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🫠🫠🫠 I would’ve clocked out

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.” 

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant. 

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag. 

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter. 

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him. 

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in. 

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is. 

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…” 

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall. 

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem. 

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie. 

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you. 

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson. 

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob. 

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help. 

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy. 

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside. 

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks. 

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor. 

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass. 

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines. 

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him. 

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger. 

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning. 

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance. 

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him. 

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now. 

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms. 

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow. 

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin. 

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer. 

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible. 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door. 

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter. 

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time. 

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work. 

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine. 

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace. 

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be. 

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door. 

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself. 

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks. 

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera. 

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling. 

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like? 

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around. 

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle. 

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders. 

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears. 

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms. 

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s. 

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie. 

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even. 

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for. 

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes? 

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive. 

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality. 

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first. 

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer. 

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month. 

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door. 

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep. 

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front. 

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.” 

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say. 

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh. 

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom. 

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today. 

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. 

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality. 

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies. 

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go. 

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it. 

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose. 

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly. 

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open. 

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him. 

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors. 

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him. 

Eddie says your name. 

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face. 

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering. 

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?” 

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion. 

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it. 

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright. 

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you. 

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word. 

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness. 

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet. 

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest. 

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink. 

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm. 

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him. 

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing. 

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps. 

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring. 

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished. 

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him. 

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?” 

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in. 

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it. 

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers. 

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on. 

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him. 

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say. 

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

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The Long Dark - Part 4

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

Characters: Thorin, Company, Reader, assorted dwarves. Setting: Erebor after BOTFA (fix-it, Durins live AU). Synopsis: As the rebuilding of Erebor begins, Thorin and his Company take on the new responsibilities their station demands, leaving you to find a place in the city on your own. Isolated and lacking the skills to make a living in a city of craftsmen, your situation seems hopeless. So while Dwalin and Bofur make unlikely fairy godmothers, you can’t afford to be choosy. And then the king gets involved, changing your life in ways that are as exciting as they are scary. (Incorporates “imagine helping with the clean-up of Erebor” from imaginexhobbit.) Warnings: Eventually NSFW. Angst. Fluff. Slow burn of sorts. Excessive cluelessness on the part of the main couple. Notes: Again, many thanks to my lovely beta, @oakenshieldgisborneandwinchester, and the magnificent Raven (@fromthedeskoftheraven), who made this fit for public consumption. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. Words: 3469

After the impromptu dinner, you barely saw Thorin for two weeks. It was understandable — negotiations were ongoing, and he had the day to day ruling of Erebor to contend with as well. Kili had taken the time to introduce you to a second young engineer eager to make his mark, and once you explained your greenhouse idea to him, the fellow attached himself to your with a fervor that was as gratifying as it was alarming. His name was Nin.

You spent your days bent over plans while Nin devised an elaborate mirror system to distribute sunlight evenly across a vast cave, then traipsing all over Erebor with Nin and Thekk, the other engineer, in search of a good place to erect a greenhouse. More and more often, strange dwarves came up to you to assure you that you were quite welcome, and if you had any trouble at all with dwarf customs, you could come to them for help.

This was, in a word, puzzling.

You asked Nin about it, but he had little awareness for anything besides metal tolerances and the details of load-bearing structures. It was Bofur who cleared everything up when he surprised you with an impromptu visit.

Keep reading

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The Long Dark - Part 3

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

Characters: Thorin, Company, Reader, assorted dwarves. Setting: Erebor after BOTFA (fix-it, Durins live AU). Synopsis: As the rebuilding of Erebor begins, Thorin and his Company take on the new responsibilities their station demands, leaving you to find a place in the city on your own. Isolated and lacking the skills to make a living in a city of craftsmen, your situation seems hopeless. So while Dwalin and Bofur make unlikely fairy godmothers, you can’t afford to be choosy. And then the king gets involved, changing your life in ways that are as exciting as they are scary. (Incorporates “imagine helping with the clean-up of Erebor” from imaginexhobbit.) Warnings: Eventually NSFW. Angst. Fluff. Slow burn of sorts. Excessive cluelessness on the part of the main couple. Notes: Again, many thanks to my lovely beta, @oakenshieldgisborneandwinchester, who made this fit for public consumption. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. Words: 5572

The next morning, you woke slowly from the most restful sleep you’d had in ages. Watery sunlight caressed your face, filtered through a bluish quartz dome at the center of the ceiling.

You stretched, inhaling the fresh scent of luxurious bed linens. The last wisps of a clinging dream slowly faded, leaving behind an idea. The dream had been confusing, but it left behind a vivid image of great greenhouses beneath the mountain, lit by mirrors and fed by a great array of water pipes. You found yourself eager to talk about it, find out whether it was feasible.

A quick inquiry to one of the guards revealed that most of the company were tied up with the ongoing negotiations or their regular tasks, so you decided that you would dig into your meagre funds and use the morning to buy a new dress. You couldn’t live in the royal wing and dress like a beggar, it wouldn’t reflect well on Thorin.

To your surprise, a dwarf you knew fleetingly from the kitchens delivered a lovely meal of porridge and canned fruit. You savored a leisurely breakfast and washed up, delighting in the scented soap and soft towels that you found waiting for you. You had just finished dressing when Kili knocked on your door, looking very chipper in a fur-lined coat over a maroon tunic edged with gold.

He beamed at you. “Good morning, Y/N!”

You smiled back. “Good morning! This is a surprise. Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

“I’m at your disposal today,” he announced, bouncing on his toes.

This was news to you. “How come? I thought you’d be busy with the negotiations like everybody else.”

Keep reading

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This chapter hit closer to home than it ever has…

The Long Dark - Part 2

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

Characters: Thorin, Company, Reader, assorted dwarves. Setting: Erebor after BOTFA (fix-it, Durins live AU). Synopsis: As the rebuilding of Erebor begins, Thorin and his Company take on the new responsibilities their station demands, leaving you to find a place in the city on your own. Isolated and lacking the skills to make a living in a city of craftsmen, your situation seems hopeless. So while Dwalin and Bofur make unlikely fairy godmothers, you can’t afford to be choosy. And then the king gets involved, changing your life in ways that are as exciting as they are scary. (Incorporates “imagine helping with the clean-up of Erebor” from imaginexhobbit.) Warnings: Eventually NSFW. Angst. Fluff. Slow burn of sorts. Excessive cluelessness on the part of the main couple. Notes: Thanks a bunch to my lovely beta, @oakenshieldgisborneandwinchester, who made this fit for public consumption. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. Words: 5870

The next day you felt a little better. You wandered Erebor again, observing the pattern of its breathing, pulsing life. It was becoming a well oiled machine, and yet you still wondered where you might fit in. But if there was no place for you in the fabric of old patterns and routines, maybe you could carve out something new that was just yours.

Bofur was right. You could start writing down all you could remember about indoor plumbing, for one. The common privies were only one step removed from a hole in the ground, and water still had to be collected at a number of interior wells. If you could do anything about that, it would be a much more valuable service than polishing a stupid sword. Then, there was the food. Erebor had ample food stores, but no way to grow anything, which struck you as singularly unwise given the still strained relationship with its neighbors. Perhaps you could think of something…

Already you felt lighter. Except for the fact that you didn’t remember very much about cultivating veggies or how indoor plumbing actually worked, you were set. Bouncing happily, you procured some parchment, a quill, ink and a wide candle from a puzzled dwarf, then retreated to your room to sketch.

Hours later, a decisive knock at your door made you look up from your work. You winced as the cramped muscles in your neck protested the sudden motion.

The knocking came again, louder now. If it was possible for a knock to sound impatient, this one did.

You looked around you at your pitiful accommodations, then down at your too-large dress. Dwarrowdams were built a lot sturdier than you, and you hadn’t been able to find clothes that fit you in the whole of Erebor. As you didn’t have enough money left to have something made, you only had two sets of clothes — one that fit and had seen you through most of the quest, and one that you had procured here. At the moment you wore the latter, a dress which hung around your frame like a potato sack. You only put it on when you didn’t plan on going out. Well. Whoever wanted to visit would have to bear it.

“Enter,” you called.

The door swung open to reveal a scowling Thorin.

You jumped up. Your stool toppled to the ground with a clatter. Your heart seized that moment to give a vicious lurch and started fluttering like a crazed thing.

Keep reading

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How does this not have more notes??? It’s literally one of my favorite comfort stories. I’m finally rereading it again since creating my account and it’s like the warmest hug!

The Long Dark - Part 1

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

Characters: Thorin, Company, Reader, assorted dwarves. Setting: Erebor after BOTFA (fix-it, Durins live AU). Synopsis: As the rebuilding of Erebor begins, Thorin and his Company take on the new responsibilities their station demands, leaving you to find a place in the city on your own. Isolated and lacking the skills to make a living in a city of craftsmen, your situation seems hopeless. So while Dwalin and Bofur make unlikely fairy godmothers, you can’t afford to be choosy. And then the king gets involved, changing your life in ways that are as exciting as they are scary. (Incorporates “imagine helping with the clean-up of Erebor” from imaginexhobbit.) Warnings: Eventually NSFW. Angst. Fluff. Slow burn of sorts. Excessive cluelessness on the part of the main couple. Notes: Thanks a bunch to my lovely beta, @oakenshieldgisborneandwinchester, who made this fit for public consumption. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. Words: 4923

Winter had come to Erebor, coating the face of the mountain with snow. Beneath the slate grey sky, great patches of ice gleamed with the silver of dead fish. The cold was the kind that went straight through to the bone. Hopping around a little in a hopeless attempt to warm your stiff limbs, you hummed a few bars of the duck song, ignoring the looks you got from the dwarves working construction all around you.

One particularly grumpy fellow muttered something like `Cease that infernal caterwauling, woman´.

You ignored him. You were on your feet all day preparing tea and sandwiches for the dwarves repairing the outer wall. If you weren’t even allowed a bit of off-key singing now and then you’d die of boredom or cold, whichever felled you first — it was a tight race.

 You pulled your fur hat deeper over your ears and hefted yet another tray of hot drinks. This round was meant for the dwarves patching up the parapet. You picked your way carefully across the rubble as you distributed the large pitchers of tea. A few dwarves grunted reluctant thanks. The more suspicious ones just nodded, still unsure exactly why the pint-sized human was allowed to live in the hallowed halls of their forefathers.

Keep reading

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Can somebody please recommend jealous fics???🥺 Billy Hargrove, Frank Castle, Bucky Barnes. Frankly if it gives really good jealousy vibes, just recommend it. I want to pine.

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USA people! Buy NOTHING Feb 28 2025. Not anything. 24 hours. No spending. Buy the day before or after but nothing. NOTHING. February 28 2025. Not gas. Not milk. Not something on a gaming app. Not a penny spent. (Only option in a crisis is local small mom and pop. Nothing. Else.) Promise me. Commit. 1 day. 1 day to scare the shit out of them that they don't get to follow the bullshit executive orders. They don't get to be cowards. If they do, it costs. It costs.

Then, if you can join me for Phase 2. March 7 2025 thtough March 14 2025? No Amazon. None. 1 week. No orders. Not a single item. Not one ebook. Nothing. 1 week. Just 1.

If you live outside the USA boycott US products on February 28 2025 and stand in solidarity with us and also join us for the week of no Amazon.

Are you with me?

Spread the word.

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So...thinkin' I wanna write for Frank Castle? 👀 Haven't finished s2 of The Punisher but um. Yeah.

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Alright Good Luck Post, let’s see what you got for me.

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

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just read “to be loved is to be worth the inconvenience” it blew my mind away

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😫😫😫Manifesting that shit for the both of us

2025 is gonna be the year i fall in love, right? right??? RIGHT??

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𓅨 How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: Chapter Two

How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: After saving a strange man from a fishbowl cage, you earn yourself a favor. When you cash in said favor, you don’t realize that you and the man aren’t on the same page on what you need from him.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus x Afab!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You walk through grand hallways, Matthew perched on your shoulder. The palace staff meet you at the entrance of the baths. Two women in flowing, ethereal gowns greet you with picture perfect smiles. Is everyone in this place inhumanely beautiful? They are making you feel self conscious!

"Welcome," says one, her voice like a soft lullaby. "We are here to help you relax and unwind." Oh really? How are you supposed to unwind when you feel every bit self conscious as you look?

The other gestures toward a large door that opens with a quiet whoosh, revealing a sprawling bathhouse filled with steaming pools, intricate mosaics, and soft, ambient light. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus wafts through the air. Okay, perhaps you can relax, this is a spa on steroids.

"This way," one of the maids says, leading you to a changing area. "We’ve prepared everything for you."

You nod and as Matthew takes off, you follow her, taking in the opulence around you. Slipping into the robe they provide, You run your hands over the softest material you have ever felt, and are then guided to one of the pools. You put on this heavenly robe only to have to take it off? Oh well, you’ll snuggle with it after your bath. So grudgingly removing the heavenly robe, you step into the warm water and instantly feel your muscles relax. You would kill to have your baths feel like this every time.

One of the maids brings over a tray with various oils and scrubs. "Would you like to try our special blend?" she asks, holding up a small vial that sparkles under the soft light. They glimmer with what looks like stardust. Given how this realm seems to run, you don’t doubt that they are stardust.

“Okay,” you respond, you eyes trailing the sparkles within the vial. They begin to massage the oil into your skin as another maid starts humming a tune that makes goosebumps ripple over your skin.

"You must have many questions," a maids asks as she kneads your shoulders. Wowza, free massage? You want to think that this might be a little too much, but at the same time, you are melting into the tub in a puddle of bliss.

"Yeah," you sigh, your mind struggling to keep itself together and not turn into mush like the rest of your body. "I don't really know much about Morpheus and I really don't know anything about this realm. What’s it like working here?" Or just being here in general?

"Oh, it's quite an honor," she responds with a bright smile. "We’re dreams and nightmares given form, serving in Lord Morpheus’ palace is a privilege."

"And everyone here is... happy?" you ask hesitantly.

"Mostly," she says thoughtfully. "There are always challenges, especially since Lord Morpheus returned. There have been many changes to the realm, and our work. But we take pride in what we do.”

"It’s not just work for us; it’s our purpose. Helping dreams take shape or ensuring nightmares don’t go too far." Another maid piped up with an equally glowing smile. So everyone here is annoyingly beautiful…

"So," you say as another maid hands you a cup of herbal tea, "do all dreams serve Morpheus?"

"Some do," one answers while combing your hair gently. "But others wander freely across realms. We prefer to stay close; it’s more stable here. Our jobs are grounded within the Dreaming. Dreams seldom thrive in the Waking.”

“What about nightmares?” You broach, noting that they only seem to speak of dreams. The maids pause and share a brief look before returning to what they are doing.

“Nightmares thrive, however it is not their place to exist within the Waking World.” You can sense an undertone of apprehension and something left unsaid about Nightmares, so you don’t push the topic and sip the tea. It tastes like liquid sunlight, and you have no idea why you think it does so. At the very least, it is everything you need with your mother breathing down your back.

"Thank you," you say quietly. "This has been... amazing. I really needed a time out from my life.”

The maids exchange knowing smiles as they continue their work, creating an experience so luxurious it feels like drifting through a dream within a dream.

A maid begins to comb through your hair with delicate fingers, untangling knots with barely a hint of tugging. The sensation is almost hypnotic, each stroke of the comb sending ripples of relaxation down your spine. Your eyes flutter shut, the warmth of the bathwater lulling you into a state of near-dream. You don’t care about the inception-like vibes this is giving you, you just want to be at peace!

After what feels like an eternity of bliss, the maids help you out of the bath. They wrap you in that heavenly robe once more and you practically melt all over again as it slides against your skin. One of them gathers your now silky-smooth hair and wraps it in another soft towel.

"This way," one of them gestures, leading you through another door. You follow her into a room adorned with mirrors and soft lighting, where an array of elegant gowns awaits. You blink at them an nearly come to a screeching halt in your steps.

"We've selected some outfits for you," she says with sparkling eyes, motioning toward the dresses. "Lord Morpheus thought you might appreciate something special, but close to home."

Close to… home? You’ve never worn anything like that in your entire life! But you want to be a good guest so you keep your mouth shut and walk over to the dresses. When your fingers brush against the luxurious fabrics—silk, velvet, satin—your eye twitches and you wonder how much even one of these dresses cost. Each gown is more stunning than the last!

Another maid steps forward with a smile. "May I help you choose?"

“That would probably be for the best,” you reply, slightly overwhelmed by the choices and the sinking feeling that the gemstones embedded in fabric aren’t costume.

She picks up a gown made of deep blue silk that seems to ripple like water as she holds it up. "This would complement you beautifully."

You nod, entranced by the fabric's fluidity. “Okay, that sounds good.”

They help you into the gown with deft hands, fastening buttons and adjusting seams until it fits perfectly. As you stand before the mirror, you hardly recognize yourself. The dress hugs your curves in all the right places, flowing elegantly to the floor.

One maid steps back to admire their work. “Oh it fits you perfectly! You look stunning."

Another brings over a selection of jewelry—delicate chains adorned with gemstones that sparkle like stars. Oh no.

"Would you like to add some accessories?" she asks, hopefulness glimmering within her eyes. You nod again, dazed by the transformation taking place. Is this all really necessary? It is just dinner… Right?

They drape a necklace around your neck and fasten earrings that catch the light just so. A final touch—a pair of matching shoes—completes the ensemble. You know you are dreaming when the beautiful shoes feel like clouds clinging to your feet.

You needed to stop thinking about how unusual this all is because this isn't the waking world. So you take a calming breath and turned towards the dreams that had tended to you with such exuberance.

"Thank you," you say softly, genuinely grateful for their care and attention. “I appreciate your help and skills.”

You follow the maids through a labyrinth of corridors, each more ornate than the last. The sound of your footsteps echoes softly against marble floors. You can feel the gown flowing around you, a luxurious rippling weight that does little to enforce surreal quality of this place. The Dreaming feels like a dream. Your head hurts just thinking about, so you decide to stop questioning everything that defies physics. Finally, you reach a pair of large, intricately carved doors that swing open effortlessly with a single touch.

Inside, a grand dining room unfolds before you. The ceiling stretches high above, adorned with celestial frescoes that seem to shift and shimmer as you move. The room is lit by chandeliers that twinkle like constellations, casting a soft, ambient glow.

At the center of the room stands a long table draped in an opulent tablecloth. It is set with an array of dishes that look both sumptuous and otherworldly—foods you recognize and some you can't quite identify. Yet, there is only one dining set placed meticulously at one end of the table. Are you… eating alone?

Morpheus stands near the head of the table, his dark presence stark against the light-filled room. His eyes find yours immediately as you enter, and a faint smile tugs at his lips.

"You look radiant," he says, his voice like velvet in the still air.

"Thank you," you reply, feeling a flush creep up your neck. "This is all... incredible."

He gestures toward the lone place setting. "Please, sit."

You walk over to the table and take your seat, smoothing out your gown as you do so. Morpheus remains standing, his gaze never leaving you. The food in front of you looks tantalizing, but there's an odd sense of dissonance—you're here in this lavish setting, but your host won't be joining you in the meal.

"Are you not eating?" you ask, trying to bridge the gap between this reality and your own. Does he even eat?

"I do not partake in mortal sustenance," he responds simply. "But I wished for your comfort."

A servant appears beside you, filling your glass with an effervescent liquid that sparkles like captured starlight. You go to take a sip, it's sweet and refreshing, unlike anything you've ever tasted. Or ever will for that matter.

Morpheus watches intently as you begin to eat, each bite an exploration of flavors both familiar and alien. He seems content just to observe, his presence both comforting and slightly unnerving.

"This is amazing," you say between bites. "But… why go through all this trouble?"

His eyes flicker slightly as he steps closer to the table. "Because your happiness matters," he states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You swallow hard, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling within you. This was supposed to be fake—a ploy to get your mother off your back—but sitting here under his intense gaze makes it all feel unsettlingly real.

As if sensing your turmoil, Morpheus leans down slightly. "Relax," he murmurs softly. "Tonight is for enjoyment and for us to learn of each other." Right. You need to learn how to act with each other if you are going to fool your mother into thinking he really is your husband! This is actually rather smart on his part, your mother is studious and it will take a great act to pull this off.

You pick up your fork again, trying to ignore the way Morpheus' eyes follow your every move. A nearly impossible task.

"So," you say between bites of something that tastes like roasted nectarines but isn't quite. "I suppose we should get to know each other better."

Morpheus inclines his head slightly. "Indeed." He does wish to know his wife after all.

You take another bite, savoring the burst of flavors before continuing. "My mother... she's something else. Very overbearing and pushy. Always has been."

His gaze remains steady. "In what ways?"

"Well," you start, choosing your words carefully, "she's always been obsessed with the idea of me getting married. It's like she can't see me as an individual until I'm someone else's 'better half.' Every conversation circles back to it, no matter what."

Morpheus listens intently, his expression thoughtful. "That must be challenging for you."

You nod vigorously, feeling a rush of relief at his understanding. "It's exhausting. She sets me up on these endless blind dates, each one more disastrous than the last. And when I finally thought I'd had enough and told her I am married..." You trail off, the heat of embarrassment climbing up your neck once more.

His eyes flicker. "You invoked my name."

"Yes," you admit, feeling a bit sheepish. "It seemed like the perfect solution at the time. You seemed... unreachable enough to be convincing."

Morpheus remains silent for a moment, absorbing your words. He is honored that you chose him. Then he speaks softly, "I see why you sought an escape."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Exactly. But now she's even more insistent on meeting my 'husband.' That's why I needed your help."

He nods again, "Your mother seeks control through her demands," he observes.

"Yes," you agree quickly, glad he understands so clearly. "She can't stand not being in control or not knowing everything about my life."

"And this," he says slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, "is your way of reclaiming some autonomy."

"Exactly," you confirm, feeling a strange sense of validation from his words.

He stands closer to the table now, looking down at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. "Then we shall make sure it is convincing," he declares firmly.

You nod again, feeling more resolute than ever before as you continue to eat the otherworldly meal set before you. Morpheus watches silently but with an air of approval that somehow makes everything feel just a bit more bearable.

You take a delicate sip from your glass, the sparkling liquid dancing on your tongue. You glance up at Morpheus, who remains a stoic figure despite the warm glow of the room. "So," you begin, setting down your glass with a soft clink against the table, "if we're going to be convincing, I should probably know more about you. My mother will ask a million questions."

Morpheus folds his hands behind his back, and for a moment, you wonder if he'll dismiss your request. But then he nods, a cascade of raven hair shifting with the movement. "Very well," he concedes. "Ask what you wish to know."

"Let's start simple," you say. "What do I call you? Morpheus? Dream? Lord Shaper?" You try to keep your tone light, but there's an undercurrent of eagerness to your words. You do actually want to know more about him.

"Morpheus will suffice," he replies. It would be odd for his wife to call him anything but.

You nod and cut into another exotic dish. If only you could have cooking like this everyday. "And what do I say about what you do?" The question hangs in the air like an early morning mist.

"I am the custodian of dreams," Morpheus states simply. "I oversee the realm where humans wander in their sleep."

"That sounds... poetic," you murmur, trying to imagine how to translate that into something your mother would understand without sounding like you've completely lost touch with reality. You'd tell her that he is a sleep doctor or something like that, she'd like that you have married a doctor. That sounded plausible.

He inclines his head slightly. "It is one of my many responsibilities."

"And what should I say about how we met?" Your heart beats a little faster with this question; it's personal and could unravel everything if not handled carefully.

A flicker of something passes through his eyes—amusement perhaps? "Tell her we met in dreams," he suggests. "It is not untrue."

You chuckle softly at that. "Right, because that won't raise any eyebrows."

Morpheus regards you for a moment before continuing. "We can say that our paths crossed during one of my... excursions into the waking world."

"Excursions?" Your curiosity piques as you take another bite, this time from a fruit that bursts with sweetness.

"Yes," he confirms. "I occasionally walk among mortals to better understand them."

"Okay." You let out a slow breath, trying to commit each detail to memory. You met in a park. "Anything else I should know? Any hobbies or interests that might come up?"

Morpheus pauses before answering, as if considering what might be relevant. "I have an affinity for creation," he finally says. "The crafting of things both tangible and ephemeral." You'd tell her that he liked to make sculptures or something. She wouldn't be too interested in the details, just about his skill level and with the way he speaks, well… you would have no problems.

You nod again, it's an answer that gives enough away without revealing too much—a perfect balance for this charade. You look up at him with renewed determination.

"Alright," you say firmly. "Let's make sure we have our story straight."

Date Published: 12/11/24

Last Edit: 12/11/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

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Oh my god I already know this is going to be one of my favorite series ever!😍

𓅨 How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: Chapter One

How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: After saving a strange man from a fishbowl cage, you earn yourself a favor. When you cash in said favor, you don’t realize that you and the man aren’t on the same page on what you need from him.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus x Afab!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Masterlist | Next

"So..." you drag out the word, not really knowing what to do now that you've gone all kamikaze on your employer and broken out the strange man locked up in the basement of Fawny Rig. "I didn’t expect to get this far in my plan and have absolutely no idea what to do now..." You look around, trying to figure out where you are. Certainly not in that damp old basement. Had something witchy happened when you shattered that glass prison? "And where are we?"

"You are within a dream," his voice is deep and rich, perfectly fitting his out-of-this-world beauty. Your eyes draw back to his face, and you are more than glad that he is now wearing clothes.

"A dream, gotcha... how did we get here?" An obsidian eyebrow rises, and his lips twitch. He finds amusement in your false bravado of nonchalance. He can feel how unnerved and stressed you are.

"Did he not tell you?" You make a face at the strange, beautiful man. "I am Dream of the Endless. Prince of Stories, Master of Dreams and Nightmares, and Lord of the Dreaming. You may call me Morpheus."

"Like the Sandman?" Why do all mortals call him that? Either way, Morpheus nods at you.

"You have freed me from my confines, Y/N. I owe you a great debt that you may call upon whenever you wish."

"A what? All I did was the right thing, no need for dramatics," you tell him. "You don’t owe me anything… though it would be nice if you could, like, zip me on over to my house? I don’t think I’ll be too welcome back at the manor, you know, kinda broke you out and everything..."

Morpheus tilts his head to the side at your rambles, surprised by your lack of greed and intrigued by your apparent belief that he owes you nothing for releasing him. Quite a peculiar mortal you are. Morpheus decides to observe your dreams more closely when he returns to his realm.

"You shall be returned to your home upon waking," Morpheus promises, observing the expression on your face. He had told you that you were in a dream.

"Okay, um, are you going to be okay? I mean, I don’t exactly know anything about being an Endless or whatever, but you were stuck in there for a while."

"You needn’t worry for me, Y/N." You open your mouth to argue, but how could you not worry when he looks so damn skinny and pale? Sand swirls around your head, and a cloud of sleepiness hits you.

"Uh, Mom, no, you don’t need to set me up with the son of your friend..." you trail off, massaging your forehead while hoping your mother finally gets the message that you don’t need her help finding love. Your love life is your own. Simple as that. They meddled enough in your youth to the point where you keep mum about most of your current life.

"But Y/N, he’s a banker, well off, and has a nice house! It’s even got a pool!" You pinch your forehead and tap your foot on the floor, counting to ten in your head so you don’t go off on your mother for trying to set you up for what has to be the thousandth time. "If you marry him, you’ll never have to worry about a single thing again! All your problems would be solved!"

"No, Mom, no." You repeat to her. "I don’t need you finding me a husband, okay! You’ve tried this a million times before and none of them have ended well! Besides! I’ve—I’ve—I’ve already gotten married!"

You have no idea where that came from because you most certainly have not gotten married. You haven’t even been in a relationship for at least three years! Not that your family or friends would know that, but that’s beside the point. You just told your mother you got married, and she will sink her teeth into that like a dog with a bone.

"MARRIED!?!" She practically screams over the phone. "You got married without telling me or your father!? Without inviting us!?" You hold your phone away from your ear as your mother calls for your father in distress, shrieking about your complete and utter betrayal.

"Honestly, this is why I keep to myself," you complain to yourself as she throws an absolute conniption to your father. There’s a lot of back and forth between your mother and father before your father takes over the phone call.

"So you got married..." He doesn’t sound upset, just tired. Most likely from your mother’s antics. You massage your temple.

"Uh, courthouse wedding?" you offer, knowing that your friends and family would buy that excuse. "I didn’t want any frou-frou or excitement, just a... civil ceremony. Didn’t even wear a fancy outfit. Just signed papers and was done with it." He grunts in acknowledgment. You take after him in that aspect.

"Well, your mother is demanding you come visit with your partner," he sighs out. You inwardly cringe. "And before you say you’re too busy, she already threatened to make plans to visit you, so you can’t escape this." Shit.

"She’s not relenting on this?" you ask, despite knowing the answer.

"No." Your shoulders droop.

"Okay, okay, tell her we’ll be up in like, a week." You relent with a heavy sigh. "I’ve got to—I've got to figure things out first, but… we’ll be up." Your father says his goodbyes, and ending the call, you stare at the wall across the room in horror.

You just told your mother that you were married.

You are, in fact, not married.

And you just promised to bring said spouse up to your parents' house in a week.

You have one week to find someone willing to be your spouse.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There is no way you are going to drag your friends into this mess. No way. You don’t have the money to go and pay someone off to act as your spouse, and you wouldn’t feel comfortable bringing someone like that into your parents' home anyway. That leaves you with one other option that you are mulling over.

Morpheus. Deity, or Endless, whatever he had called himself. He surely has the time to help little ole you out for a weekend after you busted him from his cage. He did say that he owed you. You would consider this payment. But how exactly do you go about summoning an Endless?

"Okay, um, Morpheus?" you ask out loud, having no idea what you’re doing but figuring that if he is as all-powerful as he seems, he would probably hear you. "I think I’m ready to cash in that favor now, but I don’t really know how to contact you? So uh, yeah, if you can hear me I’d be grateful if we could talk soon. Like really soon."

You stand in your apartment for a few moments, not really knowing what else to do but waiting for something to happen. Nothing does. So you take a deep breath and head for bed. Only when you fall asleep that night, you find yourself standing in a place you have never visited before, or even remotely recognize. Disoriented, you spin in a circle of confusion until your eyes catch sight of a throne perched above winding stairs, and the very being you need to talk to sitting in said throne.

"Oh, okay, this works too," you murmur to yourself, still wondering where exactly you are. Morpheus regards you calmly, taking in your appearance fully for the first time since he regained his full power. You are such a... mortal. There is nothing special about you, but perhaps that is because Morpheus has only ever seen you in a state of stress. Yet you are the very reason his realm and dreams of the universe have returned to normal, and that makes him intrigued. He rises from his seat and slowly walks down the stairs.

"Hello," he greets, his voice a low timbre you find far more attractive than necessary. You blink at him and hold up a hand, giving him a small wave because what else are you going to do? Perhaps you should bow? Or curtsy? While you try to figure out what decorum is appropriate, the Endless comes to a stop in front of you. "You wished to speak with me? I will fulfill my debt to you. What is it you require?"

Right to the point. That helps you because he is unbearably gorgeous and you feel entirely inadequate in his presence. A few days shouldn’t be too hard, then you would never have to see him again. You could just tell your parents it didn’t work out and you got a divorce! Clearing your throat, you gaze up at the Endless with a nonchalant look.

"Please be my husband," you state boldly. For a few moments, silence stretches between you, and finding it uncomfortable, you speak again. "I need you to be my husband. My mother won’t stop harassing me about getting married, and I really need her off my back. She’s making me visit for the weekend, and I can’t show up without..." You trail off.

"A husband," Morpheus finishes for you, unblinking at your demand. It is a rather simple demand for the great debt he owes. Nonetheless, he will do so to his best ability. "Very well, I shall be your husband." The relief on your face catches the Endless off guard as the stress slips free from your facial features and you physically relax.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," you breathe out. "You have no idea what she is like, and I just need her off my back about this. She keeps trying to set me up with these mediocre guys I’ve never met before. She doesn’t understand that I don’t want or need her help in that... department..." While you trail off, Lucienne comes striding into the throne room.

"My lord, your presence is requested—" She pauses mid-sentence at the sight of you standing so intimately close to Morpheus. "I was not aware you had an audience, shall I return?"

"No," Morpheus replies, his eyes not once straying from yours. "We have finished our business." You tilt your head to the side, wondering what will happen now.

"So should I leave?" you ask, looking around in confusion. Wherever you are is positively beautiful! But you have no idea how you ended up there in the first place.

"That will not be necessary," he reassures you, "I am sure you are curious about this place. It is only right that you are shown our realm." You blink at his word choice, thinking he is referring to himself and the lady. "Matthew, will you please introduce Y/N to the realm?"

A raven pops up from behind Morpheus’ shoulder and cocks its head at you.

"Sure! Hi! I’m Matthew, Morpheus’ raven!" the bird chitters, much to your surprise. Then again, this is a dream! Dream of the Endless. You should probably try to figure out more about him.

"Uh, sounds good, lead the way," you say, following the talking raven out of the throne room while Morpheus and Lucienne have a stare-down you are not privy to. The moment you are out of earshot, Lucienne's eyebrow goes up.

"May I ask who that was, sir?"

"My wife," Morpheus answers simply.

"Your... wife," Lucienne repeats slowly, making sure she heard correctly. "And when did this happen?"

"Three minutes ago." Three minutes ago?? Lucienne is going to need to hear how exactly this came to be. Immediately.

"...and that’s Fiddler’s Green. He’s a major arcana and has some awesome views if I do say so myself!" Matthew finishes, puffing out his chest proudly. "The whole place got an upgrade since you broke Morpheus out of his fishbowl."

"It certainly has to be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been," you respond in agreement, your mind still reeling from the sights and beings you have seen on the tour. "I—I had no idea what would happen when I set him free, but seeing all this… I’m really glad I did."

"Yeah, don’t be surprised if you have random dreams and nightmares walking up to you to thank you," Matthew echoes, fluttering down from a nearby tree. "They’ve been watching their home disintegrate for over a hundred years, so you breaking the boss out is kinda a big deal to them."

"Is... that why they kept staring at me?" you ask, tilting your head to the side while remembering how you had been stared at in the village. It had just about given you a complex before Matthew guided you away from the town.

"Oh yeah, you’re kinda famous here..." the raven says before stilling and going silent. Clearly, something has distracted him because the bird hasn’t shut up since he started showing you around. You carefully watch as Matthew is silent for a few more moments before shaking his head and ruffling his wings. "Okay! The boss is inviting you for dinner… not entirely sure how that works in a dream… and wants me to bring you to some palace staff."

"Why bring me to the palace staff?" you question as the raven takes flight again.

"Cause he wants to impress you..." The moment Matthew mutters those words, the poor bird squawks midair in a ruffle of black feathers and nearly tumbles from the sky. You catch him before he hits the ground.

"What?"

"I mean he’s trying to introduce you to everyone and everything, ya know?" Matthew blurts out in a rush of words, still jilted by the blast of annoyance and ire he’d received from his lord very much intruding on his thoughts and sight. "Don’t you want to know what it’s like living in a palace? I’ve seen the baths and man if I had my body back..."

Ignoring whatever had ruffled Matthew’s feathers, you right him in your arms and lift him to your shoulder while you walk back towards the looming palace.

"I’m sure you could still enjoy a bath, Matthew," you reassure him. "Birds take baths, don’t they? Granted, not extravagant ones, but still..."

"My point is," Matthew begins, clutching your shoulder with his feet, "we’re trying to be good hosts and the palace staff want to make sure everything is perfect for you. Don’t ladies like being pampered?"

You look down at the clothes you are wearing in contemplation. Well, the raven has a point. Jeans and a t-shirt aren’t exactly worthy of Dream of the Endless, are they?

"Uh, I’ve never been pampered in a dream, but I suppose I could find out?" you offer. "I’d hate to dismiss the hospitality."

Date Published: 12/4/24

Last Edit: 12/4/24

Masterlist | Next

[writethrough]

🤞🤞🤞

@ gaurav

[writethrough]

Okay so I told @steph-speaks but @bookshelf-dust and @writethrough and @olives-and-sunshine, I feel you should know too.

I dropped the latest chapter of A Murder Most Foul somewhere in my posts. It’s hidden but if you can’t find it in three hours, I’ll drop the link in your DMs.

But if you CAN find it, then I’ll offer up chapter 10, too.

The clock starts now.

[writethrough]

My heart!💔💔💔

THE OLD FASHIONED WAY

pairing. trevor lefkowtiz x alive!reader

summary. You had always regarded your ability to see ghosts as odd, until you met Sam and her eclectic group of ghosts.  

warnings. kind of/kind of not happy ending, ig? sad trevor :( angsty and a little flirty. reader gets stood up.

word count. 3.8K || masterlist

a/n. alive!reader HURTS but in the best way

trevor tag list. @marcos-scorpion , @youngdumbamericanteen

“I have one last, fun, interview question,” Sam said and you inwardly cringed. You had sat through so many job interviews that you knew a ‘fun’ question was normally anything but. Nevertheless, you smiled politely and nodded at her to continue asking. “What are your thoughts on ghosts?” 

You laughed, against your will. It was a reflexive response that you immediately regretted. “Sorry!” you rushed out. 

She didn’t seem put off by your laughing. “I know, it’s a ridiculous question. But the last guy that worked here…uh, this place may, potentially, be haunted. Not that I know, but there’s speculation. I just want to know how you feel about ghosts. Do you believe in them? Do you think it's all a bunch of mumbo-jumbo?” That was probably one of the oddest interview questions you’d ever been asked, but it was better than explaining how your weaknesses were really strengths. It also felt pointed. 

You didn’t know Sam and she didn’t know you, but the question made it sound like she knew your weird talent. And for some reason, you didn’t feel the embarrassment you normally did when someone brought up the concept of ghosts. There was something about Sam that compelled you to tell the truth, even against your better judgment. 

“Actually, that’s kind of a funny story-” you started, but were cut off.

“Samatha, when you are done, your assistance is needed in the television room. Someone believes it is his turn to watch another horrible film of space nonsense, but I distinctly recall it being my turn to watch those horrible women pick out whorish dresses for their weddings.” A woman appeared at the threshold of the entryway and the living room, dressed in a gown not from that century with her red locks pinned up in a curious updo. You were taken back, confused when your eyes fell on the man that stood beside her, dressed formally on top but lacking anything but socks and shoes on his bottom half. 

“First of all, Star Wars is not ‘space nonsense’ it's one of the biggest movies, like, ever,” the man started. “And second of all, you just got to watch your pick two days ago.” 

Sam cleared her throat, ignoring the two with a tight-lipped smile. You looked between the two, which seemed to confuse them. “I’m so sorry, will you excuse me for one second? I’ve got to take care of something really fast.” 

“Yeah, of course. Take your time. I don’t mess around when it comes to Star Wars either,” you said. 

The two people overlapped in with a ‘what?’ and an ‘excuse me?’ Sam stared at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape as she looked between the two figures behind her and you. “Hold on, can you see them?” 

It took a moment for you to understand why that was odd, which was too long if you were being honest. Obviously, no one was walking around in a gown like that or pantsless for no reason. You weren’t looking at cooky guests, but rather ghosts. Did nowhere not have any spirits lingering? It seemed like every job you worked or applied to had ghosts haunting the building. Though, you supposed out of all of the places, it did make the most sense for the old mansion to be haunted. 

But Sam wasn’t a ghost, but she seemed to be able to at least hear the ones in the threshold. “Can you see them?” you asked. 

“Y-Yeah. I can.” 

“Me too.” You have been able to see ghosts since you were little. As a child, most of your friends were the collection of ghosts that inhabited your childhood home. You thought you’d eventually outgrown it, but you never did. Now, nearly everywhere you ventured, you encountered dead people. It was interesting, a little obnoxious at times, and often made you feel like a freak of nature. But the woman in front of you could see them too; that was a first. 

Sam sat speechless for a moment before she said, “You’re hired.” 

--

You weren’t sure what to expect, working in the haunted mansion. In your lifetime, you’d encountered just about every kind of ghost, so you prepared yourself for anything when Sam introduced you. The Woodstone ghosts were an eclectic bunch, comprised of ghosts spanning nearly every decade. They were interesting, to say the least. But even if they had ended up being terrible, you were just happy to be around someone who shared your ability to see them. 

Sam and Jay had set you up at the front desk, putting you in charge of checking in guests. And when it was slow, the Woodstone ghosts often found their way to you if Sam was busy. 

One ghost in particular liked to hang around you, Trevor. He was the definition of an overgrown frat brother, with a lazy smirk and incessant flirtatious attitude. Every time he sauntered up to the front desk, calling your name, you made a habit of rolling your eyes. 

“Good morning,” you greeted, tone flat as you clicked away on the computer. 

Trevor leaned against the desk, his gaze burning into the side of your face. “How you doin’?” he said, and you sighed. 

“Watching Friends again, I see?” 

He blew air from his cheeks, deflating just slightly. “I’m a little rusty, okay?” 

“Rusty? At what?” 

“This,” he pointed between you and him. “Flirting.” 

You laughed and shook your head. “Is that what’s happening?” 

“Well, yeah. My flirting with Sam is useless because she and Jay are annoyingly sweet together. But you…” Trevor trailed on, a smirk on his lips and a certain cocky attitude wrapped up in his voice. 

“I hate to burst your bubble, no-pants, but we’re not exactly… compatible.” 

He raised his brows. “Because I’m dead?” You winced slightly. You didn’t want to be the one to say it; some ghosts were really sensitive to that, but Trevor didn’t seem too bothered. He shrugged like he saw it as no big deal. “I see that as a minor roadblock.” 

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes once more and shut him down, you were impressed at his relentlessness. 

-- 

You thought after a couple of weeks of working at Woodstone, Trevor’s ploy to win you over would fade alongside his attention. But he started to hang around you even more than when you first started, and you two had created a weird but kind of nice rapport of his continued flirting, peppered with more authentic conversations sprinkled in. He told you stories of his college days and the assholes he befriended before they ended up killing him in that every house. You told him about your own school days and how you were currently floating through the motions of young adulthood, trying to figure things out. 

“Scoring a job here was nice,” you said, comfortably resting your elbows on the front desk as Trevor stood across from you, listening intently. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam and Jay are pretty cool.” He paused, toying with the end of his tie. “So, you think you’ll stick around?” 

A small smile fell across your lips. “I think so. Things are pretty interesting around here.” 

“Well, if you ever want them to be more interesting, let me know.”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked, raising your brows. 

“Oh yeah. I could rile up the basement ghosts, convince Thor minivans are enemy warships, you name it.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “You are something else.” 

“Careful,” he teased. “That almost sounded like a compliment.” 

“It was supposed to,” you replied, not missing a beat. 

Trevor’s eyes widened just slightly, the smirk wiped right off his face and was replaced by something that resembled confusion with a slight fluster. Clearing his throat, he managed to say, “Oh.” You didn’t know ghosts could blush until that moment, even with their lack of blood, because Trevor’s cheeks tinted a light shade of pink as he made up some excuse to leave, mumbling something about helping Sass before he hurried away. 

You chuckled, resuming your work as another guest popped in. 

--

To say your dating life was pathetic would be a polite understatement. It was almost nonexistent, which is why when an attractive-looking person popped up on the dating app you forced yourself to get, you got your hopes up a little too high. Sam had encouraged you to go out on a date with them, excitingly helping you get ready and everything. 

You had been excited, believing it was a fresh start for you. First a new job and then a new romantic interest. Unfortunately, after waiting at the restaurant, alone, for a solid hour, you realized your dating life had quickly circled back around to being pathetic. Embarrassment didn’t quite cover how you felt as you left the restaurant and headed back home to wallow. 

The following day at work, the second you stepped inside the mansion, Sam was there with an excited energy, ready to hear all about your date. She grabbed your hand and dragged you into the kitchen before you could protest. She had made tea and had left off sweets Jay had made for the guests yesterday. The other ghosts lounged around the kitchen too, and you felt even more embarrassed to talk about your total bust of a date around all of them. 

But you slouched down in the one empty seat and let Sam push a mug of tea in front of you. 

“Tell me everything!” she insisted. 

You smiled politely but it didn’t stay on your face long before it morphed into a frown. “There’s not much to tell,” you sighed. “They stood me up.” 

“Wait, seriously?” Trevor said, seated beside you, brows furrowed. 

“No call, no apology, nothing. I sat there for an hour, like an idiot.” You rubbed your forehead, a scratchy feeling in your throat. There was no way you were going to cry in front of your boss and the ghosts. You tried to swallow down your emotions as you stared at the steam curling up from your tea. 

Sam’s frown deepened. “I’m so sorry.” 

“That is why you should meet suitors the old-fashioned way; not on the web,” Hetty said. 

“People meet online all of the time,” Sam said. “Bad dates happen, but you’ll find someone.” 

“At this rate, I’ll die alone,” you muttered before realizing your audience. “Sorry.” 

“Dying alone not so bad,” Thor said, in his own odd way to cheer you up. “Die here!”

“Thor,” Sam sighed but you laughed lightly. “I’d prefer no one else to die in the house.” 

The Viking shrugged. “Just suggestion.” 

You picked at your fingernails, the same pit that’s been in your stomach since your ruined dinner last night turned. 

Someone called from the entryway, the newest guest at the mansion. You moved to stand, but Sam waved you off. “I got it. You stay here, finish your tea.” You started to object, but she left before you could. With a huff, you sank back down in the chair. 

“You’re young, you got plenty of time. If I learned anything from being alive, dating in your twenties is usually a, what’s that phrase Jay uses?” 

Flower piped up, “A shit-show!” 

Alberta nodded. “Yeah, a shit-show. Brush it off and get back out there, while you’re still young and hot.” 

You smiled. “I’ll try. But you might be right, Hetty.” Maybe dating apps weren’t the way you were going to find someone. Old-fashioned dating sounded a little bit like a nightmare, but you figured it’d pay off more than mindless swiping through apps until another asshole stands you up. 

“I normally am,” Hetty said. 

The ghosts dispersed, going about their day-to-day while you lingered in the kitchen. Trevor stayed with you, quietly drumming his fingers against his bare knees. “At least you didn’t get catfished by a dead dude.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I did that once,” he said. “Catfished Jay’s sister, actually. I didn’t know she was Jay’s sister at first, obviously. But, uh, yeah. It was a whole mess. I tried to possess her friend’s body, but he ended up almost dying, so it was a total bust. Then Sam started putting the iPad in the drawer.” 

You laughed, that pit in your stomach easing just a little. “That’s insane,” you said. “A ghost on a dating app. For all know that’s why my date stood me up.” That sounded a little better than them just not being interested in meeting up with you in person. “But I doubt it.” 

Trevor shrugged. “It’s possible.” 

“I think it might just be me. I’ve never been great at the whole ‘dating’ thing.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” Trevor said. “Looking like that, I’m surprised you don’t have every weekend booked.” 

You shook your head, a little flattered and a little exasperated. “Definitely not. But by the sounds of it, you did.” 

He smirked, throwing his hands up in a ‘what can I say’ gesture. “I got around, if that’s what you’re implying.”

It was odd, being around ghosts. To you, it never felt super different than hanging around livings. Besides the ability to touch them, the ghosts were every bit as real as Sam and Jay. You had started to forget that the Woodstone ghosts were just that, until they did something that knocked you back to reality. Trevor, being the most recent death, made it even harder to tell the difference. You could almost convince yourself he was living. 

“Did you ever have a serious relationship before you died?” you asked, curious. 

Trevor thought for a moment before he shook his head. “Nah. I was having too much fun being a bachelor and screwing around with my buddies to care about anything serious.” He paused, his smug attitude slipping away a little. “I didn’t know I was gonna end up dying before I could, though. I guess I would have liked to.” 

“You guess?” 

He looked a little zoned out, staring at something across the kitchen with his brows slightly knitted together. “I don’t know, I didn’t think much about it until I died.” 

Sympathy fell hard against your shoulders, and you itched to reach out to Trevor and offer some kind of comfort but you couldn’t. Instead, you said, “I’m sorry.” 

He tried to brush it off, regaining his normal composure but it didn’t shine in his eyes like it usually did. “It’s whatever. I don’t ever have to worry about going on a first date again, which is nice; those were always awful. And getting your heart broken probably sucks, so at least I’ll miss out on that.” 

“You never had your heart broken?” you asked, impressed. Even though you’ve never had a super-serious relationship, you had a tendency to fall for your crushes hard, which usually resulted in a broken heart. 

“Nope.” 

“That’s pretty lucky,” you said. If you could go the rest of your life without a broken heart, you thought that’d be nice. 

--

“It’s an interesting choice for a bachelor party, don’t you think?” Alberta said, but you had to ignore her because of the group of men you were checking in. You did agree though. The B&B was perfect for weddings and romantic weekend getaways. It was the kind of place you brought a family or your parents, not a bachelor party. But the men didn’t look like the kind to get too rowdy. The groom, in your small talk, had said they were just looking for a quiet weekend to unwind before the wedding chaos. They wanted to play video games and board games, drink whiskey, and catch whatever game was on TV. It was rather sweet, you thought. 

“You’re all set. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The groom said no before thanking you and leading his small group of friends up the stairs. They weren’t up there for long though. After they carried in their bags and settled in, the group was back in the entryway, waiting for a car to take them into town, where they planned to bar-hop for the evening. 

One of the groomsmen found himself at the front counter, handsome and smiley as he met your gaze. 

“Do you have any bar recommendations? So far, our ‘bar-crawl’ only consists of two bars,” the groomsman asked. 

You hummed in thought before replying, “The Black Dog is nice. It’s right on Main Street, if you’re heading downtown.” 

“Do you hang out there often?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“So it has pretty company then, huh?” Your eyes widened and a flustered laugh fell from your lips.

From a couple of feet away, some of the ghosts had gathered to observe the new guests. A loud scoff sounded from Trevor before he said, “Seriously?” 

You ignored him in favor of not looking crazy in front of the guests. “Oh, uh, no-” 

“Oh, come on,” the groomsman said. “I’d say you’re pretty, really pretty, actually.” 

Your face felt hot, and you tried to focus on the man in front of you, but the ghosts refused to stop talking. 

“Get a load of this guy,” Trevor huffed. 

“He’s got game, I’ll give him that,” Alberta said, to which Trevor scoffed once more. “What? Look at him.” 

“Thank you,” you said. 

The groomsman tilted his head to the side, pausing for a beat before he said, “Would it be too much to ask when you get off work?” 

“A little.” 

He held his hands up and chuckled. “Fair enough.” 

“This can’t seriously be working on you?” Trevor said. “Look at this guy! He’s got khakis and a polo on!” 

“At least he is wearing pants,” said Hetty. 

“Unbelievable.” Trevor got closer to the counter, much to your disdain. It was hard enough trying to look sane in front of the guests when the ghosts were talking to each other, let alone you. “You’re clearly out of his league-”

“Enough!” you said, raising your voice regrettably so. 

The groomsman looked at you oddly. “Whoa, sorry I-” 

“No!” you quickly cut him off. “Not you! I was, um, I-” 

“Dude, let’s go! The car’s here!” the groom shouted from the front door, beckoning the groomsman over. 

He shot you one last smile, dipping his head in goodbye as he followed his friends out of the mansion. The door closed loudly behind them before the house was drenched in cold silence. The ghosts all stood quietly as you glared. “How many times have you asked you guys not to talk to me when I’m helping guests?” 

“I don’t know if that counted as helping-” Sass started but shut his mouth when you shifted your glare onto him. 

You mumbled under your breath before you left the front counter and bee-lined for the kitchen. Sam and Jay were out for the evening, leaving the mansion in your hands. 

You only got a singular second to yourself before Trevor appeared in the room with you. Rubbing your fingers against your forehead, you asked him. “What was that?” 

He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment before he shrugged and said, “He was flirting with you, clearly, and was out of your league like I said.” 

You stared at him, the way he fiddled with his tie and avoided your eyes. Then it hit you. “Are you jealous?” 

He blinked. “W-What? No…” By the way, his voice trailed off, you felt a terrible knot tangle in your stomach. 

“Trevor…” 

“Don’t,” he quickly said, shaking his head. “Don’t do that. I don’t…I don’t need that,” he gestured to the very clear glaze of pity in your eyes, but you couldn’t help it. You felt bad, really, terribly bad. 

A heavy breath slipped from your lips as you walked toward him, placing yourself right in front of him. His lips tugged downward in a still sadness that made your heart ache. “I’m really sorry.” 

Trevor sighed, “Don’t be. It’s…ugh.” He pressed his hands against his eyes, laughing bitterly at himself. “I’m dead,” he said. “You’re not.” 

“Yeah,” you breathed out, unsure of what else to say. Maybe if you had met him in a different life, one where you both were either alive or dead, you’d take his flirting more to heart. But that wasn’t your current situation. You existed in different realms, untouchable but on each other’s paths. You’d never described your ability as cruel until that moment. 

“And I’m an idiot,” he added. 

“No, you’re not. If things were different…” Even saying the words aloud, they felt bitter on your tongue, doing more harm than good. You could tell by the wince that twitched in Trevor’s face. 

He smiled sadly, recovering from just the implication of your unfinished sentence. “But they’re not.” He let out a breathy sigh before he nodded his head toward the kitchen door. “I’m gonna go,” he said, slipping away before you could say anything else. 

-- 

The next couple of days passed uncomfortably inside the mansion. Trevor barely showed his face, and you felt worse and worse by the hour. Hetty and Issac kept you company at the front desk, making light conversation between their reassurance that Trevor would be okay. But your guilt weighed on you. You didn’t know how to make it better; you feared you wouldn’t be able to. 

But things came to a turn on the last day the bachelor party was there. The handsome groomsman had left his number on a slip of paper that you crumbled and shoved in your pocket, heavy on your side. You watched as they pulled out of the driveway and when you were alone, you unrolled the paper with his number, staring at it so intently you missed a presence appear beside you. 

“You should call him.” Trevor’s voice started you. You yelped and clutched your heart, which brought a small smile to his lips. 

“What?”

He sighed, shifting in his shoes and looking a little unsure of himself. “That’s his number, right?” You nodded. “You should call him.” 

“Oh, no-” 

Trevor cut you off. “Why not?” Because you felt bad, but you didn’t need to say that for Trevor to understand. “Don’t not call him because of me. Seriously, I…I lied when I said I’ve never had my heart broken.” 

You peered at him, confused. “Why?” 

“Because it sounded a little pathetic to say I crush hard. I liked my recess teacher so much that I cried like a baby when I had to move to fourth grade. In high school, my girlfriend of two weeks broke up with me because she was moving schools and I faked sick for three days because I was so, embarrassingly heartbroken. It’s just how I am,” he admitted, much to your surprise. “But I’ll get over it. It’s like not it would have worked out with me being dead and all. It was stupid.” 

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said. “And you’re not pathetic. It’s sweet, actually. Really sweet.” 

Trevor shrugged. “I’m glad someone thinks so.” He pointed a finger at the paper in your hands. “Call him, okay? You deserve a good date, the old-fashioned way.” 

And so you did, the old-fashioned way.

[writethrough]

Tried to use a different artist for each! Thanks for the tag hunny!

W - when the party’s over by Billie Eilish

R - Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan

I - Is It Really You? by Loathe ft Sleep Token

T - tolerate it by Taylor Swift

E - Evermore from the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack

T - Tennessee Line by Daughtry

H - Hater by Spencer Sutherland

R - Running Up That Hill by Loveless (cover)

O - Out There by Patrick Page and Michael Arden

U - Unknown/Nth by Hozier

G - Girls by The 1975

H - Help I’m Alive by Metric

URL song game

Write one song for every letter in your url, and then tag as many people as there are letters in your url.

Thank you for the tag babygirl! @edsbug ♡

s - Still Counting by Volbeat

t - Take What You Want by Post Malone, Ozzy Osborne, Travis Scott

e - Euclid by Sleep Token

p - Paralyzed by Elvis Presley

h - Heartbreak Hotel by Elvis Presley

s - Shadow by Livingston

p - Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

e - Emotions by Brenda Lee

a - Alkaline by Sleep Token

k - Kingdom of Cards by Bad Omens

s - Save Me by Saleka

No pressure tags: @saradika @sagesolsticewrites @writethrough @bluebeardtheblasphemous @bookshelf-dust @magneticghouls @ab4eva @bunmurdock @babygorewhore @ladylaviniya @taintandviolent