he wouldn’t go away. There were another round of shots and a decree from the twins to go back to the dance floor. You followed and watched as Nancy got very physical now with Ian, and Andrew found a new girl in the crowd to turn the charm on for.

You danced in the crowd, trying to re-find that carefree girl you’d been pre-bathroom break. You let your body move to the sound, closing your eyes and just feeling. When you re-opened them you saw him, he was a couple of heads up, dark hair and broad shoulders, those baby blues unmistakable, only there seemed to be four of him instead of one.

You went towards him, it was your first instinct and you did it without thinking about it, slinking your way through the dancing forms, pushing past arms and backs until you thought you were about where you’d seen him. There was a man here but it wasn’t him, just a guy who was the same height with dark hair, his eyes weren’t even blue, they were brown.

Boy you really must have had too much to drink. You looked around, searching the crowd for Nancy and the twins but you couldn’t see them anymore, you tried tracing your way back to where you’d been but only got lost more. As you turned there was a rush of air to your face, little flecks of something hit your skin, a chemical smell filled your nose.

The following moments descended into a memory slush, just fragments of reality that didn’t make any sense. Lights, loud music, movement. There were hands on your shoulders, strong, warm. Glimpses of light, green, blue, gold. The neon woman with her piercing eyes, she judged you from her place upon the wall. Her judgment was final, her sentence was sleep and the world went dark around you.

[sfehvn]

new religion part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient! This has been sitting in my drafts half-done for a looong time. Hope you enjoy! Xx

Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)

CW: Pregnancy

Word count: 2,347

Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The agony that coursed through cold veins was not unfounded. Astarion watched on with helpless eyes as you lay in bed, your condition only worsening through the days that had passed. Skin that had previously whispered the touch of light seemed much paler than it had before this sickness befell you. Hadn’t it? Yes, he was certain of it. Deep bags kissed under your eyes like bruises of a cruel fate, hair once silken to the touch had become brittle and flat. An emaciated picture of what you had been just days prior lay curled on the bed. If Astarion hadn’t known better, he would assume you hadn’t moved at all from your position since climbing into that bed after returning from the boutique. He had been the one to force you to bathe and stroll through the garden; of course you’d moved. The pain hung deep in his stomach but he refused to let it take him prey. What you were experiencing was far worse than any discomfort he may be feeling.

Three days.

It had only been three days, yet it felt like an eternity. It felt as if he had borne witness to your undoing in such a mercilessly short amount of time. A sadistic reminder of how fragile mortals were. Of how fragile his flower was. How barbarous the outcome; Astarion finally felt so deeply for a being other than himself, only to have it ripped away from tightly grasped hands. He had restrained the urge to maim and destroy you, allowed his love for you to flourish in its haste, yet had still proved to be your inevitable downfall. The wretched thing dwelled in your womb. The disgust ebbed and flowed deep in his gut. All the while he knew the culprit of your condition; he wouldn’t dare utter a word until it had been confirmed. An unspoken battle; should he be forthright with the circumstance? No doubt you would wish to brave the godsforsaken gestation, your longing for motherhood had been made abundantly clear. Stubbornness had been one of the many traits that had made Astarion’s unbeating heart grow fonder of you; in this plight, it very well may be your undoing.

From Astarion’s peripheral, a chambermaid enters the room, awaiting permission to address him. He nods silently in approval, eyes never leaving your debilitated form. “Master, he is here. Shall I see him here?”

His eyes falter from you to glance at the thrall. “You may. Clear the halls on your way out. I expect not a single interruption from anyone while he works. I trust you’ll let the others know of the agonizing centuries to follow if my request is disobeyed.” Though his voice was firm, there was a hint of fear masked beneath the threats. Fear of what fate awaits his lover, fear of what has yet to come, fear of the unknown.

“Yes, master.” She agreed before swiftly seeing her way out. There were no games when it came to Astarion and she did not wish to be in his line of fire if the matter at hand didn’t resolve to his liking.

Astarion steps up to the bed, stroking disheveled pieces of hair from your sunken face. “He is here, my treasure.” Soft words were met with a weak nod, eyes shut in an attempt to stop the spinning you felt in your head. An unwelcome thought made its way into his mind, which he hastily pushed down as far as he could. A corpse you began to resemble.

A tall lanky man makes his entrance. Dressed in a robe that looked centuries too old, wiry hair wisped from the sides of a misshapen ignoble hat, and shoes that seemed to be worn through the soles. He looked every bit a beggar who Astarion would pay no mind to under typical circumstances. Magic radiated in powerful lulls from the stranger, an aura of importance despite his unseemly appearance. “Sir Ancunin, a pleasure.” The man regards him nasally, though his eyes are fixed on you. They seemed to scatter over your frail body in assessment. “May I?”

Edvund Luoguarde. Every piece of unbiased literature regarding dhampirs Astarion had managed to scrounge up had been written by the man in front of him. Not a stone was left unturned in search of the scholar; all the while he had been holed up in a makeshift home on the edge of Rivington. The notoriety Edvund possessed had not affected his simple way of life. It was something Astarion might have found humor in if he had come across the strange man under different conditions. The man slinks towards the bed once Astarion approves, lips pursed as he looms over your unmoving figure.

“Poor child, barely hanging by a thread.” Edvund muses out loud. While there is empathy in his words, the firmness spoke to the weight they held. Astarion eyes his hand cautiously as it comes to hover over your midsection. “I will need her on her back.” He states. “Are you able to move, dear?”

Your eyes open barely a sliver in response. You open your mouth to respond but your voice is lost to the dry ache in your throat and on your tongue. Looking to Astarion in a silent bid for help, he obliges by carefully moving your body into position.

“This will do nicely. You’re doing wonderful, dear.” Edvund reassures. He places his hand on your clothed stomach, a pale blue light illuminating from his palm. His eyes bear the same blue light as he stares distantly at the wall. “Very interesting.” He murmurs after a few minutes pass, but does not remove his hand. It shifts purposefully from your sacrum up towards your ribcage. It was a brief moment of relief, as if whatever magic he yielded offered numbing to the visceral blows you had been experiencing.

Edvund removes his hand and the light in his eyes flickers in tandem. “You would be wise to rest while you can.” He pats the hand that lay lifelessly at your side. Unsure if it was a trance or from the fleeting comfort you finally had after three days of torture, you drifted away. The man turns his attention to Astarion once he’s sure you’re asleep. “A dhampir of not one, but two.” He riddles. “To be born of fruitful womb and abject seed. To shed light as great as thee.”

“What in the hells are you saying?” Astarion’s brow creased. It seemed more likely that Edvund was reciting poetry rather than providing a diagnosis.

“A dhampire of not one but two; to be born of fruitful womb, abject seed. To shed light as great as thee. Cast darkness into light, and light into lead. A union thick as thieves.” His hands move in an unfounded performance, fingers coming to lock in front of his chin once he is finished. “A prophecy greater in age than you or I.” He clarified, bringing his hands to rest on the edge of the bed. “It was foretold a pair of dhampirs would be born to a pure soul and a heinous….” He trails, eyeing Astarion before continuing. “They will materialize to our plane of existence. The gods have willed it so and so it will be.”

“Are you suggesting there are two?” Astarion’s jaw clenched as he eyes Edvund. “Remove them.”

“I cannot.” Edvund was unphased by Astarion’s aggressive demand, instead he stared him down with the same determined look in response.

“You will. This will kill her. Are you mad?”

“She will recover.” Edvund muses, looking back down at your sleeping form; no doubt the most divine rest you’ve had in your life with the help of his own magic.

Astarion steps around the foot of the bed, making his way toward the man with a fire blazing in his red eyes. Edvund glances at him, whispering a quiet incantation that seemingly relaxed every nerve in Astarion’s body. In a daze, he sits limply in the chaise at the end of the bed. He felt powerless. For the first time in his many years, he was indeed. Completely, utterly, entirely not in control.

Edvund steps in front of him, crouching until he is eye-to-eye with him. “You’ve felt this is destiny, yes? You and the girl?”

Astarion feels that blaze return, but it is quickly simmered once more. Edvund effortlessly defies his rage, pouring his own magic into keeping Astarion sedated. “Get out of my head.” Astarion murmurs, gritting his teeth uncomfortably.

Edvund proceeds; he already knew the answer to his question. “You do not want to anger the gods, Sir Ancunin. This has been foretold. Of course, nothing is stopping you from finding someone else to get the job done; I for one will have no part of it. I’d rather not deal with the wrath of any all powerful deity, let alone all of them. I suggest you heed this warning. It will not be pretty if you interfere.” He purses his lips tightly, furrowing his fluffy brows together as he speaks.

Astarion’s mind felt convoluted as the reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders. This was bigger than you or him, but he refused to stand by and watch you crumble.

The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of destiny as Astarion grappled with the revelation. Edvund's cryptic warnings and the ominous prophecy left Astarion torn between the fate dictated by higher powers and the desperate need to protect you. The clash of emotions within him mirrored the conflict that unfolded in the dimly lit chamber.

Astarion's eyes, once ablaze with defiance, now flickered with uncertainty as he considered the implications. The revelation of a dual heritage, the prophecy, and the insistence on non-interference pressed upon him. Yet, the fierce love he felt for you surged as a counterforce, compelling him to challenge the preordained path.

The room bore witness to a silent struggle—one man navigating the treacherous waters of divine prophecy, the other tethered to the mortal realm by love's unyielding grip. As Edvund continued his mystical work, Astarion's internal turmoil mirrored the external tension, a tempest brewing in the shadow of fate.

In the midst of this cosmic chess game, your frail form lay suspended, caught between realms. A pawn in a game played by unseen hands, her fate intricately woven into the fabric of prophecy. The dichotomy of despair and determination etched across Astarion's face painted a poignant picture of a soul at war with itself.

The room, once a sanctuary for quiet moments and stolen glances, now bore witness to a profound struggle that transcended the mortal and the divine. It was a clash of wills, a dance of destiny, and a tableau of emotions that would shape the course of lives entwined in a tapestry woven by forces beyond mortal comprehension.

“The gods have orchestrated this all, Astarion.” Edvund loosened the invisible grip he had on Astarion, allowing a sliver of distance between them as he stood. “I’d heard of you, you know. The ruthless vampire lord.” Edvund quirks his head. He didn’t need to say it aloud as it was unspoken; love had made Astarion soft in a lot of ways. Specifically for you, but for the way you lived life as well. The way you simply loved.

For a brief moment, Astarion wondered if you would have been anything more than a meal and quick fuck without the interference of higher powers. He couldn’t dwell on the thought, though. It made him sick to think about.

Edvund's words cut through the tangled web of Astarion's conflicted thoughts. The acknowledgment of his reputation as a ruthless vampire lord served as a stark reminder of the life he led before you entered it. The juxtaposition of his past and the vulnerability that love had brought forth in him loomed over the room.

As Astarion grappled with the unsettling realization, Edvund's gaze lingered on him, a silent understanding passing between them. The enigmatic scholar seemed to grasp the intricacies of Astarion's transformation, not just as a vampire but as a being touched by the profound force of love.

“I hope you don’t mind, I’m not really in the mood for chit chat.” Astarion replied back coldly, his eyes stone as he looked at Edvund. Edvund held his hands up in a show of understanding.

“I’d better get going. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but see to it that she rests adequately. There will be days where she feels like she can conquer the world, but she mustn’t overexert herself.” Edvund states as he walks towards the door. He leaves with a parting reassurance. “She will live. The gods are not as cruel as you would believe them to be right now.”

With that, Astarion sat alone. The air hung thick with magic and tension.

Astarion's gaze remained fixed on your slumbering form, the delicate rise and fall of your chest a comfort amidst the tumult within him. The cold, stoic exterior he had worn for centuries cracked, revealing the vulnerability that love had etched into his undead heart.

As he sat in the quiet chamber, a myriad of emotions churned within Astarion—fear, love, defiance, and an unsettling acceptance of the cosmic forces at play. The room, once a witness to stolen moments of intimacy, now bore witness to a solitary figure grappling with the intricacies of mortality and the influence of gods.

Time seemed suspended in that moment, the force of the future pressing down on Astarion. The journey ahead, fraught with uncertainties and divine machinations, loomed large. Yet, in the hushed solitude of the room, Astarion found a quiet resolve to face the impending challenges.

The vampire lord, once driven solely by self-preservation, now stood on the precipice of a destiny entwined with love and sacrifice. As the shadows deepened and the room embraced its newfound solitude, Astarion remained a sentinel, guarding not only the frail form on the bed but also the fragile threads of a fate spun by gods themselves.

[chibsandchill]

A blood red setting sun

Fandom: HOTD (House of the Dragon) 

Pairing: Aemond x GN!Dragonrider!Reader (reader’s house is not specified)

Warnings: Death, toxic relationships, Aemond needs therapy (like a lot), sui§ide, Dark!Unhinged!Aemond, bad language, blood and gore (described), unreliable narrator (Aemond), grammatical and spelling errors. This is a dark fic

Summary: Rhaenyra changed her mind and sent you instead of Daemon to guard Harrenhall, and a battle between you and Aemond one-eye ensues far above the Gods Eye. Inspired by Love crime by Siouxsie and the Hannigram cliff scene. 

Masterlist

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Alys clung to his back, her breath warm on the side of his neck. It made his skin crawl, 

he loved it. 

That feeling of wrong that washed over him every time they touched. The disgust that sprung down his spine when he joined himself with her. How his breath caught in his throat when she kissed him, when she pressed herself against him, 

the instinct to flee. 

It was familiar, 

unlike with you, 

when everything felt right. 

Aemond shifted forward in the saddle once he spotted the charred ruins. Alys moved closer, her rounded belly pressing against him to the point of discomfort. Disgust rolled in his stomach at the thought that she carried his bastard. He tugged her closer still, chasing the feeling, and yet, despite his efforts it ebbed away, just like it always did. He chased and chased like a dog with a bone, 

but even that would abandon him. 

Aemond scoffed and pushed her arm away. He would push her away, off his dragon were it not for the fact that he was addicted to her. She was a witch, 

his Alys. 

His. 

It rushed through him again, the loathing. It set his nerves on fire, his chest aching and heart screaming in protest, 

oh how he loved it. 

“There, my Prince.” Alys whispered in his ear. It made his skin crawl. Oh, how he loathed her touch. 

But true indeed, there you were. Waiting for him by the ruins and the great old tree. Your dragon stared them down when he ordered Vhagar to land. No respect, no… fear, either of you, he thought, for both dragon and rider neither flinched nor moved away when he landed his Queen of Dragons recklessly close. 

“Kinslayer!” You named him. “You came at last.”

He helped Alys down from Vhagar. Her touch chased away the delight he felt at hearing your voice again. “I hear you’ve been seeking us.” 

“Only you.” 

“Hm.” A smirk grew on his face. “I rarely leave my Lady’s side.”

You frown at the sight of the witch’s belly. “Clearly. I see Aegon’s lesson stuck after all. Tell me, Lady,” you turned to Alys, “did he cry as he spilled himself inside you?”

Your fire excited him. He found he didn’t even mind that it was his past you used to tear at the frayed edges of his wounded heart. It was you he had cried to that day Aegon had taken him to the brothel. He had cried as the old whore forced him to his peak, 

a whore who looked like Alys. 

Perhaps that’s why he chose her. So he can relive it time and time again. So that when he dreams he can hide in your arms again, where you press him to you to the point of pain. It grounded him, 

unlike now, 

Aemond felt untethered, like a kite who’s string had been cut and was left to waste away in the wind. 

His witch stood tall. Perhaps a bit too tall. Rigid. “Hardly.”

“Ah,” you lean back against the tree, “you’re upset about the gift I left you, witch.”

Alys tensed and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Aemond wanted to look at your hands but he refused to tear his eye from yours. Were they bloodied with Alys’ bastards? Or had you scrubbed and scrubbed until your hands bled. Were your arms marred with tiny scratches as they fought back? 

How did it taste? 

How did it feel to have your soul tainted with their blood? 

Could you still taste the iron on your tongue as he did? 

You were the same, 

tainted, 

doomed. 

You had left them all in a pile. Poor Alys could barely recognize them, much less identify what pieces belonged to which of her children. She had cried that night as he took her. He had licked the tears from her face and her misery warmed him. 

He wanted to thank you for it, 

for the high. 

Could you do it again? 

“I had thought murdering children was Daemon’s brand of cruelty.” 

“As did I, kinslayer.” You worried your lip between your teeth, face a perfect mask of indifference. “I do believe the saying to be ‘an eye for an eye’, not ‘an eye for a life’. Let’s not forget about sweet Lucerys,” you pouted and stepped closer. “He was Rhaenyra’s favorite, you know. Was it worth it?”

Always, he wanted to say. 

Aemond the One-eyed kinslayer with a heart as black as the night he slayed his nephew. 

“No.” 

“Liar.”

Perhaps a little. 

“And how is the whore of dragonstone, hm? I hear they heard her screams all the way to Dorne.” Aemond placed Alys in front of him, pressing himself against her. “And her daughter? A sign from the gods. My sister is more beast than woman. It is not so surprising then to find our uncle rutting into her so.” 

“You think I am here for her?” You laughed. 

Aemond bristled at the sound. He stood before you, a warrior, bloodied and proven, 

and you laugh. 

“No, Aemond,” his trousers tightened despite Alys pressing back against him, “I am here for you. It is time we end this. It is time we see who will win this deadly game. Say goodbye to your whore.”

Alys twisted in his arms with outrage, but Aemond said nothing. He wanted to disobey, if only to see what you would say, 

what you would do to her, 

to him. 

Would you tear the bastard from his arms? He tightened his arms around Alys. Would you? Could you see it in his eyes? The desire? 

Take her, he urged you in his mind. 

Take her. Take her. Take her. Take her. 

Take me. 

In his dreams you called him ‘yours’. 

Eager to chase it all away, Aemond forced Alys around and pressed his lips against her hard and fast without an ounce of kindness. They were already bruised from last night and she twisted in his hold to get away, 

but he wouldn’t let her. 

She saw much in the fire, his Alys. Surely she saw into his very core and knew the beast that waited there, ready to devour all that tries to take what belongs to another, 

what belongs to you. 

Piece by piece Aemond fed Alys to it. 

Who did you feed to your beast, Aemond wondered, or had you left it starving until he returned? Did you wait for him like you swore? He refused to believe you had. He did not. So you did not. What if you had? If he touched you would the beast take him? Would it turn against him? 

He wanted to try.

If you consumed him, 

he would be glad. 

You had lain with another. You must have. Or else… He refused to believe you had not, refused to believe that you had not betrayed him for that meant that it all was for nothing. 

He could see it in your eyes. You taunted him with it. A piece of you had been given to another. It must have been. It had been. He could see it. He saw the lack of it. You lacked it. You could not give it to him. It was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. 

Just like you. 

Where did you go? 

He tore his face away from Alys and pushed her out of the way. 

There. 

You were mounting your dragon. 

The die had been cast, it seemed. Now to see who would survive this dance of theirs. 

Aemond clambered up the chains to Vhagar’s saddle. 

“Kinslayer!” You interrupted him as he was about to fasten the chains around him. He looked up, and there you were. Upside down in your saddle. He scowled. “Don’t bother with the chains. This won’t take long.”

“Soves!” Aemond barked at Vhagar, who grumbled and growled in protest at his tone, but the she-dragon obeyed. 

Your dragon was smaller and swifter than the old she-dragon, and quickly the pair of you disappeared in the clouds above. Because of her size Vhagar was much slower and had taken to ascending in ever widening circles, forcing them out over the vast lake. The waters of Gods eye shimmered like molten copper under the setting sun. It was rather peaceful, Aemond thought. 

And then, 

your dragon emerged from the clouds from his blindside. Teeth like swords wrapped around Vhagar’s throat and talons ripped and ripped at her soft underbelly. Vhagar twisted in your dragon’s hold, tearing herself further at his teeth in her desperation to be free. 

“Vhagar!” He shouted in horror. 

Her roars of pain echoed across the land. She turned and turned, lashed out with her tail, her claws. 

“Dracarys!” Aemond commanded her. “Dracarys!” 

Fire spouted from her maw, so bright that it looked like the clouds themselves caught on fire. 

Your dragon let go so that he could get a better grip but Vhagar banked to the side and the two dragons grappled at each other. Talons tore at hide until blood rained down on the fishermen below. 

And yet, through it all, you remained quiet. Such was your bond with your dragon. It needed no words. 

Vhagar’s claws caught on the soft underbelly of your dragon, and her teeth on his wing, but the she-dragon was dying. Her great wings slowed down, her fire a mere ember glowing in her throat. Your dragon bit at Vhagar again with renewed vigor, undeterred by her talons cutting straight through entrails. 

“Oh, kinslayer!” Your voice echoed in the wind. 

He looked up and only managed to draw his dagger as you leaped from your dragon. You slammed into him and your sword through him. Aemond gasped and sputtered. You were touching him. 

Skin against skin. 

Your face against his. 

Blood coated your teeth. 

You had never looked more beautiful. 

He barely noticed Vhagar’s dying shrieks, or that the three of you began plummeting towards the water. 

The feeling of her, 

it rushed through his veins, 

burned up his skin. 

Your chest heaved, but you smiled at him. You smiled and pressed yourself closer to him. Would you impale yourself on your own sword to get closer? Bleed into him as he bleeds into you. For what was this but you killing yourself? You and he were the same. 

Then you gasped, and Aemond was broken from his trance. 

You were still falling, 

falling together. 

But his dagger? You had fallen straight onto it. Red gushed out onto his hand. Horror filled his chest. He brought his hand up to his face. He wanted to cover his eyes and pray, pray, pray until he woke up in his bed and this was all a bad dream. 

He hardly felt his own pain over the pain in his heart. The beast rattled at the bars of the cage, breaking his ribs to crawl out of her chest and be reunited with you. 

Aemond’s eyes flew open at your touch. Calm acceptance waited for him in your eyes. He knew then that you also knew that this would never end in any other way. You were never meant to survive the war, for what was there to live for if not the other. You were always meant to burn together, 

die together.

Happiness. You were happy, 

happy with him. 

He could see the water now. It would be your grave. But you would be together. He wondered if you knew what would happen when you decided to jump from your dragon. Had you seen his dagger? Was this your design all along? To die together at each other’s hands? 

The one piece of you that you could give to no other. It was his. 

His. His. His. His. He was yours. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

You brought his blood coated hand to his mouth, and without looking away he licked at the wetness there. You pressed it harder against him and he licked and licked until it was gone and his face was stained with you. You. You. You.

You threw yourself against him again, your lips pressed against his. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. But it was perfect. He chased your lips as you pulled away. You had never looked as beautiful as you did then, lips smeared with blood and wide-shot pupils. 

You clutched at his tunic, to bring him closer or push him away? Aemond didn’t know. You pulled and then you pushed. 

And then, 

blackness. 

Aemond looked up. 

A blood red setting sun. 

Water filled his lungs. He didn’t feel cold and it was okay, 

because he had you in his arms, 

and now you would never be apart. 

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter five

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: I won't lie, I love this chapter, especially because it shows one of my favorite things about this reader very clearly--the fact that she only has one braincell. She's been surprisingly fun to write, even with all of the angst!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.6k

The doors opened with a noise so loud she winced. 

When she looked up, she was face to face with a gun.

Y/n was afraid in a distant sort of way. It was, sadly, not the first time she’d been held at gunpoint pursuing a story. But the first time had been with a wire under her shirt and a whole bunch of cops around the corner. 

This time, she was alone. 

And the man on the other end of the gun was a cop. 

“Shit,” Lieutenant Gordon said and, mercy of all mercies, put away his weapon. “What are you doing here?” 

For some reason, the disappearance of the gun kicked the fear up a notch. Her heart suddenly tried to take flight. She took a deep breath, dizzy now, and managed to say, “Got a second for that interview?” Her voice was too high. Probably not the best time to crack a joke, but she obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. 

Behind Gordon was a shadow. 

No, a man. 

The Batman. 

His mouth was slightly parted, what she could see of his face…almost shocked. 

“You two look awfully surprised to see that someone followed you. The blindingly bright light wasn’t very hard to find.” She should shut up, she thought distantly. She still wasn’t sure if they could be trusted. But the fear was ebbing away, slowly but surely. 

Gordon pinched between his eyes, the movement pushing his glasses up to his forehead. 

“There’s a locked gate that requires a code. There’s barbed wire.” He sounded like Alfred when she and Bruce had gotten into something they were told not to touch or do as kids. Tired dad voice, they called it, snickering behind his back. 

She hooked her thumb in Batman’s direction. He still stood absolutely still, cape blowing in the breeze, his mouth closed now. “Followed this guy in.” 

Gordon looked over at the vigilante. “This is the girl you–” 

“I remember,” Batman said in that voice of gravel and smoke. It sent a thrill of fear through her. Actually, his voice was kind of sexy, now that she was thinking about it. 

She was losing her mind. She had barely slept in a week and she was losing her mind. She was with two men she wasn’t sure if she could trust, on top of an abandoned building where it would be very easy to kill her, and she was thinking of sexy voices. Well, one sexy voice in particular. No offense to Gordon, she thought wryly. 

“I’m also, um…a journalist.” This was directed at the vigilante. In her experience, honesty opened up more doors than it shut. She was usually pretty good at figuring out when to lie, particularly about her profession, and when to tell the truth. Or when to split the difference. She trusted her gut more often than not, and right now, she was relatively at ease. “Couldn’t help it, sorry.” 

“So you just…” Gordon waved a hand vaguely. 

“Followed the light? Yeah. I just hope it doesn’t lead to death like it usually does.” God, she needed to stop cracking jokes. She wasn’t out of the woods yet. “So if you’re going to murder me, can I please at least get a good quote first?” 

“This concerns her anyway,” Batman said, shocking her so much that she nearly toppled over the edge of the tower. And–oh shit, the tower was really tall and had absolutely no walls or rails or anything to protect her from the drop. She took a shaky step back towards the elevator, but it had returned down below. Heights had never been her friend. An irony, Bruce liked to point out, because she lived in a tower. Then that would almost always start an argument about what “irony” meant. 

“Are you sure?” Gordon said. The wind whistling in her ears made it hard to hear. She hoped the question wasn’t Are you sure we shouldn’t kill her? and was instead simply Are you sure we’re going to trust her? 

“We can always throw her over,” he said. There was something almost familiar about his voice, she realized, but then the words caught up to her. 

She gulped, dizzy again, but Gordon did a double take. “Did you just make a joke, man?” 

The Batman gave no indication that it had been a joke. She gripped the pepper spray tighter. Not that it would help her if she got tossed over the side, but it made her feel a little better. 

“He’s kidding, don’t worry. Tell her you’re kidding, she looks ready to puke.” Gordon crossed his arms, clearly not intimidated in the least by the hulking figure of the vigilante. 

“I’m kidding,” the Batman said with a cutting glance towards Gordon. “I don’t kill people.” 

She squinted at him, unable to clearly see him in the darkness. She really couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. She guessed he had to have at least some sense of humor about all of this. He was dressed as a fucking bat, after all. 

She decided to trust them. “Okay, which means I’ll be really upset if you make an exception for me. I’ll haunt your ass. Yours too, Gordon, because supposedly you’re the only cop who isn’t corrupt in this city.” She crossed her arms and shivered. As long as she ignored the sheer drop surrounding her on three sides, she’d be fine. “Though I’m not convinced yet. I’ve been gone from Gotham for too long.” 

“The force has changed a lot in a year.” Another look exchanged with the vigilante. “But I understand the sentiment.” 

Y/n glanced around, keeping her eyes on the view instead of the drop. “So no one else has ever followed you up here?” she asked curiously. She saw what she was pretty sure was a spotlight on the far side of the platform. “Because seriously, the light is a dead giveaway.” 

“His girlfriend did once,” Gordon said, and he smiled. “But no one else.” 

“Wasn’t my girlfriend,” the Batman mumbled. Mumbled. He was suddenly less scary when he sounded like any surly man denying any attachment to a woman. 

Her ears perked up. “Oh? She got a name?” 

They both gave her looks that said they knew exactly what she was up to. She shrugged, the perfect picture of innocence. It was worth a shot. 

She changed tactics. “You said this concerns me. What does?” 

“The murders you witnessed,” Gordon said. “We found ties to the Gallo family. I was coming to fill him in.” 

“The Gallo family,” she repeated. She knew this already, but better to play at ignorance in case they gave her more information. That and it hadn’t been confirmed by someone who was on the investigation team. “The mobsters in New York?” 

“The very same.” 

“Was the one who got away one of them?” she asked. Because that would be bad. Very bad. 

“We didn’t get any information out of the other three. One…committed suicide not too long ago, actually. Part of why I’m here.” Gordon sighed. “Getting rid of Falcone created a vacuum. The Gallos are just the first ones powerful enough to fill the space.” 

Falcone. She knew the name. Knew the story. Knew he’d been responsible for the deaths of Bruce’s parents. That was one death she hadn’t begrudged the Riddler–at least Thomas and Martha had gotten justice, in the end. 

The Batman turned and looked over the city. His figure cut a dark shadow across the city skyline. “Any ideas where to start looking?” 

“So you can bust some heads?” Gordon said. He was smiling. Y/n looked between them. It was fascinating. They were obviously close but this only confirmed it. She itched to take notes but she didn’t want either of them to snatch her phone. Damn, she should have set it to record when she was in the elevator. Gordon continued, “But no. We’re coming up empty so far. None of the typical informants have heard anything about the Gallo family. As far as we know, none of them are actually in the city. If they are, they’re laying low.” 

“Could you identify them again?” Batman asked. His eyes glinted in the darkness as he faced her again. She noticed he hadn’t come any closer to her, unlike Gordon who was only a couple of feet away. Instead he was near the edge, about as far away from them as he could get. Was it to make her feel better, safer? 

“Maybe, with the help of the video.” She knew eyewitness testimonies were shaky at best. And the more traumatic the event, the more unreliable the testimony could be. But a video helped and would do wonders in court. “What does this mean for me?” she asked. “Am I supposed to stay locked up forever, afraid to go out in case there’s a mob hit on me? Or even just a regular murderer trying to take out a witness? Because both of those are kind of shitty.” 

“Yes,” Batman said at the exact same time Gordon said, “Probably.” 

Her heart sank. 

“We’ve been protecting your identity as best we can,” Gordon said in a sure tone that again made her think of Alfred. She wondered if Gordon had kids. “But we can’t be sure there isn’t a leak in the department. We’re still plugging all the holes left behind from Falcone.” 

She winced. “Okay, I’ve done two bad things so far.” The Batman crossed his arms. Gordon motioned for her to continue. “First, I may or may not have been loaned out to the Tribune on special assignment to report on my own case. So the editor definitely knows my identity. And I also may or may not have reached out to a GCPD officer to be a source.” 

She heard the Batman sigh even over the noise of the wind. Gordon was pinching the bridge of his nose again. Their response made her feel like a little kid getting in trouble and it made her bristle. She bit her tongue to keep from immediately defending herself. 

“Which officer?” Gordon asked and his tone told her all she needed to know. He didn’t trust some of his fellow cops, if any. 

“He hasn’t even agreed to be a source yet, and besides I have the right to protect–” 

“Which officer?” Batman cut in, the sharp growl of his voice startling her. 

The sound of it made her spit it out. “Martinez.” 

Both men visibly relaxed. “Martinez is solid. There’s a reason I brought him with me to get your statement,” Gordon said. “We can trust him.”

“Okay, good. That’s good. See? I’m not a total idiot.” She relaxed marginally. 

“Maybe you’re just lucky,” Batman said. 

She laughed humorlessly. “Lucky? Well, buddy, you know what I was doing the same day I witnessed a fucking mob hit? Burying my mother and grandmother. And don’t even get me started on the rest of my personal life right now.” 

“He didn’t mean it,” Gordon said with a sharp look. “His humor takes some getting used to.” 

Batman mumbled something under his breath again that sounded a lot like I can talk for myself. But he didn’t actually butt in. 

“Okay, whatever. What can I do? I don’t want to be killed, obviously, and I don’t particularly like the idea of being locked in an ivory tower either, nice as it is.” What she didn’t say was that she wasn’t sure she could handle being locked in Wayne Tower with Bruce Wayne. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t be reminded of how close they used to be and the distance between them now. And all of that on top of the immense grief she experienced at unpredictable times. She never knew when she’d be reminded of her grandmother and subsequently that she was gone. Around every corner, through every doorway, was the potential for a punch to the gut when she remembered her grandmother was dead. 

“What can you do? Stop sneaking into construction sites at night, for one,” Gordon said with a soft snort. “But any information, anything, you come up with while working on this story, send it to me, too. And we’ll work with you on identifying that fourth suspect.” 

“You aren’t going to tell me to stop investigating?” 

It was the Batman who answered. “Would you actually stop?” His voice was rough on her skin, giving her goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold or the fear of heights. 

She shrugged. “Probably not. But I don’t want to die, either.” 

“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” he said. He took a step forward. She noticed how broad his shoulders were, how sharp his jaw was, how his gloved hands were clenched into fists at his side. She really, really should have found a way to sneakily record everything. She was probably closer to the Batman than most people had ever been. 

She swallowed. “Don’t worry, Wayne Tower’s plenty secure.” 

“Still. I’ll be around.”

“That sounds a lot like stalking.” She raised an eyebrow. 

“I promise I won’t peek in your windows.” A twitch at the corner of his lips. 

“That sounded a lot like another bad joke,” she said. But she smiled.  

“Let me drive you home,” Gordon interrupted. He was glancing back and forth between them, eyebrows raised. She wanted to protest, but she doubted her luck had held long enough for her to be able to get a taxi back home. 

“What, that’s it? Two whole pieces of information and you go home? You guys don’t text or anything?” She crossed her arm. She really hadn’t gotten any more information that she didn’t have–except for the suicide of one of the suspects. If it even was a suicide. “This meeting could have been an email.” 

“Never know who’s listening,” Gordon said. He tilted his head towards the vigilante. “Besides, he’s paranoid. Only calls if he needs something. Hates texting.” 

She eyed the man in question. If he hated texting, maybe he wasn’t as young as she thought. Then again, Bruce hated texting too, old man at heart that he was. But he was the exception, not the rule. 

“I’d really appreciate it if you two kept me in the loop too. Quid pro quo,” she said. 

“For your article?” Batman asked. There was a certain edge to his words that made her think he didn’t like reporters. And really, it made sense. If she was trying to keep her identity a secret, she wouldn’t like reporters either. They were a chronically nosy bunch even when they weren’t working on a story. 

“For my life. If I survive this, yeah I’m going to write a hell of an article. But I kind of have to be alive to write it, don’t I?” She crossed her arms again and stared him down. 

“Quid pro quo,” Gordon said. “As long as you two agree to play nice.” He chuckled, like it was part of a joke. 

“Keeping her alive is nice,” Batman said. Another joke? Every interaction between him and Gordon solidified the fact that they got along well and were around each other often. No way Gordon didn’t know the guy’s real identity. But if they were as close as she suspected and if Gordon was as honorable as everyone said…no way was he going to let any hints slip. 

Her mind spun as the two men talked quietly about off the clock watches of Wayne Manor. She now had two very reliable sources for her article–if they really did keep her in the loop–and a new certainty that an op-ed for the Batman was in her future. She doubted any reporters in Gotham had spent as much time with the vigilante as she already had. Her veins thrummed with that inner fire. 

She might be able to expose a mob conspiracy and the Batman’s identity in one fell swoop. 

It was all she could think of as Gordon drove her home.

Next Chapter

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[j4desblurbs]

DISTANCE

obi wan kenobi x fem! reader

welcome to my second fic! this took me quite a while cuz motivation ebbed and flowed, but here it is. please bear with me if there are grammatical errors or anything that just doesn’t sound right; i’m still navigating this writing thing. thank you so much to my bbg @retrosabers for proofreading & editing, & thank you all for reading! i hope you enjoy :)

summary: obi wan has noticed you straying away from him, and decides to find out why.

warnings: just some angst

word count: 2.4k

obi-wan noticed it, the way you walked straight past him in the hallways instead of stopping to say hello. the way you chose to sit alone at lunch instead of joining him, anakin, and ahsoka.

and it puzzled him, because the change in your behavior towards him was so sudden, like a switch had been flipped. he didn’t know what he had done, if he had done anything at all.

“is something wrong, master?”

obi-wan startles, turning towards ahsoka, who’s looking at him expectantly.

“you looked kinda upset. i just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” she gives a small shrug.

he clears his throat. “yes, everything is fine. thank you for checking.”

ahsoka nods hesitantly, and then leaves.

obi-wan sighs. he really must talk to you soon.

it was lunch time. he already knew you wouldn’t be willing to sit with him in the mess hall, but perhaps it was worth a try to talk to you anyway.

obi-wan sees you exiting the line for food, and making your way to the usual table in the corner. he moves towards you and to catches you by the shoulder.

“hello.” he greets softly. he’s not sure what else he can say.

“hi.” you manage. and then you start to walk away.

“wait!” obi-wan says hurriedly.

but you don’t stop. you’re walking away, and it’s no longer towards your table, but out of the mess hall altogether.

obi-wan’s heart sinks.

was what he had done so terrible that you couldn’t bear to hold the slightest interaction with him?

over the next few days, obi-wan continues to seek you out, to no avail. he barely sees you during lunch or in the halls, and he doesn’t dare to try your quarters.

he doesn’t know what to do. he desperately needs to speak with you, but he also doesn’t want to force you. all of this leaves him with quite the situation.

it’s in the nights, the restless, sleepless nights mostly spent by tossing and turning, that he decides to just take the first opportunity he can get and talk to you. it will drive him mad if he doesn’t.

several days pass before he sees you in the hall, and his feet are moving towards you before he can process it. he should stop, think this through before he does anything, but his rationality is overruled by his heart.

he calls your name, but you don’t turn back.

he says your name again, and it takes every ounce of your strength not to look at him. but when you hear him get closer, and feel his hand rest on the inside of your arm, you can’t keep your guard up any longer.

“obi-wan.” you say, turning to look at him. you had your suspicions that obi wan wasn’t taking your radio silence well, but you weren’t expecting him to look so defeated. while he still maintained his normal air as a jedi master, you could see the mental exhausation in his eyes, and you could feel his distress in the force.

he gives a wry smile, before his face falls. “i’ve been meaning to talk to you, but i wasn’t sure if- i didn’t want to overstep, or make you uncomfortable or anything of that sort.” he stops and folds his hands in front of him, twisting his fingers. he’s nervous.

“okay. what did you want to say?” you straighten your posture and fold your arms across your chest.

he awkwardly clears his throat. “do you want to go somewhere less…open?”

he’s looking at you so earnestly that you can’t help but oblige.

obi-wan leads you to a small clearing just outside the jedi temple that you used to frequent back when you were closer. it’s peaceful, ringed with flowers growing in patches and tall trees in the distance. there’s an old, once broken fountain in the middle that you got anakin to help you fix.

“i…haven’t been here in a while.” you admit, bending down to run your fingers over a patch of flowers.

he sits next to you by the patch, deftly picking a flower from it and tucking it behind your ear. he smiles softly when you turn to look at him, a smile you return.

“i have. it’s a nice place to come to when i…need to clear my head.” he looks back down at the flowers.

you nod almost imperceptibly before brushing your hands off on your pants and standing up.

“so, what did you want to say?” you look at him expectantly.

obi-wan pauses, collecting his thoughts. he wants to make sure that what he says comes across clearly; the last thing he wants to do is say something that would offend you and cause him to lose his chance to express his concerns with you.

“i feel as though you have been avoiding me in the past few weeks. i sensed that you were becoming more distant, drawn in, especially around me. i want to make sure everything is alright. that…i haven’t done anything wrong. because if i have, i’m so sorry, and i will do everything in my power to correct it.”

you hesitate. you know that you’ve been growing distant, and that obi-wan deserves to know why. he’s been nothing short of a kind and loving friend in your life, and seeing him so rattled by your change in behavior tugs at your heart strings. but that’s where the problem lied. you didn’t look at him as just a friend. your feelings for master kenobi were growing stronger as the days went by, and putting up walls between you two seemed to be your only answer to the problem.

you didn’t realize it was hurting him too.

you struggle putting your feelings into words, the jedi code at the forefront of your mind. you can’t possibly tell him how you feel, not when you know he’ll rebuke you, and you don’t think your friendship, or your heart, could survive that.

“obi-wan.” you begin, but your voice dies in your throat.

he gives you a look. the kind he always does when he knows you need to vent, and a crack begins to form on your heart. you can’t bear to lose him, but the weight of lying hurts just as much.

“the reason i haven’t been talking to you lately…is because i don’t want to lose you.” you fidget with your hands as you speak, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact with him.

“i….as i’ve started to get closer to you, i’ve found myself feeling for you in a way i hadn’t felt for anyone before. i didn’t know what it was at first, and once i did, i tried to deny it, but it just kept growing. i knew it was wrong.”

you’re starting to cry now, the tears welling in your eyes and falling down your face as you blink.

“so, i started to distance myself from you. i knew i could never have you, that you’d leave eventually, because…”

“because?”

you force yourself to look up at obi-wan, into his eyes, and you find that he is much closer to you than you expected. he’s looking at you with concern, the emotion so clear on his face that you’re taken aback. it takes you a moment to collect yourself enough to speak again:

“because everyone who i’ve ever loved has left me in the end.”

obi-wan has an expression that’s an unreadable mix of shock, sadness, and pain. something stirs in the force, a heavy weight pulling you closer to each other, and you find yourself buried in his arms before you can fully process it.

his arms envelope you in a hug that feels like home. he feels like home. a place your heart will always belong, and always want to be. finally, the dam breaks, and a wrecked sob escapes your lips as he pulls you closer.

obi-wan’s voice is strained, like he’s on the verge of tears himself. “you’re never going to lose me.”

he’s stunned. he can’t imagine anyone wanting to leave you behind. you, with your sweet disposition, the way you smiled at the younglings as you walked past them, occasionally stopping to entertain one, the way you were so dedicated to honing your skills, becoming the best jedi you could be, the way you treated everyone around you with respect and kindness and loyalty.

how could anyone let go of that?

obi-wan gently guides you out of his arms, but rests his hands on your elbows. you wipe your tears with your sleeve and make eye contact with him. you can tell he wants to say something.

“who? who….left you?” he asks, concern ever so evident on his face. his hands rub your arms softly, as an attempt to soothe you, let you know he won’t push you to form your answer.

the question almost makes you start crying again. after what feels like months of ignoring obi-wan, having him be so concerned for you makes you feel terrible. you swallow the lump in your throat before speaking:

“back home” you sighed. “i was friends with this girl. we were close, told each other everything.” you smiled sadly at the memories. “one day she started to become distant...” you paused. the attention in obi-wan’s gaze encouraged you to continue. “she started growing distant and then before i knew it, it was like we were strangers. like our friendship meant nothing.” you close your eyes and let out a deep breath. “i didn’t let myself make friends for a long time i was so rattled by it. and when i finally did, they all eventually fell down the same path. it made me think there was something wrong with me.” your voice broke on the last word, your throat burning with the arrival of fresh tears. “i had to be the problem. there had to be a reason why no one would stay.”

“my spirit...well i’m sure you can tell it hasn’t been the greatest.” you try and brush off your feelings with a forced laugh, but it only makes the crease between obi-wan’s brow deepen. “when i came to coruscant i thought it would be a fresh start, a new beginning. and it has been.” your eyes glimmer for a fleeting moment. “but i guess i’m still really scared.”

you take a deep breath, the weight in your chest finally lifted. you look at obi-wan expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

obi-wan’s hand moves from your elbow to rest on your shoulder.

“my love, i…i’m so sorry you had to go through that. i’m sorry you ever felt like….felt like you had to distance yourself from me.”

“you must know” his tone is hushed, bordering on pained. “you must know how i feel for you.” as he fully engulfs your face in his hand, thumb caressing your cheekbone to wipe away a stray tear, you see the adoration in his eyes. you feel the strength of the force pulling you together, intertwining your souls. obi-wan is nearly on the verge of tears when he admits: “i have loved you since the moment i first laid eyes on you. my heart is yours. it’s always been yours.”

you blink softly at his words, your mind running as it tries to process them. it feels like time had stopped, that the maker had granted you this moment to claim as your own, something that no one could take away from either of you. not the sith, not the council, no one.

“obi-wan….” you start, but you can’t form words. no words would be able to fully express your feelings, your relief at knowing that your love isn’t unrequited.

instead, you move forward, your hands coming up to hold his face and your forehead touching his. he relaxes into your touch, hands finding their way to the small of your back. he pulls you impossibly close, like if he lets you slip even the slightest bit away this will all have been a dream.

you breath fans over his face, lips a mere few inches apart. his ocean blue eyes flick up to yours, asking permission to do what you’ve been wanting for ages.

you whisper his name, a desperate grant of permission, and his lips are on yours. the kiss is all of the unspoken words from over the years; a soft and gentle, yet soulful and passionate way of saying “i love you. i’ll always love you.”

his lips are soft against yours, and his hands tighten on your waist. he’s warm, and solid, and you lean even closer into his touch.

suddenly, realization strikes you. you straighten, your hands coming away from obi-wan’s face slightly. his brows furrow, and his hands shift on your hips a bit.

“darling? what is it? what’s the matter?” his eye contact is so unwavering that you can’t help but falter a bit before voicing your concern.

your voice is barely audible. “the code obi-wan.”

he deflates, but only a little.

“what are we to do?”

obi-wan takes a breath, and then gently, one hand moves back up to rest on the side of your face.

“there’s nothing for us to do. this is ours to have. the council cannot punish us for something that they do not know of. we sacrifice enough as is. you and i deserve to keep this to ourselves. you may tell the people you keep close to you if you wish, but do not for a minute think that this belongs to anyone else.”

you pause to think. for all your time on coruscant, the jedi code has been a large part in the way you go about things. it has greatly influenced your decisions and behaviors. so now, directly disobeying the code and the council that you admire (and fear) so much feels foreign, and wrong.

you value the code. but you have values of your own. and one of those is being compassionate. showing the people you care about that you love them. obi-wan is right. this is yours to have. you’ve wanted nothing more than to love him, and to be loved by him in return.

now that this opportunity is within reach, are you really going to let it slip away?

you nod softly. you want this. you want to be with obi-wan. and you weren’t going to let anyone interfere with that.

after all your loneliness and pain, you deserved this much.

[welldonebeca]

The Triplets (1)

Summary: Lizzie moves in with her favourite honorary Uncle, Beau, to find work in a big city, and starts sharing a house with him and his other two twins brothers. The triplets - Dean, Ben and Beau - couldn't be more different and more similar at the same time. One thing they all share? Well, they all want to fuck her, of course.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

Lizzie tapped her fingers on the wheel as she drove around to the Winchester’s house.

She was doing this.

She really was doing this.

Lizzie was moving into Uncle Beau’s.

Well, he wasn’t her Uncle.

They weren’t related at all, but he was friends with her father, and her father always spoke of him as her uncle Beau, so the name was just drilled into her mind.

He had offered to let her stay at his house while she looked for work in the city.

Well... she was supposed to live with him, and with his brothers.

Uncle Beau was one of three. Triplets.

It was so weird. They were identical and couldn't be more different at the same time.

Uncle Dean was the oldest. He was a cool guy and a fun uncle. The few times they had seen one another, she remembered him trying to her get to play some sport in the backyard.

The two times she saw Ben - or Benjamin - he asked her to just grab him a beer, and didn't even look at her face.

She wondered if they even knew she existed, and how much even Uncle Beau remembered her.

All three were sons of her father's friend, John. They had been together in the army with dad serving under him. He couldn't be too young, as his sons were just a few years younger than your father. Maybe that was why John liked your dad that much.

Emotional projection or something.

She finally pulled up to the address, seeing Beau sitting outside by the porch, probably waiting for her.

It was a lovely house, and it looks pretty big, which was good, cause she wouldn't have to feel too burdensome by taking one of their rooms.

"Hey, there, sweetheart!" he called out as she closed the door behind herself.

Beau opened his arms for a big hug, and she quickly took it.

"Oh my God," he chuckled when she wrapped her arms around him. "You've gotten big!"

Lizzie flushed. Oh, he smelt very good.

"I remember when you were this tall," he showed a height with his hand, pretty close to her, but stopped. "But you haven't changed much in that area, have you?"

She rolled her eyes, embarrassed.

"Haha," she mocked. "Very funny."

Lizzie pouted as they walked to her car, though. She was pretty average!

He was the giant!

"Thank you so much for letting me stay," she opened her truck to grab her things.

"Don't worry about it," he took her suitcase from her hands. "You're just finding your footing. You should be able to try and survive on your own, you know? Be a full adult."

She relaxed a little.

"Thank you," she sighed, taking a bag when the two headed inside.

The moment they stopped at the door, uncle Beau turned to her, unsure.

"I should tell you. Ben and Dean... they are..." he looked for words. "Hm..."

"Not happy with my presence?" she asked, unsure.

He shook his head quickly, but stopped himself.

"No… well…" he started. "Hm... actually..."

She frowned, feeling more worried about staying. She didn't want to bother them or mess up their life and routine.

"But I told them that you are a good kid and it will eb good for us to hang around new people," he told her. "It's... good for them to meet new people, you know?"

She nodded, at last.

"Okay," she agreed. "Alright."

He led her inside slowly, and she could hear the TV playing some baseball and someone cooking something in the kitchen.

They walked down the hallway together, and Lizzie could see two archways, one leading to the living room and the other to the kitchen.

If he was Ben or Dean, she didn't know, but someone was drinking beers in the couch like his life was about to be over, and had apparently been doing it for a while, because there were a bunch of empty cans on the floor, around him.

Wasn't it, like, 3 pm?

"Ben," Beau huffed. "What did I say about beer cans on the floor?"

He was Ben, then.

He sat up, not looking at the two.

"I'll pick it up later moan," he groaned, finally looking back at them, and the anger on his face disappeared when he noticed her presence. "Oh. You're the girl Beau told us about."

Lizzie nodded slowly, a little unsure.

"Yeah!" she squeezed the strap of her bag close. "Don't you remember me, Uncle Ben?"

He pressed his lips together with a playful expression on his face.

"Don't call me that," he warned her.

She felt herself flushing a little, and he sat up, looking at her attentively as if she was prey, and he was the predator.

"But I do remember you," he chuckled. "Always with that little bow in your hair. Like a gift waiting to be unwrapped."

Lizzie moved a hand to the back of her head, a little uncomfortable.

Her bow was stylish!

"Alright, that's enough," Beau decided. "Pick up your cans and go put on some pants, we are not savages here."

Ben scoffed, standing up and moving to climb upstairs, and she looked away when she realised he was wearing his boxers only, embarrassed.

"Come on, Lizzie," he put a hand on her back. "Dean's making you some warm meal. You must be hungry after the drive."

Dean looked very different from Beau and Ben.

Well, even his name was very different from theirs.

Why their parents had gone for two matching names and then a name that didn't match either, Lizzie never understood.

Ben and Beau had longer hair and beards. But Dean kept his hair short and his face clean, as if to try and keep himself as different as possible from his brothers.

"Hey there," he greeted the two when she approached the kitchen island.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Hi Dean," she tried to greet, though it came out as a squeak.

There was something more imposing about him than the other two. It made her stomach twist.

"You had a good ride, kid?" he asked.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "It was good."

Beau pulled her bag from her shoulder.

"I'll just take this up to your room," he told her. "But you should eat first."

She nodded, and he offered a hand to her.

"I can take the rest of your stuff," he offered. "And park the car."

Lizzie gave her keys to him, not too worried. Uncle Beau was a good driver.

She guessed.

Elizabeth took a seat on the nearest stool just as Dean served her some rice and chicken.

She was so hungry, she almost forgot to thank him.

"Thank you," she covered her mouth with a hand, realising it midway through chewing. "Really, this is all so much."

He smiled, taking a seat in front of her.

"Don't worry about it," he assured her.

Lizzie had just swallowed down her first bite when he cleared his throat.

"So, where are you planning to find work?"

She looked at his face, surprised.

"Well, I just graduated with a bachelor's in communications," she told him. "And I want to work with journalism. So I'm thinking of local news and stuff like that, you know?"

He nodded along.

"Like... CNN, ABC..." he listed. "Stuff like that?"

"Yeah," she agreed.

Dean looked interested.

"So you will be a reporter?" he asked, raising a single eyebrow.

Lizzie confirmed.

"Yes. Sometimes people hide the truth and the public has a right to know, you know?!"

He chuckled.

"Very passionate," Dean smiled. "Nice."

She kept eating, and he pointed at her with a smirk.

"Keep that up," he quipped. "It's good to be passionate about your work."

"Now we got someone in the house to tell us what is fake news," she heard, and turned to see Ben walking into the kitchen, wearing pants now.

And no shirt.

She looked right down at her plate, not wanting to ogle.

He was too hot for a guy old enough to be her father.

She already had enough daddy issues without him rubbing his muscles all over her face.

It also didn't help that he was covered in hair.

"Well, I will try to be as creditable as I can be," she shoved more rice into her mouth.

She felt Ben a little closer to her and tried not to tense too much.

"How old are you now, anyway?" he asked.

Lizzie glanced at him.

"Gonna be 22 in a couple of months," she grabbed some chicken, eating it quickly.

"Damn," he chuckled. "You're all grown up, aren't you?"

Dean glared at his brother.

"Ben," he said simply. Short.

"What?" he chuckled. "We are just talking right?"

He leaned closer to her, so close she could feel his warmth, and Lizzie forced herself to look at him.

"You're gonna be living with us," he reminded her. "You're gonna have to pull your weight around, you know that, pretty girl? Can't be just a pretty face."

Her flustered natured turned to anger.

She knew that!

"I'll let you know I'm not a slack," she hissed to him. "I know how to be a good roommate."

"Whoa, okay," Ben laughed, moving a little back from her. "I mean, that's good. You're not living with daddy anymore, gotta actually work around here."

Lizzie glared at him. Wasn't he the one drinking beer at 3 pm on the couch?

Dean put a hand over hers, making her look at him.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he told her. "We know. Ben is just being a dick."

"Thank you," she smiled at him.

Dean mirrored it before standing up again.

"So, normally it's just Ben around most of the day," he told her. "He does the chores. At his own pace. But he does them."

Ben mumbled something under his breath, grabbing a leg of the chicken Dean had over the stove.

"I cook," Dean continued. "And work at my repair shop."

She nodded along.

"Beau over there is retired," he told her. "And he is looking for what to do with his life."

She frowned.

Oh?

"Retired?"

He was so young.

To retire, at least.

"Early retirement," Ben grunted. "Don't ask about it."

Dean sighed.

"He's not exactly an open book about that," he explained.

"Noted," she affirmed.

"Just stick to your work and we can live in Kumbaya," Dean remarked.

Before she could speak, though, Beau walked inside.

"Come on," he called her as she finished her plate. "I'll show you your room."

She nodded, swallowing down, and Dean took her empty dish, just waving her worry away before Lizzie followed Beau;

"Oh, let me," she tried to take one of the boxes from his hands.

Beau quickly stepped away.

"Nope," he interrupted her. "You walk. I carry."

She tried not to feel tense as they walked up the stairs.

It was just all of her earthly possessions in his arms.

Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.

She followed him up, and Beau guided her to the second room to the left.

"This is the guest room," he told her. "You got your own bathroom and everything."

She nodded, relieved. Good.

"But it doesn't have a shower," he grimaced. "We're gonna build a second full bathroom downstairs, but for now, you gotta bathe with three dudes, but I promise we keep it clean."

"It's fine!" she tried to assure him.

It would be weird to have to walk in and out in a towel, but... if she was quick... it'd be alright.

"You already had lunch, so just get settled," he told her. "If you want you can look around town, too, you know!”

Lizzie took his hand, getting his focus back on her.

"Thank you," she told him. "For everything. I know it's hard and weird to just bring someone random to your house. It was so nice of you."

He smiled, softening.

He touched her cheek sweetly, and Lizzie's face burned before he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"What kind of uncle would I be if I didn't?" he asked. "Now, go get settled. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

She nodded, pressing her thighs together and watching him leave.

Lizzie listened attentively as his steps moved back, and when it sounded like he was far away enough, she rushed to lock the door before going to her luggage and digging for her vibrator.

This was going to be a long stay.

. . .

"The Triplets" was posted on Patreon on January 2023. To read it now before anyone else and read the sequels "The Livestream (Ben x Lizzie)", "patience is a virtue (Dean x Lizzie)" and "the pictures (Beau x Lizzie)", subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and it helps a lot.

[monstersandmaw]

Holy moly, folks, this one was supposed to be a 3k word story, ready to post in the middle of the month, and (a bit like the last one which was 12k) it morphed into nearly 15k of feels and fun... oof. Thank you so much to those who reassured me on Discord that it was ok to take a few extra days to make sure it was something I was happy to post. I hope you enjoy Celann the grumpy werebear...

Let me also just briefly take this opportunity to thank you for returning to Patreon to support me and for joining up since I relaunched in October. It means the world to me that you value and enjoy my writing enough to pay to have access to it once a month. Really, I cannot tell you what it means to me for you to give me this income and independence. I tear up just trying to explain it, even in words.

Anyway, apologies for the delay! I wish you a very merry festive season, and hopefully there'll be another little Christmas bonus for you too, as per the poll from a while ago. May 2024 bring you every happiness and blessing, folks. And here's to many more stories and characters to share and enjoy.

Content: gender and body neutral reader who is a healer/surgeon, a thinly-disguised Roman Empire/Iron Age Britain setting, a secondary character is seriously injured (no super-gory descriptions, only a brief catalogue of her injuries), a big, gruff and reserved loner werebear, brief brush with hypothermia from the reader, some good old 'cuddling for warmth', and some penetrative sex later on too.

Wordcount: a whopping 14,585!

Castle Rise Outpost, in the extreme, northernmost reaches of the Republic’s ever-expanding territories, was hardly the most illustrious or auspicious posting you could have hoped for.

As you and your tired horse plodded along the sandy track over the region’s high, wind-blasted heath, your heart ached for every last mile that stretched between there and your warmer homeland. It all seemed so far behind you now, but this was a new start and a new adventure as the surgeon and healer attached to one of the Republic’s vast network of military outposts, and you were determined to make a good life of it.

Gods though, this place really was desolate.

On your right, away to the east where the light was fast fading, a dense forest of gnarled and mossy oak trees looked as though it was spilling down from the rolling hills and tumbling inexorably down into the valley in a wild, green tangle, and below the treeline, a fast-flowing river cut through the landscape in a dark and sinuous ribbon. The water was rich with tannins from the falling leaves in the forest, and as the ebbing light caught it, you thought ominously of the colour of blood. Behind the forest, as the afternoon darkened towards the deeper hue of an early autumn evening, the far off shape of the snow-capped Highlands lurked on the horizon; their shape now black and foreboding as the stage background of a mummer’s drama.

The commiserations of your fellow graduates from the medical academy in the capital now rang in your ears as the wind picked up and you tugged the thick, woollen cloak further up around your neck to keep the damned weather out. The chestnut mare, your only constant companion for the hundred or so miles since the last major city, tossed her head and trudged on with her long, damp forelock dangling into her eyes and obscuring the white, asymmetrical blaze that dribbled down her ginger face towards her nose. She seemed half asleep on her feet, and you weren’t far off that yourself either.

A flock of rooks erupted out of a patch of dark elm and tall sycamore in the valley below on your right, tugging your mind back to the present. Your gaze tracked them as they sailed away like flakes of dark ash on the wind. Both you and the rangy mare shifted nervously, and you couldn’t help but remind yourself that the locals weren’t always friendly to the Republic’s advances further and further north. Stories of skirmishes and wild tales of shapeshifters and sacrificial magic swirled through the ranks of soldiers, but they were largely dismissed by those who had lived a comfortable life in the Republic’s neatly-planned towns and cities, with their hot bath complexes, intricate mosaics, and heated floors.

“Not long now, Copper,” you said, petting the horse’s mud-encrusted neck as much for your own reassurance as for hers. You’d named her for the vibrant colour of her coat, reminiscent too of beech leaves at the height of the season, but you’d been made to feel foolishly sentimental for giving such an ordinary horse a name like ‘Copper’ by the progressively rougher soldiers at the staging posts on the journey north.

The mare didn’t even flick her ear in your direction at the sound of your voice, and you sighed and pushed yourself back up into a better position in the saddle, shifting uncomfortably as your bruised seat-bones protested yet another day of riding. How the Messenger Corps managed, living almost their entire life in the saddle, you had no idea.

The fort itself came into view on the next rise in the road, and Copper’s ears finally pricked up at the break in the relative monotony of heather and sand and occasional rowan tree. Your own attention was caught, however, by the fact that ‘Castle Rise’ outpost was not, in fact, a castle at all. From that distance, it looked like little more than a grubby wooden palisade with a watch tower over the gateway, and a ditch running around it. Torches bobbed along the walls at regular intervals though, marking the sentries’ routes within, and when you reached the gate and drew rein, a woman’s rough alto yelled down at you.

“Announce yourself!”

You did, adding, “Healer and surgeon assigned to the outpost, until relieved of my duties by a replacement next year.”

“If you even survive up here that long!” she crowed back at you.

Read the whole thing now over on Patreon! For $3 you can have access to all my previous (pre-2023) stories, and for $5 you can have access to all that, plus all the new monthly exclusives.

[curi0us-gh0st]

WARNINGS: smut, overstimulation, fingering, inappropriate language. (I think that's it!)

Imagine, you lying on the soft bed while shedding several tears, your lips red and swollen from biting them so hard to contain your own moans.

While the woman has three fingers inside her, fucking her greedy cunt soaked from too much stimulation. The fingers going in and out at insane speed, the sounds that were heard so pornographic from how wet you were.

And Momi dressed as Mask Girl on top of you in just a skirt and bra, her back stinging from her fingernails tracing red lines into it as she slammed deep into you, always ebbing near orgasm, teasing you.

"C'mon baby, what would your girlfriend say if she saw me fucking that slutty pussy of yours, huh?" She whispered next to her face, fingers curling into her sodden insides drawing a cry from her.

"Oh! Please. Please let me come!" You asked tearfully, she was driving you crazy.

"Be a good bitch and answer the question." She hit her sweet spot. "And maybe, I'll think about whether or not you should come." Momi lifted his thumb to circle her clit in need of attention.

"She- She would hate that!" You moaned aloud when again she curled her fingers, you scratching the shore freely.

"And?" She wanted more. A lot more.

"But… But, I'm yours!" You screamed. "I'm all yours!"

"Mine? All mine for what?" She asked slowing down her movements.

"No no." You whimpered. "I'm your slut! Please Mask Girl let me come!"

"That's right. Of course baby." Momi curled his fingers inside her, back and forth quickly, hitting her spongy spot as his pussy tightened and spurted his cum into her hand, squirting.

You arching your back and screaming with excessive pleasure. Momi slowed down as you descended from the top, your breathing evening out.

"You were-" She was interrupted by you kicking off your mask and wig making it fall beside you as you cupped her face and kissed her passionately.

"Thank you my love." You whispered leaving another kiss on her full lips. "You are the best and most beautiful girlfriend in the world." he praised her breathlessly as he looked down at her.

Her eyes sparkled with pure pleasure and admiration for Kim Momi. She smiled and returned the kiss. "I love you too sweetheart."

A/N: Well, it wasn't the best but shit! That was like... The first thing I thought of watching Mask Girl! 🎭 (Now I literally don't know if it's Kim Momi or Kim Mimo 🥴)

I simply created a crush on the actresses who play it, before and after, both are beautiful! 🙏🏻 (no kidding, women, especially tall ones, are my undoing!)

(sorry for anything, english is not my first language!)

[arctrooper69]

Hi! I'm a Cody simp and I would love to see you write how Cody reacts to me graduating med school and reaching my lifelong dream

Of course! Congratulations on graduating medical school! I think every single clone would be so proud of you ❤️❤️❤️ It's hard work doing what you did and you pushed through and made it out on the other side. That's amazing! 🥰

--------------------------------------------------

Shining Star

Cody thinks the world of you. His cyare has finally achieved their dreams!

Warnings: None. Just some fluffity fluff.

--------------------------------------------------

You waited nervously behind the stage, fiddling with your robes and the tassel to your cap.

“Relax!” Your friend nudged you as she whispered. “He’ll be here!”

"I know..." You whispered back. "But...but what if he sees me and..."

"Stop." Your friend cut you off. "He's gonna see you and he's gonna be so kriffing proud. I know he is!"

You opened your mouth to respond but the line was moving. It was time to go.

***

Your name was called and you walked across the stage. Hardly listening to anything the announcer was saying, you focused on finding a certain Marshall Commander in the crowd. There he was, standing towards the back of the room. The anxiety that had been slowly creeping into your chest melted away, replaced by a euphoric sense of pride as the professor handed you your diploma. You beamed, locking eyes with the Commander. His face was strong and stoic but you could see the pride shimmering behind his serious demeanor as the lights from the stage lit up his eyes.

My cyare.

He stood tall in the crowd, stiffly at attention, giving you the respect you so deserved in the only way he knew how.

As you stood proudly, reciting your oaths beside your classmates, you kept your eyes on the Marshal Commander. His eyes hadn’t left yours for the entire ceremony and he wasn’t about to look away now - not at what was the happiest moment of your life so far.

The rest of the ceremony went by quickly.

You exited the stage, nearly skipping with an energized excitement, towards the back of the room where you'd seen him - but he wasn't there. The euphoric sense of excitement in your chest slowly ebbed.

Where had he gone? Did he really just leave without saying anything to you?

Your heart sank slightly. You'd known he was a busy man but at least he could've said goodbye - or at least commed you to tell you he couldn't stay. Tears of disappointment began to well behind your eyes as you walked back up to the front to grab your belongings. You didn't feel like celebrating. You knew the pride would return soon enough; you deserved this with or without Marshall Commander Cody there beside you. But right now you just wanted to go home.

Suddenly a hand wrapped itself around your wrist, yanking you into the waiting area behind the stage.

"Hey! I...." your shout of warning was cut off as a pair of warm lips met yours. Cody. He hadn't left after all.

Strong arms wrapped around you tightly, lifting you off your feet, spinning you around as he broke off the kiss.

Gone was that professional stiffness of a solider. A soft smile stretched across his lips as he gazed into your eyes. He set you gently back down onto your feet but didn't remove his hands from your waist.

"I'm so proud of you, cyar'ika." He said warmly in his deep, sensual voice. His eyes sparkled, caught in the lights from the dimly lit room. He placed a kiss to your forehead and brushed a stray hair from your face, tucking it safely back behind your ear.

"I told you that you could do it. I told you, you'd make it through and here we are."

The pride at your accomplishments swelled once again as you stood quickly onto your tip toes, throwing your arms around his neck.

"I did it!" You whispered gleefully, giggling with that rush of euphoria. "I did it!"

His lips met yours again and you closed your eyes, savoring every second of this momentous occasion.

"You did it cyar'ika!" He whispered back. "I love you so much! I'm so kriffing proud."

You pulled back slightly, looking up into his eyes. "You know," you began, smiling, the feeling of euphoric pride still swelling inside. "I wasn't sure I'd make it this far."

"But you did!" Cody replied. "You did and you should be proud of yourself."

You nodded, "This is the proudest I've ever been. This is who I've wanted to be my whole life."

Cody's smile was dizzying as he looked down into your eyes, chest filled with pride. "When I met you, the first thing I noticed about you was your passion. You were so driven in everything you did. You love people. You want to heal and help. You want to see them thrive."

He placed another kiss to your forehead. "The world needs someone like you, cyar'ika. You're going to save so many lives."

I know nothing about medical school or graduating from medical school, so I hope that sounded okay! Congratulations again!

--------------------------------------------------

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[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 24 of 28)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | 

Act III - Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 (18+) | Part 28 (END)

AO3 Link is here, my sweet.

Word Count: 4,380

Act III, Chapter 3 - The Torment

The next morning started off like any other. However, you were surprised when Wyll, Karlach, and Jaheira came back in the late afternoon with a tall, muscular, and bald man with a small rodent on his shoulder. Karlach and Wyll were following the other two with expressions of awe.

I wonder if he’s an associate of Jaheira’s… that would explain why Karlach and Wyll are fawning so hard.

The man saw you and grinned broadly, waving cheerfully at you. Your seal pulsed strongly in return.

Who exactly is this man?

Coming up to the group, you smiled warmly. “Welcome back, everyone. Who’s our new friend?”

“I am Minsc!” Then he held out his hand for the little rodent to hop onto his palm and held him out to you. “And this is Boo, the mighty miniature giant space hamster.”

When the hamster looked at you, your seal pulsed again, sending heat waves through your blood. You looked back up at Minsc, and the power ebbed away.

What. No way. It was the hamster that is the powerful one here?

Boo chittered, and while everyone else was looking at the creature, you noticed that Minsc was listening intently as if he understood every little squeak.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he mumbled. Then he gingerly brought Boo back to his shoulder. “Boo is looking forward to sampling your fine dishes and to hear your singing. Karlach and Wyll have been praising your talents!”

You blinked. “Um, alright, I’ll do my best,” you said, directing your reply to the little hamster. Looking into its eyes, you suspected you saw understanding, and even more, satisfaction.

Welp, that was strange.

You learned from the others that the underground guild in the city and Jaheira had made a deal: she got help finding Minsc, and in exchange, they had chased the Zhentarim out of the city. You breathed a sigh of relief.

So I didn’t need to worry about them after all. Thank the gods. Or rather, thank Jaheira.

Karlach patted your back. “I’m relieved. One crime group is enough for this city, hah!”

You laughed, hiding your nerves. “Yup, good riddance.” And now they’ll never know.

Leading the others to the campfire, you served them some drinks and some snacks and listened to them regaling you with their adventure, which had taken them all across the city, even to the deepest bank vaults. They had even found Mol and a couple other tiefling children in the Guild, running their business, and doing quite well for themselves.

“Oh good, I’d like to go back to the other tiefling children and let them know Mol is safe,” you said.

“I can do it,” Karlach said with a smile. “I’m sure Wyll would want to see them again too.”

Wyll nodded, and you caught his soft look as he watched Karlach.

Oh ho, his love grows.

After their story, you rooted around through the pile of loot for any extra bedrolls or fabric to make a tent for the newcomer. Just as you had managed to find enough rags to weave together, you heard the alarm bells on your belt chime softly.

Turning toward the entrance, the others had arrived looking a bit worn out. As they joined the group at the campfire, Shadowheart relayed what had happened.

“We literally went to hell and back. But now Lae’zel has a way to free Orpheus.”

The githyanki nodded with a slight smirk. Oh, she’s quite pleased.

“And we may have a change of accommodations,” Gale said. “The Elfsong has an upper floor penthouse available if we wish to use it, for a discounted fee.”

“Are there enough beds for everyone?” you asked, sweeping your hand towards everyone, including Shadowheart’s parents, Isobel, and Aylin, who were hanging back, listening in.

“Plenty of beds,” Gale replied.

“And why the discount?” you questioned. Inns don’t give discounts unless…

“There might have been a murder on that floor, and that might be scaring off the guests.”

Everyone looked at Gale.

“Look, just because one person died there doesn’t mean we should stay out in the open for the remainder of our time here.”

After some thought, the group began to mumble agreement.

Wait. Then that means…

“So you won’t be needing me any further,” you quietly said.

All eyes turned to you.

“Well, of course we need you, darling.” Astarion walked up to you and patted your head. “You still have to feed me.” He gestured towards everyone else. “And these fools couldn’t clean worth a damn.”

You glanced at everyone else, who were mostly shrugging sheepishly.

“And who’s going to take care of the giant pile of souvenirs that Karlach and Astarion keep pilfering?” Wyll joked.

“Some of those are from you too!” Karlach shot back, lightly shoving Wyll, who only laughed.

“The point is, you’re part of the team,” Gale said softly. “We need you just as much as anyone else.”

You turned back to Astarion, who nodded and took your hand, holding it gently, his thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles. Leaning closer, he whispered in your ear, “Besides, you promised you would stay with me, didn’t you?”

You nodded.

“Good girl,” he murmured before pulling back. Turning to everyone else, he shot them all a triumphant grin. “So, shall we upgrade our accommodations?”

***

By the time you all had finished packing and moving everyone’s things out of the harbor and to the Elfsong, the sun had just dipped below the horizon. Yet the tavern was already loud and lively, full of music and drinkers. Gale went to the front desk and paid for the new lodgings, holding up a key triumphantly to everyone before leading the group upstairs.

“Probably best if I keep a low profile. They used to know me all too well in here,” Astarion muttered to you as he helped take the packs up the stairs, attempting to blend in with the others. You watched his back as he went up the stairs, walking closely to the floating disc as it hovered behind Gale. Your eyes wandered down the line of Astarion’s body, down his back, his hips, his—

Gods, what am I doing?

You shook your head and re-focused on the back of his head, but he had already caught you staring, as he looked back at you with a knowing smirk.

“Admire all you like, darling.”

You immediately looked away and huffed.

His sly grin stayed on his face throughout the rest of the unpacking.

***

Since you didn’t need to cast warming cantrips any longer, you could spend your time sorting the loot pile and going out to the market to sell whatever you could, and buying fresh groceries. You were actually excited to see what kind of fresh vegetables and herbs you could get, now that you were in a large city.

“You’re sounding happy,” Shadowheart said as she approached, kneeling down next to you while you polished some of the tarnished jewelry with a rag.

You stopped humming and smiled up at her. “Well, I can finally catch up on some inventory management,” you said, pointing at the rather large pile of knick knacks and herbs. “You lot seem to have sticky fingers.”

“It’s how I grew up,” Karlach said as she joined the two of you, sitting cross legged on the other side of you. “Take everything of value and sort it out later for pocket change.”

You nodded. “That’s fair. I just haven’t had much of a chance to go through it all lately, and it seems like everyday you come back with more.”

Gale suddenly came up and tapped Shadowheart’s shoulder. With one look, her eyebrows furrowed and she got up. 

“We’re going to plan our next trip into the Undercity. We’ll probably need to split up if we want to stop the murders and find where Orin is hiding.”

You nodded and watched as everyone gathered around the table in the main sitting room on the upper level. Remaining in the lower area near the fireplace, you continued to sort through everything, catching bits and pieces of their conversation.

“...have to find where the Bhaalspawn…”

“...Orin’s base might be…”

You finished sorting what you could, and pulled together all the random coins you had found. There was a significant amount, so you didn’t feel bad about ordering room service tonight.

“I’m going downstairs to order us a meal to be brought up, are there any requests?”

***

As you came downstairs with a long piece of paper full of meal requests, you ran into a familiar face.

“Lakrissa!” you said with a bright smile.

She called your name excitedly and gave you a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“We got a room upstairs, at a discounted rate.”

“Oh, the murder room. Well, I suppose that wouldn’t bother your group much, would it?”

You laughed. “Nope, not after what they’ve seen. Oh, I need to put their supper order in.”

Lakrissa smiled and took your order for you, telling you to wait by the stairs for her while she gave it to the kitchen. When she returned, she gave you a wide grin.

“Follow me,” she said quietly as she nodded toward the back staircase. 

She snuck you up to the rooftop, where you heard a soft lute and a familiar voice.

You smiled, afraid to stop Alfira’s singing. She was swaying softly to her song, her back to you and Lakrissa, the gibbous moon shining brightly above her head. The two of you enjoyed her song until the end, applauding her just as she turned around.

The bard smiled, pleasantly surprised to see you. You hugged, and the three of you caught up on each other’s lives since the Last Light Inn.

“Would you join me for a song?” Alfira asked. “If you have time, that is.”

You turned to Lakrissa. She nodded. “You’ll have time. With the amount of orders you put in, you could sing out here for a half hour and it wouldn’t be done.”

The two of you figured out a song you both knew, and while she played and sang harmony, you took the lead, letting your voice carry on the rooftop, and letting the tingling feeling on your spine travel through your body, through your lungs, through your throat. You felt almost as if you could layer your voice if you pushed your power through yourself hard enough.

On the last lyric, you let your vibrato go longer and harder than you ever had, leaving just enough breath to end the song on a delicate sigh.

A raucous applause startled you, and you turned to see all of your companions standing behind Lakrissa, who was wearing a sly grin.

“You cheeky woman!” Alfira said to her as Lakrissa came up and placed her hand on the small of her back.

You were distracted from their cute banter by everyone else’s compliments. You shyly bowed.

“Boo says that was a most wonderful performance, rivaling the great opera singers from Waterdeep!”

You flinched involuntarily at the mention of Waterdeep, but you acted as if you didn’t. “You’re too kind,” you said with a smile. 

Lakrissa tapped your shoulder. “I can go check if your food is ready, but would you all want to eat up here? It’s a beautiful moonlit night!”

You turned to everyone else, who seemed to be enjoying themselves, catching up with Alfira and admiring the view.

“That sounds lovely.”

As she went downstairs, you spotted some tables and chairs scattered around the rooftop and had an idea. You took a deep breath and began to hum, walking to the furniture and tapping them lightly. As if they suddenly gained sentience, they hopped and began to follow you, arranging themselves into a nice group formation.

Everyone had gone silent, watching you work. You paid them no mind, singing a song about faerie lights, touching the leaves and vines around the area, making them glow orange and pink and purple. Lost in the sensation of the magic and the music flowing through your body, you spun around and swayed your arms, letting the lights glow brighter as your power pulsed against your skin.

Suddenly Astarion was standing next to you, his hand on the small of your back, pressing on your seal. He kissed your cheek and pulled you close, interrupting your song.

“I couldn’t help myself darling,” he said a bit too loudly as he dragged you away from everyone else. Karlach tried to peek, but Shadowheart shooed her and the other onlookers back to the tables to wait for their food.

Away from the crowd, Astarion whispered into your ear. “Your seal was glowing brightly through your clothes.” His hand pressed harder against your back. “Be careful.”

You looked up at him, surprised at his look of concern. “Oh. Thank you,” you murmured. It didn’t feel like burning this time, though. It felt… powerful. 

He guided you back to the tables just in time for Lakrissa and another worker to bring the trays of food for everyone. Using your party as an excuse, she stayed behind and ate with you, along with Alfira, who entertained you all with music through the rest of dinner.

It was a wonderful evening, and you treasured it.

***

The next morning, the others left, but came back within an hour to talk to Dame Aylin. You overheard something about a tower and a wizard who had put a price on her head, and she immediately charged out the doors. Isobel followed the group out to follow her.

You turned to Shadowheart’s parents. “Erm, well, I was about to go out and get groceries. I should be back soon.”

They nodded and told you that they would let the others know if they came back before you did.

Out in the city, you felt relatively safe, anonymous in the large crowds. You walked over to a jeweler and bartered away some of the found gems and trinkets for a great price, adding to your coin pouch. Heading down to the marketplace, you managed to get an excellent cut of venison from the butcher and some fresh herbs and vegetables. Holding the bag in your arms, you headed back to the Elfsong.

Halfway there, your seal pulsed. You immediately looked around.

A man, with a patch over his eye and a large sword at his side, scratched his arm, his sleeve lifting up to reveal a tattoo of a legless dragon in flight. It was a tattoo you recognized with ease.

A Zhent!

You quickly began to walk away, turning a corner beyond the Elfsong, unwilling to make the mistake of leading someone straight to your home base. Instead, you walked through the graveyard, then past the tombmaker’s shop. Just as you were rounding the corner to make a loop back home, you heard a familiar voice calling your name.

Turning around, you were met with Gale, smiling and waving his hand to you.

“Can you follow me for a moment? I have something to show you,” he said, gesturing for you to follow.

Your seal pulsed with a stinging heat.

“Um, let me put these groceries away first.”

“We haven’t the time,” he insisted, coming closer to you.

Gale would have offered to carry my groceries for me by now. This isn’t him! 

Without another word, you turned to run.

The doppelganger grabbed the collar of your shirt and pulled hard, choking you. Dropping your bag of groceries, you pulled at your collar, trying to get some air, but they were strong. One arm wrapped around your mouth.

“You’ve got wits, but no power. Pity,” a woman’s voice hissed in your ear.

You felt a sharp pain to your temple, and then you felt nothing at all as everything went black.

***

Astarion and the others returned to their room in the Elfsong, ready for a long rest. Upon entering the room, however, he smelled something distinctly… vile.

“Welcome back,” said the creature posing as his hearth witch. Though she looked like her, she definitely didn’t sound like her. The soothing warm tone of her voice could not be replicated by any other.

“You’re not her.” Astarion glared at the shapeshifter, disgusted that she would take the form of his beloved.

Orin pouted. “How could you tell so quickly?”

“I could smell your stench a mile away.”

Everyone looked on in horror as a crazed, maniacal grin grew on their hearth witch’s face. And when she twisted back to her usual form, everyone felt a fear and anger that they could not swallow down.

“If you want your precious friend, then kill Gortash for me and bring me his netherstone.” She disappeared in a burst of pink petals, her insane laughter bleeding away.

Astarion could barely contain his rage. “We don’t have time, we have to find her now,” he snarled.

The others agreed. 

“Don’t worry Astarion, we’ll find her,” Wyll said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Orin won’t get away with this.”

He nodded as he tried to keep a level head. But it was so, so hard.

If Orin touches her… she’ll feel her madness. She’ll feel everything.

***

You woke up to a world of pain, your entire body feeling as if it was on fire. You shifted and gasped in agony.

Then your memories of the last 24 hours returned, and you nearly vomited. You had so, so many cuts across your body. Your clothes had been sliced to shreds, and your skin along with it.

The crazed cackle of your captor drew your attention. Orin licked her knife with glee. “Your blood is the sweetest,” she murmured. 

And then she wrapped her hand around your neck. You let out a hoarse cry of agony as her madness seeped into you. No amount of mental guarding could keep out the intensity of her insanity.

c̵̝̽u̵̩͌t̵͇͛ ̷̗̕c̵͉͌ṵ̵͝t̴̝̓ ̵̫͋m̸͙̚a̶̧̾i̴͈͋m̴̱̀ ̷̳̔m̸͇͛a̸̢͝i̸̗͗m̴͎͝ ̴̡̒m̷͍̈́ṵ̶͗r̵̝̾d̷̜̄e̸̤͋r̵̹͝ ̷̮̓m̸̳̊ủ̵͚r̸̖͑d̷͈̿e̴̞̐r̸̻͋k̶̜̋i̷̪͊l̶̝̔l̸͚̀k̴̫̃i̶͈̓l̴͇̀ĺ̶͙K̴͉̍Ȋ̶͜L̸͈͛L̵̫͌ ̴̢̀K̸̯̈I̸͍̿L̸̘̍Ľ̶̪ ̶̘̈K̴͇͘I̴̬͐L̶͚̀L̶̤̓—̸̟̀ ̵͉̏

You squeezed your eyes shut to drown out the voices in your head.

“Who knew you would be so sensitive to just my mere touch! Such a delight to torture.”

You could barely hear her words beyond the pounding of blood in your ears. Is this what she constantly felt? Wave after wave of darkness, followed by an alternating current of rage, a frenzied, frenetic need to hurt, to kill. 

It was so dissonant from your usual emotions that you were having a physical reaction. Your blood pumped harder, spilling more from your wounds. You were weakening, your limbs feeling heavier with each passing moment.

“Let go of me!” you cried, your hands wet with your blood as you tugged weakly at Orin's arm. 

She only laughed. “Why should I? Your agony is the sweetest candy on my tongue.” Grabbing your wrist and twisting it painfully, she brought the inside of your arm to her mouth. While she stared at you with her crazed glare, she licked your blood, savoring it, smearing it all over her lips. 

“No!” You shrieked, trying to jerk your arm away. It was a useless endeavor; she was far stronger than you could ever be. “That blood is not for you!” 

You tugged harder, the blood making your skin slippery. Her grip tightened until you felt your bones begin to yield, the pain making you keen. 

“You make the most lovely sounds when in pain,” she murmured, letting go of your wrist and your throat. Placing the tip of her knife at your collarbone, she grinned maniacally. The sharp tip pierced your skin, the slow, burning sting making you whimper in pain. 

“Let me hear you sing in agony once more—“

“My lady!” 

Orin immediately grabbed the servant by the throat. “How. Dare. You. Interrupt me!” 

“There…. are… intruders…” the servant gurgled.

You looked up, grateful for any distraction that kept Orin’s knife away from your collarbone. In the distance, you could see your companions as they charged down the stairs. A sense of relief flooded you. 

Your friends. They were here. Thank the gods. 

All of the stress and the injuries suddenly overwhelmed you, and your vision blurred. Did Orin just transform into a beastly creature? The party threw themselves into the fray, fighting off the other cultists while Karlach and Lae'zel focused on Orin. 

The last thing you saw was Astarion rushing past the beast towards you, calling out your name. 

***

It had been a hell of a battle, and Astarion barely remembered it. Once he had secured his beloved in a safe corner, he had lashed out, stabbing Orin until she screamed in agony. Then he sprinted back, picked up his little hearth witch in his arms and brought her to Shadowheart, who immediately healed her wounds. Her clothes were shredded to tatters, and even after her wounds had closed, she was still out cold.

“She may be mentally overwhelmed,” Shadowheart said.

He only nodded before setting off at a hurried pace to get back to the Elfsong, cradling her closely.

After they got out of the Undercity, she finally spoke to him again. “I'm surprised by how far you've come, Astarion. I didn't think you'd ever care so deeply about anyone.”

“I didn’t think so either,” he replied carefully. “But she managed to weasel her way in.”

“It's funny how the little things do so much. A warm meal, a soft touch, a gentle smile. She's brought us all out of our shells, made us feel safe.”

“Yes…” He looked down at his love. “She feels like home.”

Shadowheart didn’t miss the softness in his eyes as he spoke, gazing at his witch.

***

“Seems strange, doesn't it?” Shadowheart mused while she sat with the other around the communal table, snacking on some cheese. 

“Well, they're lovers now, right? I wouldn't let anyone touch you either.”

Shadowheart frowned, even though she felt a bit tickled by Gale's protective comment. “That's fair. But he barely let me finish healing her before snatching her away.”

Gale shrugged. “Some people go a little crazy when they fall in love. I certainly don't blame him for acting this way. She's been kidnapped twice now, right under our noses.”

Nodding, Shadowheart grew quiet for a moment. “What do you think he meant when he said her skin was sensitive?”

Karlach suddenly lifted her head. “I asked her about why she wore gloves all the time and she said it was a secret. Maybe she just has super sensitive skin!” 

The others just accepted that conclusion and moved on to other topics, but Shadowheart kept chewing on the thought.

What if…?

***

You regained consciousness as Astarion was lifting you in his arms. You felt his worry for you through your bare skin before you realized that he had taken his shirt off, and you were fully naked.

“What’s going on?” you mumbled.

“We rescued you,” he answered, his voice soft. “And now I’m giving you a bath. You’re covered in blood.”

“Oh.”

Astarion slowly lowered you into the tub, the water immediately turning red as the dried blood on your skin was washed away. The warmth was soothing against your freshly healed body and you started to relax. But the moment Astarion let go of you, the pain from before came rolling back. When Orin had held you down, her madness had borne down on you, unrelenting, and it returned now in ripples of mania.

You struggled to stay alert, but you could feel your mind slowly dissociating. Your consciousness faded as you battled the memories. 

b̸̫̅͆ͅl̴̛̼̳̎ǒ̶̭́͜o̵̢̔ḋ̵̘̈́ ̷̢̬͌͘b̸̮͖̔l̸̙̬͘o̷͕̩̿̊o̸̬̐d̶̛͉ ̷̙̰̔c̷̢̩̈́ų̵̰͝t̶̖̲͆̿ ̷̭̬͝c̴̬̙̃u̴̱͋́t̶͆̆ͅ

“Darling?” 

s̷̖̍l̵͕͋i̵̗͒̾c̴̻̫̔̀ē̶̝ ̴͉͝͝s̵̝̋̅l̸̠̏́i̴̳̚c̷͚̎̒e̸̜̜̒ ̵̹͂̎ͅh̵̤̋̐ư̶̥͌r̵̖͚̆t̶̡̬̋ ̸̤͓̌h̵̗͑̓ų̵̙̾͊r̸͖̍̀t̶̼̎͘ ̸̙̐̍m̷͈͝a̷̘͎͗̊i̵̩̦̊̌m̷̳̗̿̈ ̵̞̂m̶͚͍͒͠a̵̠͚̚i̴̭͋̏m̶̹͖͊̓

Suddenly your mind went blank as Astarion pulled you out of the tub and into his embrace. You wanted to chide him about getting his pants dirty with the bloody water, that you were naked, that this was wholly inappropriate… 

But when you felt the overwhelming feeling of love and protection around you, it silenced everything else. The echoes of Orin's insanity, the screams of your own mental state, everything. 

All you felt was Astarion's love for you, and it brought you back to the present. 

And you cried. 

“I've got you, my sweet. I've got you,” he murmured as you shook uncontrollably.

“I hate this!” you cried. “I…I'm weak. I'm helpless. I didn't… I didn't want to be a burden!”

Astarion hushed you gently, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “What's that irritating thing that Gale always says about burdens?”

It took you a moment to remember. “A burden shared is a burden halved?” 

“Yes. That.” He guided your chin up to look at him. “We both have our share of burdens. I accept yours, just as you accepted mine.”

“So you can say nice things,” you teased through your tears. “You won't abandon me?” you asked quietly. 

“You're the heart I thought I had lost,” he quietly confessed. “So don't even think for a moment that I'd ever let you go.” He held you tighter. “You're mine, burdens and all.”

He coaxed you back into the tub, and kept at least one hand on your skin as he helped you get clean. While you knew you were healed, you sometimes saw the cuts that Orin had inflicted as an afterimage on your skin. You had to shake your head and force the vision away from your mind.

While you were fighting the demons in your head, Astarion bathed you, dried you off, and took you to bed, wrapping you up in his arms, against his bare chest. 

“Will you be alright?” he asked softly, his gaze full of concern.

You took a deep breath. Would you? Orin did a hell of a number on you. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, and you had seen some strange things in Waterdeep. Hells, you had faced a vampire lord and survived.

And yet…

“I’ll be alright,” you finally said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I really will,” you insisted. “It may take some time, but you’ll be here to help, won’t you?”

His eyes softened. “Of course, darling.”

It wasn’t until you were mostly asleep that you realized that you were still naked, skin against skin with Astarion.

And yet, it was the most comfortable you had ever been with him, his arms wrapped protectively around you.

---------------------------

Act III, Chapter 3 End notes: Sorry for the lateness, had to work double digit hours every day this week at work, but finally got some time to edit and post this chapter! I’m really leaning into that hurt/comfort trope here and I regret nothing. But I think this will be about as much as I can write in terms of injuries, because honestly, our dear little witch needs to catch a break.

Also a bit of behind the scenes here: I absolutely killed that Zhentarim plotline, because it wasn’t working for me and it does get conveniently taken care of by Jaheira in the game. And I was thinking that HW was being a bit paranoid; she hasn’t seen a Zhent in years since the last time she was in the Gate. Also, the masked lord has basically forgotten about her, but she doesn’t know that.

Please leave me a comment and let me know what you thought of this chapter!

Tags List: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute @stormyjane7 @kmoon21

[littleoanh]

Hey! Hope you don't mind me requesting about the bonten trio (could be individually or poly, your choice) suddenly turning into cats after our reader here accidentally spilled this drug she bought online that was said to keep people stunned, which would be perfect for her future missions, it sure did stun people but she didn't know that it'll turn people into cats.

Mikey had you taking care of them since it's your fault lmao

The drug lasted for 4 days but when they finally turned back to normal, the cat ears and tails remain with the addition of them being extremely needy like cats in heat, and now you're required to take care of their... Needs. (The smut part but you don't have to make it if you don't wanna)

Is this weird? Omg ⊙﹏⊙

Anyways have a good day!

A/N: Hello darling!! I haven’t written a (semi) hybrid type before … I did my best (TT.TT). Also I hope you don’t mind, I change a small part of your request but it should still follow what you are asking for. 

Cat-astrophe

Characters: [Cat boys!] Bonten Trio x fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, hungover (mentioned drinking, smoking, and taking molly), pill tablets (turn Bonten Trio into cats), Bonten Trio are being troublemakers as cats (zoomies, napping, peeing on furniture/closet, making biscuits, napping on undergarments, scratching and biting), and hybrid smut (foursome, minor non-con, groping, dry humping, mention breeding, unprotected vaginal sex, anal sex, blowjobs, brief Rinzu moment, creampies, and swallowing cum)  

Special Thanks: @rindoom, @sweetbbyshion, @mekiza, @dark-mnjiro, and @i-am-tiny-sun for giving me writing ideas and advice for male cat’s behaviors. And a shout out to EB for proofreading and beta reading! 

Like, reblogging, and kind comments are appreciated.

Being in Mikey’s office is unusually chilly, not because it’s cold but because of how cold and empty his eyes stare into yours. The type of stare that sends chills up and down your spine and the hair on the back of your neck stands tall. His poker face is unreadable. You have no idea what he is thinking and deep down, it scares the shit out of you. The longer he watches you, the harder your heart pounds against your chest.

There is a light nudge against your bosom, your eyes glance downwards to find one of three small cats you’re holding in your arms, look at you and purr. The small cats you have in your arms are very unique and can’t be found in any pet store. Not even the black market would they have them.  The one that is nudging you has long purple and black fur. The one in the middle has short purple and black fur and is snuggling against your sternum. The last cat has long pink fur and earrings on his tiny, pointed ears. He meows to grab Mikey’s attention.

“...How?” Mikey finally breaks the silence, you take a big gulp before proceeding with caution.

“Well …”

[Flashback]

“I think this is the end for me… I’m dying.” Sanzu laid on the cold hardwood floor with an awful hangover. Last night, the Bonten Trio and you went club hopping. A lot of drinking, smoking, and taking ecstasy took place. In the early hours of the morning, you all decided to crash at your apartment since it was the closest.   

“I feel sick.” Rin was nauseated and sweating profusely. He began regretting taking so many shots while rolling. Except doing the body shot with you. Ran had double vision. The room was spinning and it seemed like there were clones of everyone in the room.

“We should get some Ochazuke.” You suggested. You were the only one that opted out of taking molly. Your throat was dried from singing, cheering, shouting, and dehydration though. (Ochazuke is a bowl of rice with assorted toppings and the soup base can either be green tea or broth. Good for hangovers.) They all murmured in agreement to have it delivered to your apartment. You tumbled toward your bedroom to find your cell phone and place the order.

“Fuck, I need some antacid.” Sanzu struggled getting up to find some tablets to help with his upset stomach. His droopy eyes saw a bottle on your counter, “Oh here it is…” He picked up the bottle and uncapped it.

“Give us one too.” Rin tiredly lifted himself up, Sanzu gave him two tablets and Rin crawled across the room to hand one to his big brother. The three of them plopped it in their mouths and swallowed it.

“Something… doesn’t feel right.” Ran sat up from the couch, there was definitely something wrong with his body.

“Yeah… the fuck was in that antacid.” Both Rin and Ran staggered toward Sanzu, snatching the bottle from his hand to read. His eyes bulged out, “The fuck, Sanzu?! This isn’t antacid you dumb-” The Bonten Trio all dropped to the ground, the bottle in Rin’s hand spilled the pills on the floor. 

“What are you guys-?” Your eyes widened at the scene, instantly sobering up, “Oh, what the fuck?!” You ran over to Ran first as he is the closest, you checked his pulse to find him still alive and breathing normally. Then you checked both Sanzu and Rin to confirm they are fine. You saw the spilled content on the floor, wondering what they took. You picked up the bottle from Rin’s hand. “Oh SHIT.” They took a pill from your online purchase that is supposed to temporarily stunned people. “Okay… no need to panic.” You gave yourself a pep talk, “They will be okay. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

Then the worst thing that happened. 

POOF! �� POOF! 🌫POOF! 🌫

“WHAT IN THE NAME IN HELL IS HAPPENING?!” The sudden explosion of smoke startled you and you started coughing, trying to fan out the smoke. Once it was cleared up, something strange happened. Bonten Trio’s bodies disappeared but their clothes remained on the floor. “Where-where did they go?!” Your mind was thrown in a loop of panic and confusion, thinking you had accidentally taken out Bonten’s no. 2 and two important executives. 

“Meow?” Your ears perked up. Was that the sound of a cat? More meowing surrounded the room. Looking down for the source of the sound, you thought you were hallucinating. Three small cats coming out of the clothes, one pink and two black and purple cats.

“What-what? What the fuck is this…?” The small cats appeared to be confused as well, “Ran…? Rin? Sanzu?” They all looked up at you, responding to your call, “Oh. My. God.” You placed both hands on your mouth in shock, “You guys turned into cats!” You snatched the pill bottle from the floor again to look at the warning label, in very small block letters … it mentioned this will turn the user into a cat… “WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD THEY PRINT THIS IN SMALL BLOCK LETTERS?!”

[End Flashback]

“I called the company threatening to kill every single one of them… and then I came here.” You finish telling your story to Mikey of what happened while petting Ran’s head on your lap. Rin is laying on your shoulder, snuggling into the crook of your neck. Sanzu is on Mikey’s lap purring while Mikey is surprisingly petting Sanzu’s head. “They said they should return back to normal in four days.” 

“I see…” Mikey continues to pet Sanzu with a poker face. You are uncertain if he is planning your demise or torturing you for turning his top men into cats. His dark orbs are now staring in your direction. “You’re off from missions until further notice.” You gulp nervously. Rin licks your neck in comfort. “You will be taking care of them and keeping them safe. You’re dismissed.” 

“Yes, Mikey.” You gather Rin, Ran, and Sanzu into your arms and walk out of Mikey’s office. You let out a deep sigh, they start wiggling around in your arms, giving you their big cat wide eye looks. “Okay, I will have to take care of you guys… how hard can it be?”

You spoke… way too soon. THESE BOYS WERE TROUBLEMAKERS.

Rin was the calmest cat between the three, but he does have zoomies in the random hours of the night, frequently pouncing (lovingly surprise attack) you, and gave you the most evil look when he wants you to pay attention to him. Ran wasn’t that terrible, he is normally sleeping underneath the sun rays with his feet up in the air (which you found adorable and discreetly took photos). Completely relaxed. He has a mischievous side though. He would sneak in the bathroom to watch you shower or change, constantly making biscuits and snuggling against your breasts. Sometimes you would find him in your panty drawer too, sleeping on top of your undergarments. Sanzu… was the worst one of the three. It was like he purposely torments you. Climbing on top of cabinets and pushing items off with an evil smile. He pees on all your furniture AND your closet while staring at you dead in the eyes. Every time you try picking him up, he scratches you or bites you. 

Four days was too long. 

You practically beg them to be good on the last day, luckily they comply. It’s a peaceful last day. They all snuggle up with you on your bed and you can feel their warmth from sleeping underneath the sun. It is the perfect ending… As you sleep, you begin having vivid dreams. Pleasure rolls over your body and you sigh contently. Soon it begins to feel too real. You slowly flutter your eyes open, am I still dreaming?

Ran, Rin, and Sanzu are somewhat back to normal, completely naked but their cat ears and tails remain. Your tank top was lifted, your bare tits are being groped and licked by both Ran and Sanzu. Rin is straddling you, rubbing his raw cock against your clothed pussy. “Wha-what are you guys doing?” They continue with their task at hand as if in trance, not hearing your question. You try to pry them off of you but Sanzu grabs hold of both your wrists and  holds it above your head. 

“[Y/n] …” Sanzu licks your wrist up to your fingers and then sucks them while his lustful eyes gaze into yours. 

“Sanzu, why are you doing this?” You try not to moan but your hips thrusts forward, betraying you. The way he sucks on your fingers is too erotic.

“We can’t help it… it’s too much.” Ran’s purple hues are now looking at yours, they are glossy and his mouth is practically drooling over your nipple. 

“What’s too much?” You ask breathlessly.

“Need to breed you.” Rin’s downturned eyes are feverish, not slowing down his humping. “Wanna feel your warmth. Please…” 

“We wanna feel you.” Sanzu’s tail slithers back and forth on your stomach, pleading to touch you even more. The movement is so deviously smooth and titillating, it makes your eyes flutter.  

“We promise we will make you feel good.” Ran continues to play with your nipple with his fingers, tugging at it as he kisses up towards your collarbone. “Let us breed you.” Your eyes widen, you never crossed this far in line with your coworkers before. 

“No-no. I can’t do that.” You try to get away from them but they firmly hold you down in place. 

“[Y/n], you promised us!” Rin’s needy tone surprises you, you never heard him like that before.

Sanzu leans down and talks huskily into your ear. “Mikey said you have to take care of us.” He moves down to bite your shoulder and you let out a whimper, wanting more.

“So you need to take care of our needs.” Ran licks on the side of your face, reminding you that Mikey did say you have take care of them. Letting out a sigh, you lift your hands, caressing both Ran’s and Sanzu’s cheek. Their cheeks are so warm.

“Just… just this once.” Ran and Sanzu practically rip your tank top off with their long nails, while Rin grips your booty shorts and panties and yanks it off in one fluid motion. You barely have time to blink before you're put into a kneeling position in the middle of the bed. Rin in front, Sanzu behind, and Ran is standing in front of you with his hung cock in your face.

“[Y/n], please touch me…” Ran begs you while stroking his hard cock. You grab his length and slowly stroke it. It is thick, you’re uncertain if it can fit in your mouth. Rin rubs his tip against your wet folds before sinking into you.

“Ah!” You are surprised how big Rin is. You hold onto his shoulders to keep from losing balance, your body shaking hard from the pleasure. Ran sees his chance to shove his cock into your mouth mid-moan. He moans, feeling the vibrations of your moans on his cock. The sensation was overwhelming. He grips your hair, pulling himself further into your mouth.

“Feel so good. So warm.” Rin fucks into you in hard and deep, making you moan louder into Ran’s cock. The fit is so tight, it’s like a vise grip on his cock. 

“Good girl.” Ran uses his tail to wrap around your throat while thrusting, making your jaw go slack. Drool drips down your chest. Sanzu rubs your wetness from underneath, stroking Rin in the process. You shudder hard when they moan in unison. It was music to your ears. Sanzu runs his pulsing cock under the three of you, coating his shaft in your wetness. He then pushes his cock into your puckered hole. You nearly scream from the pain.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay.” Sanzu coos while having his tail stroke your face to help relax you. “I promise it will feel good.” He plays with your nipples, pulling and tweaking them while Rin reaches his hand down to play with your clit to help relax you. Sanzu inches his dick slowly, trying to go deeper. “Such a good girl.” He praises you, voice low and husky until he bottoms out. He waits patiently, leaving open mouth kisses all over your back. “So tight. I can almost cum instantly.” He licks your ear before biting it. “Can I please move now?” His voice strains with neediness. You nod, giving him consent.

Sanzu pulls back out then slams into you, Rin and Ran follow the same rhythm. The intensity and pleasure makes Rin even more needy. Seeing how unfocused Sanzu’s expression is, Rin reaches out to tug his hair and slams his lips onto his. Sanzu immediately reciprocates, gripping Rin’s jaw. Their tongues dance with each other. It gets sloppier. Drool drips from both of their swollen lips. Your mind is going blank causing your vision to get blurry. You lift your hand to play with Ran’s balls, squeezing them and earn a purr from him. 

“Fuck baby, please do it again.” He begs you. Rin is now busily licking, sucking, and biting your now red tits. Marking you. Seeing how fucked out you are, makes him even more feral. He roughly fucks you harder, getting closer to ejaculation. 

“S’close. S’close.” He repeatedly announced, his thrusts are getting sloppier by the second. 

“Me too.” Sanzu says breathily, continuously rutting his dick into your asshole. 

“I’m cummin’!” Ran goes deeper into your throat, letting out a deep moan. You gag but he holds your head firm, shooting his warm cum down your throat, forcing you to drink it all. Rin is next to shoot his cum into your cunt and Sanzu follows. The immense amount of throbbing cocks cumming inside of you, pulls you over. You convulse violently through your intense orgasm, holding onto Rin’s shoulders again.  You went limp in Sanzu’s arms, trying to catch your breath. The boys are snickering at your jelly form, sprawling over them. 

“We’re not done with you yet.” Sanzu grips your jaw and kisses your cheek.

“Rinnie, you can’t keep hogging her. It’s my turn next.” Rin reluctantly removes his cock from your soaking pussy and lets his older brother replace him.

It’s only for just one night, right?

[End]

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[chappelroans]

fandom: yellowjackets

pairing: lottie matthews/natalie scatorccio

rating: M

word count: 37,772

chapters: 4/?

“Morning,” Lottie says, using one hand to rub at the drowsiness in her eyes. Natalie thinks, against all better judgment, that it’s kind of endearing in a way. That is, until she sees what Lottie’s other hand is holding.  “You forgot this,” Lottie says through a yawn, wide and exhausted, showing her white canines before lowering her mouth back into a teasing smile. Her eyes are dewy with the morning chill and she chews on her bottom lip.  “I can take it,” Natalie says, reaching out a hand to grab the hat. It’s pulled just out of reach.  “You know, I think I might hang onto it for today,” Lottie says with a playful grin, turning her body slightly to avoid Natalie’s grabbing hands and growing ire.  “Very funny, give it here.”  Lottie dusts out the inside and places it on her head with a smile. She’s too tall, Natalie can’t reach it now. She can only stare upwards with a frown. Lottie’s eyes have never been more golden.  “How does it look?” Natalie huffs and rolls her eyes. “You look like a real cowboy, now can you give it back?” “Just for today? Please?” Lottie asks, begs, her eyes pitiful and pouting, the teasing ebbing out of her voice like a wave. “It’s cold out here and it keeps my ears warm.” It’s a bit big on her, the rim now accustomed to Natalie’s head. It droops slightly downwards and does, in fact, cover the tips of Lottie’s ears, which are already rosy and pink with the winter air. Natalie sighs.  “Just for today. You better not lose it.” “I wouldn’t dream of taking it off.”