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moog-rt · 3 months

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GO TO HELL [ch. 1]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Prologue

➨ Chapter One

Next: Chapter Two

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

Warning(s): blood, gore, cannon-typical violence

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER ONE

Your head throbbed, and cradling it with your hand only turned it into a piercing pain rather than dulling it.

You were careful as you worked to stand up. It was hard to grab hold of anything sturdy enough to support your weight, and upon closer inspection, it turned out you were taking a power nap in a pile of garbage. And, boy, was that shit rank.

You stumbled your way onto solid ground whilst picking gunk-covered plastic from your shirt and hair.

The surroundings that greeted you were unlike anything you could imagine. The sky appeared polluted with red smog so thick you couldn’t see the sun, though it didn’t smell like the kind of pollution you were used to. Rather than chemical, it stank of smoke and decay.

Every breath you took of this new atmosphere felt thick and raspy. You weren’t sure you could really even consider it breathable. You were probably inhaling a handful of carcinogens by the second.

From what you could see through the gap of the two buildings that made up the alley you were in, there was a city. It was as if the materials of the buildings were selected to complement the sky. Everything was a different shade of red or burgundy. The plumes of smoke that tunneled up in the distance were mildly concerning, though they didn’t seem to be an immediate threat.

It was all enough to drive a clear sense of dread through your gut. No way in Hell were you supposed to be here. You should be on your way to Devon’s place- No, you were at Devon’s place, in their living room.

And now you were…well, you didn’t really know. That was kind of the problem.

The panic only truly set in after you tripped, scraping your knees on the filthy cement. You didn’t want to know what caused that dark brown, slightly chunky stain. Turning to face the lump that caused your stumble, your stomach plummeted. Face paled.

That was a corpse. A whole not-so-human corpse. Mangled and lying motionless in a pool of blood that was beginning to dry.

In an instant, you threw yourself off of the ground, backpedaling away from the body. What on Earth could have caused their limbs to bend in so many directions? On second thought, you hoped it would stay a mystery.

You couldn’t ruminate on it for long before you felt something large grab your shoulder, hoisting you around so your back was facing the alley. You winced as the grip grew tighter and looked up to see a green-skinned man with jagged teeth protruding from his mouth.

In that instant, it felt as if your heart had been launched a thousand feet in the air.

His pitch-black eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to your face, and you couldn’t bring yourself to move or utter a single word. His grip moved to your neck, turning your head around so he could see you from every angle. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more uncomfortable, he brought his nose to your cheek and inhaled deeply.

“A human,” he said in a grumbly voice. You could see a corner of his lips curl into a wicked smile. “That’s a first. It’d be a shame to let you go to waste.”

Go. You had to go.

To have a freeze-response in a situation like this was a death sentence. You hadn’t the slightest clue what this man’s–this thing’s–intentions were with you, but you had an inkling that it wouldn’t be pleasant.

You had to move. Even if it was just an inch, just enough to convince yourself that you still could. You would take either fight or flight over this.

“Is that soul still living?”

Your eyes flicked over to the source of the new voice. A tall, reptilian-looking creature with eyes that seemed to be bugging out of its head. They were no more comforting than the man who was only a few inches away from strangling you.

“Fuck off! I found ‘er. She’s mine!” Apparently, the lizard-man was enough to draw your assailant’s attention away from you.

Lizard-man did not in fact fuck off. That response was the confirmation that only further drew him in. Looking around, you noticed other inhuman creatures turning their attention toward the three of you.

The lizard-man made a sudden lunge for you, digging claws into the green man’s arms. He hollered out in pain with an endless string of curses.

In that moment, you felt his grip on you loosen, and you dropped to the ground like dead weight. This was your chance. Likely your only chance before both of them pounced on you at once. Maybe more by the looks of the other creatures closing in, as well.

Relief washed over you as you slowly moved your arm to push you up. The mental confines over your body had been released, and just in time. You were able to clumsily roll out of the way as the men threw each other to the ground, and with wobbly legs, you promptly hauled ass out of there.

You could hear screams of rage and surprise as you shoved through the people on the street, apologizing occasionally. You could feel dozens of pairs of eyes burning into the back of your head, and you were almost certain that some had given chase.

The odd buildings blurred past you. You may have caught a glimpse of a shop with televisions on display and another that looked as though human limbs were hanging on meat hooks, but this was no time for window shopping. All of it caused your head to spin from both physical and emotional whiplash.

The first corner you turned revealed a massive light-up sign that towered above everything else with text saying, “Welcome to Hell.”

What kind of twisted joke was this?

You ducked into another alleyway. Nobody was around, but you could still hear yelling close behind you. Your heart felt as though it stopped for a second as you took notice of a massive barricade blocking off the only exit. The first sliver of your luck finally showed itself to you in the form of a small gap that could be just big enough for you to fit.

You were forced to slow down in order to wiggle your way through it, allowing your pursuers to catch up. Just when you thought you had cleared the blockade, that big green hand wrapped around your ankle, yanking you back.

You cried out and pulled as much as you could until your foot slid out of your sock, successfully freeing you. Padding barefoot through this wretched city wouldn’t be pleasant, but you were sure it was better than whatever those things had planned for you.

As you pushed back into a sprint, you heard the green man’s voice screaming at the others about how he wouldn’t let them through before him. That was fine by you. He was much too big to fit through that hole, and you doubted he could scale the wall completely. If he was dead set on not letting anyone pass before him, then you probably had all the time in the world. Even so, you wouldn’t feel safe until you could get as far as your legs could carry you.

So, ignoring your burning lungs and pounding heart, you pushed forward. Through the streets that grew more and more disheveled, collapsed buildings, cracked and upheaved asphalt roads. The lack of shoes only made it that much worse as your feet were getting sore. You were slowing down, but you refused to stop until you found someplace suitable to take refuge.

After the last main row of the city, there was a hill. And on top of that hill, there was a hotel.

Or so the sign on it said. Happy Hotel.

You could tell it was probably supposed to light up, but it wasn’t on, either because it was daytime (you assumed) or the bulbs were burnt out. Both seemed equally likely. The place was massive but appeared to be a hodgepodge of things all shoved into one, a cruise ship crashed into one side, a train on top of the roof… But despite its general run-down appearance, the stained glass windows remained untouched as if they were brand new.

It would be a gamble on whether this place was inhabited or not, but at least it was out of that shit show of a city. Probably the safest thing you’d come across thus far.

Besides, it was a hotel. Maybe you still had one of your cards in your pocket. If not, there was always Apple Pay, right?

The final push up the hill really did you in, leaving you panting and covered in sweat at the front door. You were dying to sit down and rest, but you wouldn’t feel comfortable doing so until you were inside.

Seeing the building up close left you even more confused about whether or not the place was still running. The majority of the double front doors were stained glass with an apple shape in the center of each. It was quite beautiful. But at the same time, the edges of the frame appeared chipped and rotted, showing the building’s true age.

You were just thankful when the door creaked open without a fight. You didn’t want to resort to breaking in through one of those wonderful windows. With how loud it would be, you might as well scream out your arrival.

Aside from some of the detailed woodwork and repetitive apple iconography, the inside of the hotel was a bit sad to put it frankly. Little to no furniture. Cobwebs coating everything. The chandelier holding on by a thread (maybe the cobwebs were preventing it from falling). There was a minifridge, though!

You couldn’t imagine you would be lucky enough to find a cold bottle of water in there, but you decided to check to be sure. The cool air alone, wafting out as you opened its door, alleviated some of your discomfort. Unfortunately, there was no water or any beverage, for that matter. Inside were a couple of applesauce(?) cups and a styrofoam take-out container.

The fact that there was anything at all was concerning as it was a bit of confirmation there were already inhabitants. You would need to keep looking for a safe place to stay unless they ended up being the odd few in this town that weren’t out for blood.

On cue, cool metal prodded the back of your neck as you were closing the fridge, and you froze.

“What are you doing here?” asked the person behind you. Their voice was cold and harsh, and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. So much for going unscathed.

“I was just looking for somewhere to rest. I’m sorry for intruding,” you said just above a whisper, raising your hands instinctively.

“You want to stay here?” a chipper voice cut through the air, echoing a bit in the large, empty foyer. They sounded almost happy you were trespassing. “Vaggie, this could be our first guest!”

“Babe, the hotel isn’t even open yet,” the first voice sighed before the metal was pulled away from your skin. You took that as an invitation to turn around.

Before you stood two young women–you’d guess late teens or early twenties. They were the most human-like people you had the pleasure of coming across since waking up in a hot pile of garbage. The only thing that threw you off was their grey and porcelain white skin tones. It was as if they were pulled out of a black-and-white movie from the ‘50s.

You’d take what you could get at this point. At least they didn’t have scales.

“We’ll just have to move up our grand opening then,” the taller girl sang with a wide, sharp-toothed grin. She bounded over to you, squatting down to meet you at eye level. “Would you be interested in a shot at redemption? It doesn’t matter what you’ve stolen or who you’ve murdered. Everyone deserves a second chance!”

Was this chick for real? What did redemption have to do with a hotel? And why would you need to be redeemed?

Your mouth hung open as your eyes bobbed between the two strangers.

“Wait a second…” The shorter girl–who you realized was the one holding a fucking spear to your neck–suddenly went wide-eyed. “You’re a human. Jesus, she’s a human!”

The blonde stared at her for a moment before turning back to you with knit eyebrows.

“Really? How do you know?” she asked with a tilt of her head as her eyes darted all over you, looking for some tell-tale sign of your humanity.

In what world is it surprising to see a human? You hadn’t been shipped to Mars. That you were certain of.

Then you came to your own realization.

Devon must have drugged you! That was the only way this could make any sense. Was it acid? LSD? You’d have to ask them after you sobered up. Or maybe after you wring their scrawny little neck, because the therapy you’d need after this was sure to cost a fortune.

The hand that landed on your shoulder caused you to flinch. The shorter girl–Vaggie–was kneeling in front of you now. Her touch was delicate as if she was worried she’d break you if she put enough pressure. A stark contrast to the way she treated you a minute ago.

“How did you get here?” she asked in a much softer tone than earlier.

You let out a huff of air, a sorry excuse for a laugh. You smiled, shaking your head as your body slumped back against the fridge.

“I don’t even know where here is,” you laughed. “I was in my friend’s apartment one second and being hunted down by a mob of demons the next.”

The two exchanged a look before helping you to your feet. They settled you down on a couch, one of the few pieces of furniture they had, and got you a glass of water to sip on. The scrapes and cuts you had gotten during your chase, or possibly before it, were treated to, as well. The foot that lost its sock was particularly nasty.

They introduced themselves and explained that you were in Hell. You reckon you should have figured that one out from the big-ass sign you saw while running for your life.

In return, you told them the last few things you could remember before ending up here. Helping your friend with a demon-summoning ritual and getting dragged through a glowing hole in the ground as a result.

“Sounds like that backfired a bit,” Vaggie said. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, a bit. That’s what I get for doing my friend a solid, I guess,” you shrugged, leaning back as you gulped down more of the water.

“Oh, don’t say that. At the end of the day, you helped a friend, and you found us! And we’ll definitely make sure you get home safe and sound,” Charlie grinned as she gently placed a hand on your knee.

You gave a small smile in return. You’re not sure how much you believed in her words, but it was sweet of her to try to reassure you. Her hope was almost infectious, and you could use as much of that as you could get.

“Also, you’re totally welcome to stay here for as long as you need! We’ve got plenty of rooms, and I’m sure we’ll start getting more furniture soon, and if there’s any food you’d like us to get, we can–”

“Baby, slow down,” Vaggie chuckled.

“Sorry…I guess I’m just really excited. You would be our first guest, and I’ve also never seen a human other than my mom before, and even she’s a special case…” Charlie said, looking off to the side as she brushed a blonde strand of hair behind her ear.

“The only humans we technically have are the ones that die and are deemed sinners,” Vaggie explained. “But they take on a new appearance. Usually, it reflects something within their soul.”

Huh.

“That’s…interesting,” you said, eyebrows tightly furrowed together. What does being a lizard man say about that dude’s soul? And what about being green? Maybe it was his favorite color? Or maybe he was green with envy. Haha.

“So what do you say?”

You looked at Charlie to see her holding her hand out to you. If the two of you were making a deal, she wasn’t really getting anything out of it. It was pure charity work…

“Please, let me know if there’s anything I can do for you in return,” you said, taking her hand.

With that, the two young women gave you a brief tour of the hotel. It was still a work in progress, but you could see Charlie’s vision. If they just cleaned it up a bit and filled in the space, it would look livable. You would be more than happy to help with that if you ended up spending enough time there, though you hoped it wouldn’t take that long.

If you weren’t back soon, your place would start getting cobwebs. You also couldn’t miss too many days of work…PTO wasn’t infinite, and you had bills to pay. Your coworkers would also have it out for you if you left them short-staffed.

What if they started putting up missing flyers? Hopefully, they wouldn’t blame the coworker you convinced to go home early. She was the last person you were spotted with in public, after all. No one knew you were going to Devon’s, so it was unlikely they’d take the blame.

Maybe the guy you had been in a situationship with for the last several months would be their suspect. Most of your friends knew all about him (primarily because you’d bitch and whine so much), and it’s not uncommon for people to point fingers at the ‘partner.’

He raised a few red flags here and there, sure, but what man hasn’t? None of them were even close to kidnap-murder level. Mostly just picking his toes in public and swearing on his life that his exes were the crazy ones, not him. Nothing necessarily surprising.

You needed to stop worrying and start embodying Charlie’s confidence in the situation. You would find a way to get back. You would not be stuck in Hell long enough to raise alarm. You just had to manifest it!

Eventually, your hosts showed you to the room you could stay in. It was one of the few furnished ones besides their room at the moment. They also gave you a change of clothes after realizing just how dirty (and smelly) yours were after waking up in a trash heap. Plus, you had two socks again!

You met back up with them in the foyer when you were finished. They wanted to discuss possible ways you could get out of Hell, which you had absolutely no problem with. The two of them brainstormed for a bit while you just sat back and listened in. Vaggie brought up that some upper-class ‘hellborns’ had ways in and out of Hell, but she didn’t have any specifics.

You felt bad not contributing, but what did you know about traveling between the living world and Hell? Jack, that’s what.

“Do you think your dad would know? He’s probably had to get to Earth for some reason or another, yeah?” Vaggie asked, but she was met with a grumble of a response.

“I don’t know…” Charlie said with a frown, all her hopeful energy zapped away in an instant. “He’s never been super helpful with stuff like this.”

“Come on, babe. If anybody would know, it would be him,” Vaggie pressed. “He’s gotta have something we could use.”

Charlie simply groaned as she threw her upper body over the arm of the sofa and sat like that for a minute or two. It was possible that she wasn’t on very good terms with her father. Or he was just exasperating to deal with.

You sent a worried look at Vaggie, because what were you supposed to do in this situation?

“Okay, yeah. We can swing by my old house tomorrow and poke around,” Charlie said as she stood up.

“Great, but you,” Vaggie jabbed her finger in your direction. “Get ready to wake up bright and early. We’ll have to make you presentable first.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Next Chapter

#Lucifer Magne #Lucifer Morningstar #Lucifer Magne x Reader #Lucifer Morningstar x Reader #female reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Charlie Magne #Charlie Morningstar #Demon Summoning #Occult #once again i am so sorry there is no lucifer this chapter either #i swear he will be in the next one #pinky promise

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bucketsofmonsters · 7 months

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The Witch's Apprentice - Part 7

cw: demon summoning, prolonged isolation, size difference, agoraphobia, depression, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: 3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

You woke up alone and felt anything but. The distant buzz of people outside, on the streets, bustling about the hallways of the inn, felt suffocating. It all seemed so loud now, so deafening.

Lucien appeared in front of you, giving you a quiet “Good morning,” and suddenly, it wasn’t loud at all, his voice cutting through the hum that had seemed deafening moments before.

“How’re you doing?” he asked as you blinked up at him from your seat on the bed.

Was his voice quieter than usual? Or maybe that was just how people sounded with the constant buzz of a city in the background.

“I don’t have any stuff,” you said. It was a trivial complaint, you knew that, but you wanted something to hold onto. Anything that was yours, that wasn’t so foreign.

He laughed and it felt cruel. You knew it shouldn't, that he was trying to help, but it felt cruel that he was allowed to do that right now, while you felt like you’d been broken into pieces. “We’ll get you new stuff, don’t worry about that.”

Like it was that simple. Like you could just get new stuff and move on.

It wasn’t his fault. You knew that. He was the reason you were still here. But some part of you; some unsnuffable, horrible little instinct; wanted to blame him. Without him, you would still be home. Without him, nothing would have changed.

“I just…” you began, with no idea how to articulate any of this to him.

And then, with the most distressed expression you’d ever seen from him, he interrupted you and said, “I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And that was it. He faded away and you were alone again.

You hated the deafening roar of the city he left you with.

At least when he was here, you could pretend things would be okay.

You didn’t have anything left. Anything but him. At least when he was in front of you, you had something to cling to.

Hours passed before he reappeared in front of you. When he did, you didn’t manage to get a word out before a string of curse words escaped him and he faded out of existence again.

You barely even moved as you waited for him. What would you do anyway? You had nothing to do but wait, so that’s what you did, patiently and quietly, on the bed he’d found for you.

It was a shorter wait this time, under an hour if you had to guess.

“Where do you keep going?” you asked as he solidified in the space in front of you. It was slower without you summoning him, like he had to put real effort into coming to you.

A pained expression flashed across his face, disappearing as quickly as it arrived. “I’m being summoned.”

“So often? You’re a popular demon,” you said it with the cadence of a joke, but neither of you found it particularly funny.

“Summonings go through phases,” he said with a sigh. “Names get discovered or obtain reputations. I was too nice for a while, people got comfortable, so I get called upon a lot these days. I’m rectifying my mistake. Hopefully, my name will start to come with a bad taste in people’s mouths in a few decades.”

“Oh. Good luck with that, I guess.”

“Thank you. It’s been going pretty well. Only one major lapse in my judgment,” he said with a pointed look in your direction.

You couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “I promise to tell everyone you were real mean to me. Very scary, the scariest demon you could imagine.”

A huff of laughter escaped him. “Good. My reputation may survive this little affair yet. Now, what have you been up to?”

Your eyes flicked around as you searched for an answer that wouldn’t sound horribly tragic.

He didn’t wait for you to find one before butting in at your obvious distress. “Come on, you don’t need to wait around for me. You haven’t had the chance to do anything in years, go talk to someone or something.”

You shrugged. “I’m fine where I am.”

He looked you up and down, evaluating you as you shrunk away from him. “What is it? Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened. I’m just fine in here.”

His eyes narrowed and you couldn’t understand why he didn’t believe you. Surely it wasn’t that difficult to understand. Surely anyone would be hesitant to go back out into the world after being stowed safely away for so long.

“Something happened,” he said, no longer a question and entirely incorrect.

“It really didn’t. Actually, as long as we’re talking about it, I was thinking. I probably shouldn’t be here at all. I mean, I’m not doing much here. I could always stay in hell with you. It would be easier that way.”

“No,” he snapped, and you flinched back at his harsh tone. “No,” he said again, softer this time, a quiet correction. “I will not let you just lock yourself away again. I will not be your new Eden.”

“I wasn’t asking you to be,” you lied, unconvincing even to yourself.

“You’ll be fine. Just go, talk to someone, get some fresh air. It’ll get easier.”

He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, just how impossible it was.

“Yeah, I will. Don’t worry about me.”

He gave you an unmistakably worried look as he said, “Alright, I won’t. I just think that… shit.”

“Is it happening again?”

“Just go do something. I’ll be back when I can.”

As you laid down in bed, with no intention to go out and doing anything, you wondered just how often he got summoned. You’d never really considered it before. You knew it happened of course, but you’d never put real thought into it past how frustrating of an experience it must be for him.

What would happen if two people tried to summon him at once? Would it hurt? Rip him in two? You doubted that any of the witches summoning him had considered it either.

And what other things was he being forced to do out there? Surely Eden wasn’t the worst witch he’d ever encountered. What other horrible things weighed on him every day, that he couldn’t help but feel a little responsible for?

As time ticked on, another thought wormed its way into your head. Maybe he wasn’t being summoned at all. He’d never had to leave this often before he’d helped you make your daring escape and now he could barely stay with you for more than a few minutes.

It made sense. He’d done what he wanted to do. He’d freed you from the trap he was forced to lay. His part in this should be over, his guilt assuaged, if it weren’t for the way you clung to him like a lifeline.

The thoughts swam around your head until he appeared once more, looking irritated, eyes distant and cold.

The spark of insecurity in you couldn’t be snuffed out any longer, not even in the face of his bad mood.

“Are you actually being summoned?” you blurted out. “Because if you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be.” You knew it wasn’t true, that you needed him, but still couldn’t stomach the idea of him forcing himself to be here. “I thought we were friends but maybe that was naive. Is it just guilt? Is that what all of this was?”

He sighed, his hands rising to rub at his temples. “It's not... I don't know. Maybe at the beginning. I wanted you to be bad. I needed you to be. And you weren’t and it was the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice quiet and broken and completely genuine.

“You really are, aren’t you? Sorry for what? Sorry for not being awful?”

“Well, not…” You weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for. You just knew that you were sorry. “I just meant, sorry for making things worse for you. That’s all.”

“You didn’t make anything worse, not in the long run. I like you. I’m glad you got out of there. It’s just that right at the start I needed you to be a bad person so I didn't feel so fucking guilty. I hate doing this, you know. Being so cruel. Especially to people like you. But if I don’t things get so much worse.”

“You’re not cruel,” you said, knowing it was true and yet somehow, deep down, knowing it was the last thing he wanted to hear.

“I didn’t used to be. That’s the rule. My new rule. No more being nice to the inexperienced ones. Witches like yours don’t give you opportunities to lash out so if you want to establish a reputation, you have to be cruel when you can be. Every single time they give you the chance. When the little witches summoning their first monster give you an opening, you strike. That way the next one thinks twice when they see your name in some summoning book.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Feels awful too. But nothing feels worse than being forced to do even crueler things so you do what you can. Lesser of two evils.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said, knowing exactly what crueler things were flashing through his distant eyes.

“Maybe not. Still wouldn’t have happened without me. You weren’t the first, you know. You were the first victim she kept, sure, but not the first one who fell prey to that damn forest. You’ve probably seen what’s left of some of them, some bones and remains of them in various forms. She got plenty of use out of them, I’ll give her that much”

Your heart skipped a beat as he spoke and your mind pulled back to the various bones and bits of gore in jars that you’d tended to and organized for her over the years. You’d never thought about them before, not really. Even trying to remember them, it was like a haze began to form in your mind, a buzzing pain starting to settle in over the distant images.

You started to fall to the side before the feeling of a warm hand on your arm brought you out of your head. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before pulling back far too soon. “I’m sure she’s tainted most of your memories of anything she didn’t want you to see. It’s probably best to not try and look back.”

Now you had one more thing to mourn, even the memories of your home being ripped away from you. How cruel that you weren’t even allowed to keep those in this strange new place.

“Right. I’ll do my best.”

He nodded. “I know you will. You’ll be fine. You’ve been doing really well.”

It was a kind lie. You appreciated him for trying to tell it.

And then you were alone again.

You did try leaving this place. You swore you did, despite knowing in the back of your head that you couldn’t do it.

You peeked out the window on the tips of your toes down at unfamiliar faces on the street and stood at the door, pretending you knew how to steel yourself for the task ahead.

At the very least it was something to do with yourself when Lucien was away, gone to a summoning or back to hell or just living his life, doing things he refused to speak about with you, always keeping you at arms length.

But that was unfair. He was there when he could be during the day, when some other witch didn’t whisk him away against his will to do whatever they pleased.

He never spoke to you about it, about what they asked him to do. Every time you tried he got very quiet and then began to push back, asking you when you’d go outside.

Nothing quieted you faster than that.

At night he was always gone.

At night you were small again.

You hated sleeping, avoided it whenever you could. You were terrified of the dreams that might come. You’d honestly welcome a nightmare at this point. Your biggest fear was you would dream of home. Your biggest fear was waking up again after.

Instead, you just stared at the wall every night, waiting for it to be morning so you could wait for Lucien again.

A thud pulled you from your trance and your head jerked up towards the window just in time to see a bird falling to the ground below after having slammed into the glass it’s little mind couldn't comprehend.

You were moving before you even had time to think. It was for the best, you weren’t sure you could’ve managed it if you’d had to think it through, to force yourself to get up and go check on the poor creature.

You held your breath as you walked out the door of your room, freezing for a moment. You weren’t sure what you expected to happen.

A woman walked by you, turning to the side and slipping by where you were blocking the hallway with a quiet, “Excuse me, love.”

There was a pressure building in your head, behind your eyes, closing your throat. This foreign air felt toxic, a bile rising inside of you.

A gentle hand settled on your back and you practically jumped out of your skin to get away from it.

You bolted at the contact, frightened, flighty. Darted not back inside but through the halls until you found a way outside, running around the perimeter of the building until you found it.

It was a small, unassuming brown bird, crumpled on the ground, an injured wing tucked under itself.

You picked it up as gently as you could, cradling it in the palms of your hands.

Every instinct you had wanted you to run back and hide. Instead, you walked slowly, carefully, trying not to jostle the poor creature too much.

The woman was no longer in the hall, having left at some point after you’d fled from her. Some part of you felt bad, hoped you hadn’t hurt her feelings or left her worried.

Most of your attention was on the bird.

You had no idea how to help it, would have to ask Lucien tomorrow. You were terrified to touch the bent wing, to make it worse than it already was. Even attempting to set it would hurt the poor creature and you couldn’t stomach the thought of it, of inflicting any more pain.

You did what you could, forming a little bed to rest it in for the night, a little nest out of towels and pillows.

It was almost funny in a way. A makeshift nest inside of your makeshift nest. You were no better off than this frightened, wounded little creature.

At least maybe, someday, it could get out of here.

#terato #demon x reader #demon x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader #demon #the witch's apprentice #This story has negative thematic subtlety lol #This is a little shorter than I like my chapters to be but sitting on it for weeks wasn’t doing me any good #I’ll get the next one out much faster #Pinky promise

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steddieas-shegoes · 5 months

Text

this place is such great motivation for anyone trying to move the fuck away from hibernation

chapter 6: spend the rest of my life with what could have been rated e | start at the beginning on AO3 Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰

The next few days with Steve went by too quickly for Eddie to even process everything he was feeling.

Steve had other plans while he was there and Eddie still had to work, so they didn’t spend all their time together despite how badly they both wanted to. Life felt normal, but with an undercurrent of incoming change.

Every moment they had together was cherished, though. Mia hogged quite a bit of Steve’s attention, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. He was constantly enthralled by her, sitting on the floor to play with whatever toy she wanted, singing and dancing along to her favorite songs, keeping her busy while Eddie made dinner or a bottle for her.

Eddie watched as Mia stole Steve’s heart as much as Steve had stolen theirs.

On the day Steve left, Mia woke up cranky, almost like she knew that it wouldn’t be a good day.

She immediately started asking for “Mama”, and Eddie was doing his best not to cry about how little time they would have before Steve had to go back home.

He was having breakfast with the Hendersons and Max, then stopping to say bye to the Sinclairs and Wheelers before making his way over. Eddie had arranged for the morning off, agreeing to close up to make up for his late arrival.

Mia wouldn’t let Eddie set her down in her chair or on her mat, and he’d barely slept the night before, and he was trying to stay calm and not panic about Steve leaving again.

This time was different, he had to keep reminding himself of that.

When Steve finally showed up, Eddie immediately handed Mia to him and sat down on the couch, head in his hands.

He felt the couch sink next to him and listened to Steve whispering to Mia.

“What did you do to him, princess? It’s only 10:30 in the morning and he looks like he wants to go to bed.” Steve’s hand fell on his knee, squeezing once in silent comfort. “You alright, baby?”

Eddie nodded, and he already knew Steve wouldn’t believe him, but he didn’t really feel like going into everything now and ruining their last few minutes together for a while.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Eddie looked up and over to where Mia was curled against Steve’s chest, her face buried against his neck. He felt a sting behind his eyes as he fought tears.

How was he supposed to do this? Sure, things were different this time and eventually, he’d be with Steve again. But right now, that felt too far away.

“It’s just a month and then we’ll see each other again, right? We can do a month,” Steve said softly, rubbing his hand across Eddie’s leg. “And then soon enough you both will get to be with me all the time.”

“Yeah,” Eddie took a deep breath. “I wish it could be now.”

“I know, love. I know.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Mia let out a small snore and disrupted them.

“Is she asleep?” Steve whispered, eyes wide. “How?”

“Neither of us slept great last night and we both got up earlier than we should’ve,” Eddie shrugged, placing his hand on Steve’s.

“Is it the teething again?” Steve kissed the side of her head. “I thought that got better once the tooth popped through the gums.”

“I think we both just don’t want you to go.”

The tears Eddie fought all morning finally fell, comfort in knowing Mia was asleep and wouldn’t see the only reason he decided to let it happen. He knew it would probably happen again tonight when she was in bed, and he was in bed wishing Steve was in his arms.

“Oh, baby,” Steve sighed, pulling Eddie against his side so he could rest his head on his the shoulder not occupied by Mia. “If I could bring you both with me right now, I would. I’d pack your bags myself.”

“Maybe I could talk to Rick, see if he needs anything sold. If I get some extra income-“

“Absolutely not.” Steve’s tone was harsh, but his hand on Eddie’s shoulder was still light, thumb tracing along his shirt. “What would happen to Mia if you got caught? Hopper doesn’t have the pull needed to get you off a felony drug charge.”

“I know. I wouldn’t do it,” Eddie didn’t even know why he suggested it. Wayne would kill him, and there was way too much of a chance that he would get caught and he couldn’t do that to Mia. “I just don’t wanna be without you.”

“It’s just for a bit, right? You’re gonna visit soon enough and then you’re gonna make the move soon after that.” Steve kissed the top of his head. “And we’ll talk on the phone so much, you may get sick of me.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie pouted.

“Are you pouting? Oh my god, you’re pouting!” Steve tried to hide his laugh, but ended up letting out a strangled noise that made Mia squirm against him. “I don’t even have to see your face to know it looks exactly like Mia did last night when you tried to give her the green bean baby food instead of the carrot.”

“Shut up, that’s not what I look like.”

Steve nudged him off of his shoulder and looked down at him. “Uh huh. Just as I suspected. Adorable.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but smiled, didn’t want to tarnish their last few minutes with a bad attitude.

“I’m gonna go set her in her crib and be right back.”

Eddie nodded and watched Steve slowly get up and walk towards their bedroom. He could hear him whispering, but Mia didn’t wake up, content in Steve’s arms.

When she woke up, she’d be a nightmare. Hopefully, Wayne wouldn’t hate him too much for it.

Steve was wiping his eyes when he came back, not looking at Eddie as he straddled his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck. He let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t wanna leave,” Steve whispered against his neck. “Wanna stay right here in your lap and kiss you whenever I want.”

“What about my job?” Eddie smiled to himself, full of sadness, but trying his best to stay strong for just a little longer. “Mia’s diapers won’t pay for themselves.”

“I dunno, maybe we could potty train her.”

“From the couch? At her age?” Eddie laughed. “I love you.”

Steve pulled back and looked at Eddie. “I love you, too. I’m waiting for you. Don’t get in your head, okay? Promise me.”

Steve knew him well. He’d already been in his head enough, and once he was alone, he knew he’d be back in it, spiraling about how much he missed Steve and how much Steve probably didn’t miss him.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Steve said fiercely, as if Eddie’d spoken the last part out loud. “It’s gonna be awful not having you with me. But I’m gonna focus on the endgame. I’m gonna get Mia’s room ready and look for open positions you can take nearby and start babyproofing the apartment. Robin already bought stuff for the cabinets because apparently our apartment is a death trap to a baby.”

“Robin said that?” Eddie had to admit, it was weird thinking about Robin panicking about his child. She really wasn’t the motherly type, and he didn’t think she’d be super chill about having them in her home.

“She’s actually pretty excited. She said she’s never changing a diaper, though.”

Eddie barked out a laugh. “I wouldn’t have expected her to. That’ll be your job.”

He expected Steve to laugh it off, maybe joke about changing his mind. He didn’t expect him to smile fondly and nod.

“Yeah, that can be my job. Whatever you want me to do, I’m happy to do. I’m in it for the good and the not as good.”

Eddie let out a sob. “You’re ridiculous.”

It was soft, endeared.

So was the look Steve gave him in return.

“I wanna be there for both of you, whatever you need, or want. I’ll do it.” Steve kissed him softly. “I’ll always do it.”

Their lips met again, this time harder, a physical reminder that the clock was ticking and Steve had to go. Eddie let himself cry, felt Steve’s tears mix with his as they tried to devour each other, neither wanting to separate for anything, not even breaths.

Eddie couldn’t let him go, couldn’t watch him walk out the door. He knew it was cowardly, but he needed Steve to be strong for them both and be the first to step away.

Luckily, Steve did.

He pulled away, but kept his eyes closed and ran his hands down Eddie’s arms. “If I don’t look at you, it won’t hurt so much, right?”

Eddie huffed, unsure if he was actually laughing or just holding back another sob. “I don’t know, I kinda wanna look at you every possible second.”

Steve’s eyes opened at that, tears pooling and making his eyes that much prettier. “I have to go.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“But you know it’s not like last time.”

“I know.”

“And you know I love you and I love Mia and I’m not abandoning you and I will call you as soon as I’m home and probably every day for the next month.”

Eddie smiled, nodded. “I know.”

Steve leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, smiled against his skin. “Gonna miss you every second.”

Eddie closed his eyes and nodded. “Already miss you.”

Steve backed away.

He was being strong for them both, had to be. Eddie wasn’t gonna be able to push him out the door.

He opened the door and Eddie pretended not to see the tears falling, pretended the sob he heard come from Steve was just a laugh that got caught in his throat.

Eddie’s vision blurred as Steve stepped out of the doorway.

“Steve?”

Steve froze and turned fully towards him. “Yeah, baby?”

“It’s just for a little bit.”

“I know.”

“I love you. Mia loves you.”

“I know.”

“Be safe driving home.”

“You’re my home.”

Eddie snorted. “That was cheesy. Call me when you can so I know you’re okay.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Steve closed the door and Eddie dropped to the couch, letting out another sob.

He listened as Steve’s car started and idled for a minute, then two. A part of Eddie wanted him to shut his car off and come running back inside, tell him that he wouldn’t leave without them and they’d figure it out. Eddie would pack their things and he’d follow Steve back to his apartment, Mia babbling in the backseat. He’d find a job immediately and everything would be perfect.

But the reality sunk in as he heard Steve’s car backing out of the gravel drive. He had to have a real plan, one that kept him and Mia safe and fed and cared for, one that he wouldn’t regret going through with.

He stood up, wiped his eyes, and got ready for work.

- - - - - - -

Steve called. Of course, he called.

He called almost the moment he got through his own door, which was conveniently when Mia had realized that he wasn’t coming over.

She was too young to understand why she could hear him but not see him, but it was better than nothing.

He called every night at roughly the same time, managed to work it out that he could take his 15 minute breaks at work at roughly that time when he had a shift. He’d apparently told his boss all about Eddie and Mia, all about their plans, and his boss was very happy for them.

They had to fit a lot in in such a short call, and Steve always wanted to reserve at least a couple minutes for Mia, telling her silly stories and trying to have a conversation with someone who couldn’t say anything except “mama” and make babbling noises. Eddie found it endearing as hell and wouldn’t dream of interrupting them.

Every couple of nights, Steve would call Eddie when he got home from his shift, after Mia was in bed and Wayne was either asleep or at work.

Eddie would pull the phone into the bathroom, keeping the door cracked so it wouldn’t damage the cord. He would usually try to whisper whatever filthy words he could while Steve stripped his cock and whimpered into the phone. Sometimes it didn’t take much, sometimes Steve begged him to take it slow. Eddie’s hand always found its way to his own cock on those nights, savoring every whine and moan Steve let out as Eddie talked about everything he’d do when he got his hands on Steve.

Wayne caught on after a few times, giving him a gentle reminder that the noise from the bathroom carries directly across the hall to his room and he’d just appreciate a heads up when he’s gonna be having certain discussions with Steve. Eddie blushed, nodded, let him know he’d try to keep it to the nights he was working, apologized for anything he might have heard.

He put in for a few days off to visit Steve, started preparing for what he’d need to bring for himself and Mia. He figured it might make things feel more real if he brought a few boxes full of things in preparation for the move. Wayne agreed and brought home a few boxes from the plant so he could figure out what he could do without having here for a bit.

The time passed faster than he expected it to.

Mia kept him busy, work kept him busy, and trying to figure out his and Mia’s entire future kept him very close to a crisis.

Sooner than he realized, he was shoving boxes and borrowed luggage into his van and getting ready for his drive to visit Steve.

Wayne was getting Mia changed and saying his goodbyes, insisting on giving her a talk about being on her best behavior and enjoying the big city.

Eddie knew he just wanted to try to hide any tears from him.

“All packed and ready!” Eddie called out as he entered the trailer.

“Mia’s ready to go,” Wayne said as he came around the corner holding her. She was dressed in an outfit Steve sent last week, a onesie with guitars all over it he found at a record shop not far from where he worked. It was a little big, but bigger was better when it came to baby clothes. Mia outgrew everything so quickly, he was tempted to just keep her in diapers until her growing slowed a bit. “Did you already grab her bag?”

“In the front seat.”

“And the box of diapers I left on the porch?”

“In the back.”

“You grabbed the extra formula too?”

“Wayne.” Eddie smiled at him. “I got it.”

“I know you do.” Wayne sighed and kissed Mia’s head before handing her over to him. “Just not used to you not being right here.”

“I know. We’ll be fine though, won’t we, princess? Gonna have so much fun with Mama.”

Eddie had started referring to Steve as Mama to Mia, mostly because she was so insistent on calling him that. Also, it made Steve stutter and probably blush a bright red.

“You be safe. Say hi to Steve for me,” Wayne hugged him, his fingers squeezing his shoulder tight.

“We’ll call when we get in so you know we’re safe.”

“I’ll be waitin’.”

Eddie knew he wasn’t kidding; He’d probably be sitting right by the phone all morning waiting for the call.

“You know, you could maybe invite Hop over or something to keep you busy. He’s been bored with Joyce gone to visit Jonathan. Play cards or whatever it is you old folks do in your spare time,” Eddie gave him a teasing smile, a wink, and turned to leave.

Wayne grumbled something under his breath, but Eddie left it. He wanted to get on the road.

Steve was waiting for them.

- - - - - - -

Steve had warned him that parking would probably not be an easy task when he arrived, but he hadn’t expected this.

He’d been to Chicago and Indy plenty of times in the van to know it wasn’t the easiest fit along the sides of the street, but it was always manageable. Not today.

This was the first sign.

When he finally managed to find a parking spot almost at the end of the street, he decided to leave everything except the diaper bag for now, and hopefully a spot closer to the apartment would open up later so that he could bring up the boxes and luggage.

He got Mia out of her car seat, shouldered the diaper bag, and locked up the van.

Her eyes were wide as she took in their surroundings, people walking along the sidewalk, taller buildings than she’d ever seen on both sides of them, cars honking as they drove by.

He could hear children yelling in the distance, maybe a few blocks over, and someone was dumping trash in a dumpster in the alley directly across from them.

It was damn near overstimulating for him, and he was slightly worried that it would be too much for Mia, especially after napping for most of the drive.

She let out a giggle, and then babbled while smacking her hand against his shoulder.

“Oh? You like all the noise and people? Look, that man is wearing a red coat. You see his red coat?” Eddie read once that pointing out obvious things for babies helped them understand the world better, so he made it a point to do so when they went out. Even back in Hawkins, he always made sure to point out colors and shapes, pointed to simple words on boxes, and animals when they passed them in the car. “I bet he’s nice and warm in that thing.”

Mia kept babbling as Eddie walked up the street, a bit more nervous about the amount of people walking around than he expected to be.

If it were just him, he wouldn’t mind, probably wouldn’t even notice.

But with Mia so vulnerable in his arms, all he could think about was every worse case scenario.

Before he could spiral too much, Robin yelled out to him.

“Eddie!”

“Robin!” He walked faster to close the short distance to the building she was standing in front of. “Mia, look it’s Robin!”

Mia stopped babbling and took in Robin, who seemed very nervous to be in the presence of a baby, and maybe a little nervous to be in the presence of Eddie.

“Hi, Mia.” Robin waved, which was better than what Steve said she would do: offer a handshake. “You’re actually super cute.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t inflate her ego too much, Robbie. Steve already spends too much time hyping her up. She’s gonna actually think she’s a princess soon.”

“Wait until she sees her room,” Robin muttered, probably trying to be quiet enough for Eddie not to hear her but failing. “Steve is gonna be back any minute. He forgot to grab something at the store and had to make a quick trip. I can let you guys in, but I have to run to class.”

Eddie nodded. If he didn’t know that Robin was just a fast-paced, rambly type of person, he’d think she was trying to avoid him.

She led them through the front door - unlocked, a sinking feeling settling in Eddie’s gut - and up two flights of stairs.

“It feels like a haul at first, but it gets a lot easier going up and down,” she said as she unlocked the door to their apartment. “It’s the only real exercise I get.”

When the door opened, Eddie’s eyes zeroed in on his worst nightmare since having Mia: a balcony.

He couldn’t explain it, it’s not like he was ever anywhere that would have one, but even just the thought of her falling off the porch would send him into a panic attack. It’s just the thought of Mia falling from something, getting hurt or dying because he took his eyes off of her for one second, he couldn’t handle it.

He immediately felt his breath leave his body, his chest heaved trying to catch it, and his legs went numb. The couch was close, so he sat down, holding Mia close to him so she couldn’t possibly crawl away.

Robin didn’t notice at first, made a comment about making himself at home while she grabbed something from her room.

“Eddie?” She was standing in front of him, worried eyes searching his face while her hands hovered near Mia like she would take her if he needed. Maybe she would. Maybe she was that worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t know there was a balcony,” Eddie whispered, surprised he even had a voice at all with how terrified he was.

“Um, yeah. We don’t really use it, and it stays locked if we aren’t on it, but sometimes it’s nice to enjoy some fresh air.” She still had her hands hovering, ready to hold Mia or comfort Eddie, maybe both. “It’s locked right now, do you wanna check?”

God, Steve really lucked out with Robin Buckley, didn’t he?

He nodded and handed Mia over to her. If he wasn’t so panicked, he probably would have laughed at the looks on their faces: Robin petrified and Mia silently judging.

He walked over to see the lock in place, pushed down and pulled up on it as hard as he could, pushed against the glass to make sure it wouldn’t collapse, and sighed.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

His heart rate was slowing down, he was able to see more of his surroundings without a haze.

“Yeah. Sorry. I just worry.”

Robin nodded, like she understood, but she probably was just humoring him. “I get it. We’ll keep it locked while you’re here, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

She smiled reassuringly, and he took Mia back before things could get awkward. Mia seemed grateful, tucking her head into Eddie’s neck and curling her fists into his shirt.

“You okay if I go? I can wait if not. Being late for class wouldn’t even phase my professor. Pretty sure she’s extremely high all the time.” Robin covered her mouth. “Sorry, should I not say that stuff?”

Eddie snorted. “She’s too young for it to matter yet, it’s fine. But I’m okay. Get to class!”

“You’re awful good at that.”

“I heard it enough,” Eddie shrugged.

Mia sighed against him, like she was sick of what was happening. She remained quiet though, surprisingly shy.

“Okay, I’m heading out, then. Bye Mia!” Robin waved and booked it out the door.

Eddie sighed. “Well, princess, should we look around? Get to know the place?”

Mia moved her head back to look at him, but didn’t babble or do anything else to acknowledge him.

He decided to do it anyway, figured she would probably become more interested the more they looked around.

The shared space was small, similar to the trailer in everything being more open. The living room was basically a couch, coffee table, and small television with a table next to it for a VHS player and a record player. The VHS tapes and records were piled up next to the table.

Eddie gulped. Mia would knock those over within seconds if he set her down and turned away from her.

That was just a small thing though, they could move them to a place she couldn’t reach.

He turned and saw the dining area, smiling to himself over the highchair that was sitting in the corner, clearly used but sparkling clean like someone had scrubbed it with every cleaning product sold on shelves. The kitchen was a little cluttered, but clean, and all of the sharp objects were put away in cabinets or high enough that there was no way Mia could reach them. He tried to open the cabinet under the sink and was met with a child safety lock and the same happened when he tried to open the cabinet next to the fridge.

He let out a breath.

This would be okay. They’d clearly thought of some things and maybe just needed Eddie to figure out the other stuff. That was one of the reasons he was here, right? To find what they would need to make this work.

He opened the fridge and saw tons of Mia’s favorite fruits and vegetables. The cabinet by the fridge had a can of her formula and some of her favorite baby food flavors, along with the rice snacks and Cheerios she liked to snack on while Eddie made dinner.

Steve had clearly thought of so much, he couldn’t really blame him for forgetting about stuff that seemed relatively harmless on the floor.

He bounced Mia in his arms as he walked down the hall, passing by the first door on the left. He had no interest in going in Robin’s room, even though he was a little curious.

Maybe later.

The next door on the left was the bathroom, and Eddie was pretty sure he was gonna cry. The cabinets had the same child safety lock on them, and the toilet lid has a special latch that would require two hands to unlock it. The baby shampoo and soap that Mia used was on the side of the tub, as well as a few bath toys. There was a toothbrush for Eddie on the sink, and hair ties on a hook hanging by the basket with a hairbrush and hairspray.

There was a note on the mirror that he knew wasn’t for him, but he couldn’t help reading.

Pick up bows for Mia Crib liner? Might not need Batteries for baby moniter

Eddie sniffled, not realizing that tears had come to his eyes while reading the note.

“He loves you so much, princess.” Eddie knew Steve was giving this everything he had, and couldn’t imagine how much money he’d spent to try to make this perfect and feel like home for them. “We’re lucky.”

He heard a door close downstairs, but assumed it was just a neighbor, so he walked across the hall into what was going to be Mia’s room.

He let out a gasp at how perfect it was.

The crib was white with light pink sheets and a hand-crocheted blanket in the corner, a small stuffed rabbit in another. The wall behind the crib was painted with a mural of a castle, a dragon flying in the sky, a princess painted in front of the castle with dark curls and a bright smile. There was a rocking chair next to the crib, and a changing table across the room. He opened the top drawer to find plenty of diapers and wipes, diaper cream, and a few pairs of socks and plain onesies. The next drawer down had some more onesies, but colorful and many with cute patterns. The bottom drawer had shorts, pants, and overalls, and what looked like a couple of dresses.

There was a small bookcase, possibly even built from scraps of wood by Steve himself, in a corner, filled with a few cardboard books. He’d look at them closer later, but he already knew Steve put thought into each and every one.

The rug in the middle of the room was also crocheted, matched her blanket, and Eddie felt safe setting her down and letting her move around a bit. He saw the toybox at the same time she did and smirked.

“Go ahead, Mia girl. Those are yours to play with,” he said before sitting in the rocking chair.

He watched her scoot her way across the floor quickly, reaching into the shallow box, and pulling out a plastic key ring set just like she had at home. She’d used it more as a teething ring lately, but her excitement was palpable.

She kept pulling out toy after toy. Normally, Eddie wouldn’t let her have all of her toys out at once, wouldn’t want her to be overwhelmed, but this was a good exploration. He could put some of them away in a few minutes.

He heard the front door open and Steve call out to them.

“In Mia’s room!” Eddie yelled back.

And for some reason, that’s what did it, what made this all feel so real.

And he wasn’t entirely sure that it was all positive.

He looked up when Steve came in the room, his beaming smile lighting up the room.

Mia noticed him immediately. “Mama! Mamamamamama! Uh uh uh!” She scrunched her hands into fists and threw her arms up, rocking on her knees to try to get him to pick her up.

He gave in immediately, wouldn’t ever let her think he didn’t want to hold her.

“Princess! I missed you so much!” Steve’s voice was shaking, Eddie could hear the emotions pouring out as he planted kisses all over Mia’s head. “Do you like your room?”

“Stevie, you didn’t have to do all this,” Eddie said, tears in his eyes at how excited they both were to see each other. “This must’ve cost a fortune.”

“We thrifted most of it, and I made the blanket and rug. The bunny was a gift from my boss. I really only bought the diapers and some of the clothes. I told you I’d take care of it.”

Eddie had to let himself have this. He had to accept that Steve wasn’t doing any of this to show off, or buy their love, or make it impossible for him to leave. He was doing it because he loved them, and he wanted them to be happy and comfortable here.

Steve set Mia down, who seemed pretty content with going back to her toys after getting so much attention from Steve.

He made his way over to Eddie and leaned down, placing his hands on the armrests of the rocking chair, bracketing Eddie in.

“I missed you even more,” Steve said quietly, leaning in to peck his lips softly.

Eddie took it, wanted it to be more, but knew it couldn’t yet.

“You guys settle in okay? Hope you haven’t been here too long.”

“Nah. Just kinda walked around the place. Most of the stuff is still in the van that’s parked halfway back to Hawkins,” Eddie half-joked.

Steve frowned. “You couldn’t find parking?”

“No,” Eddie frowned. “I’ll move it later when something opens up.”

“I had to grab stuff for dinner or I would have been here when you got here. I assumed spaghetti would be okay?”

Eddie nodded. Exhaustion was settling in as he crashed from the adrenaline of…well, everything.

“You okay?” Steve asked, kissing his forehead before pulling away and looking over at Mia. “If you wanna go rest in my bed, I can watch her for a bit.”

Eddie didn’t want to waste any time he had with Steve, even if he was ready to fall asleep, but it was hard to turn down a nap in Steve’s bed.

“Okay. Wake me up to help with dinner?” Eddie yawned.

“Sure, baby.” Steve sat down on the floor next to Mia, reaching for a ring for the plastic ring toy. “Mia and I are gonna hang out and have a chat.”

Eddie made his way to Steve’s room, barely paying attention to the board hung up in the hall with polaroids and pieces of paper. He barely even noticed anything about Steve’s room other than the bed, which was surprisingly big and surprisingly soft. It smelled like Steve, and Eddie didn’t even have time to process any thoughts before he was asleep.

- - - - - -

When he woke up, he could hear music playing and Mia giggling.

A noise he loved to hear, especially when he knew that Steve was the one making her laugh.

He got up and walked to the kitchen, smiling when he saw her sitting in her high chair with some rice snacks on the tray, Steve standing at the stove stirring a pot of noodles.

“You two having fun without me?” he asked, making Steve jump.

“Scared me, Eds.” Steve smiled at him. “We’ll have even more fun now that you’re here.”

Eddie hoped that was true.

He felt out of place for some reason, like he was a guest in a life that Steve and Mia lived. He’d never quite felt like that before and something in his brain was telling him get out, to go back to Wayne and what he knows before he ends up hurt.

He did his best to ignore it though, smiling at Mia, kissing Steve on the cheek.

They had dinner like a family, and Eddie washed the dishes while Steve brought Mia to the bathroom for a bath before bed.

They both tucked her in, kissed her forehead.

Steve whispered that he was grabbing batteries for the baby monitor in the morning, but they could leave the door cracked open tonight in case she cried for them.

Eddie knew he was being quiet.

He also knew Steve desperately wanted to say something about it, but probably didn’t want to risk ruining their entire weekend.

They went into Steve’s room and got undressed, climbed into bed, faced each other.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Steve asked, rubbing his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone.

“I-“ Eddie didn’t quite know. He had a sense of wrongness, a sense of sadness, but had no idea why it was hitting him now, here.

“Baby, you can tell me. Is there something missing? I went through the list, but we can always get whatever you need. I mean I may have to save up for some of it, but I-“

“Stevie, I don’t think I can move here.”

Steve’s face fell immediately.

Eddie’s heart dropped in his stomach as he realized that he meant it.

He didn’t think it was just fear, either.

Something was telling him it wasn’t the right thing to do.

“But-I don’t understand,” Steve admitted, his voice small.

“I don’t either. I just have this feeling, this thing in my chest and my head telling me that I shouldn’t. And it’s nothing you’ve done wrong or forgotten to do, I promise. It’s so wonderful. You’ve done more than I could have ever asked for.” Eddie paused, tried to figure out how to phrase this next part. “I had a panic attack when I saw there was a balcony. And I know it’s locked and she’d never be able to get out there on her own, but in the back of my mind, all the time, I’ll be wondering if she somehow is the one baby who can undo window locks. And I’m just thinking about how walking down the sidewalk with her felt like I had to use all my energy just to stay alert enough to protect her. I can’t do that all the time, I can’t live my life constantly at the highest level of stress.”

He could feel tears falling, but somehow managed to say everything he needed to.

Steve was crying, his hand gripping Eddie’s hips, hopefully leaving bruises that would stay with Eddie for days, weeks.

“Baby, this neighborhood is safe. I promise. I even looked into the daycares and school ratings and they’re all good. She would never be alone anywhere and you know I’d protect her with my life just like you would-“

“Stevie, I know. I know all of that.” Eddie kissed him fiercely, tried to make him understand. “But knowing it and processing it are two different things. I know I can’t live like that.”

“I can’t go back to Hawkins.”

Eddie nodded. He knew that.

He knew neither of them could do what the other wanted.

“So what do we do?” Steve sniffed, covered his mouth as a sob left him.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Steve shook his head. “We can’t just give up. I can’t not have you.”

Eddie could agree. He couldn’t imagine being without Steve now, couldn’t imagine Mia not having him, not even having a chance to be a family.

But he had no idea how to fix this.

“I don’t know how to have you, though.”

Steve blinked at him a few times before sitting up and moving to the edge of his own bed.

“We should sleep on it.”

Steve’s voice was broken.

Eddie had caused that.

Eddie hadn’t been able to suck it up, try it out for the weekend.

Eddie was running before the race even started.

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ao3 fic #chaptered fic #mechanic eddie munson #dad eddie munson #this one ends on a sadder note #but happy endings always i pinky promise

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herrmannhalsteadproduction · 23 days

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...i swear i just needed to get this little Tommy Kinard story out of my brain and now it's 2k and i might have to post it??

#i promise this is a one off #i'm not abandoning the H/H series to start writing 911 fic #pinky swear #i'll return to working on chapter four after this

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wttcsms · 27 days

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also !! i just wanted to thank anyone who has stuck around my blog despite the amount of diff fandom fixations ive gone through lol. it honestly means so much to me that some of yall will read fics for characters you don’t even know about just because it’s written by me. i’ve been struggling to work on any of the concepts ive posted purely bc i want to know which characters you want to see them written for & the engagement on posts discussing ideas i have determines whether the draft will ever see the light of day (get posted). im being sappy bc ive been wanting to write more for hq and bllk again & i know that that’s not what a lot of you want, but thank you for sticking around this long 🤍

#i have ur requests!!!#i pinky promise i will not leave this blog until i finish all the reqs #but ive just been overwhelmed w irl things (GOOD irl things haha!!)#so the writing process is so slow #and i also say this bc interaction is always a factor to me for my fics #so if i drop a 20k chapter and i get like 0 comments i go:#ok I’ll wait another 3 months before posting another update bc clearly it isnt being received all that well #vs dropping a one shot and seeing a bunch of ppl asking for a pt 2 #then i think oh ok! this is a concept ppl like i should write more of this

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ifievertoldyou · 5 months

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i am once again liveblogging my reactions to the new thaw chapter using only the silly reaction memes i have

#~ever rambles #thaw nation #liveblogging #thaw spoilers #chapter 66 #apologies in advance to my non-thaw mutuals #if you dont want to get spammed i suggest muting one of the previouslt put tags #i pinky promise i'll be better at tagging this time around #thaw liveblogging

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areseebee · 8 months

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someday | chapter 6

Next April’s the 10th anniversary of the Good Friday Agreement and I want to do a short documentary about Northern Ireland. Nothing huge, just a retrospective over the past 10 years with a personal angle. And I want you to write the script. _ 27-year-old James and Erin make another film. derry girls | james/erin | future fic | chapter 6/8 | rated T |read on ao3|

someday chapter 6 (and part II of the los angeles interlude) is now up! it is long and it has been a long time coming. it is an understatement to say how glad i am to finally share it.

if you get to the end of this absolutely ginormous chapter and still want to read more, i also just posted a little piece from erin's POV set about a year after the end of the chapter (shared originally on tumblr, newly posted to ao3). you can read that here.

#derry girls #jerin #james x erin #erin x james #james maguire #erin quinn #this chapter is lowkey smoke break 2.0 + 'there's only one bed let's kiss about it'#soundtrack includes 'i'm your man' by leonard cohen and 'do i wanna know' by the arctic monkeys and 'bad idea right' by olivia rodrigo #the story is now finally moving back to derry after this. pinky promise no take backs #someday #my fic

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blooming-violets · 2 years

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Pinky Promise Rewrite|| Ch. 1

[TASM Peter Parker x female OC]

Summary: The fate of the one she loves most is put into the hands of a masked stranger, forever entwining their lives.

Major Overall Series Warnings: 18+ smut, mental health triggers (ptsd/depression/panic attacks/a suicide attempt from a child/trauma), a retelling of forced sexual assault and manipulation, kidnapping of a minor

Chapter One Warnings: suicide attempt from a child, mention of a parent on drugs (heroin) and another in jail, childhood bullying and childhood depression

A/N: This is a rewrite of my very first fic on this blog. The original was written in second person. I wanted to rewrite it properly in third person and write Lucy how I imagined her instead of making her a reader insert style character. I also wanted to add some lost scenes and darken up the tones of how I originally wanted to tell this story. It’s a ten chapter fic. I know it’s going to get hardly any notes, especially as it’s a story I’ve told before, but my brain is telling me that I need to rewrite this. I can’t rest until I do. This one is completely self indulgent. If you want to give it a read, go for it. If not, that’s okay too and I’ll see you again when I post something fresh and new. xoxo Katie

Pinky Promise || Chapter One || The Fall

The heavy vibration of the phone rumbling in her pocket dragged her from distant thoughts.

Lucy hurried to push open her apartment door, throwing her shoulder against it as it was prone to sticking, and quickly shoved her way inside. She dropped her bag of cleaning supplies on the ground and fished the phone from her apron.

Dread filled her stomach as she caught sight of the caller id.

“Midtown Elementary Academy”

Olivia’s school. She closed her eyes and slumped against the door with a groan. Not again. This would be the fourth time this week she received a call from them and the ninth time this month. Olivia was on the fast track to expulsion if she kept this up.

Lucy steadied her breathing, clearing her throat to sound more professional as she answered, “Yes, hello?”

“Ms. Miller? This is Diane Fleming, Olivia’s teacher.”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Mrs. Fleming always acted as if this was the first time Lucy was hearing of her. They’ve only had this conversation a million times before. Lucy bit her tongue and kept up a pleasant, nonchalant, attitude, “Oh, hello. What can I do for you today, Mrs. Fleming?”

She listened to the exasperated tones in the older woman’s voice and knew whatever was coming next wasn’t going to be good.

“I was wondering if you could come in this afternoon? The incidents we have been discussing have become more frequent. Olivia’s behavior is getting out of control. I think it would be best if the three of us could sit down with the school counselor and talk about this in person.”

Her nightmares were coming to fruition. Getting involved with a counselor would only spark more judgment on their little family. At 23 years old, most people didn’t take her very seriously as a caregiver. They’d take one look at Olivia, do the math in their heads, and come to the conclusion that Lucy probably had her when she was around 16. They wouldn’t be wrong except for the fact that Olivia wasn’t her daughter. She was her sister. That nugget of truth would only open up even more unwanted speculation on their lives. It was like she could see their brains churning through the questions they would never dare ask. Were their parents dead or just deadbeats? Should we pity them with sadness for being orphans or pity them with prejudice for having useless parents? Either way, they were constantly being looked down on.

Lucy sighed, “What did she do now?”

Olivia was struggling this year at her new school. Second grade had not been kind to her. Midtown Academy was a dream school for them. Being a private school, if a kid wasn’t from a wealthy family, then they needed to seriously impress the school board with their academic skills to have a chance at attending. Olivia was brighter than average. She was reading at a 5th grade level and had a particular knack for sciences and mathematics. Her first grade teacher was the one to recommend trying out for the annual scholarship Midtown offered each summer. It was something Lucy wouldn’t have even considered on her own. With her teacher's help and glowing recommendation, Olivia beat out every other kid for the spot. She won a full ride scholarship. A scholarship that was now hanging on by a thread due to her behavior. This was supposed to be the big break that they needed. If Olivia could succeed here, she could go on to Midtown School of Science and Technology. Her future for colleges and potential scholarships would be even brighter. It was an opportunity Lucy refused to let her miss out on. The alternative was grim compared to this gift they were given. She knew her sister was struggling but this was the best chance she had to give her a decent future.

The student’s at this school were mean. They came from upper class families. The kind of kids who had everything handed to them their whole lives and never heard the word “no” before. Like sharks in the ocean catching the whiff of fresh blood, they could easily surmise that Olivia was different from them. She became an easy target. The tension only grew and Lucy could see how negatively it was affecting her sister. Olivia was harboring a lot of pent up anger. It consumed her soul until it had no place else to go but out.

The call on Monday happened because, during art class, Olivia drew a very graphic picture of a classmate being brutally murdered by a man in a giant metal rhino suit. That was an interesting conversation to have with Mrs. Fleming. Lucy tried to argue that it was art class and one can not judge an artist's interpretation on their chosen subject matter. She wasn’t even sure how her sister had heard about the Rhino who once terrorized the city streets. Olivia was only a toddler back then. On Tuesday it was because, during creative writing, she wrote a horrible poem about how she wished her teacher would get paralyzed by a bus. Lucy tried to argue that the children were given a free writing prompt and that the poem was, structurally, very well written. Olivia was merely exercising her creativity and imagination, surely she didn’t actually mean what she wrote, it was nothing more than a misunderstanding. The attempt to cover for her sister was noted but not well received. On Wednesday, Olivia escalated her antics, by cutting off half her long braid in the middle of a spelling test. Lucy had no excuse for that one except that she had been meaning to get her a haircut and maybe she decided to take matters into her own hands. Thursday went by without a call, much to her relief, but it wasn’t until Olivia returned home when Lucy noticed her lip was split open and a bruise was forming on her jaw. Then it was her turn to call the school. They had a lot to say when it came to accusing Olivia of things but were very quiet when the tables were turned. They mentioned something about a brief altercation in the bathroom that afternoon but no student had come forward to take the blame. Olivia refused to talk about what happened or point any fingers.

Now it was Friday and she was here. Another call. She waited with bated breath to hear what her little sister had gotten up to today. A hundred preplanned excuses rattled around in her head, ready to cover all her bases and, hopefully, give Olivia another extension before she got expelled.

“Well, Ms. Miller, this afternoon, Olivia dumped a jar of spiders down the back of the young girl sitting in front of her.”

Lucy’s eyes widened in shock. Shit. That was not something she had an excuse lined up for. How the hell did she collect a jar of spiders? Where did she even get the jar from? Why was this something that she would even think to do? The absurd imagery that came to mind was too much to handle. It was so outrageous of a thought that Lucy had to stifle a laugh. Unfortunately a quiet snort managed to push its way out through her nose.

Mrs. Fleming picked up on it right away, “I’m sorry but do you find this behavior amusing? Olivia is a seriously disturbed child. Her behavior is unacceptable. We do not tolerate bullying in our school.”

Any bit of humor Lucy found in the mental image of her sister carrying around a jar of spiders disappeared in an instant. Fire rose in her voice, her patience wearing thin, “What do you mean you don’t tolerate bullying? Liv came home yesterday with a busted lip and bruised face. None of you seemed to care too much about that. You acted like she did to herself! She’s 8 years old. Someone clearly attacked her in the bathroom but, because she’s a scholarship kid and not one of your elites, not a single person cared to look further into the matter. God forbid you find out that one of daddy’s little princesses beat the crap of her. You wouldn’t dare want to accuse a kid who daddy paid for the new gymnasium. It’s easier to take it out on the kid who comes from nothing because then you have nothing to lose.”

Her anger was getting the better of her. She knew she shouldn’t let herself explode like that. Olivia’s future depended on this school. She needed to play nice but she had been working overtime lately in an attempt to manage the constant pile of bills. She should have kept a better eye on her sister. Too much work and not enough time set aside to check in on her. Olivia was slipping through her fingers. This was her fault. She was a terrible excuse for a parent.

Mrs. Fleming sighed. Lucy could almost hear her rubbing her eyes with her hands like this entire conversation was draining her energy. “We currently have Olivia detained in the office. The mother of the young girl who was assaulted has been notified and is thinking of pressing charges. It would be best if you could come down here as soon as possible to help us figure out what the next move for Olivia should be.”

Her stomach dropped. Pressing charges? This was worse than she thought. Olivia’s school wasn’t just on the line, her whole life was. If the police got involved then social services would be sure to follow. She hated rich people. They’d have lawyers and police in their back pocket. If they wanted to press charges, her and Olivia would be screwed.

“Okay,” she mumbled quietly, the fear evident in her voice. “I’ll come right down. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Her snow boots were still on her feet, not having had any time to remove them before getting the call. She threw her winter jacket back on over her house cleaner uniform, tugging a purple knit hat over her blonde hair, and quickly hurried back out the door. Taking the five flights of stairs down to the entrance was the better option than risking the rickety, old elevator. The familiar musky smell of cigarette smoke and urine hit her nose as she barged into the stairwell. She hurried down the concrete stairs, her heavy footsteps echoing off the empty walls, and hurried out into the cold February air. The crisp chill sucked into her lungs, freezing them, and causing her to cough out puffs of misty vapor. Only this morning, her and Olivia were pretending to be dragons, exhaling breaths of smoke, as she walked her to school. She seemed so happy. Lucy never would have guessed she was secretly carrying a jar of spiders in her backpack. Weaponizing insects was not on her list of things she expected to be dealing with this week.

Anxiety tumbled in a terrible knot in her stomach. She was failing at being a caregiver. Sometimes she thought all she had to be was kind, understanding, and loving. If she could manage that, then everything would turn out fine. Clearly, that wasn’t enough. Olivia needed help. Help that would cost money. Money that they didn’t have. She had no idea how to be a parent. Her role models were terrible. Their father was a monster. He was currently serving life on Ryker’s Island for getting involved in a drug gang run by someone with the alias Mister Brownstone. He’d help cart heroin around to known dealers and skim some off the top for his wife. Their mother was an addict and that addiction was only fueled by her husband. He liked to keep her doped up and sedated. It’s easier to manipulate people that way.

Lucy grew up in foster care. Once she entered school, it was obvious to her teachers that something wasn’t right. There’s only so many times a little girl can come in wearing the same clothes with unwashed, lice infested hair everyday before they start to tip off social services. She bounced from foster home to foster home. About once every few years her mother would get clean, claim to have left her husband, and was trying to start fresh. Lucy would be placed back in her care. The two of them would live a happy life for about a month or so until her father would find them again and her mother would get hooked right back onto the drugs. Then it was back into the system for her. Eventually she learned to harden her heart and stop relying on parents to meet any basic needs. She could be self-sufficient. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need anyone to help her and she would make something of herself without them.

Then Olivia was born during her sophomore year of high school.

She knew she had a sister but she never saw much of her during her infancy. It wasn’t like she was in touch with her mother then. She tried to keep her family at an arm's length so they didn’t ruin her studies. On her 18th birthday, with five months left of high school, her mother showed up at Lucy’s door with a malnourished toddler in her arms. It was clear the child wasn’t being properly cared for. Her dreams of college, all the hard earned money she had saved, all flew out the window at the sight of her sister. Sometimes there are things in life that need to be put aside for the sake of others. Lucy’s dreams and her ideal future were some of those things. She refused to let her sister have the same life as her. She collected all the money she had, dropped out of high school, and rented a single bedroom apartment. She filed for custody of her sister. At that point, her father was already in jail, and her mother willingly signed over her rights. Olivia became her responsibility.

And she loved it.

She adored her baby sister. For the first time in her life, someone loved her. Really loved her. Lucy poured everything she could into Olivia. She was determined to give her the life that she missed out on. It was easier said than done. Living in the city was expensive. As a high school drop out, there weren’t many opportunities for decent paying jobs. The housekeeping job she managed to get was the best paying one she’d found so far and they still struggled to pay the bills on time. Olivia was smart. She knew she was different from the kids at her school. They came from wealth, she didn’t. She knew what her life could end up like if she didn’t thrive in this new environment. That was why it was so frustrating for Lucy. She didn’t want her sister to end up a failure. Not like her.

The sound of sharp sirens yanked her from her spiraling thoughts. Three police cars raced by her. They were driving far too fast for these tight side streets. The wind kicked up as they passed, blowing her long hair in front of her face, and blasting her with an uncomfortable chill that cut straight through her old jacket. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and ran her icy fingers over her frozen nose. There was always something crazy happening in this city. People tend to look the other way now and continue on with their lives. If a mad scientist isn’t directly affecting their path to wherever they need to go, then it is of no concern to them. The police can pretend to deal with whatever the threat is but everyone knows it's really Spider-Man who gets their job done for them.

Lucy watched with a mild indifference as the cop car's speed down to the end of the street. It wasn’t until they took a sharp left into the school parking lot that her throat tightened. Her limbs felt numb as the pressing anxiety constricted her blood vessels. There could be a million reasons why the police were showing up at the elementary school but none of them mattered. In her heart, she knew.

Something was wrong with Olivia.

Her legs were running before her thoughts even had time to process the situation. The icy sidewalks caused her boots to lose traction and she slipped forward, never losing her balance, but growing frustrated that she couldn’t run as fast as she wanted. It felt like she was trying to run in a dream, constantly being held back by an unknown force.

By the time she rounded the corner to the school, her breath left her lungs at the sight that greeted her. The three police cars had stopped out front. Their wailing sirens were off but the lights still flashed red over all the white, blinding snow in the afternoon sun. A group of people were gathered outside. They each looked up in horror to the school roof. Bile rose in her throat as her eyes lifted to catch what they were looking at.

Standing three stories in the air, her little black snow boots hugging the edge of the roof, was Olivia. She had climbed up onto the ledge and was staring down at the commotion below her.

The winter wind whipped her freshly cut, short, blonde hair around her face, obscuring it from view. Her skirt uniform blew around her navy tights. She wore no jacket, only her school cardigan kept her from the cold. Even from down below, Lucy could see how violently she was shaking. From fear or the cold, she didn’t know. She looked so small. So fragile.

A piercing sob ripped out Lucy’s throat at the sight of her baby sister standing so dangerously close to the edge. It was too windy. She was too tiny. She was going to blow straight off the roof if she wasn’t careful. The sound of Lucy’s screamed cry alerted one of the teachers to her presence. He tried to make his way over to her. He tried to reach out a hand of comfort in her direction but Lucy slapped it away. They let this happen. This was their fault Olivia was up there. Someone should have been watching her. Before the teacher could open his mouth to speak, she had shoved passed him and ran straight to the front doors. She could hear someone yelling behind her to stop, that she wasn’t allowed inside, but nothing they could say would ever hold her back.

She had no idea how to get up to the roof. This school’s layout was unfamiliar to her but she didn’t care. She found the nearest flight of stairs and dashed up, two at a time, as fast as her body would allow. Her feet hardly touched the ground before they were off again. Each flight brought her closer to her sister. As she barged up the last set of stairs, she caught sight of Mrs. Fleming, the principal, and a police officer standing next to a ladder leading up to an open hatch in the roof. They turned when they heard her heavy footsteps swiftly approaching. The melting snow on her boots caused her to slip across the laminate tiles and come to a sudden halt in front of them.

“This area is off limits,” the officer commanded.

“It’s okay. It’s the girl’s sister,” Mrs. Fleming quickly replied. Her eyes were filled with tears and fear was etched in every line of her face. “Olivia won’t let us get close to her. Every time we tried, she backed further away. Once she hit the edge, we had to retreat in the hopes that she would come down. She’s threatening to jump.”

The ever pressing feeling of bile in her throat rose again. Lucy swallowed it back down.

“Move,” she ordered, elbowing them out of her way to get to the ladder. “I’ll get her myself.”

They didn’t argue with her but the officer grabbed her elbow as she started to climb, “Be careful. Talk to her calmly and gently. Try to get her to move far enough away from the edge until she’s not in immediate danger. We have a firetruck on the way with a ladder but it’s stuck in traffic. An ambulance just arrived and is standing by if she falls-”

The rest of his words faded into a loud buzzing sound as her hearing abandoned her. If she falls? No. Not her Liv. She wasn’t going to fall. She was going to be fine. Lucy was going to get her and bring her back safely. This was her baby sister. There would be no falling. She needed to get Olivia back into the safety of her arms. She would protect her. She would keep her safe just like she always did.

Lucy shrugged her arm away from the officer and continued her mission. The old metal ladder creaked under her weight with each step. She tried not to picture Olivia making this same climb. She didn’t want to think about why the hatch was left unlocked in the first place. It would only fill her with anger and she needed to be level headed right now even though her thoughts were buzzing into nothing but a ringing static. Blinding sunlight reflecting off the snow shone into her eyes as she crawled her way out onto the roof. The sky was too blue, too perfect, for any of this to be happening.

As she clambered onto shaky legs, Lucy looked across the roof. There was her sweet, little sister. Her back turned to her as she looked down at the ground below her. No more than fifty feet from her and, yet, she felt like a lifetime away. Tears sprang to her eyes at the sight.

“Liv!” Lucy called out, her voice wavering, but trying to remain calm so she didn’t scare her into losing her balance. “Livvy, it’s me. It’s Lucy. I’m here. It’s okay, baby. I’m here now. You’re safe. You’re okay.” She took a few careful steps towards her, the ice under her feet making it hard to stay upright.

Olivia turned around on the ledge. Her legs shook unsteadily under her. Her lips were blue and shivering. Her cheeks were stained bright red from the wind whipping around her. There were tears spilling down her face. She looked so broken. So scared. All Lucy wanted was to run straight to her, scoop her up protectively in her arms, and carry her far away from here.

“They want to take me away!” She shouted back. Her tiny voice got lost in the whistling wind drowning her out. “I heard them talking when I was in the principal's office! Ashley said they were going to put me in jail for what I did. She said I was no better than my daddy. She said I would never see you again!”

Lucy’s heart broke at hearing the pain in her sister’s voice. She guessed that Ashley was the one who got spidered this afternoon. There was no time to contemplate her absolute hatred for that kid. She could save that rage for later. Olivia was more important. Lucy took another tentative step towards her, trying to carefully close the gap between them without being obvious.

“No one is going to take you away from me, Olivia. I won’t let them. Please,” she begged. “Please, Livvy, I need you to carefully step down, okay? I need you to let me come get you and I will take you away from here.”

As Lucy took another step forward, Olivia inched back. Her heels now hung off the side of the building. A collective, horrified gasp echoed from the people below. Someone began shouting in a megaphone up at her. The voice got muffled against the howling wind and only added to the stress happening above. She could see the panic start to rise in Olivia’s eyes as they darted back and forth, looking for a way out, but finding none.

She shook her head with a pained cry, “Stop it, Lucy! Don’t come any closer! Leave me alone! Just leave me alone…I want everyone to leave me alone…please. Please.” Her shoulder shook with quiet sobs.

Despair and desperation filled her heart, “Okay! Okay! I won’t come any closer! Just stop moving! You need to stop moving, Olivia! I’m begging you. Don’t move. Stay still. We can talk about it as long as you stop moving.”

Olivia wiped tears from her eyes, her bottom lip shook uncontrollably, “You don’t know anything, Lucy. You don’t know what it’s like to go to this school. I hate these people! I miss my old school. I miss my friends. They were nice. They were like me. Not here. Not these kids. They’re all horrible!” She hugged her wool cardigan tighter around her small frame. “I want to disappear. Go away. Leave me alone. Let me go away.”

She was breaking her heart with every word. Lucy took a deep breath to try to calm her nerves. All she needed to do right now was get her off the ledge as quickly as possible. She’d say or agree to anything if it meant having her sister safe in her arms again. “I hear you, Liv. I hear you, okay? But I’m not going anywhere. I am not leaving. I am never leaving you. You’re my world, Livvy. I need you to come down so we can talk about this. We can’t have this conversation up here. It’s too cold. You’re going to freeze. You don’t even have a jacket. Come down and I’ll bring you home. I’ll make you some hot chocolate. We can make a blanket fort. And we can talk about finding you a new school. Whatever you need, Liv. If you tell me that you want to move the Alaskan wilderness then, fuck it, we’ll move to Alaska! We can do anything you want! But we can’t start that conversation until you let me come get you. I’ll walk over really carefully, hold your hand, and help you down, okay? Let me come over to you. Please?”

“I’m no good…” Her voice could scarcely be heard over the wind. She sounded so powerless and lost. How could Lucy have ever let things get this bad? “”Everyone told me so. I’m going to be in jail like daddy. I’m not smart. They said I faked my way into this school. I’m a bad person. Even the principal said so. She said I did bad things. Ashley’s mom called the police on me. I see them down there. If I get down, they’re going to arrest me. I don’t want to leave you, Lucy.”

No eight year old should ever have that kind of weight on her shoulders. She should have been more observant. She should have fought harder for her. Lucy knew she was struggling but she should have realized how bad it really was. She was a terrible sister.

“I’m sorry, Livvy. I’m so sorry,” she sniffled and offered her sister a sad smile. “I didn’t know how bad it was. Now I do. I’m going to make it better. I’m going to get you some help, okay? The police down there aren’t here to arrest you. They just want to make sure that you’re safe. Once you come down, they’ll go away. I’ll keep you safe.” She inched her way closer as she spoke. “You’re not a bad person, Liv. You’re the smartest kid I ever met. All those other kids are just jealous because you got into this school based on how smart you really are. They had to pay their way to get in. They try to bring you down to make themselves feel better. It’s not your fault. You’re going to grow up and change the world someday but you need to be around to do that. I need you. I need you with me. Without you, I’m nothing. You’re my everything. You’re my family. I promise I will keep you safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” She was so close to her now. Slowly, Lucy reached out a trembling hand for her to take. “Please. Let me bring you home, Olivia. Let’s go.”

Olivia looked up, locking eyes with her, and gave a soft nod of acceptance. Sorrow burned behind her teary eyes. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. Lucy’s words had struck something in her and she was tired and ready to go home. Her hand reached out to grab onto the one already outstretched. It was so close. Lucy could almost feel her skin against her, her safely just within reach…when a large gust of wind pushed past them. The force staggered Olivia, the ice under her caused her boot to lose its footing. Her eyes widened in fear and her mouth hung open in a silent gasp.

Lucy watched in pure terror as her eight year old sister tumbled backwards, out of her grasp, and over the edge of the building.

A heart wrenching scream ripped from her chest as her hand grabbed onto nothing but cold air.

Time slowed.

Nothing but the sound of her own horrified shrieks filled her ears.

One second she had been there, and the next, she was gone.

Empty space where she once stood.

It felt like she was wading through waist high mud as Lucy ran to the ledge after her. She couldn’t get there fast enough like the world was trying to hold her back from whatever horrors she would see on the other side. She threw her body across the ledge, the sharp edges digging into her ribs, as she looked down below her.

Her brain couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing.

Olivia was gone.

Not dead.

There was no splattered, tiny body painting red across the white ground.

She was just…gone.

No body in sight.

Nothing.

Lucy scanned the crowd, the parking lot, even the wall to see if she had somehow caught herself and was desperately trying to hang on. There was nothing. No sign that Olivia had ever been there, as if it was nothing but a horrible dream. She had vanished into thin air. Like she never existed at all.

The panic gripped in Lucy’s chest and her breath came in short, frenzied gasps. The hysteria numbed her body. Her fingers still tingled with the ghost of Olivia’s hand grazing hers as she fell. She stumbled back from the edge, wide eyed with disorientation, as her legs gave out. The ice below her knees cut through her jeans and dug into her skin.

“Liv…” she called out meekly.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel.

A wailed sob got stuck in her throat. Her heart was pounding. Nothing was real. Nothing mattered except Olivia.

Someone cleared their throat directly behind her. Lucy gasped and whipped her head around so fast that she tumbled onto her backside in shock. The freezing coldness of the roof seeped through her pants and clawed up her skin until she could feel nothing but ice.

Standing above her was New York City’s very own Spider-Man. Clinging to his chest, her head buried deep into the crook of his neck, was Olivia.

Lucy’s eyes widened, tears blurring her vision, as relief flooded her veins. Just as quickly as she had vanished from her life, she had reappeared.

“I thought you might want this back,” he spoke with a muffled voice through his mask as he nodded his head to Olivia.

Every emotion in the world rushed through her as Lucy scrambled to her feet and threw her arms around both Spider-Man and her sister, squishing her protectively between the two of them. Lucy’s body shook with loud, unabashed sobs.

She was safe. Olivia was safe. The world was okay again.

Lucy clung to the two of them. Her head was spinning and she was starting to feel lightheaded. Holding onto his sturdy frame was the only thing keeping her upright. She was terrified that if she let go then Olivia would disappear again. As long as she was pressed between her and the masked man, Liv was safe. Lucy wanted to keep her that way for as long as she could. Her baby girl was safe.

With a light whimper, she finally let go long enough to collect her sister from her savior’s arms. Olivia released her death grip on Spider-Man and turned it onto Lucy instead, wrapping her legs around her waist, and clinging on like she was just as scared to let go. Lucy sunk to the ground and cradled her against her chest like she used to when Olivia was baby. She brushed her fingers over her frozen face, feeling her, making her sure she was really there. She was cold but she was alive. Lucy quickly shrugged her winter jacket off and wrapped it around her sister. They were both in shock, unable to form any words, unable to move, other than to cling onto each other and cry.

Safe.

She was safe.

Lucy had to keep repeating that over and over again in her head until it finally started to sink in.

Spider-Man watched quietly, allowing them to have their moment, before finally squatting down in front of them. He reached out a gloved hand and ruffled Olivia’s hair, “I think she’ll be alright. I caught her pretty quickly. I’d still get her checked out at a hospital thought to be safe. I could feel how cold she was through my suit. They’ll want to take her vitals and make sure she doesn’t have hypothermia or frostbite anywhere.”

The sound of another person’s voice was enough to snap the two of them out of the world they had created between them. Olivia’s eyes welled up with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry! I’ll never do that again. I was so scared. I’m sorry, Lucy. Don’t let them take me to jail!”

“Hey, now!” Spider-Man shuffled closer to her and placed a hand protectively on her back. “Who said anything about taking you to jail?”

Olivia peeked her head out from Lucy’s chest, looking up at him with wet, scared eyes, “I put spiders down Ashley’s shirt and her mom said I would go to jail for being bad.”

Spider-Man paused, allowing a beat of silence to settle, then burst out into a loud laugh. It was the most angelic sound Lucy had ever heard. Maybe it was because he had just saved Olivia’s life and, therefore, became the most important man in the world to her but Lucy was filled with a deep love for the masked stranger. His laughter cut through some of her own tension and she let out an unintentional giggle. Call it a trauma response, but suddenly, the thought of Olivia dumping a jar of spiders down some asshole bully’s shirt was the funniest thing in the world to her. Tears of laughter streamed down her face. Once they started, they couldn’t stop. The reality of school bully’s and scholarships felt so small now that her entire perception of the world had shifted. Her sister was safe. She was alive. Everything else pales in comparison.

Olivia looked between the laughing pair with utter confusion, “What’s so funny?!”

Lucy did her best to stifle the raging emotions and nuzzled her face into Olivia’s hair, “Sorry, baby. I’m just happy you’re safe.” She could feel her body finally start to relax. Olivia was safe. She kept reminding herself of that fact. She was safe thanks to Spider-Man. Her day was unexpectedly filled with more spiders than she ever could have possibly anticipated. She took a deep breath to calm herself. So many emotions in so little time.

“I bet Ashley deserved it,” Spider-Man replied. She couldn’t see his face but she heard the smile in his voice. “I’m friends with those officers down there. One word from me and they won’t even think about sending you to jail. I won’t let anyone take you. I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Olivia reached out a shaky hand to her new hero and extended her pinky.

“Pinky promise.”

Lucy watched as Spider-Man locked fingers with her sister.

“Now let’s get you both down from here and out of the cold,” he said. “I don’t want either of you to freeze to death on my watch.”

He helped pull Lucy to her feet with ease as she held Olivia close to her chest. His hand rested dutifully on the small of her back, making sure they didn’t slip, as he led them towards the hatch.

“Mr. Spider-Man?” Olivia asked as she stared over in amazement at him.

“Please, call me Spidey. Mr. Spider-Man was my father.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and hid a smile at the joke but it went straight over Olivia’s head, “Okay, Mr. Spidey, will you come over to our apartment for dinner?”

She hushed her sister, “Absolutely not. He’s a busy man, Liv. He can’t stop by people’s houses for dinner whenever he rescues someone. He doesn’t have time for that. Besides, how can he eat if he can’t take his mask off?” The thought of the famous Spider-Man sitting in full costume with the two of them at their tiny, beat up kitchen table made her smile again. It felt nice to smile.

Olivia gasped, “He can’t take off his mask? Is it glued onto his head? Mr. Spidey, is your mask glued to your head?”

“Oh my god, that’s not what I meant, Liv. I meant he can’t reveal his secret identity. Just drop it, okay?” She sighed. “We have to worry about you first. You caused quite a lot of chaos for such a small child. I’m going to have to do a lot of damage control here.”

She stopped at the hatch. Down below she could see two paramedics waiting at the bottom of the ladder.

“I’m going to lower you down now, alright?” She said, “Those nice people down there will help you on the ladder. I’ll be right behind you.”

It physically hurt her to let Olivia leave her tight grasp but there was no way Lucy would be able to get down while carrying her. She watched, holding back her sudden feelings of panic, as her sister climbed into the arms of the people below.

Before Olivia fully disappeared, she poked her head back up, “Thank you for saving me, Mr. Spidey. I hope you come visit me for dinner some day, even if your mask is glued to your head.” With that, she ducked back down.

Lucy didn’t want to leave her alone for too long. The idea of her being out of her sight for any longer than a minute was too much to handle. Still, she felt the need to thank Spider-Man herself. He had saved her entire world today. Without him, she probably would have thrown herself off the roof right after Olivia. He was the reason they were still breathing. He was the reason they had a second chance.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly to him, the exhaustion starting to settle into her bones after the panic she’d experienced. “I don’t know how to express to you what you did today. You saved my sister. She’s my entire world. She’s my everything. You saved her when I couldn’t.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she pulled him into a hug. Lucy could feel his muscles tense under the suit at the sincerity of the embrace. He gingerly wrapped his arms around her to hug her back, opting to stay silent, but pouring his own gratitude into the embrace. She could tell he was thankful that he was there to save the day, too.

Her eyes closed as she felt this stranger hold her tightly.

No, not a stranger. A hero. Her hero.

“Thank you,” she whispered again before placing a soft kiss against his masked cheek.

With one last grateful look, she pulled away and climbed down after her sister, leaving Spider-Man behind.

[Chapter Two]

A/N: If you’ve read this far and enjoyed what you read, please give it a reblog! Reblogs make the world go round and help support tumblr writers. It would be very much appreciated.

If you want to be added to a tag list for this story, let me know and I’ll gladly tag you, but only if you reblog. That’s my new rule.

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oh-katsuki · 2 years

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okay so... im exhausted and gonna go to bed bc i can no longer register what im typing. BUT i think ill be finishing the hanma fic tomorrow and then MAYBE posting the first chapter on wednesday. If not wednesday, then definitely at some point this week.

i’m anticipating maybe 5k more words on this or so and then i gotta proofread the first chapter. i SHOULD be done by thursday at the latest if shit doesn’t come up irl.

#ik i always say stuff like this #BUT THIS TIME I MEAN IT #YOU CAN TRUST ME THIS TIME #I PROMISE PROMISE PROMISE #like i am pinky promising this to you for real please believe me #woo HOO im so excited #im gonna proof chapters as I post them and set up a schedule for posting them #ill probably do one chapter a week #just so i have time to go back through the fic and make sure everything is in order #BUT IM SO EXCITED #IVE BEEN TALKING ABT THIS SHIT FOR MONNNTHHHSSSSS

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sillycandyships · 4 months

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Follow up with the rambling cuz I have thoughts for my other bastard too

#i promised myself that i would never buy a genuine medicos sas ever again beacuse the process was excrutiating #unless medicos releases an articulated figure of akira otoishi #i'd have to save up for four or five months and wait another six for it to arrive (like with my kira figure) but like #i am not interested in acquiring any other character besides yoshikage and akira tbh #they have confirmed a keicho figure! i have hopes that maybe; just maaaaaybe they'll consider an akira figure too #and like #he only appeared in one (well; technically 4 chapters) but there's material to get a figure and accesories out of #the stand arrow; his guitar; the toy plane he used; different changes of hands (one with a broken pinky of course); and even rhcp!#a neutral face and the face he makes after his guitar solo; or one with the speedwagon foundation cap #even give him posable hair like the kars figure!!#just #UGHHHHHH #i have been daydreaming about this so baaad #pink ink diary <3 #maximum rockage!

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sunnami · 4 months

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❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders x reader. (james potter x reader, sirius black x reader, lily evans x reader, and remus lupin x reader.)

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society.

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black.

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun.

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways.

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun.

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused.

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.”

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt.

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?”

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?”

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.”

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.”

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—”

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society.

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly.

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.”

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?”

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it.

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!”

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity.

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give.

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress.

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry.

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight.

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat.

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period.

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then—

“That’s Sirius.”

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit.

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.”

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!”

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.”

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either.

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.)

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.”

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.”

You grimace. “Which cousin?”

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.”

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.”

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.”

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.”

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.”

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice.

You nod.

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.”

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe.

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.”

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you.

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.”

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?”

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.”

“Oh, Harry. . .”

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?”

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath.

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly.

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?”

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.”

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?”

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes.

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.”

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be.

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.”

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space.

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered.

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved.

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease.

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open.

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.”

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears.

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!”

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.”

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.”

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked.

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?”

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations.

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?”

Were you?

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend!

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize.

Then, you find it.

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face.

It’s a space on that wall just for you.

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.”

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much.

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.”

That’s all you say before you run out of the door.

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.)

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe.

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.”

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.”

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well.

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.”

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes.

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.”

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!”

You don’t look back.

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.”

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair.

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.”

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you.

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?”

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks.

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!”

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?”

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.”

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater.

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra.

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more.

“Certain,” You respond, yawning.

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones.

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!”

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out.

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came.

“I know,” You say defeatedly.

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.”

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.”

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?”

“I don’t know,” You say honestly.

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora.

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well.

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.”

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.”

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home.

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order.

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips.

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.”

“I’m always right.” You pout.

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.”

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back.

How lucky you are.

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen.

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly.

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.”

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!”

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?��

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.”

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.”

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway.

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.”

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.”

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will.

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!”

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.”

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?”

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.”

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.”

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.”

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.”

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?”

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror.

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.”

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll.

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.”

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them.

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.”

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?”

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.”

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.”

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness.

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters.

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement.

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue.

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead.

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.”

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?”

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast.

“Avada Kedavra!”

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor.

“No!”

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice.

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh.

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?”

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need.

“Expulso!”

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down.

“Accio wand!”

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense.

“Peter?” You call out.

“Crucio!”

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt.

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!”

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.”

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.”

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat.

“Defodio!”

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground.

That just leaves one more problem.

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.”

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.”

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.”

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.”

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die, s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.”

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow.

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work.

You just wanted to rest now.

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words.

“Avada Kedavra.”

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms.

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man.

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.”

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely.

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?”

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?”

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?”

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.”

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?”

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors.

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!”

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.”

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.)

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus.

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains.

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.)

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by.

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for.

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader #sunny's hp fics

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jazzyoranges · 6 months

Note

Saw you take requests!! Can you do a fluffy Wednesday x Shape shifter!Reader (no smut please) where it's Wednesday's writing time but she can't think of ideas so reader turns into a cat and curls up on Wednesday's lap? Basically helping Wednesday by making sure Wednesday can't get up until she writes a chapter. Thanks!

Orange kitty - drabble

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Words: 0.8k

A/n: i feel like we as a fandom haven’t been putting the orange cat x black cat trope in enough fics. this is me advocating for orange cat!r

“I feel your eyes on me, (Y/n).”

“I’m not allowed to look at my friend anymore?”

“It’s distracting. You’re inhibiting me from writing.” Wednesday isn’t fully lying. She just doesn’t add how you give her an odd feeling. An odd feeling she doesn’t like.

“Aww, do I make you nervous, Wens?” You laugh, deciding to ignore the glare she sends your way

“Keep talking and I’ll remove your voice box.”

“Please, I think you’d miss me too much” You roll your eyes, stretching on Wednesday’s bed

You turn into a cat as per Thing’s request, and you two start to play tag around Wednesday and Enid’s shared room. Thing happily bragged that you and him were better friends once. His hubris only resulted in Wednesday taking away his favorite lotions for an entire week.

The Addams girl huffs when she, yet again, makes a mistake on her typewriter. This was unlike her. The tiny trash can under her desk was nearing being full only after one or two hours of her failed attempts at writing. Wednesday put her hands in her lap after she realized her words only became futile

The abrupt stop of clacking keys makes you turn your head, giving Thing the perfect opportunity to tag you back on Enid’s bed. You quickly turn human again with almost a cartoon-ish pop, and ask Thing if Wednesday was allergic to cats

“She’s not, why do you ask?” He signs

“Do you think she’d kill me if I sat on her lap?” You sign back, not wanting Wednesday to hear

“As a human, most definitely. But if you were a cat maybe she’d tolerate you. No promises, though” Thing somehow shrugs using his thumb and pinkie finger as arms. God, you loved the weird appendage

“I can hear you two talking. I’d prefer if you’d leave me in silence.”

“Writers block?”

“No, I’m merely thinking of the correct words to use.”

“Maybe you should ask Enid for help. The woman can reach over the Twitter character limit in like… three seconds. Two if she’s really excited”

“Recommend such a horrid idea again and I’ll release you in my pen of hellhounds.”

“We both know I’d win” You cockily smirk, again ignoring what looks to be annoyance on Wednesday’s face. Then again, she always looked annoyed

“Your hubris is laughable. Let’s see how you suffice when your digestive system is ripped open.”

“Tempting, but I’d rather stay here with you”

You can only assume Thing listens with watchful… fingers? You execute your plan to him, and a quick pinkie-promise indicates he gets to bury you if Wednesday decides to kill you after the stunt you’re about to pull

“Hey, Wens?” The Addams doesn’t show any form of talking but you decide to keep going

“Did you know people say cats can lessen anxiety?”

The Addams hums in acknowledgement, so you continue

“Well, I don’t exactly believe it”

“And why is that.” Wednesday sighs. Sometimes she wonders why she indulges in you

“I dunno, just seems fake. I was wondering if you’d do an experiment with me?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Great! Thanks, Wens” You give Thing a quick wink after turning into a cat and hopping up onto her desk. Turning your head to the side as if you were asking a question, you looked at Wednesday for an answer

You were crazy, but not crazy enough to do something to make Wednesday hate you

For some reason, the Addams girl doesn’t even have a second chance to think before scooting back her chair. You’re about to jump into her lap with a paw over the edge of her desk, but you glance up to make sure Wednesday was sure. You receive a small nod

The action is enough to make you whisper a small “thank you” but it only comes out as a small meow

You circle around her lap for a good area to lay, and you quickly take your spot with a tiny smile that makes your eyes close. Wednesday scoots her chair back in, and she has absolutely no idea what to do.

Only when you start to purr a shiver goes up her spine. The vibrations are light, and something about you happily laying on her lap makes you chip away at Wednesday’s walls the tiniest bit. She contemplates where to put her hands before Thing scurries on top of you to scratch behind your ear. Wednesday shoots him a deathly glare in return, but your favorite Addams (don’t tell Wednesday) stays put

As if showing Wednesday how to pet a cat, Thing gets off of your back and points a finger in your direction. Hesitantly, the Addams girl copies the actions Thing showed her

And you? You were having an amazing time. Wednesday’s fingers were cold but every stroke of her hand was calculated. She took note of which spots you purred louder, and continued her movements

Fuck you and your ability to get what you want, Wednesday thinks. Of course your smug ass knew cats lessened anxiety. Of course.

But Wednesday can’t help being addicted to your tiny purrs and vibrations

With her left hand fondling your ear and her right on her typewriter, she decides maybe a cat could be arranged in her novel.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday (2022)#wednesday x reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #thing addams #enid sinclair

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winwintea · 24 days

Text

PAIRING ▸ rich international student!zhong chenle x fem!reader (ft. yan an from pentagon, the8 from svt, yuqi from (g)i-dle, ningning from aespa, ricky from zb1)

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), fluff, angst, drama, college au, rich kid au, explicit(?)

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol/drug consumption, portrayals of addiction, sexual jokes, sexual content, (nothing explicitly written out) toxic relationships, stalking, haechan slander 💔

SUMMARY ▸ zhong chenle is the owner of many cards. a black card? he owns that. he even has a stanford student id card. the one card he doesn’t own though? a green card. and if chenle plays his cards right, he just may be able to secure one by wooing you. or it could all fall through… who knows?

UPDATE SCHEDULE ▸ every other day (technically have been updating daily, don’t expect that to always happen though 😭)

PLAYLIST ▸ here!

TAG LIST ▸ at the bottom (send me an ask or request here if you’d like to be added! + those tagged will be in the tag list of all chapters of this series!)

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this is the first smau i have ever written… so i hope i do chenle justice 🙏 this is heavily inspired by those “you have big eyes small face what’s your wechat” international student memes. + for those who aren’t familiar with the term “green card” refers to a permanent resident card in the us. you need to have a good reason to apply for one, and marrying a us citizen is one way to get one.

CHATROOMS !

PROFILES ONE | TWO

01. the plan

02. ran into the new love of my life

03. love rectangle?

04. refund date

05. inspector yuqi

06. brownie points

07. the world of the elite and broke, i guess.

08. apologies and conflicts

09. cheer up cookies <3

10. 1 plan(?) 3 idiots

11. the truth at last

12. the secret to smooth skin

13. she likes them vulnerable?

14. down bad plan

15. chorse

16. cursed alcohol

17. you look like an eminem

18. ignorance is (not) bliss

19. pinky promise

20. crush = psychosis?

21. all aboard the chen/n train!

22. the stage in between

23.

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pandoraslxna · 1 year

Note

i want neteyam to corrupt me so badly 🫣

Special friends – Chapter 1

adult Neteyam x female Omatikaya reader

Summary: Neteyam was so used to being the golden child of his family, always doing as he’s told… he wanted to be bad sometimes too. He wanted to be the one that would teach you all these filthy things. All the things you were never allowed to do, talk or even think about.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: explicit smut, super heavy corruption kink, innocent / virgin reader, secret crush, slight age difference but both are adults, childhood friendship, hand job, masturbation, praise kink, he calls reader 'peach' a lot

Notes: big thanks and all credit goes to @cinetrix for the amazing and insanely accurate Neteyam art I’ve used to create the header for this mini series!! 🩵

Pure and innocent were probably the first two words that came to mind if you would’ve asked any omatikaya to describe you. And it was true. Your parents did great, keeping you away from anything dangerous and basically shielding you from the whole world. Scared that anyone might take advantage of their precious daughter, any interaction with boys were strictly forbidden to you, even after you had officially reached adulthood.

Except for Neteyam of course.

He was your childhood best friend and probably your only friend too, since your parents didn’t trust anyone else with you. Anyone else could take your purity and innocence away, could take advantage of you… but not Neteyam.

It was a good thing that your parents trusted him. Of course they did, he was son of the olo’eyktan and toruk makto. Surely, he would never do such things to you. He was a good boy and grew up into a honorable and well respect man among your clan.

Neteyam had always acted like your shadow. Wherever you went, he followed you, made sure you were safe and protected –especially after you had reached adulthood and your parents finally allowed you to roam around the clan and forest more freely. He would always keep an eye out for you. Knowing that Neteyam was with you eased their minds a lot.

If he was with you, no other man would dare and try to talk to you. Neteyam made it known to anyone who would even glance in your direction, that you were not interested and will never be. You blamed his behavior on your parents, but what you didn’t know was, that he scared them all away because you belonged to him. At least in his mind, you were his alone.

You were a piece of heaven. Purity herself, send by Eywa on a little silver platter, just for him. You looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes of yours full of adoration and love and he wanted nothing more than to devour you. You made him feel things.

You weren’t dumb, no. You were just so clueless about all the stuff that the people your age in the clan usually did. You were so painfully oblivious, it bought Neteyam great pleasure introducing you to all the things that adults do. Kissing and touching each other, even holding hands was something you had never experienced before. You’d never even touched yourself before, as he‘d only recently found out. You made him go insane.

Neteyam wanted to corrupt you, that’s what it was. He was so used to being the golden child of his family, always doing as he’s told… he wanted to be bad sometimes too. He wanted to be the one that would teach you all these filthy things. All the things you were never allowed to do, talk or even think about.

Kissing you was one of his favorite thing to do. He had introduced you to it, just a couple of months ago. Neteyam told you that it was something that mums and dads do, but sometimes friends would do it too, if they loved each other enough– but it had to stay a big pinky-promise secret between you two! Fuck, you were so excited when he told you that.

"You love me, do you?", he had asked you.

"Of course! I love you so much 'Teyam", you told him with a big smile. You were completely honest, he knew that. Lying wasn’t a concept you were really familiar with. You weren’t familiar with many things.

"See? Then it’s totally fine to kiss. It just shows how much you love me, peach."

But things went a little downhill from there…

Neteyam often took you to his favorite place in the forest, where he knew nobody would disturb his special time with you. And the second you two were alone, you would ask him for a kiss. And then another and another. It felt good, made warmth spread in your tummy. You just wanted to demonstrate how much you loved your dearest friend, wanting to kiss him all the time now. It was adorable, really.

Neteyam remembered how you squeaked when he first used his tongue to kiss you, just a few weeks ago. How your cheeks flushed and your tail swayed nervously. You were a little taken aback, but Neteyam soothed you quickly, "That’s a special kiss, you know? For when a normal kiss isn’t enough anymore. C‘mon let’s try it again, I’m sure you‘ll like it."

And you did like it. A lot. Neteyams tongue was warm and wet and he curled it around yours sometimes. You loved the way he would hold your face in his big, soft palms and gave you these special kisses that would last twice as long as normal kisses. Sometimes you had to pull away because you couldn’t hold your breath any longer and then Neteyam would laugh and tell you how cute you looked.

Now these special kisses were your favorite thing to do. You had always loved to straddle his lap, your legs crossed behind his back so you were face to face with each other. But now, instead of sitting in this position to talk for hours, all you wanted to do was share some special kisses with him. And of course Neteyam couldn’t deny you that.

You loved how Neteyam often tasted like whatever fruit he had just eaten, how his breathing became heavier the longer you two kissed. Sometimes he would hold your hips and pull you a little closer and it gave you that strange, tingling feeling in your stomach. But Neteyam assured you that this was normal too. That it could happen sometimes, if you share too many kisses. That’s why they were special afterall.

Today was no different.

You had kissed him for what felt like an eternity, pressed against each other tightly, but then he had abruptly stopped. He broke away from the kiss, a thin string of salvia connecting your lips for just a brief second and then he had cursed under his breath like he was hurt or something.

"Teyam, are you okay?", you ask him genuinely worried. He exhales a shaky breath and then forces a thin smile to appear on his lips. "I don’t know, peach, it’s just… no, forget about it. I don’t want you to break your pretty little head over it." He caresses a thumb over you cheek affectionately, yet you couldn’t help the little pout forming on your bottom lip.

"No tell me! I want to know what’s wrong. Please."

Neteyams gaze lowers and you follow its trail, to where you sat on his lap. He was looking at something down there and it didn’t take you long to spot it. There, where his loincloth was… there was a bulge. And a little wet patch on the fabric too. How strange.

"You know how our special kisses sometimes do that tingle thing in your tummy?", he begins to explain and you nod your head quickly, your eyes flying back up to meet his. "They do that for me too. But sometimes… sometimes they get a little painful too. It really hurts, peach."

"I- Is there anything I can do to help you? I don’t want you to be in pain. Teyam, I’m so sorry!" Your voice begins to tremble a little, feeling like you were the cause of his pain hurt your heart a lot.

"Oh don’t be sorry, peach. You know I love kissing you", to prove his point, he kisses the corner of your mouth before he continues hesitantly, "Actually, there is something you could do to help me, but…"

"I‘ll do it! I‘ll help you feel better!", you cut him off immediately. Whatever it was, you would do it. Anything to make your dearest friend feel better. You were such a pure soul, it warmed Neteyams heart. But at the same time, made it incredibly difficult for him to hold back any longer.

"Okay, peach I need you to sit back a little, can you do that?" Quickly, you scooped back enough for him to untie his loincloth. Your eyes were wide and curious to see what caused him so much pain. You swallowed thickly at the sight, when Neteyam had finally undressed himself. You didn’t say anything for a while and neither did he. You were just looking. Transfixed.

You weren’t stupid. You knew that Neteyam was a male and you were a female, you knew that what you had between your thighs was different from what the men had between theirs, you just didn’t expect it to be this much of a difference. A big difference, might you add.

Neteyam silently watches you for a moment, until your gaze wanders back up to his eyes again. "T-This is where it hurts?", you ask carefully, voice barely above a whisper. "Hmh", Neteyam hums, "It will stop hurting if I touch it."

You weren’t sure why he was waiting then. If that was all it would take, he should just touch it. You give him a slow nod, "And what should I do?"

"Just… just watch, okay? It would help me a lot if you’d just sit there and be my pretty girl."

Neteyams heart thrums faster in his chest when you give him a soft smile. You were just happy to be able to help your friend out, there really weren’t any other dirty thoughts you had in mind. Unlike him. And that made him even harder.

"Spit", he tells you, holding his hand out right under your chin and you draw your eyebrows together questioningly. "I need you to spit in my palm, peach." Both of your eyebrows rise at his words, like you couldn’t believe the things he expected of you. But you didn’t question him any further. Neteyam was smart. He probably knew what he was doing, you thought and then did as you were told. You couldn’t help the way your cheeks turned a little pink, watching the big droplet of spit fall from your tongue and onto his palm. You couldn’t deny it– this felt weird. But it seemingly made Neteyam happy and that in turn made you happy too.

Slowly, he closes his fist around his shaft, maintaining eye contact with you. You see the way his breathing hitches when he begins to stroke himself, slow and firm and your gaze lands between his legs again. You watch the way he closes his fist just a little tighter when it reaches the tip, his thumb teases over the little slit there and he shudders.

One of Neteyams hands comes up to cup your cheek, holding your face as you carefully watch every movement.

"Do you love me?", he asks. His voice was low and his thumb gently traced the outline of your bottom lip. You nod quickly.

"Use your words, peach. You know I want to hear you say it."

"Of course I love you, Teyam", you tell him with a big smile, your cheeks rising enough to make you squint a little.

He strokes himself faster now, his pace increasing while his other hand caressed the soft skin of your cheek.

"Are you feeling better?" You tilt your head curiously. The tip seemed a little swollen and red and there was some sort of clear liquid that came out of it. He caught some of it with his thumb, before it spilled over, and then used it to stroke himself, just like he did with your spit.

"Hm, just a little", he tells you breathlessly, "But I could really use some help, you know? Be my good girl and help me with this, yes?"

Neteyam then reached for your hands and you willingly let him guide you. With his hand on top of yours, he wraps them around it. It’s incredibly warm, hard and heavy in your hands and you can’t help but squeeze him a little just to know how it felt like. Neteyam groans and you’re about to apologize, but when you look back up at him, there’s not a hint of pain or discomfort on his features. Guiding you hands, he slides them up and down firmly.

"That’s it, stroke my cock like that, okay? Hmh, you’re already making me feel so much better, peach. Love you so much." You blush at his words, happy that you were able to make him feel better so quickly and you eagerly continued. Neteyam taught you how fast you had to stroke, how much pressure to add and that you had to use some spit once in a while, otherwise it wouldn’t feel as good. Your hands barely wrapped around his cock, so you used both of them at some point, earning a very audible moan from him.

You watched very carefully how his breathing increased over time, how his cock twitched and throbbed in your palms and sometimes his eyes fluttered closed when you stroked him just a little faster. You thought you were doing a pretty good job and couldn’t deny that you were super proud of yourself.

"Oh shit", Neteyam cursed under his breathe when you teased the slit on it’s head with your thumb, "You’re amazing, making me feel so fucking good, peach. You’re just my good girl, aren’t you? So pretty too, look at you stroking my cock– haa, fuck." Your face blushes deeply at his praise.

Neteyams cock was glistening in a mix of pre-cum and spit and it slowly becomes incredibly difficult for you to keep a firm grip on him. It was slippery and wet and when you couldn’t maintain a quick pace, you felt him thrust into your fist. His hips were rising off the ground just a little and then he would wrap his own hands around yours again to guide them. Neteyams eyes were transfixed on the way your soft hands moved at just the right pace with his help now, up and down, squeezing the tip with just enough pressure to make him moan. You were a little clumsy at first, but like everything else you did, you quickly became so perfectly good in it.

"I love you so much, peach. Fuck. Just– Just a little more, keep stroking and I’m gonna feel so, so much better…" You watch the muscles on his abdomen and thighs flex between breathless pants, a thin layer of sweat covering every inch of his skin.

Neteyams reaches out for you then, gently pulling you closer with his hand on your neck before he crushes your lips together. You lean into the kiss, let your eyes flutter close as you push your tongue past his lips just like he had taught you. You keep pumping your hand, squeezing the tip at just the right pressure and Neteyam moans into the kiss.

Warmth floods your belly when his tongue curls around yours and both of your salvias mix. His cock twitches and stiffens even more and then Neteyam groans loud against your lips. He breaks the kiss, letting his head fall back against the tree he was sitting on with a thud. His abs tense and he shudders as thick, white spurts of his cum shot out and land on your hands and parts of your tummy.

You gasp a little, taken aback from whatever had just happened– but the content hum that came from Neteyam told you, that you probably did everything right.

"A-Are you feeling a little better now?", you ask him again, carefully. Neteyam still hadn’t moved from his position, but a smile spread across his lips. "Hmh, very much so", he mumbled. It took him a few moments, before he opened his eyes again to look back at you.

What he saw when he opened them, was probably the best fucking sight he had ever laid his eyes upon. You were still sitting in his lap, your hands had already left his cock as you were now staring down at yourself, probably wondering what was coating parts of your perfect skin.

Neteyam sat up a little straighter now. He scooped up some of his cum, that had landed on your stomach, with his thumb. "Open your mouth."

You happily obliged, even sticking your tongue out without questioning him further. It was rewarded by a low hum and a wide grin of Neteyam and you thought that he would maybe kiss you or something, but he then brushed his thumb off on your tongue, smearing the sticky mess on it. When you closed your mouth again, you could taste his cum on your tongue, warm and a little bitter and you couldn’t help but grimace slightly. Neteyam chuckled at that.

"You’re so adorable, peach. Love you so much, thank you for making me feel better today", he thanked you by pulling you closer in his lap, not caring for the way his cum smeared between both of your bellies as you hugged each other tightly.

"Love you too, Teyam. That’s what good friends do, right?"

"Special friends, yes."

#avatar 2 #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #awow #neteyam #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x female reader smut #neteyam smut #atwow neteyam #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar smut

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idkhyperfixations · 2 years

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I think I finally FINALLY finished ch 12!!! I need to proof read when I wake up (since it’s 4:30am rn) and then edit, but it should hopefully be up in the next 12 hours!!

Fic is Can’t Start a Fire Without a Spark on ao3

#no smut in this chapter but I’m putting it in the next one I pinky promise!#so fucking glad to be done with this one ugh it was kicking my ass #dev does writing #steve x eddie #stranger things fanfiction

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munson-blurbs · 9 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

Summary: Your weekend getaway to Indianapolis comes with a boyfriend who's trying to quit smoking, a five-year-old who has difficulty acclimating to new routines, and your own insecurities about your mothering abilities. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: angst, insecurities about motherhood, lost child, Eddie gets mad at us, discussion of menstrual period/PMS

WC: 7.7k A/N: There is a moment where someone refers to us as Harris's mom; however, she doesn't see us. There is no indication that we resemble Harris in any way.

Chapter 16/20

Divider credit to @saradika Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsonsmum

The morning dew still kisses the grass when you arrive at the Munson apartment, hauling your duffel bag up to their half-packed car. Eddie’s leaning into the backseat, only his jean-clad legs visible from your vantage point. Harris stands behind him, watching his dad’s every move earnestly and intently. If you had a camera on you, you’d take a photo of this Kodak moment.

“Hi, boys!” you chirp as enthusiastically, tucking your lips into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing when Eddie bangs his head on the roof of the car. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, ‘m good,” he mutters, rubbing at his scalp with one hand, expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile.”Morning, Sweetheart. You sleep well?”

You nod, opening your arms as Harris races towards you for a hug. “What about you guys? Or were you too excited about our super-fun weekend?”

“Daddy snored!” Harris reports with a grin, overjoyed to share what he perceives to be a juicy morsel of gossip.

Eddie gasps in mock-offense, reaching out to take your bag and arranging it amongst his and Harris’s in the trunk. “I did not!”

“Did too!” Harris retorts, turning back to you and adding, “like, so loud!”

You crouch down, and hold a pinky out in front of him. “We’re gonna have to stick together this weekend if we’re going to survive,” returning his smile when he wraps his little finger around yours in a promise.

“Can’t believe my girlfriend is conspiring against me with my own flesh and blood,” Eddie grumbles, eyes widening when he realizes what he’s said; rather, in front of whom he’s said it. His panicked gaze meets yours, and you both anticipate some reaction from Harris, but he’s fortunately unfazed and too fixated on the utter silliness of his dad’s snoring. Eddie clears his throat, determined to change the subject before his son catches on. “I think we’re ready to ship out,” he offers, slamming the trunk shut and pressing down to double-check that it’s closed.

“Snacks?” you ask, running through a mental checklist of necessities.

Eddie holds up a family-size bag of pretzels. “Got ‘em.”

“Water?”

“Backseat,” he points to the floor to the left of Harris’s booster seat–a recent upgrade from his carseat. “Harris will be in charge of that, right, Har?”

“Right!” Harris confirms with a thumbs-up.

“Sounds good. Put him to work,” you tease. Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the playful relationship that you and his son have, swapping smiles and making each other laugh. “Music?”

Eddie juts his chin towards the center console, filled to the brim with cassettes. “Always.”

You cock your eyebrow knowingly before posing your next question, preparing yourself for some visceral response. “Nicotine gum?”

Eddie groans, patting the pack of Nicorette in his pocket. “Unfortunately, yes.” About a week and a half ago, Harris had come home from school crying after the school had put on an assembly about the dangers of smoking. Eddie had been meaning to quit for a long time, but his son worrying over real problems, using words like cancer and heart attack, was what finally pushed him to chuck every pack of cigarettes he owned into the trash.

“Okay,” you smile and clap your hands together, “I think we’re good to go!” You help Harris buckle his seatbelt before climbing into the passenger seat.

The sedan rumbles to life, catching on the second key turn and disrupting the otherwise still morning. “Gentlemen, start your engines!” Eddie roars in an exaggeratedly deep voice, and Harris giggles from the backseat. With Eddie’s hand on the gearshift, you seize the opportunity to squeeze it, light pink tickling his cheeks at your touch.

It’s only thirty minutes into the drive before it starts.

“Daddy, I gotta pee!”

You can practically feel the patience leaving Eddie’s body, fingers tightly gripping the wheel until his knuckles flush white.

“Har Bear, we just hit the road,” he tries, knowing his efforts are fruitless. “Can you hold it?”

“No, it’s a ‘mergency!”

“Fuck,” Eddie swears under his breath. The likelihood of it actually being an emergency is slim to none, but he’s in no mood to risk it. “All right, I’ll pull over at the next rest stop, ‘kay?”

Eddie takes the next exit, parking at a truck stop and nearly falling out of the car in his scramble to get Harris to the bathroom. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, walking so quickly that Harris nearly trips over his own feet. You quicken your own pace just to keep up with them.

The scent of coffee grabs your attention as soon as you walk in the door, and you make a beeline for the tiny Dunkin Donuts tucked in the corner. The cashier looks as though they could use a shot or two of espresso, eyelids closing under their visor as you give your order. When the boys get back from the bathroom, you present Eddie with a large coffee with far more milk and sugar than your own, and hand a chocolate donut to Harris.

Eddie's eyes shift back and forth from the donut to you before he speaks. “It’s, like, 9 am,” he points out. “He’s gonna be bouncing off the walls if he eats that now.”

Oh. Obviously. What were you thinking, giving an already-hyperactive child pure sugar in the morning? All of the times you’d cringed when parents had sent their kids into school with Cocoa Puffs or some equally sugary cereal, and you’d given his son a chocolate donut for breakfast. “I’m sorry,” you sputter, shaking your head in frustration. “I should’ve asked you first, or saved it for later.”

“‘S fine,” he mutters, heaving an exasperated sigh as Harris takes a giant bite of donut. “At least there’s two of us to chase after him,” he adds with a weak smile.

Harris has devoured nearly the entire donut by the time Eddie’s buckling him back in, chocolate crumbs tucked into the crevices of his mouth. He’s oblivious to your faux pas, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“I really am sorry,” you say again, guilt gnawing in your stomach. “I should’ve known better; I guess I just got excited about our little vacation together.”

Eddie’s grin is more genuine this time. “Me, too, baby.” He sneaks a quick kiss to your cheek when Harris is focused on what remains of his snack. “The whole no-smoking thing has me extra bitter, y’know?”

You know. You definitely know, but you’re not about to point out all of the ways he’s been short-tempered lately. Instead, you relax into your seat and try to brush off your mistake as Eddie turns on the radio and guitar riffs replace the silence.

Eddie rolls down the window as the springtime sun warms the air, and you stretch as the rush of wind cools your body. His curls whip around the base of his neck, dancing in the breeze, and you can’t help but push them out of his face haphazardly.

Your stomach growls, and you’re grateful for the blaring music masking the embarrassingly loud noise. You’d forgotten to grab something for breakfast in your rush to leave your apartment, and coffee is a poor substitute for the most important meal of the day.

You reach down to the bag of pretzels nestled against your feet. “Y’want?” you ask Eddie, who nods and opens his mouth for you to feed it to him while he concentrates on the road. Laughter bubbles up from within you as he takes one from your hand by pinching it between his teeth.

Harris giggles, too. “Daddy, you look like a goat from the zoo!”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie slides the snack into his mouth and bites down with a crunch, “and what sounds do goats make?”

“Hmm,” Harris ponders this for a moment before bleating a resounding, “maaaah!”

You swivel in your seat to give him a high-five. There’s donut residue on your hand when you pull back. “Smarty pants! I bet you know every animal sound there is.”

You and Eddie rattle off different species as you feed him more pretzels. Harris manages perfect impressions of each, until you call out, “sloth!” and effectively stump him.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” he cackles maniacally, partially because of his sugar rush, you’re sure, “that is so silly!”

“Y’just gotta do everything suuuuper slooooow.” You drag out the last two words to emphasize your point. “Like this: Haaaaarrisssss…caaaaan…youuuuu…haaaaand…meeeeee…aaaaa…waaaaterrrr?” This brings on a fresh round of giggles from the backseat; even extra-bitter Eddie manages a hint of a smile.

Harris grabs a bottle at a snail’s–no, a sloth’s–pace. “Heeere…youuuuu…goooooo!” His pace is far from hurried, and you feel the gentle tap of the plastic cap against your shoulder blade a full thirty seconds later.

“Thaaaaank…youuuuu!” You crack open the bottle of water and take a swig, quenching a thirst only made worse by the salty snack. “Wanna play again? See how many other animal sounds you can do?” you ask, grateful to have found a way to keep him occupied. Before you can close the bottle, Eddie reaches over and snags it, lifting it to his lips.

“Daddy, no!” Harris screeches from the backseat, little hand shooting out in protest, causing Eddie to slam on the brake. Water sloshes over the top of the bottle and onto his pants.

“Shit—what, Har?” he snaps, shoving the now half-empty bottle into the cupholder. He swipes haphazardly at the wet patch on his thigh, darkening the denim as it spreads along the fabric. He gives up with a mumbled, “whatever,” when he realizes he’s only rubbing it in more.

“You’re gonna get her germs,” Harris points out matter-of-factly.

Eddie huffs out a terse chuckle, slightly amused but still irritated. “Yeah, yeah, right,” he mutters, and you take that as a sign to reach back and get him his own bottle.

The remainder of the drive is uneventful, though Eddie has to dip into his Nicorette stash when a maroon Toyota Corolla weaves in and out of lanes at lightning speed and cuts him off. He instinctively reaches for the pack of cigarettes he’d always kept in the console, groaning when he remembers that it’s long gone.

“Good job, baby,” you murmur softly, giving his knee a quick squeeze in approval as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “‘M proud of you.”

You pull up to the hotel just after 10 AM, the morning chill has dissipated as the sun’s rays warm the air. The fair weather made the trip smoother, a small miracle if you’d ever seen one. Truthfully, you don’t think Eddie’s frayed nerves can handle a rainy day.

Eddie takes Harris’s hand as you all walk through the parking lot and up to the front desk. A middle-aged concierge greets you, the customer service smile plastered across his face faltering when he clocks Eddie’s ripped jeans and disheveled wind-blown hair.

“Reservation’s under ‘Munson,’” Eddie says to him, not making eye contact; your heart is a sinking stone when you realize that he also noticed the man’s shifting expression. “I called ahead and they said we could check in early.”

The concierge nods. You catch a glimpse of his shiny silver name tag, proudly proclaiming “STU, ASSISTANT MANAGER” gleaming in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “Room 325,” he grunts, handing you and Eddie keys dangling from matching logo-branded chains. Elation is a sunflower blooming in your chest; your first vacation has officially begun. Maybe it’s a little getaway only ninety minutes from home, but it’s a new adventure that you’re taking together.

Eddie flings his and Harris’s shared bag, then yours, onto one of the queen beds with a groan. “We made it!” he announces, flinging an arm over your shoulder. The pads of his fingers brush your upper arm, a tissue-paper light touch that has you soaring.

“Daddy? I gotta pee again,” Harris’s urgency breaks the moment. He’s hopping from one foot to the other, a potty dance if you’ve ever seen one.

“Go for it,” Eddie says, pointing towards the bathroom. He shakes his head when his son sprints the short distance.

Once the door closes, Eddie’s hands are on your hips, tugging you so close that your stomachs touch, your breasts pressed to his chest. His mouth immediately swoops down to your neck, nipping gently at the flesh along your collarbone.

“Hello there,” you manage to speak through a laugh. You’re unable to say more, as he’s pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss so fervently that your teeth nearly click together.

“Hi,” he breathes once he’s pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose against your own. “Sorry, y’just look really pretty.”

You wrinkle your nose in confusion. “I’m wearing sweatpants. I don’t even have makeup on.” Truthfully, you’d meant to at least swipe on some mascara, but you were preoccupied making sure that you’d packed everything you needed for the weekend.

“Don’t care,” Eddie mumbles, leaning in for another kiss, “still s’fuckin’ pretty. Don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off of you.”

The solution to that problem comes in the form of a flushing toilet and Harris calling out, “I’m done! Gonna wash my hands!”

Eddie throws his head back in frustration before burying his pink-tinged face in his hands. “This, uh, was not exactly how I imagined our first time in a hotel together,” he admits.

“At least he’s washing his hands,” you joke, trying to ward off the throbbing need building in your core. It fails miserably. You want him, need him, to relieve the ache in the way that only he can. You yearn for the way his fingertips dance across your skin, eagerly reaching under your shirt or dipping below your waistband, desperate to make his girl feel good.

The two of you break apart as the bathroom door swings open. You fly across the room and pretend like you’re rifling through your duffel bag while Eddie flops onto the bed. His shirt rides up slightly as he lays down, and you have to fight the urge to bite the exposed sliver of tummy.

“When are we going to the market?” Harris asks, catapulting himself onto the bed and landing next to his dad.

Eddie rolls over and checks the digital alarm clock between the two queen beds. “Doesn’t start for another few hours,” he says. “I was gonna try and take a quick nap before we—”

“I’m not tired!” Harris whines, and you can see in Eddie’s deflated, tense physicality that his already thin patience is wearing down further. “I wanna go now!”

“Hey, Har Bear,” you try, hoping you’re not inserting yourself into the dynamic too forcefully, “why don’t we go on an adventure while Daddy sleeps? We can wake him up when we get back.”

Harris hops down onto the floor and readily slips his hand into yours. “Bye, Daddy!” he calls out, dragging you towards the door. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are having a ‘venture!”

Eddie gives you a weary but grateful smile as he scoots upwards to rest his head on the overstuffed pillow. “Godspeed,” he mumbles into the sheets, already beginning to doze off as he speaks.

The elevator dings and you shuffle into the small space, reaching for the “L” button to bring you down to the lobby.

“I wanna push the button!” Harris laments, and his sudden shriek has you instinctively pulling your hand back before regaining your composure.

Do you correct him? Let him press the button despite raising his voice? Deciding a consequence comes naturally to you in the classroom, but the anxiety of making the wrong choice serves as a massive roadblock. “You have to ask nicely if you want to push the button,” you offer, sending up a silent prayer that this staves off an impending tantrum.

He pouts for a moment before relenting. “Can I push the button?” It’s more grumble than request, but you accept it anyway.

His hand remains tucked safely into yours when you leave the hotel, basking in warm weather. You breathe in for three, breathe out for three. Okay. You can do this. Your job revolves around children; you can survive an afternoon taking care of just one.

Except that one happens to be your boyfriend’s son, and if you mess this up, it could ruin both Munsons’ perceptions of you.

“Where’re we going?” Harris asks, and you realize that you have no earthly idea; to be honest, you’re surprised that he so readily agreed.

”We can go for a walk?” you suggest, pasting on a smile in feigned confidence. “Maybe we can find a playground or something?”

“Okay!” he chirps. He’s fast for someone with little legs, and you have to remind him multiple times to use his walking feet. Yeah, this kid needs to burn off some energy, stat.

To your relief, there’s a playground just a few blocks away, fully equipped with a swing set and a jungle gym. Harris races across the grassy field onto the wood chip-covered area, assessing the space to figure out what he wants to conquer first.

You sit on the bench next to a woman who simultaneously reads a James Patterson novel and keeps an eye on the jungle gym, where a little girl is dangling from the monkey bars, putting one hand in front of the other.

She looks over with a sympathetic smile when you breathe out a long sigh, sinking into the wooden back like a weight has been removed from your shoulders.

“I hear that,” she says with a kind chuckle. “Mine will be tired for about…hmm, five minutes? Just long enough to get her home, and then she’ll be hopping around like the Energizer Bunny.” She shakes her head. “Is yours the same way?”

Yours. The term is peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, and it takes a beat too long for you to respond. “Y-Yeah, I’m pretty sure he would sleep run if he could.” The stranger laughs at your joke, and you relax a bit. “Sorry, he’s really my boyfriend’s son, and it’s kind of…new to think of him as being mine, too.”

You expect her to pick up and move to a different bench, away from the weird woman who’s baring her soul on the playground, but she just closes her book and turns to you. “Carly is technically my stepdaughter,” she explains in a hushed tone, “but her mom’s not in the picture so, for all intents and purposes, she’s my daughter. No ‘step’ necessary.”

“Is…is it hard?” you ask, the question spilling from your lips in a desperate plea for answers. “Being a stepmom?”

She nods. “Oh, absolutely.” She brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and you can see a sparkle behind them. “But, trust me, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Her words, spoken freely of judgment and purely with empathy, alleviate the nervousness burning through you. “Thank you,” you murmur, gratitude forming a lump in your throat that you struggle to swallow.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris shouts from the top of the jungle gym. “Look what I can do!” He hesitates for a moment before reaching out his arms and grabbing onto the metal pole. You stand up to call out a preemptive warning, to get to him before he can fall, but before you can, his chubby hands grip the pole. He hooks his legs around it and slides down expertly, not letting go until his sneakers are firmly planted on the wood chips scattered across the ground.

Pride warms your heart when his eyes lock with yours, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he awaits your approval. Anticipation reverberates within his little body, and before you can get in a word edgewise, he’s jumping up and down with an excited, “didja see me?”

“You’re amazing!” Your praise floats through the air and envelops him like a long-awaited embrace. “Super brave, too. I don’t think I could do that.”

He furrows his brows before a knowing smile forms on his lips. “Yes, you can! I’ll show you.”

Kind of walked right into that one, you lightly chastise yourself, but you dutifully shuffle towards where he’s already darting up the steps on all fours, hands splayed out for balance.

“C’mon, Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris cheers, waving his fists in the air in earnest, and you simply cannot let the boy down. He easily glides down once more, big brown eyes looking up at you from the ground. “Just like that, see?”

“Right, got it.” You give him a thumbs-up and emulate his movements, holding on tightly to the metal pole and sliding down. You grimace as it squeaks under your grasp, nails on a chalkboard, but your feet reach the ground soon enough.

Harris flings his arms around you, chin digging into your thigh as he gazes up in adoration. “I told you you could do it! Y’just had to try!” His admiration is fleeting; he soon spots another child leap from the swingset to play elsewhere. “Can you push me on the swings?” he pleads, already leading you to the equipment. “I just need a little help getting started, but then ‘m good.”

You hold the chain links dangling from the top of the structure, allowing Harris to maneuver himself onto the rubber seat. He scoots back so his bottom is fully supported and announces, “‘m ready!”

“Hold on tight,” you remind him, more out of routine than necessity, as you pull back the rust-covered chains. You move as far back as you can, double-checking that he hasn’t let go, and release the swing. His squealing giggles are music to your ears, and you push him a few more times before he’s able to take over independently.

His mop of curls defies gravity as he sails back and forth, pumping his legs to gain height. “Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Do you love my daddy?”

You ponder the thought for a moment. You know exactly how you feel about Eddie; he simultaneously kicks up the butterflies in your stomach and calms every buzzing nerve in your body with just a smile, but you’re unsure how much he wants to tell Harris. You settle on the truth, direct and simple: “yeah, I do love him.”

Harris wastes no time asking a follow-up question. “A lot or a little?”

“A lot,” you answer quickly, realizing the magnitude of your enamoration as you say it aloud. The way Eddie’s kisses wrap you in an armor of safety; you hope your kisses have the same effect on him. “Definitely a lot.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Grampa Wayne says Daddy loves you a lot, too, but I can’t ask you to be my mommy yet.”

You freeze in place so suddenly that the swing’s momentum nearly knocks you down; you step out of the way just before his sneaker-clad feet can make contact with your torso. “You want me to be your mommy?” you repeat dumbly, still half-convinced that you heard him incorrectly.

“Mhm,” Harris confirms, “but Grampa says that being a mommy is a big ‘sponsibility, and I gotta be patient. That means I gotta wait until Daddy says it’s okay to ask you,” he elaborates matter-of-factly.

This is clearly something they’ve talked about, extensively enough that Harris knows that he shouldn’t say anything about it. You’re temporarily rendered speechless, words failing you as you search for an appropriate response. Do you thank him? Act like you hadn’t heard him? Hope that a sinkhole opens up in the middle of the playground and swallows you whole?

“Th-That’s great, Har,” you manage, shoulders suddenly heavy with the weight of his statement. He goes back to focusing on pumping his legs, leaving you to tend to the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

Motherhood–the term stepmother seems arbitrary, given that Harris’s biological mother has all but dropped off of the face of the Earth–is a terrifying prospect. Any time you try to explain your fears, people just shrug them off, claiming that you’d be a ‘natural,’ that your years of teaching would ultimately ‘pay off’ when you had children of your own. As if teaching and parenting were remotely the same.

To you, the differences are as clear as day. When you’re a parent, there’s no ‘clocking out.’ Your obligations don’t begin at 9 AM and end at 2 PM; they’re twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It’s not the same thing. Not even close.

Before you became a teacher, you had to go to school and take education courses. Read your textbooks cover to cover. Had to do an internship for a semester. You’d had ample opportunities to determine whether or not it was the right job for you. Motherhood doesn’t offer that luxury: you don’t know if you’ll be a good mom until you’ve already chosen to become one.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” You jump out of your skin when you realize that Harris is slowing himself down, scuffed Reeboks scraping against the ground as he comes to a stop. “Can I get ice cream?”

You bite back a laugh. “You just had a donut, silly boy,” you remind him with a gentle ruffle to his curls, trying to keep your tone breezy, “but we can grab some sandwiches. Maybe even get one for Daddy, too?”

His lower lip quivers, making your heart lurch. “B-But–”

“And,” you interject, “we can go out for ice cream after the market. With Daddy.” You hope it’s a promise you can keep.

It was too good to be true. Deep down, you knew it, despite the fleeting victory of getting Harris to eat an actual lunch. His hands were sticky with peanut butter and jelly–you were making a mental note to reassure Eddie that, yes, some had gotten in his mouth–when you’d done the unthinkable. The unimaginable.

You hadn’t let him press the elevator button.

He howls and sinks down to the floor, knees slamming into the linoleum tile and making him scream even louder.

“Buddy, you’ve got peanut–”

“I wanted to press…the…BUTTON!” he shrieks, every minor inconvenience he’s encountered today culminating in what you can only dub the Tantrum of the Decade. The crash from the sugar rush, not going to the market when he wanted to, the lack of ice cream are represented in every fat tear rolling down his reddening cheeks, in every flail of his legs as you try to scoop him up and bring him into the elevator, in every heaving breath. He’s overtired, overwhelmed, and out of his normal routine.

Your own eyes get misty as the metal door slides shut, enclosing you in a small space that seems to shrink with each wail. The kid has the lung capacity of an Olympic swimmer, while you’re drowning in your own pity.

He’s still sobbing when you reach the third floor, and Eddie’s flying out of the room as soon as he hears the sound of his son crying. Curls disheveled from his nap, crust still at the corners of his eyes. I woke him up, you realize. Another nail in the coffin.

“Wh-What happened?” His voice is raised, not in accusation, but just to be heard over Harris yelling. “Did he get hurt?” He takes Harris from your arms, clutching him to his chest in sheer panic. Reflexively, he inspects his boy’s head, arms, and legs for bruising and blood.

You shake your head, afraid that any attempt to speak will have your voice fracturing into pieces, no better than the little boy’s meltdown.

Fortunately, Harris has no problem filling his dad in. “I–wanted–to push–the button–and–she–said–NO!!!” Each word is punctuated with a hitched breath and is angrier than the last.

Eddie looks at you, more puzzled than worried now that he knows his son is unharmed, and a visit to the emergency room is unnecessary.

“His hands were sticky from his sandwich,” you mutter, unable to make eye contact with either Munson. “Oh, um, this is yours,” you add robotically, handing him the bag containing his hoagie, now a darker shade of brown from the grease it’s soaked up. You wince at how stilted you sound, simply going through the motions, not at all like the enthusiastic presentation you’d planned on the walk back to the hotel.

“Thanks.” Not unappreciative, but far from enthusiastic, and you can’t blame him. “Let’s just, uh, let’s just get him in the room.”

The sleepiness consumes Harris after a few more arduous minutes in his dad’s embrace. Eddie rubs circles on his back to calm him down, tiny shh sounds passing through his teeth. Harris begins to catch his breath; hiccups like aftershocks ricochet in his chest, gradually subsiding into soft snores.

“Jesus,” Eddie whispers as he gingerly places him onto the unmade bed, still warm from where he was lying just moments earlier, “that was one hell of a wake-up call.”

You speak at the same volume as him, though you don’t even have to try. Shame buries your voice deep in your diaphragm. “I’m so sorry.” Your right incisor digs into your lower lip as emotion ravishes you. The absence of Harris’s tantruming creates a loud silence that neither of you have the energy to fill.

“I could say the same to you,” Eddie says with a soft chuckle, taking your hand and squeezing it tight as he sits down on your bed. “His meltdowns are no joke.”

“I should’ve just let him press the damn button.” You’re only half-serious, but your stomach sinks when Eddie says nothing; instead, he carefully unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. A glob of mustard lands on the parchment paper with a soft plop.

He doesn’t disagree. You made a mistake—two mistakes, if you’re counting the donut fiasco—and Eddie saw it. Saw that you’d failed.

“Did you get enough rest?” It’s a feeble attempt to change the subject, and you both know it, but you go for it anyway.

He lets his knee knock into yours. “Never enough, Sweetheart,” he says with a smile, wiping his lips with the flimsy deli napkin. “But, yeah, I got some sleep.” He leans in and murmurs in your ear, “Would’ve been better with you next to me, though.”

You turn so that your nose brushes his. “If I was laying next to you, you wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you quip, stifling your laughter when he takes your cheeks in his hands and smacks a kiss to your lips.

“I would be a perfect gentleman.” He stretches and exposes the happy trail below his navel. “My eyes are up here,” he teases, catching you checking him out. “And you were worried about me.”

The dynamic shifts back to playful and lighthearted, his joke chipping away at the tension that’s been weighing you down.

“Shut up and eat your sandwich, Munson.”

“Yes, dear.”

You’ve showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, jeans replacing the ratty sweatpants you’d donned earlier. You’d tried to wash the day’s stress down the drain along with the eucalyptus-scented soap suds, and though you don’t feel completely recharged, you’re ready enough to tackle the market.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from murmuring to Eddie, “d’you want me to stay here with Harris? Just in case it’s too much for him?”

He considers it for a moment before shaking his head, shrugging on his denim jacket. “Nah, he got his nap. Should be fine.”

The little boy in question slips one hand into yours and looks up at you with a grin. Eddie had talked to him earlier, reminded him about expressing himself in ways that didn’t hurt people–or their ears–and Harris apologized tearily. All is forgiven; at least between you and him. You still feel an uneasiness with Eddie, though it may be one-sided, as he’d quietly lamented that you two couldn’t shower together.

“We’re goin’ to the market! We’re goin’ to the market!” Harris chants, shuffling on the balls of his feet in a little dance. “Ms. Sweetheart, guess what?”

“What?”

“WE’RE GOIN’ TO THE MARKET!”

“Shocking,” Eddie mutters under his breath, a wry smile on his lips, and you use your free hand to swat at his stomach. “Okay,” he pats the wallet in the side pocket of his jeans, “got the company card, keys, handsome son, beautiful girlfriend…” He glances around the room; this time, he’s either unaware of his slip-up or is unbothered by Harris knowing your relationship status. “Looks like we’re good to go!”

The car ride isn’t too long; it’s only about a ten minute drive before you reach the market. And since you’d remembered to let Harris press the elevator button, it didn’t feel endless.

“Now, Harris,” Eddie says as his son climbs out of the car, hopping onto the parking lot pavement, “the market’s gonna be busy–”

“I know!”

“--so you have to hold my hand, or Ms. Sweetheart’s hand–”

“I know!”

“--the whole time. Got it?”

“Yes!” He’s far too exasperated for a five-year-old, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing. “Can we go in now?”

Eddie obliges and takes Harris’s right hand; you take his left, the three of you walking towards the gigantic building together.

You’d figured it would be crowded, but you’re unprepared for just how overstimulated your senses become upon entering. Vendors shout advertisements for their booths, beckoning potential customers to check out their wares. Snippets of different conversations infiltrate your ears, and you swallow hard to clear your head, though the grainy muzak pumping through the overhead speakers doesn't help.

Immediately, you spot a booth selling secondhand books, and you look at Eddie with a hopeful gaze.

“Go,” he motions with a smile, laughing when you all but skip off to the stack of novels. You don’t want to take too long, as neither Munson has the patience to wait while you peruse your options. A weathered paperback copy of The Grapes of Wrath catches your eye, some pages dog-eared and smelling faintly of stale smoke, and you fish out two quarters from the bottom of your bag and place them in the vendor’s hand.

“Okay,” you breathe when you get back to Eddie and Harris, overwhelmed just by the short walk. You grip Harris’s hand even tighter, all-too protective of him in such a crowded space. “Let’s go get some records!”

Eddie finds a variety of vinyls that he knows will sell at Rock Records—from older classics like Louis Armstrong, Etta James, and Buddy Holly, to more recent gems from Van Halen, Queen, and Michael Jackson.

“Babe, check this out!” he announces gleefully, showing off a copy of Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. “I must’ve listened to this a hundred times when it was released in ‘84.” His enthusiasm is palpable, and you have to wonder if this purchase is for the store or for himself.

To his credit, Harris lasts a full twenty-five minutes before he starts asking for ice cream again. “You promised, renember?”

Eddie grins at him, then at you. “A promise, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “Can’t break that.”

“I think I saw a booth down there that’s sellIng some.” It’s a local shop, and you know one cone will probably cost more than a half-gallon at the grocery store, but you’ll risk the upcharge if it means avoiding a second meltdown today.

“I’ll be right there,” Eddie tells you, eyes flitting back towards a row of booths you’d passed by earlier. “Just get me something with chocolate?”

“What’s the magic word?” Harris interjects.

“Please.” He lays it on thick, throwing you a wink before turning around.

You grab a $5 bill from your back pocket, change from when you’d bought the sandwiches earlier, and approach the ice cream stand.

“Can I please get one cherry chip cone, one chocolate fudge cone, and…what do you want, Har?”

“That!” He points to a giant display of model cars displayed in front of a toy vendor’s booth. “I want the orange one!”

“We can look after,” you reassure him. “First, you have to pick the ice cream flavor you want.”

“Hmm,” he presses on tiptoes to peruse his options before pressing his forefinger to the glass, pointing to cookies ‘n cream, declaring, “that one!”

The vendor hands him his cone, then turns to you and confirms, “just the three cones?”

“Mhm.”

She punches some numbers into the register, expression far too serious for the gig. “That'll be $6.”

Exhaling, you hand her the bill in your palm. There’s no way the stodgy woman is going to cut you a break for the extra dollar. “Give me a sec; I should have a single in my wallet.” You let go of Harris’s hand, fumbling around in your bag until you pull out what you’ve been searching for.

The vendor takes your money and hands you the remaining two cones, already starting to melt with all of the body heat surrounding you.

“Thank you,” you say with a polite smile. “Okay, Har, let’s—” Your blood runs cold when you realize he’s nowhere to be found. “Harris!” you call out, voice shaking on the last syllable, unable to hide how frantic you feel. “Harris!”

Eddie, already on his way from his earlier errand, runs over to you. “Where’s—”

“He was just here!” You push your way through the crowd, accidentally brushing your scoop of cherry chip along someone’s jacket, but there’s no time to apologize.

You and Eddie take turns yelling out his name, bile rising in your throats with each unanswered shout, until you hear somebody ask, “is that your mommy and daddy calling for you?”

Both your and Eddie’s heads swivel towards the conversation, breathing identical sighs of relief when you see the familiar mop of curls in front of the toy car display.

“Oh, thank God.” It comes out in one breath, your chest deflating as you and Eddie rush towards him.

“Harris, what are you doing?” Eddie admonishes him, heart still racing as the surge of adrenaline tapers off. He picks him up, fingers digging into the shirt fabric as he holds him as close as possible, and presses a kiss to his scalp. There will be some sort of consequence later–revoking TV time and a lecture on stranger danger–but for now, there’s only the comfort of knowing he’s safe.

“I just wanted to see the cars,” Harris protests, trying and failing to wriggle from Eddie’s grip. “Can I get the orange one?”

Eddie huffs out an incredulous laugh, astounded that Harris doesn’t understand the seriousness of his actions. “No, you can’t!” he yells, attracting unwanted attention from other shoppers, “and you can’t wander off like that! I told you that you have to stay with one of us the whole time!” He flexes his palm before clenching it into a frustrated fist. “What were you thinking?”

Harris’s eyes fill with tears. “I j-just wanted to s-see them,” he tries again, taken aback by the anger in his dad’s voice. “An’ Ms. Sweetheart was right there!”

The mention of your nickname reminds Eddie of the other adult involved. “You were supposed to be watching him,” he spits, gritting his teeth to keep from raising his voice at you.

You wince at his tone, filled with venom for the first time since his comment about Grandma forgetting you all those months ago. The difference is that, now, you deserve it. Letting go of his hand was careless; at the very least, you should have reminded him to stay put. The early morning donut, the elevator button were menial indiscretions compared to this mistake. There’s no denying that you’d royally messed up.

“I’m so sorry.” Sorry for not keeping a closer eye on Harris. Sorry for waking him up from his nap via a screaming child. Sorry for waltzing into their lives and thinking you had a snowball’s chance in Hell of being a decent parent. The ice cream drips down the cones and onto your hands, pooling in the crevices between your fingers. You dump them in the nearest trash can, neither of you hungry anymore.

You can’t return to the hotel soon enough, and as soon as Eddie puts an episode of Rugrats on TV for Harris, you begin inconspicuously packing your collecting your toiletries from the bathroom to back in your luggage.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks from the doorway. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, perplexion wrinkling his brows.

“Going home.”

He presses his forefinger and thumb to his eyelids and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like–”

“No,” you interrupt him, choking down your frustration, “you were right. You trusted me to watch him, and I didn’t.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie steps forward and puts out a hand to stop you from grabbing your toothbrush, “it was an accident. Things happen in a split second, yeah?” He thinks back to the way Harris had tumbled off of the bed months ago. “We found him, and that’s what matters.”

He’s trying to comfort you, which somehow makes you feel worse. You lost his kid, but he’s focusing on making you feel better.

The next words out of your mouth shatter his heart into pieces: “I think it would be better for everyone if I leave.”

A small puff of air escapes his nostrils, unsurprised but hurt nonetheless. “‘S too much for you, isn’t it?” he mumbles, not even daring to glance in your direction as he says it.

He knows. He knows that you aren’t cut out for this, that you’ll never be the mom Harris needs or deserves. In his own words, he knows it’s too much for you.

You say nothing in return, and your silence is louder than the cartoon squabble just a few feet away.

“Fine, just…just go, then.” He slams one palm on the bathroom sink, the other raking through his hair so forcefully that a few strands come loose. “God, I need a fucking cigarette!” he mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s all you can think to say. You’ll repeat it over and over again if it rectifies the situation.

“Yeah, whatever.” He starts to leave the room, not even turning back around to say, “I’ll tell Harris you’re not feeling well.” He wants to ask you to call the hotel room when you get home but bites back the request. That’s something one partner asks of another, and you aren’t partners anymore, he realizes bitterly, and it’s his fault. He’d put the responsibility of parenthood on you far too quickly.

He could have insisted that Harris stay and nap with him rather than letting him go to the park. He could have kept Harris by his side while you got the ice cream, or the three of you could have gone together. Instead, he’d just assumed that this was a role you had no qualms about taking on. In his eagerness to build this little family, he’d squandered the foundation before it had even set.

Eddie watches as you walk away, the words wait and don’t go and we can figure this out lurking behind his molars, but he remains silent.

When the door slams behind you, he bites on his thumb. Go after her, some part of him—his conscience, maybe—nags, but he pushes the thought away. He can’t ask you to stick around and be a mom to his son if it isn't truly what you want to do.

He removes his finger from between his teeth and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, temporarily confused when he’s met with some resistance. The tiny brown paper bag crinkles as his fingers make contact with it, and he pulls it out dejectedly.

He’d spotted the necklace while scavenging for record vendors and made a mental note to return to it when you weren’t there to see. A tiny metal heart on a chain that he’d planned to give to you at the end of the trip. It was the reason he’d left you alone with Harris; he’d wanted it to be a surprise.

“Well, that was a fuckin’ waste,” Eddie says to no one in particular, shoving it back in the confines of his pocket. He sits next to Harris, hoping Tommy Pickles’ shenanigans will melt his brain for just a few moments.

The next bus to Hawkins pulled up thirty minutes after your cab arrived at the station. It was the only way to get home, and an embarrassingly large part of you hoped that Eddie and Harris would swing by, enveloping you in a tight hug and promising you that you’re doing a great job. That you’re enough.

That moment remains a daydream, one that replays over and over as you lean your head against the window. It’s all highway from here to your small town, close to three hours on the road because of the intermediate stops, but you’re in no hurry to return. If it hurts now, you can’t imagine the pain when the loneliness sets in.

Of course Eddie wasn’t coming to rescue you; you’d let him down right when he’d needed you. It was all so superficial on your end, thinking that you could be a mother just because you’d taught Harris how to read and have dinner with him and his dad once a week.

Wallowing in pity is too indulgent, too pathetic, but you can’t keep from berating yourself. You’re a preschool teacher; how hard is it to remember to hold a kid’s hand?

Tears slip down your cheeks involuntarily and you swipe at them before your seat partner can notice. The last thing you need is to strike up an emotional conversation with a complete stranger.

And what is it with you and crying today? Getting choked up when Eddie had pointed out the donut mistake, feeling like you were going to have a meltdown alongside Harris, and now this? It’s like you have an endless supply of tears.

The most likely culprit is your run-of-the-mill PMS; you can always count on being overly sensitive on those select few days. You open your bag and take out the pocket calendar where you keep track of important appointments and dates, including your periods.

Today’s April 26. You flip back to March, rifling through the pages until you see that the first day of your last period was the twentieth.

You’re almost a full week late.

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