#what are these mouth noises?? who kept those in???
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that one scene in the audio drama version of "Men of Good Fortune"
h*b: friendship. [smyECK] OI fink yoa lonely.
dream of the mcavoy: [heaugheughgughghgh] [hhhhhhhhh] [appallingly loud close-mic chair creak] y-you. da-are. you. daAare. imply that *i* might befriend a morTAL?? that one of MY kind might need comPAN-IONship?? YOUDAAAAARE to CALL ME LONELY???!??!?!!?!?!??! [frantic chair hits, furniture scrapes, door slams, screaming, crying, pissing, shitting, falling over and exploding,]
#sandman#sandman audio drama#men of good fortune#@neilgaiman hire my gf to do Vol. IV#she could clean up the dialogue So So Good#what are these mouth noises?? who kept those in???#is james mcavoy above an audio editor????#THE SPATIALIZATION; NEIL!!!
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My Darling, My Honey
Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 14- FINALE!)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 14 (Final)
Part 14:
A few weeks had passed by the time you were fully recovered. In those weeks, the hotel was busy and bustling in preparation for the wedding.
To make sure you recovered properly, Charlie insisted that she and Vaggie be in charge of wedding planning during this time. You didn't have any objections to it, your only requirements were that it was kept low-key (meaning a small wedding with only those closest to you guys) and that it was to be a simple and short ceremony with Charlie as the officiant.
While the rest of the gang were busy going about their normal lives and helping out with some preparation here and there, Alastor had your belongings moved to his room and took care of your injuries and saw to your recovery personally.
It broke his heart to see how badly you had been injured prior to your arrival at the hotel. He also felt extremely guilty about how roughly he had treated you, accidentally making some of your injuries worse temporarily. To heal his heart and mind, he had to heal your body first.
The two of you spent so much time together, hardly ever spent a moment apart- you two had a lot of lost time to make up for after all. Often as Alastor tended to your injuries, changed your bandages, and even helped bathe you to ensure you wouldn't slip or fall as you got in and out of the tub- you two exchanged stories of all kinds. Stories from when you were both alive, your pasts when alive, and so much that had happened in the decades in Hell that had passed when the two of you were separated.
As the date of the ceremony approached, after you had mostly recovered, matters required you to leave the hotel more often.
For example, when it came to dress shopping, Alastor was very insistent that he had to come with- he was still very paranoid that if you were separated from his side that you would come to harm. Though with enough pestering- Charlie was finally able to convince him to stay at the hotel so that the wedding dress shopping party only consisted of you, Charlie, and Angel.
Shopping with the two of them was a fun memory you'll never forget, with lots of laughter because of the hilarious contrast between Charlie's wholesome comments/tearing up and Angel's teasing/cat-calling (in a loving way- of course). Though when you finally tried on the dress, even Angel had no witty comebacks to respond with, both him and Charlie were left speechless.
Angel and Charlie weren't the only ones speechless - when those who were invited to the wedding showed up the hotel, they all had their mouths gaping open at the amazing decor. They few guests assumed that the invitation they received in the mail was a prank!
(Charlie may have needed to ask some favors from Lucifer for the decorations- though he couldn't hide his disgust as to who his daughter was asking him to do this for... His distaste for Alastor was always apparent. But who are we kidding- Lucifer can't resist Charlie's puppy-dog begging eyes no matter what.)
Jovial jazz music filled the air as Alastor walked out into the main lobby, "Why hello! It is so good to see you, Rosie! ... Mimzy."
"Oh Alastor! How come ya never introduced me to ya darlin' (y/n) before!" Rosie flashed her signature smile and sauntered over to give Alastor a tight hug.
"Yeah! Geeze, Alastor, after all we've been through, you never thought to bring her over to my joint or ya know, let me know she was even down here! I've missed the gal too, ya know!" Mimzy stomped on over to Alastor, hands on her hips as she glared at him.
"Hmmmm. Ah yes, Mimzy. How could I ever forget to bring her over to your... "sophisticated"... bar where she "definitely wouldn't" be in danger?" Static noises started to interrupt the music that had started playing earlier. Alastor would be lying if he said he was happy to see Mimzy. He knew she was important to you, but part of him can't help but blame her for your early death. Not only that, but she always had a habit of bringing trouble wherever she went, forcing him to clean up her messes. He didn't trust her to keep you out of danger.
"Well! If I do say so myself, I am parched! Where can a lady quench her thirst in this joint?" Rosie piped up to break up the tension as she walked around the room and examined the decor some more. "Alastor, I really love what ya guys did to this place- stunning work, really!"
"Oh my gosh, hi, Rosie! Nice to meet you again, Mimzy! It's been so long!" Charlie seemingly burst out of nowhere and shook both Rosie and Mimzy's hands. For once Alastor was thankful for the princess's ability to not read the room.
"This way, this way! The ceremony will be held in one of the ballrooms, follow me!"
After being relieved of Rosie and Mimzy's presence, Alastor disappeared into the shadows to retreat into this radio tower where he would remain until it was time.
With Rosie and Mimzy's arrival, the last of the guests had arrived. Yup, it was a very small group- just as you had requested (much to Alastor's relief. He could easily handle people, but you knew large groups of people irritated him much more than he would let on).
Meanwhile, Angel was helping you get ready. He knew his way around makeup and beauty the best out of anyone in the hotel after all.
You sat on a stool as Angel fussed over all the little details of your hair and makeup. As he did so with remarkable speed (due to his many arms), you found yourself smiling.
Not only was it the day that you would finally exchange vows with your beloved Alastor, but you found yourself smiling as you reminisced on the journey that led up to this moment- how you've come to truly cherish your newfound friendships with everyone at the hotel.
Angel, who became a very close friend to you after you two had many heart-to-hearts and shared a fondness for cracking jokes, something you discovered over many nights at the bar together. Often after you two were done at the bar, you'd have beauty/spa nights which often led to more gossip sessions- something you were never able to indulge in when you were alive. Occasionally even Cherri joined in on the gossip sessions- practically bursting the door down if she ever felt like stopping by unannounced.
Husk, was someone you could always trust him to give his honest and objective opinion on anything you asked- which you found to be invaluable whenever you showed him any of your art. Though he often didn't understand the abstract complexities you drew, it was always a great source of entertainment for you- his confusion apparent as he tried to interpret it seriously before giving up with a "Fuck it, I don't know anything about this bougie shit!" - always causing you to erupt in laughter every time without fail.
Charlie, of course, was always your ray of sunshine and was someone you very much respected. She saved your life without knowing who you were, regardless of the potential danger. You feel as if you'd never be able to repay her kindness, so you offer to stay at the hotel even after you recover and help work however you can after the wedding.
Vaggie, you felt a kindred spirit in and also respected a great deal. Someone with such an intense sense of justice and duty was truly a sight to see, you could always see it in her eyes. She was often busy, so you hadn't been able to spend as much time with her as you would have liked to so far, the few times you were able to sit down with her were always a pleasure. Whenever she needed love/relationship advice, she came to you. Funnily enough, Charlie did too, so you were flattered that the two girls liked and trusted you so much.
Even Nifty, who always made sure to dust you or pluck some random out-of-place hair whenever she saw you, stopped calling you stinky! You wondered if it was because you spent most of your time around Alastor...?
"Alright! Hehe, you look absolutely stunning if I do say so myself, doll face!" Angel stood back from you to admire his work with a huge satisfied grin on his face.
He spun you around to face the mirror that your back was previously facing, "Hey, whaddya think? One of my best works yet!"
You chuckle and lean in closer to the mirror, "Wow... Angel! Gosh... you never cease to amaze me!"
You then stand up and give Angel a hug, "Thank you... Angel... this means a lot to me..." Angel pulls back from the hug and nudges you in the shoulder, "Hey now toots, no crying on me now! We just finished your makeup, don't go ruining it now!"
"I know! I know! Haha!" You laugh and smack him back playfully.
"Ah shit, it's almost time, we gotta get a move on, come on!" Angel quickly grabs your bouquet with one hand and takes your hand wit another and leads you down what feels like a maze of corridors. He lets go of your hand when the two of you reach a set of double doors that indicates it's one of the ballrooms and not just a regular room.
Upon hearing your arrival, you see Charlie's head peek out of the door. After seeing you standing there, she quickly sneaks of the ballroom. "FIrst of all- oh my gosh (y/n)! You look BEAUTIFUL! But it's time for your entrance, lets go!" Charlie offers her arm out to you. You link your arm through her's, then you look over at Angel who hands you your bouquet, "You got this ,(y/n)." He said with a wink before slipping into the ballroom.
You took a deep breath and looked at Charlie who gave you a heartwarming nod as she took a step closer to the door, hand grasping the handle. "Ready, (y/n)?"
"I've been ready for decades."
Upon entering the small ballroom, soft jazz music filled the air and you gasped as you took a look around the stunningly decorated space. Charlie was very insistent that this be a surprise and by god, you were speechless- you never could have dreamed of a more beautiful space to finally exchange vows with your beloved Alastor. You were starting to get misty-eyed already!
The very same Alastor who was now all dressed up in a new formal outfit and stood at the other end of the ballroom with his hand outstretched towards you. It took all the self-control you had to keep you from running into his arms right then and there.
Walking to the front, you pass by the small group of friends both you and Alastor had invited to this exclusive occasion. You could see Rosie clutching her hands to her chest in awe, Mimzy was trying to fight back tears as she kept dabbing her eyes (ruining her makeup in the process), and the rest of the hotel members. Angel was clinging onto Husk for dear life as you heard a quiet whisper from the spider that was accompanied by a dramatic sniffle, "Oh god I never knew I was capable of feeling so sappy."
You chuckled at the sight of Nifty, who volunteered to be your "flower girl". She was scurrying all around, scattering petals but then immediately picking them back up again like it was the best game ever!
"Oh, be still my dead-yet-beating heart" You thought to yourself as you finally reached the front of the ballroom and were able to place your hands in Alastor's. You'd never seen Alastor this dressed up before. You always thought he was attractive but oh my god, was this a whole new playfield that you didn't even know was possible!
Charlie then went to stand next to Vaggie, who were both your officiants for the wedding. A bit untraditional, sure, but this was Hell- everything's a bit unconventional here.
The music fades to a quiet level before Charlie pipes up, starting the ceremony, "Thank you all for coming to celebrate this momentous occasion with us today! Today we are here to commemorate the marriage between (y/n) and Alastor!"
"In a shocking twist of events, the last few weeks have proven us wrong that yes, even the Radio Demon, is still capable of love." This remark from Vaggie earns a few chuckles from those sitting in the guest seats, earning a glare from Alastor as he tightened his grip on your hands. You rub your thumbs over his hands in reassurance, causing his grip to relax again. You smile at Charlie and Vaggie, nodding as you signal them to continue.
Charlie cleared her throat before she continued, "Ahem! Yes! But with that, we also gained an amazing new friend here - (y/n)! And I just want to say (y/n) that I am SO proud of you, you've done nothing but bring lots of joy and laughter into this hotel. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we love you and appreciate you (y/n)! Alastor is a very lucky man and we are honored to be a part of your journey!" You could hear some applause and a holler that likely came from Angel- because you heard a scoff from Husk that followed immediately after.
"That's right, Charlie! Because we respect you both so much, we'll not delay you two love-birds from finally exchanging your vows any longer." Vaggie said as she dragged Charlie away to take a seat in the audience.
You take a deep breath and look into Alastor's eyes, your heart racing a mile a minute.
"I honestly thought I would know what to say by now! I've been dreaming of this day for decades!" You nervously laugh out loud before continuing, "All I can think about now is how thankful I am to have met you when we were alive. You gave me a spark of light and hope in the darkness that I never thought was possible in my life. Meeting you gave me the courage to break free from the cage that kept me trapped like a poor little bird who couldn't fly free. You showed me what true love should be like- even if it meant eating a few people along the way... haha. But you treasured me, you gave my life meaning again and I'll always love you. I'll always be your's, Alastor."
You look down at the floor, embarrassed that you spilled your heart out in front of so many people. Now it was Alastor's turn to reassure you with a gentle squeeze of the hands.
"My dearest (y/n), now, I am not usually one to be so 'sappy'- especially in the company of others, however, I think I can make an exception for you this one time."
Alastor took one hand, the other still holding your other hand, and gently lifted your chin back up so that your gaze would be back on him. To say that this made your heart skip a few beats would be an understatement!
"It may still shock you all, but yes, (y/n) is indeed my beloved that was taken from me all too soon back when we were alive. When I buried her body and held her in my arms for what I thought was the last time- I said these words that still ring true to this very day and will continue to do so forever more-, ' In life and in death, I am forever yours, as you are forever mine. I love you, (y/n)' " You feel the tears start to well up even more, threatening to burst forth at any second, all while not breaking eye contact with him as he continues on.
"I truly relish in this opportunity to finally make you mine, as I had wished to do so for what feels like an eternity. Much like you had described dear, your surprise appearance in my day-to-day life truly shook my world. Why, upon meeting you for the very first time, hearing your voice felt like it was akin to listening to most beautiful music I had ever heard- truly! As a radio host, I was very familiar with many musicians, but no instrument or vocalist ever held a candle to you my dear. No ever has and no one ever will, and I will be sure to protect you at all costs this time, ma chérie ..."
As he trailed off, your face immediately flushed red all over at Alastor's vows. But before you had time to process what was happening, Alastor manifested a new pair of rings and slid one onto your left hand, replacing the previous one. Then with a snap of the fingers, the other matching ring appeared on his left hand.
Somehow the rings were even more beautiful than the one you had before. Upon seeing the sight of both your and Alastor's hands finally wearing matching rings, you burst out into tears, overcome with emotion.
Alastor chuckles before pulling you in for a kiss- shocking everyone in the room, everyone making a collective gasp. Even your own eyes were wide open in shock, before you then relaxed into the kiss in Alastor's embrace.
It wasn't before long that the room was filled with cheers, hoots, hollers, and clapping.
Pulling away from the kiss, Alastor leaned his forehead against your's- just a brief sigh of contentment escaping his lips as he stared lovingly into your eyes. You sniffle as you return the smile, chuckling at the sensation of your cheeks feeling sore from smiling so much and so intensely.
"I truly adore you with all my heart and soul, dearest. Thank you, for being the one to complete me."
Tag List:
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thinkin abt eating bbf!ellie out while she’s gaming and on a call with reader’s brother ☺️
she would have to keep muting her headset every 30 seconds bc she couldn’t keep quiet and eventually would just toss her controller on the floor and end the call so she could fuck reader stupid while reader’s brother is spamming her w texts asking where she went 😭
-🪷
ok u got me with this… 💗🪷
｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
ʚɞ it was purely innocent at first, you swore to god it was. what’s so wrong about sitting on your girlf— well, that isnt quite right. on your frien— god, thats not exactly it either. on your… brother’s best friends (that’s better) lap while she’s playing a video game? she let you in, in fact, she signaled you to come closer with a small pat on her thigh before you did. “m’not a dog…” you scoffed, pouting before rolling your eyes, desperately trying to hide the fact that even that mere, simple gesture made it feel funny in your stomach. “no, but you’re my—“ she stopped, and grazed the corner of her mouth with her tongue. “just come warm me up”
ʚɞ that was her excuse for everything. wanted to hold your hand after splitting you raw? it’s just to warm her up. move closer while her arm is loosely placed on your chest while “hugging” you from behind while laying on the bed? come warm her up. she’d never admit she just yearned to feel you close, craved to touch you at any given moment, as if you’d slip away if she didn’t.
ʚɞ she was wearing her headset, and a couple of baby hairs frizzled up on the top of her head. both hands on the controller, wrapped tightly around your waist, continuously yelling at someone you guessed was a complete stranger she was playing with. “who are you talking to?” you questioned, trying to stop yourself from grinning at how cute she looked with her tongue poking out of her mouth when she was hyperfocused on the screen. “shh…” she sushed, slightly blowing out her eyes. “your brother”
“he can hear me?!” fuck. that came out way too loud. she abruptly placed her left palm on your lips, to shut you up. “just a sec, man” she spoke into the mic. “you cant make any noise” she whispered, and when you winced, she smirked. “just watch, and keep quiet”
ʚɞ being quiet, was not exactly your forte. especially not when you were supposed to (it was as if someone placed a red button with a huge sign of “do not press!”— you have to press.) and especially, while you were sat on ellie’s lap, and she kept sniffling and huffing and cursing those little “fuck” and “shit” under her breath and the air she blew, caressed your neck and made you shiver and… her hand, on that damn controller, her fingers circling the silicone ball, her thumb, to be more specific, and it’s a little fucking distracting— how she happens to bounce her leg, making you bounce up and down with it’s movement, every time she's upset someone had killed her in the game, and how when she wins a round, she lays herself back on the chair, spreads her legs and cockily murmurs into the mic “fucking got you, asshole”
ʚɞ did she know what she was doing, as she slapped your thigh when she won the 3rd round in a row? did she know that when she bounced you up and down, your tummy flipped and your eyes rolled back? even if she did know, what you did next was so not fair to her.
ʚɞ you pressed your ass deep inside her lap, making the fat squish down on her thigh, and she cleared her throat, and chuckled. clearly, it did something to her, her throat feeling suddenly dry, but she didn’t want you to know. you stopped, and she readjusted herself, straightening her back. “i’m out of fuc…ing ammo” and with that, you pressed your ass down even deeper into ellie’s lap, cause her face to twitch in the slightest. “give me some fuc—“ now, you purely rocked your ass back and forth on her crotch, staring at the screen, attempting to appear as aloof as you could. it made her stretch her head back, and huff out a small, shaky breath. she placed her hand on your thigh, and squeezed hard. it wasn’t a nice, thoughtful gesture, it was a sign to stop fucking moving, you’ve been warned. she was on a winning streak and you were about to ruin it.
ʚɞ your shorts were truly way too short, bordering on underwear, the material was truly too thin, and she could feel every inch of you through her sweats. your thighs, your feet rocking back and forth and kicking her on purpose, and your ass who grew to be the biggest distraction of all— “just a sec dude, im pausing just… taking a water break”
she was going to lose, and she knew it.
she took the headset off, and placed it, no— threw it on the table. “what are you doing?” she murmured in a low, raspy voice. you managed to catch your breath, and attempted to sound as angelic and innocent as you possibly could. “nothing…?” you quipped, and smiled softly. ellie slightly nodded her head up and down. “keep doing nothing, see where that gets you”
“not doing anything, swear” and the way you put your hand on your chest, right where your heart is, and then palmed it to give it the smallest, gentlest squeeze… “jesus fucking christ” she huffed, and stared down. she wasn’t going to get out of this, and she certainly wasn't going to win.
ʚɞ she spread her thighs wider, with you sat directly on her thigh, and put her headset back on. two can play this game. she didn’t want your brother to know about you two, and you didn’t want him to know even more. you moved yourself to sit right on her center, right where her crotch is, and the wheeze that came out of her mouth— “fffuck”
“you good, ellie?” that was your brother’s voice popping out of her headset. you were that close to her face. your cheek pressed up on her’s, and you moaned inside her ear, a small “aaah, ellie” and you knew that would get her, because nothing made her wetter than those damn moans, and when you added her name in the mix—she cleared her throat, and if you saw the way her eyebrows scrunched together, her eyelids simply resting shut because she had to physically restrain herself, you’d have probably started whining and begging. “m’good, yeah—keep going” was she talking to you, or to him? you made up your mind. she was talking to you.
ʚɞ you grinded youself back and forth again and again, and you knew you rubbed her right where she needed you. you pressed down hard, and it hit right on her clit. “god” she huffed, her breaths growing shaky and uneven. she bumped her crotch into your ass and it made you squeal like a chew toy. “sh— shut up” she groaned, and hastily placed her palm on your mouth again. “shut the fuck up bro”. it was truly disgusting, how turned on you were by grinding yourself up against her, letting her clothed crotch hump your ass. ellie, desperately dug her palm extra hard on the controller, as she felt a glob of slick leaking out of her cunt, because she knew that if she let it go, her hand would immediately drop down to your pussy, and start fucking you raw on the chair.
ʚɞ the wet, sticky patch in your underwear grew bigger and bigger every time you bounced, circling your ass in fast, needy movements on her crotch as if you were trying to win a race. ellie's mind left the game already, completely blind to what was happening on the screen, but kept on pretending. it was funny to her, truly, how pathetic you looked. your movements growing messy, sweat sticking down your forehead, your bottom lip between your teeth, and she almost let you use her body to cum, and you swore you almost did. your small chocked out breaths were growing heavier and needier, and you huffed small whispers of her name in broken little sentences. “mmhm el-lie” she smirked, and placed her hand up on the small mic to block the obscenity that was about to escape her lips; "about to cum in those little fucking panties? hm? you’re so fucking slutty”
ʚɞ and thats exactly when you stopped, and peeled your shaky body off of her. she seemed confused for a second, because god she was loving it, the way you tried to get her flustered and turned out a needy, flustered, moaning mess yourself. she didn’t even need to do anything, just purely exist, for you to nearly cum inside your shorts. her lips curled into to a small, teasing smile. “what are you doing?” she mouthed. you got down on your knees, placing yourself directly in front of her crotch. ellie hovered over you in a manspread, and you put your chin right on the chair. “nothing” you mouthed back, and gave her a small pout. she huffed, as her game character stood idly on the ground, a black rifle in her hand, and your brother paced nearer and nearer. you placed your hands on her thighs, and batted your eyelashes.
she sighed, and gazed at you with a prying look.
“you’re gonna fucking kill me”
“hell fucking yes i am” your brother exclaimed, muffled in her headset.
ʚɞ you didn’t even peel the grey sweats out of her body, you straight up yanked them down. what you saw… didn’t disappoint you in the slightest. a wet spot, perhaps even bigger than yours, making her black boxers take even a darker shade of black. you let out a shaky “oh my… god”, as she slid off of the chair, her eyes rolling back. “m’playing… just keep fucking going i’m playing” again, she wasn’t talking to you, or was she?
she looked at you again, warning you. you blinked slowly, trying to tease her as much as you could. ellie's eyes squinted, and she hesitated for a moment. she brought her hand down and caressed the top of your head. although she was gentle, you could tell how crazy you were driving her. she bucked her hips forward, and mouthed; “lick”
ʚɞ firstly, you gave a small lick to the soft fabric, and felt her tangy sweet taste just merely grazing your pink muscle. then, she aggressively patted her hand on the top of your head, again, and made you look up at her. her eyes turned a darker shade of emerald green, and she looked angry. “dont play with me” she mouthed, and squeezed your cheeks together. she gave the right one a small pat, and then a stinging little slap, making you yelp. she was in control, and she was going to use you.
ʚɞ she placed the controller on your fucking head, and pushed her soaking boxers down, to lay loosely wrapped aound her ankles. ellie pushed your face forward to meet her weeping core, and you immediately stuck your tongue out, to gift a delicate, slow lick to her glistening, peachy pink folds. you pushed it inside of her hole, and she clenched right on it. she gripped the controller harder, and looked absolutely gone. no matter how hard she pushed your head, you didn’t dare to ever meet her clit, the brat that you are, because you thought it was so much more fun to watch her suffer. “mmfuck” she groaned, “fuck— y-you man” and the way she whimpered right into the mic; “m’good dude just— fuck just my arm hurts” and looked downwards to give you a look that was purely warning you— keep on playing with her like that and she’d fucking make it hurt.
ʚɞ it was torturous, and she really got truly delirious, the way in which you licked around her cunt, stopping your movements to plant a simple, delicate little kiss on her thigh, just to hear her respond with a throaty groan, look down at you with her bangs sticking to her forehead, hand shaking around the black controller, biting her lip hard— because if she didn't, she would have moaned so loud she'd get kicked out of your family's home for fucking with your brother's precious sister. she shook her thigh to get you off of it, and it signaled to stop fucking teasing. "I can'— fuck— man fuck, im gonna fucking— lose the fucking game" she stutters, sounding like a complete idiot, biting her fist hard and twisting her face, her jaw clenched so tight because if he hears her, he's gonna think she's either about to pass completely out, or think she's in heat— and the fact that you won't, absolutely refuse to give her needy clit any attention, and the way you look so concentrated on torturing her, keeping your eyes fixated on her’s, acting all brave because you know she cant talk, and cant do anything because she’s fucking “busy” oh, you pissed her off— your mouth stuffed with her cunt, looking up to her as if you're not trying to kill her;
nope. she can't do this anymore.
she grabbed the back of your neck forcefully, and pulled yourself off of her. you pout, and then you're slightly terrified, because the controller just met the floor with a loud thud.
"i'll be back in 5 minutes" she breathlessly talks into the mic.
“swear— five fucking minutes, gimme five”
ʚɞ you both stare at each other for a moment, as if you're communicating with just looks, and she lifts herself off of the chair and you pounce back, but she's quicker than you.
you dont know how you find yourself pushed against the mattress, with her hand around your throat. she's not pressing, it's just wrapped around it, and she's angry.
"you fucking..." you look to the side, trying to avoid her piercing gaze. the wall, apparently, has a lot to say.
"look at me" she whispers, and forces you to turn your head around and face her. freckles splattered all over her face, you try and concentrate on them but she's chasing your eyes.
ʚɞ she's too quick, it's all too fucking quick and you whine so loud, your back arching off of the bed and she presses you down, shoves her hand inside of your panties and chuckles; "you're a fucking... you're so fucking..." she’s breathless, and famished, because she doesn't even finish that sentence before her lips are on yours, hips jerking forward, as soon as she feels the puddle, or the sea, that's right inside your panties.
"fucking tease"
ʚɞ you swear you’re vibrating on her hand. “pl—ease” you plead, your voice whiney and quiet because all of a sudden, ellie has the upper arm, and you, poor you— can’t tease her anymore. “please what?” she coos. “please ellie…” and she cups your tits, both of them, and squeezes them together so tight it makes you leak down your thigh.
“s’not good enough” she tsk’s, bringing her forehead to meet yours. she merely hovers over your clit, and it’s that friction you were looking for so hard and—
her phone buzzes.
“where the fuck are you?”
“?”
“????”
“hello?”
she places the phone screen in front of you, pinches your chin with her index finger and her thumb, makes sure you actually look, and types;
“i’m fucking your sister, brb”
your breath hitches, and she chuckles, deeply and mockingly, like shes making fun of you.
“should i press send?” she teases.
“no…” you stutter, and yet again, attempt to wear the purest, most angelic and divine expression on your face. “oh… no?” she mocks, plunging a finger inside of you deep, cooing at how you gasp silently, imitating your gasp right back to you.
“nonono” you blabber incoherently, and she’s not even moving her finger, just letting you warm it inside.
“s’too bad…”
and with that, she presses “send.”
a moment passes.
“not funny dude”
oh, he didn’t buy it.
#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 🪷 anon#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams#ellie x reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams x you#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams x female reader#ellie smut#bbf!ellie
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“DAMN, IT FEELS GOOD TO HAVE YOU.”
gojo satoru X reader.
summary: satoru never fails to showcase his love for you, even in the most serious moments.
warnings: none, just fluff!! (profanities are used…)
a/n: there is mentions of satorus infinity and before anyone corrects me on how it’s used, for the sake of this work, let’s ignore that. please send requests aswell!
-
“i like your eyes.” the 17 year old boy mumbled as he gazed into your eyes, your cheeks flushed and you pushed his head away.
“shut up, satoru.” you turned your face away from his as you two sat on a roof, admiring the sunset.
“never. life is a thousand times better when i’m with you. everything about you is like a refresher to me. damn, it feels good to have you.” satoru whispered as he pulled you closer to him by your waist, lifting his arm to move your hair out of your face.
you stared at your lover, mouth agape at his words. satoru never failed to showcase his love for you, even when you two were “just friends”. it’s different now, you have a label on your relationship.
you’d pray he’d stop with the sappy moments at some point, they almost bring you to tears everytime. he made you feel like you were worth more than you actually were.
“satoru, baby, enough. i’m gonna start crying.”
-
so, as the years went by, satoru never stopped showering you with those sappy moments your teen self adored to the core.
you two walked alongside each other, your students were training with the second years which meant you two could take a little walk around jujustu tech.
“your ass looks good in that uniform.” satoru spoke up, making you blush furiously.
now, his compliments were a bit outrageous, but some were sweet!
“gojo!”
“gojo?! not satoru, sheesh babe you’re hurting my heart.” he clutched his heart in fake agony as you rolled your eyes and lightly shoved his shoulder, expecting not to be able to touch him.
his infinity was off. normally, he has it on at all times. you’ve grown accustomed to the random moments where you two are together and all of a sudden you can no longer touch him because of the barrier his infinity creates.
“what’s up?” satoru notices your furrowed brows and frowns, his blindfold masking the adoration and worry that is present in his eyes.
“nothing. was just thinking about stuff.”
“you’re pretty when you’re concentrated on something. gosh, you’re always pretty.” satoru grinned as he walked closer to you, leaning down and kissing your forehead.
“i-” your words were forced to come to a halt when satoru’s phone rang.
“hello! gojo satoru speaking. oh. right now? alright. y/n and i will be there in a second.”
you tilted your head in confusion as he hung up the phone, making a disgusted noise.
“meeting with kyoto and the higher ups, for the exchange event.” satoru sighed and pulled you close to him, quickly arriving at the meeting room.
you sighed aswell, following satoru into the room as he loudly announced himself.
“hey! thought we had a meeting two days ago. what’s up with this? you interrupted my precious time with a pretty lady.” satoru faked cried as your face flushed, moving to take a seat beside shoko who was already rolling her eyes at his behaviour.
“take a goddamn seat, satoru.”
“woah, don’t get too feisty! not here!” satoru kept making jokes, your laughter being muffled by the arm of your uniform as you fake coughed.
satoru turned his attention to you, grinning even wider when he noticed you were struggling to stay formal.
he wasn’t making jokes for anyone else to laugh, he just wanted to see you smile. your perfect smile lightened up the whole room. it’s a shame you have to hide it around the higher ups when you are in meetings.
satoru tuned out everything principal yaga was saying, staring at you. he admired how concentrated you looked and how carefully you were listening to yaga’s words. he was talking about the students and you cherished them with your whole being. their safety was first priority and you always made that very clear with those around you.
he admired you, admired your motherly instincts you have that you claim to not have at all. he couldn’t wait to settle down with you, his beautiful wife. you weren’t married, you couldn’t be in a world like this. yet, he always called you his wife.
“gojo satoru, you ought to start listening as of right now.” yaga scowled and satoru leaned back into his seat, folding his arms as he grinned at yaga.
“sorry, yaga! i’m too focused on my wife’s beauty.” satoru grinned even wider at his words as he watched you from the corner of his eye.
you gasped, covering your face with one hand as you listened to satorus uncalled for words.
“alright, you two, leave. we can discuss this later, y/n please smack some sense into him.” yaga tiredly said as he waved you two out.
satoru was up in a second, dashing out the door with you.
“satoru! that was so uncalled for!”
“i know, that’s why i said it.”
“you’re such a little-”
“tease? ooh! didn’t know we were getting frisky in public spaces now.”
“satoru!” you laughed in disbelief and shoved him again as he giggled, following you down the hallway with love in his eyes.
“i love you,” he paused as you stopped and turned to him, “that’s why i say stuff like that, you deserve compliments every second of the day and i will continue to give them as long as i’m breathing.”
“you’re such a sap, i love you too.” you said with a soft tone, embracing satoru in a hug which he gladly returned, lifting you up and laughing.
you laughed alongside your husband, a man who you swear to be with until you can no longer breathe.
-
a/n: this was so lazy, yikes. there’s a shit ton of spelling errors but i’ll make up for it in my next work! please send requests aswell.
#jjk fluff#jujustu kaisen#jujustu kaisen fluff#jjk x reader#jjk drabbles#jjk x you#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujustu kaisen drabbles#jujustu kaisen oneshot#gojo satoru fluff#gojo imagine#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo fluff#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x you#gojo satoru x y/n
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❄️ Kinkmas — 08. Tail play ❄️
Jake Sully x female Avatar reader
⋆｡° ✮ Minors dni 🔞
⋆｡° ✮ Kinkmas Masterlist
⋆｡° ✮ Warnings: tail play, tension, making out, age difference, alien biology, dirty talk, a/b/o dynamics
"It's a tail."
"Correct."
"I- I have a tail. I really have tail, oh my god!"
"Yeah, you do, kid."
It wagged and curled ever so slightly when you lifted up your shirt to get a better look at what you had to deal with now. It hung over your skimpy shorts and started where your tailbone would be. Fascinating. Not that this was your first time seeing a tail on a na‘vi or avatar, but still.
"...I'm gonna touch it."
It's just not every day that you wake up with a tail attached to your body, after all. A blue, strangely cat-like, alien body. Your alien body.
"Go for it." Jake crosses his thick arms over his chest as he watches you in amusement, a knowing grin on his lips like he thought about the time he himself had woken up in this strange new body he had to adjust to.
Just as anticipated, your tail was soft. The skin taunt and warm to the touch. But it kept moving, making it harder for you to get ahold of it. The constant wagging and curling and swaying proved to be mildly annoying, actually. You wrapped a hand a few inches above the base; half out of wanting it to stop slipping away, and half because you wanted to see if it'd... pop off. Which you hoped it wouldn't, but you still wanted to satiate your curiosity.
"Okay but don’t–"
And then you gave it a firm tug.
You jolted at the sudden sensation of what felt like lightning shooting up your spine. Your own voice was cut off in your throat, causing you to let out a sort of drawn-out gasp or… more like a moan.
Glancing up at Jake who still stood besides you with a smirk, you quickly straightened up and then attempted to cover up what just happened by letting go of your tail completely.
"You okay, sweetheart?", he huffed out a laugh, cocking his head to the side as you tried to avoid his intense gaze.
"You, uh...", you clear your throat, "You wanna explain what that was?"
"That’s a pleasure spot you just hit", he said, a little to nonchalant for your liking.
"A what?"
You then flinched at the sudden sensation of a hand around your tail. It still felt so strange to have what was essentially a whole other limb on your body, and with it being new and all that, it was more sensitive than you thought when Jake wrapped his big hand around it. A sharp tug made your whole body jolt once again, a similar sensation to having your hair pulled, you noted.
Stars blinked in the corners of your vision for less than a second, before Jake spoke again, his voice having grown a tad deeper and it’s just now that you realize just how close he had gotten to you.
"A pleasure spot, kid", he explains, "It’s supposed to feel good when you tug on it. Helps to get you in position when you’re in heat."
Heat?
Suddenly there’s another tug. Harder this time. Your back arches and you have to bite your lip to try and stop any and all involuntary noises from escaping your mouth.
Jake‘s low, almost seductive chuckle sends goosebumps all over your skin as he traces his fingers up your spine, then back down to give your tail's base a little squeeze. This earns him an array of short gasps, moans and twitches. A deep flush spreads all over your cheeks, up to your ears that had folded back against your head.
"Feel how your back arches?", Jake asks, and suddenly his lips are so close to your ear that you can feel them touching your soft lobe. "That tingly sensation in your spine?"
"Y-Yes, I- hmh", you sputter, voice skipping like a scratched CD. It was hard to get the words out with Jake’s hand stroking up and down your tail, him being entirely too close to you, mixed with that strange sensation radiating off the hand around your tail.
"If I do it again, you‘ll want to spread those pretty legs for me", he whispers, followed by a smug, "See?"
Right on cue, he tugs on your tail again and the feeling almost makes you dizzy. It’s like your body suddenly has a mind of its own, because your knees buckle, your back arches further and your thighs instinctively want to spread, so you balance your weight between your feet and put them just a little wider apart.
A pair of strong hands grab your narrow hips as if you gave the impression you would colllabs any minute, but you’re so far gone in this lustful haze, you’re just glad for some stability. Meanwhile, Jake runs his thumbs up and down your skin, causing you to let out soft hums as your tail sways from side to side.
"F-Fuck", you mutter breathlessly, not yet believing what had just happened. Jake’s hands however don’t stop just there. They wander around your waist, until they’re both on your backside.
Finally free from any hands holding it in place, your tail continues to sway and curl in what seems to be anticipation or nervousness. Having a tail must’ve been the worst if you’re trying to suppress any emotions, you thought, flushing deeper in embarrassment.
"You know", Jake then leans in closer, close enough his chest was tightly pressed against yours, his lips so dangerously close to your own as he spoke, "when they fuck", there’s a pause to let the words sink in, "they often do it on all fours. They tug on their tails to get themselves in deeper."
And then you felt his tongue, warm and wet, swipe across your bottom lip, and like on instinct your mouth opened to welcome him. Your quiet, muffled moans from Jake exploring the inside of your mouth quickly became much, much louder as he slides a hand down your backside and continued to stroke your tail.
"If you wanted this so badly, you shoulda said somethin' sooner", Jake spoke against your kiss swollen lips, his hand keeping still so he'd be able to get a coherent response from you. "Want me to show you how they do it, hm?"
"Y-Yes", you exhale hastily, and if you were in any other state of mind, you’d probably feel embarrassed over how desperate you must’ve sounded to him. "Yes, please."
"Attagirl. Get on your hands and knees then, and I‘ll show you what that pretty tail is good for."
#avatar12daysofkinkmas#jake sully#jake sully x female reader smut#jake sully x reader#jake sully x reader smut#jake sully avatar#atwow#dilf jake sully#avatar the way of water#avatar 2#avatar smut#jake sully x you#jake sully x y/n#jake sully x na'vi reader#jake sully x omaticaya!reader
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In the Middle of the Night
Joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: In the middle of the night, Joel is wide awake and you're moaning in your sleep
Warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, pwp, fingering, (consensual) somnophilia, Joel’s pov, him talking you through it ofc, filthy but so much fluff, Joel is just so in love ugh
w/c: 4.4k
a/n: not sure what came over me with this one but omg I had fun with it and I’m now obsessed with writing from his pov. As always, I'm so greatful for everyone who reads and interacts with this, plsss let me know if you like it and if I should write a part 2 hehehe
my masterlist
Joel has never been good at falling asleep at a reasonable time. But he doesn’t really mind staying up when you’re sleeping so peacefully next to him.
He’s lying on his back on the left side of your bed, one arm bent and resting on the pillow above his head with the other one draped over your shoulders. You’re curled into his side, your cheek smushed against his chest, small, warm puffs of air diffusing across his bare skin with each deep and steady breath you take.
He tried to fall asleep when you did a few hours ago, but the scenes from earlier that night played on a constant loop in his head keeping him wide awake. Visions of you across from him at the dinner table, head tilted back leaving your neck exposed for his viewing as you laughed at his stupid joke. The fresh memory of him pinning you against your front door as soon as the two of you stumbled inside, kissing you hard and tasting the wine on your tongue as you moaned into his mouth. He keeps coming back to the specific image of being buried deep inside of you, your heels digging into his back and his large palm pressed over your mouth in a feeble attempt to stop at least some of the noise from traveling through the thin walls to your neighbor’s apartment. But the dents and scrapes in the paint on the wall behind your headboard are clear evidence of those failed attempts.
After spilling inside of you and sending you over the edge for a third time that night, he had barely managed to get you in the shower. Once there, your soft moans echoed in the steamy bathroom as he took his sweet time pulling one more orgasm from you with two fingers sliding languidly in and our of your sore and swollen pussy.
“Need lotion” you had mumbled as he dried you off with a fluffy towel. He chuckled and intercepted your reach for the bottle of lotion, picking it up himself instead. He had to practically carry you out to the bed, where he smoothed his warm hands all over your body, rubbing the lavender lotion into nearly every inch of your skin. You were already snoring softly by the time he finished.
And now he’s here, watching your curtains flow gently in the breeze from the open window as you sleep peacefully right next to him, the smell of lavender and the cool autumn air relaxing both his mind and body.
You always kept your bedroom cool, especially when Joel was with you. Joel always radiates heat, but he was a human furnace in the bed next to you. And It wouldn’t be as bad if he didn’t insist on cuddling throughout the night, subconsciously reaching out in his sleep and pulling you in closer every time you started to stray away until you woke up sticky with sweat. Joel doesn’t care, though. He doesn’t mind the press of your tacky skin against his and in fact, he craves it when you’re not with him.
The streetlight right outside your bedroom window filters in through the curtains that are rustling in the breeze, slivers of pale light briefly illuminating different areas of your room. He tries to commit it all to memory: the makeup and jewelry cluttered on your vanity, the same vanity that he bent you over two weeks ago and made you watch as he fucked you until your legs were jelly and you could barely stand, the tight dress that he practically tore off your body earlier that evening now bunched up in a small heap on the floor in the corner, the various knickknacks and trinkets on the small bookshelf in the corner of the room, the seemingly ever growing collection of candles on your dresser.
He’s only been in here a handful of times. The two of you usually end up at his house where you can take advantage of being as loud as you want. But your apartment in the city had some practical advantages. Like tonight, where after a little too much red wine at dinner, neither of you were in any condition to drive back to his house. So, the only option was to walk the few blocks back to your apartment, both you giggling like idiots with his arm wrapped protectively around your waist and his jacket draped over your shoulders.
He studies the pictures on your wall too. There’s the framed photos from the trips you’ve told him about, pictures from the mountains in Colorado where you nearly passed out from the reduced oxygen levels, and the picture of the Amalfi coast taken from the boat on which you unfortunately discovered for the first time just how prone you are to seasickness. His gaze lingers on the pictures of you with your friends and family, your infectious smile making you the center of attention in all of them.
Then his mind starts to wander, maybe a bit too far, but he doesn’t exactly want to stop thinking about how everything would fit in his house. He thinks about your candles on top of his dresser, how he would move around the furniture in his room so that he could fit your vanity in a spot that catches the most natural lighting. He imagines your framed pictures hanging in his hallway or propped up on the shelves in his living room. A subtle smile spreads on his lips when he envisions your soft blankets spread over his bed, and his heart beats just a little faster at the thought of the two of you sharing a closet, your clothes mixing with his. He wonders if his room would smell like your lavender lotion too.
He's pulled back to reality when you make a small, soft noise. He looks down at you, worried that he somehow woke you up. But your breathing is still steady and your face is peaceful and relaxed. He figures that you’re probably in the middle of a dream and he wonders what it’s about. A small, maybe selfish, part of him hopes that it’s about him. Then you start to shift, and he lifts his arm from your shoulders, giving you just enough room to roll over onto your other side until your back is pressed against his side instead.
He fixes your eyes now on your side profile, the shadows and light from outside dancing across your face. He trails his gaze from your hairline to the slope of your nose to the perfect curve of your slightly parted lips. He tries to memorize all of that too, though most of it is already ingrained deep in his brain.
He stares shamelessly for another minute or two until you make another small sound, another signal that you’re dreaming. Except this time he doesn’t have to wonder too much what it’s about, not with the way that you push your hips back against him with another small sound that sounds all too familiar following in quick succession.
Joel’s entire body tenses as he looks at you, his cock already twitching underneath your linen sheets. He stays completely still, watching you and waiting to see if you’ll move again. After a few painstakingly long seconds later, you make another sound. And he’s not sure if it’s all in his head but it sounds almost like his name.
Logically, he knows that he should probably just let you sleep. You get just as grumpy as he does if you don’t get your full 8 hours. But after a few more seconds, another sound slips out of you, a desperate garble of “Joel” much clearer this time but still thick with sleep.
And that’s his greenlight.
A soft smile tugs at his lips as he starts to scoot down the bed, movements slow and calculated as not to rouse you. He carefully moves his arm from where it’s draped over your shoulders and slides it under your neck instead before rolling over onto his side. He closes the centimeter gap between your bare bodies until your soft skin is pressed against his under the safety and warmth of your sheets and blanket.
He snakes his other arm around your waist, pulling you even closer so that your ass is pressed firmly into the cradle of his pelvis. He buries his face in your hair that’s cascading down the side of your neck, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. He skates his fingers mindlessly over your stomach, his own skin heating up just at the sensation of your soft skin under his fingertips. He tries to resist the urge to roll his hips up against you. He wants to stay in this calm peacefulness for as long as possible and he’s fully aware that once he starts, there’s a very slim chance that he’ll be able to stop.
But his efforts are thwarted when you push your hips back again, unconsciously grinding your ass against his half-hard cock with another sweet sound slipping from your lips. He sighs quietly against your neck but stays still, exerting the last ounce of his self-control.
As if moving on their own accord, his fingertips slide further down until they’re ghosting over the crease of your thigh. He’s eternally grateful that you refused to put on any clothes before falling asleep, which, now in hindsight, was clear foreshadowing of what’s currently happening.
He moves his whole hand between your thighs to cup your sex and dips two fingertips between your folds and mouths a silent “fuck” at the copious amount of slick that quickly coats them. Still in the grips of deep sleep, you shift your legs to give him better access. He smiles. Your body is always so receptive to his touch.
With a soft groan, he gently prods at your dripping entrance, taking his time to feel how swollen you still are from when you were stretched so perfectly around him just a few hours ago. But you interrupt him with a soft whimper, your hips moving against him once again and he chuckles silently. Still so needy and impatient as ever, even in your sleep.
But he can’t deny you, he never really can. He’s wrapped so tightly around your finger that he’d do anything you’d ask of him in a heartbeat without a single second thought. It’s almost worrisome, how easily he caves into you, how you wipe every rational thought clean out of his mind, how in just a matter of a few days you so easily managed to knock down the walls around his heart that he spent decades building. But all those thoughts just fade into noise when he’s with you. Especially with you like this.
So, he gathers a generous amount of your wetness on his fingers and drags them up to your clit. Your body immediately reacts with a jolt of your hips and a louder moan. Joel curses under his breath when you back your ass up against him even further, his length now fully hard pressing against your bare ass, precum starting to slowly seep from his tip and smear against your soft, supple skin.
He trails his fingers back to your entrance. Forehead pressed against the nape of your neck With a long sigh, his breath warm and humid on the back of your neck, he slowly sinks one in finger. His eyes slip closed and his eyebrows draw together as he slowly drags his finger in and out of your dripping hole. He nearly whimpers when he adds a second finger, your walls fluttering and slick leaking down his fingers to his knuckles. “Fuuuck, baby” Joel whispers his lips just barely brushing your skin as your walls clench around him.
He works you open on his two thick fingers – not that you really need it after taking his cock like that earlier. But he’s obsessed with the sleepy sighs and soft moans you’re making. And he’s barely aware of the fact that he’s now moving his hips, gently rolling them against your ass in a subconscious attempt to relieve the pressure in his groin. He pants against your neck, already feeling so delirious and drunk on you and your body like a horned up teenager. He’s never felt this way with anyone else, so affected by you. He can hardly control himself when he’s with you, it’s like he’s a raw, exposed wire and you’re the spark that sets him ablaze in an instant.
He curls his fingertips and the way your hips immediately rock back lets him know he’s there. Your moans are more frequent and just a bit louder as he strokes your spot, a fresh wave of your wetness gushing around his fingers and dripping down to his palm. But he doesn’t want to wake you up yet, not when he has every intention of waking you up when he’s buried balls deep inside of you.
So he exercises his last bit of self-control, sliding his fingers out and dragging them back up to your clit again, tracing a few more lazily circles before pulling his hand away completely.
With his fingers and palm soaked in your slick, he tilts his hips back just enough to make enough room to wrap his hand around his cock. He hisses quietly through clenched teeth at the contact, and he can’t resist a few strokes, spreading your arousal up and down his length. After a few passes, he moves his hand from his cock to your top leg, cupping the back of your knee and pushing it up til it’s bent at a 90 degree angle. Now with unobstructed access, he fists himself again and lines himself up with your dripping entrance.
He sinks in nice and slow, letting out a deep groan from the back of his throat. He drapes his arm around your middle, pulling you in close to him as he moves his hips with shallow thrusts and noses along your neck, pressing kisses along the underside of your jaw and sighing heavily once he’s nestled all the way inside you.
The thought of staying still just like this, falling asleep to the feeling of your slippery walls squeezing him so tight like this crosses his mind for a brief moment. But you soon start to stir in his hold and the sound of your sudden, sharp inhale signals that you’re regaining consciousness.
He presses his lips to the back of your neck while he patiently waits for you to come to your senses. It takes a couple seconds for you to regain control of your limbs, and when you do, you reflexively try to move from his grasp, but he tightens his arm around your middle and holds you in place. “Shh, baby” Joel whispers in your ear. “I’ve gotcha”
You immediately surrender, relaxing in his hold with a quiet hum. His chest is pressed against your back, heat radiating off of him and putting you on the verge of sweating. But it feels so safe the broad expanse nearly completely encompasses you like he’s shielding you from the rest of the world. But you don’t have much time to focus on that, the feeling of the tip of his cock nudging at your cervix creating much more pressing needs.
“Dreamin’ of me, weren’t you?” Joel asks, his voice a barely audible whisper. You answer with a sleepy whine as you move to grind your hips down, nudging his cock half an inch deeper. “Sound so sweet moanin’ in your sleep” he continues, his hand slides up from your stomach to your chest, cupping one breast and gently rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “moanin’ my name.”
You whimper and wiggle your hips as he presses a kiss just behind your ear. “Joel” you mumble, pushing your hips back in an attempt to get him to move. “Yeah, sounded just like that” Joel grunts as he starts to slowly pull out, his warm breath fanning over the shell of your ear, undoubtedly sending tingles rushing down your spine.
He keeps his arm under your neck, your head resting on his bicep while his forearm crosses your chest, his hand gripping your shoulder. He has you in a loose headlock, grunting softly near your ear as he fills you up again and groaning when he bottoms out once again.
“Always so fuckin’ tight and wet no matter how many times I stretch you out, huh? Always so ready for me.”
All you can manage is a pathetic whimper while you bring a hand up to hold onto his forearm across your chest. He keeps a slow pace, his breath hitching in your ear every time he bottoms out. You feel unbelievable wrapped around him like this, white-hot tingles shooting all the way up his spine at the sensation of his cockhead dragging along your warm, wet walls as you clamp down around him like a vice.
He wants to savor it, wants to relax into this moment for as long as possible. But you’re needy, he can feel it now with the way you're squeezing him and practically sucking him back in every time he pulls out. And his own heady desperation is starting to cloud his vision as he slowly fucks you, your tired body loose and pliant under his touch. He needs to make you come again, needs to feel you shake and squirm, needs you to make him come.
With a soft groan, he allows himself to start moving faster. His lips easily find the junction of your neck and collarbone where he immediately starts nibbling and gently sucking at the thin skin, claiming what’s rightfully his and shivering when you tighten around him.
He tries his best to keep a gentle pace, not wanting to jostle you around too much. Except your breathy whimpers are so sweet and your sleepy whines sound so angelic that he can hardly keep it together.
He tightens his grip on your shoulder, the muscles in his arm flexing gently under your palm as he locks you in place and starts to really fuck you. He moves his hand from your beast, smoothing his calloused palm down your side to your ass then palms at your cheek, grabbing a few greedy handfuls before pushing it up to give himself more space to move.
Goosebumps break out across his skin when you let out a long, drawn out moan and dig your nails into his forearm, leaving crescent-shaped dents in his skin. A not-so-small part of him hopes that you break the skin so he can admire the small purple and red marks in the morning.
“Goddamnit, baby” Joel pants as he snaps his hips, filling you to the brim. “You feel so fuckin’ good. So perfect like this.” Every few thrusts he pauses when he’s all the way inside and grinds against you, his eyes rolling back his skull when you push your hips back at the same time, multiplying the intended effect. .
“S’this what you were dreamin’ of?” Joel rasps, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “Huh, baby? S’your little pussy so needy that you can’t help but dream about me fillin’ it up?” You answer in the form of a moan with your walls pulsating around him. He keeps his steady pace, the slick sounds of him sliding in and out of you floating around in your quiet bedroom.
“Attagirl” Joel sighs when your moans start to get louder. Your hips are starting to buck and swivel, and your chest heaves with every ragged breath you take. He places hot, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of skin he can access until he reaches the nape of your neck again. You whine his name, sleepy and desperate, and he shudders at the sound.
“Just keep takin’ it, baby, just like that. Doin’ such a good job.” he whispers. “My good girl…always takes everything I give her. Even in her fuckin’ sleep”
Then suddenly your hand is on top of his where it’s resting on your ass. You grip his palm and move his hand to where it was a couple of minutes ago between your thighs, only letting go when he presses two fingers to your clit and starts tracing those lazy circles again. His cock twitches inside of you, the thought of you knowing exactly what you want and demanding it, even when you’re still half asleep, drives him crazy.
With his eyes still closed and eyebrows drawn together, he sucks a sharp breath through clenched teeth and focuses on both the feeling of effortlessly gliding in and out of your sweet pussy combined with the feeling of your clit pulsing under his fingertips.
He fucking loves it. There’s not a single scenario that he could possibly conjure up in his head where he would ever be tired of this. He takes pride in it too, knowing exactly how to reduce you to a squirming mess in less than five minutes, or how to take his time, slowly breaking you down until every thought in your brain is replaced with just JoelJoelJoel. He knows your body better than his own: the way you arch your back when he tweaks your nipples just right, how you melt when he kisses that one spot on your neck, the exact patterns he needs to trace on your clit to get you to come in nearly 30 seconds.
That is all committed to memory. All of it’s burned to his brain and plastered underneath his eyelids. And just like clockwork, after a few seconds of his fingers pressed against your clit, your thighs start to shake around his hand.
“Ohh there you go, sweetheart” Joel groans, both his fingers and his hips moving faster. “C’mon, baby” he urges, voice strained and tight in his throat as he tries to keep himself together. “Cum on my cock, need to f-fuck oh god need to feel it, baby. Know you’re close, angel just give it to me.”
That’s all it takes to send you flying over the edge. He holds you impossibly tight against him as you tremble and shake, his pace not faltering even once. He’s on cloud fucking nine with you whimpering and moaning his name while your walls pulsate and choke his cock. His breath is hot and humid against your sweaty skin, panting as he tries to stave off his own release for as long as possible.
“Fuckin christ, babygirl” he growls, as he fucks you through it, not giving you a single chance to catch your breath. “That’s it, such a good fuckin girl. Just like that. Keep squeezin’ me just like that, angel”
Even with the way you're milking his cock, squeezing him for all that he’s worth, he thinks he could last for at least another minute or two. That is until you snake an arm up and reach blindly behind you, your hand immediately finding his hair, fingers locking around the tousled strains and pulling. He chokes out a gasp, the tingling sensation traveling from his scalp all the way down to the base of his spine. His hips stutter and he can only handle a couple more uneven thrusts before he pulls out. His cock twitches where it’s pressed against your lower back as he spills hot ropes of cum onto your skin with shameless, breathy whimpers. He keeps rocking his hips with small movements, grinding his cock into the wet mess on the small of your back, extending the euphoria until his limbs are jerking from the sensitivity.
His forehead is pressed against your neck once again, his warm breath diffusing down your back as he pants a breathless “Jesus christ.”
You hum weakly next to him, melting in his arms as you sleep starts to creep back into your body once again. He keeps holding you tight against him as you both catch your breath.
“Were you awake that whole time?” you ask quietly after a moment of silence. Joel chuckles and squeezes you even tighter in his arms.
“Mhmm. Told you you were moanin’ in your sleep”
Even with his eyes closed in the dark room, he can see the frown you’re sporting clear as day in his head. You try to turn over to look at him, but he keeps you in place.
“You have work in the morning, why didn’t you say anything?” you ask. “Could’ve made things more comfortable for you, I know your old-man back doesn’t like my mattress.”
Joel rolls his eyes and pinches your thigh, making you yelp and giggle.
“Couldn’t be more comfortable than this even if I tried, sweetheart” he whispers. “Now go back to sleep.”
“Can’t sleep with the human fireplace glued to me” you whisper back. “And I’d love if I didn’t have cum stains on my sheet in the morning”
Joel rolls his eyes again but can’t suppress the stupid grin creeping up on his face. He reluctantly lets you go, sliding his arm out from under your neck and letting you roll over onto your stomach. He takes extra care to lift the blanket and pushes it down to your thighs, trying his hardest to not stain your precious sheets. You turn your head to face him, but your eyes are still closed, your face so sleepy where it’s squished against the pillow, your lips curved in a gentle, sated smile. His heart feels like it could burst right out of his chest.
He leans over to place a sweet kiss to your hairline before carefully crawling out of the bed. He hisses at the cool air swirling around his hot skin as he pads to the bathroom. He comes back with a damp washcloth and cleans you up and then himself before crawling back into the bed.
He pulls the blankets back up and makes sure you’re all tucked in before settling on his side, facing you. He doesn’t take you back in his arms, not yet. He’ll find you in his sleep. But he does hook one of his ankles around yours, the small amount of touch that you’ll always allow. Exhaustion is finally starting to settle into his bones as he studies your features like he’s going to be tested on them in his dreams. His eyelids finally feel heavy and he lets them close, his breathing quickly falling into a deep, steady pace.
He’s nearly fully asleep when he hears the soft sound of you whispering again.
“Oh and we’re gonna have to reenact the dream I was having when we wake up. Was really nice.”
Joel grunts, his cock already starting to stir once again.
Who needs sleep anyway?
Thank you for reading :)) hope you enjoyed it!!
#Joel miller smut#Joel miller x f!reader#Joel miller x you#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic#the last of us#tlou fic#Joel miller#pedro pascal characters
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CW: A literal Serial Killer, obv gore description.
Yan! Serial Killer who didn't expect to fall head over heels for you, his supposed next victim. Don't get him wrong, he still wishes he could just yank those eyeballs out of your eye sockets and dip them into his cup of tea but he will refrain from doing so, just yet.
Yan! Serial Killer who loves to hide under your bed and waits for you to either fall asleep, stay up like a bat, or do your business. He's savoring every little noise you make like a fine wine.
Yan! Serial Killer who will actually stay in your home like he lives in it. Won't hesitate to make himself a dinner if you are a heavy sleeper (can always just knock you out with sleeping pills). That said he will also shower in your home, savoring the scent of the products you are using
Yan! Serial Killer who actually helps you in one way or another! Oh goodie, you ran out of soap! Here, let him refill it for you. Wait, you got a stain on your shirt. tsk tsk tsk, this will do justice. Hm? Are we running out of eggs? A visit to the market will solve the problem!
Yan! Serial Killer who loves to collect the eyeballs of anyone who dares to look at you for more than 5 seconds adoringly. He's lucid enough to differentiate which one to be spared and which one is not.
Yan! Serial Killer who almost squeals happily when you acknowledge him indirectly. "Perhaps my fairy godmother has finally come to help me," you quoted.
Yan! Serial Killer who can't help but stroke one out on your sleeping figure, his hand lifting your pajama up to reveal your chest. He will go as far as to rub his cock against your sex then whoops, plunge it into your hole <3
Yan! Serial Killer who contemplates whether he should cum inside you or not. One thing leads to another, and he chooses not to (It's rather troublesome to wash you up so he just came inside your mouth <3
!! Gore Warning !! (You don't have to read it if you are not a fan of it, nb: Cannibalism and Necrophilia + Backstory)
Yan! Serial Killer who somehow adores the idea of gutting you and feeling your innards, tasting how your heart beats against his tongue, or playing with guts as though he is making dough.
Yan! Serial Killer who adores you so much that he won't stop rutting against you, fucking you despite your state, cold and unmoving. Dead. He might even treat himself by burying himself deep in your guts huh?
Yan! Serial Killer who will not let death separate you two. Didn't you know that the reason he fell for you? Ah, you didn't know why he is branded as a serial killer too right?
Erickson is a man of wonder, due to his upbringing as the first heir of an infamous dukedom, he has been spoiled rotten with everything he has always wanted.
Nonetheless, he feels like he has never even once been given what he truly wanted because the supposed first heir is supposed to be his twin brother, Noel, who came out first.
In the mansion where his family resided, there was a servant who caught his twin brother's heart. A girl, or a boy? He pondered. It appeared that you were an orphan that his mother took in out of pity for your state.
It was not love nor fascination. It was the urge to take and destroy what Noel possessed and adored. And this kept going even until the three of you grew up as adults.
He would do anything to tarnish his brother's life, his position, his honor, and his beloved. That would also include you, his unrequited lover whom he accidentally met during his killing spree.
It was boredom that killed him and killing people kept him away from boredom. But you? You surely would not fail to ease his boredom for you were whom his brother longed for.
And what Noel longed for would be what Erickson longed for as well, alas loving you in his stead.
#Erickson the Chosen#CatboX#Yandere x Reader#Yandere Smut#Yandere Headcanons#Yandere Imagines#Yandere scenarios
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part ii of the dragon shouto au : prequel + part i
warnings: unedited lol, afab implied fem reader, possessive dragon boyfriend shouto, unrealistically excellent first time, 18+ minors please dni!!
the thing about having a human-shaped shouto on your hands was that he didn't quite seem to understand humans did things differently than dragons.
where before you'd cuddle up against shouto in his dragon form and spend the night insulated under his thick leathery wings, or let him rest his head in your lap as you absently stroked his scales—those things took on an entirely different connotation when you thought about performing them with a human man.
particularly a human man who looked like shouto.
shouto did not appreciate the distinction.
"i am yours and you are mine," he said simply, the third night after he'd transformed.
you'd tried to take him home, at first, unclear about what to do with an entire human man on your hands, but had quickly realized this unwise.
your parents, ordinarily traditional and fussy, had been floored by the audacity of your bringing a man home still unwed. but they had kept their distance once shouto's pupils went slitted, and a familiar guttural noise tore out of him when they attempted to remove you from him, not-quite-human-teeth snapping.
it was exactly as it had been when you'd brought him home as a child, and he a lizard the size of a fat cat. he'd staked an unmistakable claim on you, and any hand that got between you two would be severed.
so you'd taken shouto back out into the field where he'd transformed, in the interest of keeping your family home intact. you'd lit a fire again, camping out with him over night, trying to keep your distance and failing.
"it's different with humans," you said, freezing when shouto's head suddenly appeared in your lap. he looked up at you expectantly, those blue and grey eyes searching your face, a tiny frown on his lovely mouth.
"it is not different. you are mine in any form," he said. a large, elegant-fingered hand caught yours, guiding your hand up to his hair.
you laughed despite yourself, his insistence on being pet all too familiar in any form as well. carefully, you stroked your fingers through the red and white strands, marveling at their silky softness. shouto's eyes slipped closed and he let out a contented huff, long eyelashes sweeping the tops of his cheeks.
your face heated. he was very beautiful.
"in human custom, i can only belong to one man," you said to shouto, unable to keep the dismay from your voice.
you did not want to take a husband, and it would be all the more difficult now that the entire village had seen human shouto trailing after you the last few days, following you as he always did in his dragon form. except now they had all seen very human, very male hands on you, had seen how closely shouto shadowed you, as if your body was an extension of his own, and no space was needed between you.
you knew there was already talk.
"i am one man," shouto rumbled, turning his face into your stomach. something fluttery jumped in your stomach as the feeling of his soft exhalation over your hip bone.
"i meant a husband, shouto," you said. "i am obliged to take a husband."
shouto was quiet a moment, before another slow, hot breath warmed the fabric of your shirt. "you said i was the only boy for you."
something lightning hot raced up your spine, embarrassment mixed with the thrill of the implication. you looked into the fire for something to do with your attention, watching the flames lick over the logs.
"i said that when you were a dragon," you hissed, your ears prickling with heat. "i didn't mean you would be my husband."
a strong arm wound its way around your waist, pulling you that much closer to shouto, locking you against him. a fiery blue eye cracked open, fixing on you with inhuman intensity. the pupil looked a little slitted in the firelight, and you swallowed in apprehension.
"i am yours and you are mine. if that means i am to be your husband then i will be," shouto said with unmistakable decisiveness.
the thing in your stomach fluttered again, and your thighs shifted beneath shouto's head. his other hand gripped the flesh above your knee, holding you in place.
you choked, your hands freezing in shouto's mop of white-and-scarlet hair. "you don't know what that means."
his hands tightened on you. "i have lived among your people nearly as long as you have. i am not unfamiliar with human custom."
your face burned, words slipping out of your reach. did he really understand what he was saying here? you'd known he'd long understood you, but it had never been clearly exactly how much his dragon brain was processing. but now...
"but you can't—if you know what it means—shouto, you can't—"
a hot mouth met the skin of your stomach, just under your shirt, and the words choked off in your throat. a slow, careful nip to your skin made you freeze.
"i will be your husband and you will be mine," he purred, his voice slightly muffled against your skin. his mouth dragged over your hip.
your hand fisted in his hair, gripping on for purchase. shouto did not seem to mind, his mouth mapping the edge of your stomach, your hip, the waistline of your unladylike trousers.
a shaky breath escaped you. "there are parts of a human union, though, shouto, that i'm not sure you, um, quite understand."
the hand at your knee slid up your thigh as the hand at your back disappeared, reappearing at your hip, pulling the waist of your pants a little lower.
"i understand," shouto replied, his mouth meeting the newly exposed strip of skin above your pelvis. it was only his grip on you, the weight of him across your legs that kept you from jumping a mile into the air. "i have taken this form for that reason."
words failed you, their meanings slipping right out of your mind as shouto's mouth moved painfully gently and deliberately lower and lower.
"ah, shouto—" you managed.
shouto hummed, and you felt his eyelashes flutter against the skin of your stomach, though most of his face was obscured by the fall of your shirt.
"you smell like mine," he rumbled into your skin, sounding altogether too pleased. "i will make it so. i will keep you and care for you as you have kept and cared for me."
another trembling breath quivered in your lungs before you found yourself flat on your back on the ground. shouto had somehow managed to keep himself beneath your shirt, only this time his mouth met the underside of your chest bindings.
"you like it," his voice sounded wondering where it issued from beneath your shirt. you'd have found it comical if not for what he was saying. "you like this form—i can smell it."
his weight moved on your legs, shifting into the cradle of your thighs. he was so warm and broad over you, hot as fire even though the shirt and trousers you'd managed to wrangle him into.
you did not like being laid so bare, but shouto was your oldest friend, and your attention was rapidly being subsumed not by his words but by the feeling of your chest bindings coming undone under your shirt.
"shouto—you are, um, of course very handsome," you said, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders. you thought you should push him away to have this conversation from a safer distance, but your arms were barren of the strength to do so, instead clutching him closer. "but you've only been a man for a couple of days. what if there are other women who—oh—oh!"
a hot mouth closed over your left nipple, soft but firm as if in reprimand. "there are no other women. there is only you."
a hot tongue, a little longer than you thought might be normal, laved over the peak. your hips pressed up into shouto without your say so, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. he was doing a little too well under there.
"sho—shouto," you said when he found the other breast, long fingers pulling your bindings down to expose it to him. you'd never had a man's mouth on you before, except for the kiss shouto had given you upon first transforming.
the feeling was mind-numbingly good, and suddenly the idea of a husband—of shouto as your husband—was altogether too appealing, if this is what it was going to be like.
your hips shifted into him again, and you felt his rumbling purr in the meat of your breast.
"my treasure. mine." shouto said when he finally seemed satisfied with the attention he'd lavished on your breasts.
he pulled himself back out of your shirt, leaning in to take your mouth instead as he laid himself out over you. you could feel something firm and insistent press against your inner thigh, hot and hard and unmistakable.
shivers crawled up your skin, little frissons of pleasure.
"say you will be mine," shouto puffed against your mouth, his hands already yanking at your trousers. "please say you will be mine."
he was so handsome over you, your most steadfast friend wearing the most beautiful face you had ever seen, new to you and yet so undeniably familiar, somehow. the sight of him settled that feeling inside you you'd had your entire life, the feeling that the thing you were meant for was just out of reach, just beyond the next corner.
he looked like everything you were meant for—everything that was meant for you.
feeling strangely squirmish and shy, you managed an answer. "i always have been."
a heartbreakingly beautiful grin swept over shouto's mouth, a sweet half-moon. his pupils were unmistakably slitted, his two-toned eyes looking just as they did in his dragon form.
in a few shift movements shouto had you both divested of your trousers, and was pressing slowly, carefully inside you.
the feeling was strange, foreign. but with shouto over you, the weight of him holding you down kept you grounded, and soft kisses to your neck and shoulder kept you just distracted enough as he slid home inside of you.
you felt full in a way you'd never imagined, physically and otherwise. your nerves sparked to life when two of shouto's fingers found their way to where you connected, pressing firmly over your clit. a shivery moan escaped you, and shouto's mouth clamped down lightly over your shoulder.
"mine, mine, mine," he groaned into your skin, flexing his hips. the slide of him inside you was better than you'd known it would be, especially when he cupped the small of your back, pulling you into him at an angle.
between his fingers on your clit, rubbing little insistent circles, and the press of him inside of you, you quickly grew frantic, returning his thrusts with eager motions of your own hips, reveling in the way it sent sparks skittering up all your nerve endings.
your liked the way your breasts pressed into his chest, the firm way he held you to him, the bruises he was sucking into the skin of your neck. talented fingers pinched carefully at your clit, a slurry of sensation.
he seemed determined to work you up, hard and fast, and he was succeeding. you felt like pudding in his hands, melting, dripping, hot over his fingers. every single one of his movements seemed calculated to drive you insane, drive you to writhe against him harder, more desperately.
in no time at all you were gasping his name into the cool night air, chasing the release of an unfamiliar pressure.
"let go, love," shouto said, kissing your mouth again. "let go and be mine."
you nodded, words failing you as something inside of you snapped and a tidal wave of pleasure crashed into you, sweeping away all thought. shouto fucked you right through it, his groans rumbling into growls, full-throated and deep. the slide of him inside you became almost too much and you squirmed underneath him, but couldn't bring yourself to want it to stop.
shouto's thrusts grew faster, messier. you heard his fingers rake the ground at the side of your head as he finally came too, his slender hips grinding into your thigh as he spilled inside of you. he went rigid over you, huffing your name, until finally he relaxed into you, his hard body pinning you to the ground.
"this will be an interesting conversation to have," you said some minutes later, when both of you had settled. your hands found their way into shouto's hair again and he pressed up into them like a pleased tomcat.
"there will be no question now. you are my mate, and i am your husband," shouto said, sounding smug. his eyes were closed but you thought they would be glittering with pleasure if they were open.
"we'll still need to do the human ceremony," you said. "but i can't imagine anyone could stop us."
shouto all but purred. "i will eat them if they try."
you laughed, yanking on his hair. "you will do no such thing."
"then i will fly you off to the nearest cave and mate you so thoroughly no questions could ever be asked," he said instead. "there will be no doubt you are mine."
your thighs clenched involuntarily around his hips, and you could tell by the flutter of his long lashes that he was suppressing a smug expression.
"maybe for the honeymoon," you allowed, trying not to sound too interested.
but shouto was your oldest friend and you were learning he'd long known everything about you. "definitely for the honeymoon," he decided, shifting to pull you into the circle of his arms, tucked safely into his side.
you settled into his embrace, feeling truly content for the first time in your life, certain of the one thing shouto had been insisting this whole time.
you were his, and he was yours. always.
#shouto x reader#todoroki x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#todoroki shouto smut#shoto x reader#character: todoroki shouto#dragon shouto au
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶What was meant to be a quiet evening of DND gets out of hand before it even begins, and when the guys leave a bottle of whiskey behind, all those passes you and Eddie made at each other grow to a new level.✶
NSFW — slow burn, fluff, drunken yearning, drunken flirting, dirty jokes, sexual tension, failed phone sex, light angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for eventual smut
obi-wan voice: this isn't the first kiss chapter you're looking for (it's in the next one)
chapter: 9/20 [wc: 23.8k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 9: Dungeons & Dragons & Unicorns, oh my!
Occupying the narrow space available in Mr. Moore’s cramped office, Carl exchanged a look with Kevin over the edge of his coffee mug as he tipped it back, and coasted the bitter liquid across his tongue, swallowing with trouble. He winced at the potency. Kevin gave him an apologetic grimace.
“You made this too strong,” Carl whispered.
Kevin took a sip as well, and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, admonishing his mistake of putting too many grounds in the machine. “She just makes it better.”
David hunched forward in his plush leather chair. Around him, filing cabinets were open, sticky notes reminders hung crooked on the drawers, and his desk was stacked with customer’s invoices.
Three days you’d been gone and the world had devolved into chaos.
“Yeah, gotcha,” David said into the phone crooked between his shoulder and ear, jotting down an unrelated note on the corner of an envelope. “You feel better soon, ya hear?” He threw an excessive eye roll onto the end of his sentence when the voice on the other end kept rattling off. “I told ya to stop worryin’ about it. Now, get some rest. Yeah. Bye.”
He hung up, and addressed his audience waiting on bated breath, “Ed’s callin’ in sick again.”
“Third day in a row,” Carl commented.
Kevin gestured at the state of the office with his mug. “Third day for her too.” David muttered an acknowledgement, missing his Office Administrator who had taken up the responsibility of organizing all the documents into their rightful place.
“Three days, huh? And both with the flu?” Kevin restated in a leading tone.
“Both with the flu,” David confirmed.
“Not suspicious at all,” Carl added.
In unison, the three men put their mugs to their lips, sipped the coffee, winced, and made noises of disgust.
But after all that, Kevin beamed at his friends. “Good for them,” he said. “Ed deserves someone like her.”
In unison, they agreed, and sipped, and made a pact to dump out their mugs in the sink.
————
You arrived to work with an unglamorous wad of tissue balled in your fist, and a raw nose. Lingering sniffles ailed you, as did the body lethargy, but you were no longer contagious. It sucked to exist in this head-cold sphere, but it was nice to leave the house after days spent in-and-out of a Nyquil daze.
And yes, you were eager to see Eddie again, despite the twist of dread in your stomach.
It’d been days since you left his place on a good note, but would the remnants of his tears be this weird unstated suspense in between breaths of conversation? Would there be an underlying presence of you know all the intimate details of my life in the otherwise cheerful morning greeting? Would things go back to normal as if nothing happened?
Regardless, the morning greeting would have to wait. There were a million things to do around the auto shop since you’d been absent; first of which was going into Mr. Moore’s office, and fighting the disarray to find his updated schedule detailing his upcoming meetings, lunches, and days he’d be out of town. You grabbed a marker and went to work on the calendar in the garage, transcribing the schedule for the guys to see so they could stop asking you if Mr. Moore was in his office or not (especially when his door was right there and they could check for themselves).
Crossing out the first week of January, you began to write down one of the meetings when the back door was thrown open, and an ominous death knell tolled in a jangle of chains and heavy boots, making a veritable effort to stomp as loudly as possible on their way to you.
The eagerness disappeared. Only tumultuous dread now.
Your delicate smile was replaced by a canvas of annoyance. “Why are you so loud?” you winced. And winced again when you heard your stuffed-up voice.
You didn’t have to look away from the note you were jotting down to see his impish grin. He practically forced you to see it when he folded his arms, and imposed his shoulder on the wall, making the calendar page slip under your marker in a long red streak.
He ducked his head to catch your eye. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m walking as I always do; not a hop, skip, or bounce extra.” Eddie’s tight lips parted in your periphery, showing a gleam of teeth. Raising his voice a tick, he drove the dread deeper, “My girl isn’t flinching at every sound because she has a headache, right?”
Having no sense of self restraint, nor manners, Eddie invaded more of your personal space. His chest swelled with a held breath while his tongue prepared a taunt and his eyes squinched half-closed. “It couldn’t be because you’re sick, right? Not Miss Queen of the City who’s been coughed on by every germ out there, making her tougher than the common cold, hmm? Couldn’t be because of that?”
Capping the marker, you let your side-eye graduate to a full fledged incredulous stare at his much-too-giddy expression. “It’s allergies,” you said, crumpling the tissue into your pocket.
“Allergies, huh? Which ones?”
“The ones I’m allergic to.”
“Interesting, interesting,” he humored you, “very interesting since, y’know, the most common allergies people have around here are to grass and weed pollen, and those suckers are dead and buried under a layer of snow. Won’t be growing for quite some months, so..”
You glared at his need to follow up that observation with his lips pursed into a mocking kiss of arrogance, provoking you to fold while simultaneously flaunting the sharp cut of his cheekbones.
“Fine,” you admitted in a low tone. “I got sick.” Noting the heavy bags under his red-rimmed eyes, you quirked an eyebrow, and asked, “Have you been working overtime without me?”
He brightened. “Oh, no. Adrie got me sick too. This is my first day back.”
“Have I ever told you how so,” you paused for emphasis, and prodded the pen cap into his sternum, “so very irritating you are?” He cupped his hand over your wrist, and cradled your fist to his chest. Drawing you in, in, in. Cold seeping through your sleeve from his red fingers, never kicking his habit of smoking before coming inside, regardless of the weather. “Just the worst,” you admonished, finding it difficult to resist the magnetism of his laughter quaking under your palm, urging yourself to favor the adorable scrunch above his nose, and guide your thoughts away from his unzipped leather jacket.
But the draw was too strong. You swayed closer until your forearm was pressed to the dragon tattoo hidden beneath his coveralls, and your tennis shoe grazed past the tip of his metal-toed boot
He recalled, “That’s weird. I remember you saying I was your favorite.”
“I said you were my favorite date. As far as people go, you’re in my top three. Robin, Adrie, you,” you listed on the fingers trapped against his inhale.
He lifted his chin, regarding you down the slope of his magnificent nose. “You rank Adrie above me?”
“Well, think about it this way; you rank above all the other people I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of people, you know.”
“That isn’t instilling a lot of confidence, babe.”
Sweetheart. Babe. My girl. His hand on your hand. His cold fingers cupping your palm, searing you despite their lack of heat; so different from how you came to know them, as hesitant pauses on his tools when you greeted him and he frowned as if to ask why you were speaking to him.
Was this it? Was this the new normal?
You hoped so.
Cheeks warmed by the multitude of pet names, you put an edge of dissatisfaction on your question to cover how his affections affected you, “Is that my job? To make you feel good about yourself?” Hotter, hotter. His intensity was burning you.
You wiggled the marker in your grasp until you could tap it at the second unfastened button on his coveralls. “I think you just keep me around so you have someone to call you handsome.”
“No way,” he said. He tilted his head to the side, resting it on the wall. His tangly mess of hair followed the movement, laying against his throat. “But.. Just for clarification, I am handsome, right?”
“Of course you’re handsome.”
“Aw, you flatter me, gorgeous,” he said in mock bashfulness, turning his face away while you stared at him in utter exasperation. “Love to hear it from my favorite.”
Gorgeous. Love. Favorite.
You didn’t question his favorite what. Person, place, or thing? Who knows. Words escaped you when the honey in his eyes twinkled with something tender, and his dopey smile softened at the edges, and his heart pounded a story against your touch, and his grin faded more, and his lips regained their pretty pink plumpness, and his voice reached deeper–to the place where your hand felt the creation of vibrations–and his tongue put a new spin on a sentiment as old as time.
“I missed you,” he said, features going lax as he dropped the overly flirtatious act. He let go of your fist to reach out and pinch your upper arm without an ounce of strength in his sweet teasing.
It took you an extra beat to withdraw your hand from his person.
You scoffed, “Uh-huh. I can tell by how you’re trying to butter me up, and annoy me to death at the same time.”
“Don’t tell me I’ve become the sunshine in our relationship now,” he snorted. And before he gave your stomach time to flutter at the word choice: relationship, he was stabbing his finger at the rumpled calendar.
He looked where he pointed, and dropped it down another Saturday. “I meant to ask you this before you left the other day, but we’re at a good spot in our DND campaign for a new person to join if you wanted to come. Sessions are a bitch to schedule now that we’re all adults and have lives, jobs, and responsibilities, and whatever, and I haven’t, uh, hosted one at my place in a while” –years– “so it’s kinda an extra special event, and would be cool if you wanted to come by.”
You wrung your mouth at the invitation.
“C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun.”
“I know it’s easy to assume I’m a giant loser like you, but even being a theater kid, I’ve never played DND,” you told him. “I don’t wanna ruin your game, or impose on your friends enjoying their night. Or, like, clash if we don’t get along, or somethin’.”
He cast his gaze wildly around the room. Extra dramatic. “You won’t ruin our game, and my friends will love you–they’re the rest of my band, and some kids who were in my club in high school. You’ll fit right in. And besides.. I want you to meet them.”
Delightful goosebumps tingled at your scalp. Meeting his friends was quite the step in your relationship. And no, mutual friends via Bobbie did not count.
You filled your lungs, and expelled your sigh at the calendar, reading over your penmanship while you thought it over.
“And maybe I didn’t phrase my question correctly. Let me try again.” He cleared his throat. “Will you play DND with us?”
Will you?
A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.
“Ah, taking that route,” you said. And just to mess with him, you tapped the marker on the tip of his nose. “Sure–yes–I’ll join you in your roleplaying game, but if they don’t like me, I told you so.”
“Why wouldn’t they like you?”
“I dunno, it took you weeks to speak to me.”
“Yeah, but I’m me.” Eddie shoved himself off the wall and began walking behind you, brushing his hand across your lower back, and bending to your ear to whisper a coy gloat, “And I play hard to get.”
All smiles, smiles, smiles. He took two bouncy steps backwards, opened the glass door in a wide swing and spun on his way inside, whipping his hair in a blur of brunette.
Bewildered by his dorky charm, you watched him through the windows, sighing out the air in your lungs to make room for the blossoming throbs of adoration when he caught his hip on the corner of your desk and tried walking off the pain in case you were watching, only for him to keel over right before he reached the hallway.
You shook your head and resumed where you were in Mr. Moore’s schedule. “You are absolutely not hard to get.”
Looking up, you found the day you were supposed to mark with an important phone meeting, and instead..
January 16th
DND
You drew stars around it, experiencing the childhood rush of endorphins that came from doodling hearts around your crush’s name in your yearbook, and giggling with your friends over it, betting you could get their number so you could call them over the summer, acutely aware none of you would ever dare.
————
Stress squeezed Eddie’s throat. Each cry, each sob, each sniffle set him on edge. His headache pounded, his chest clutched onto the calming breaths he was supposed to prioritize, his heart raced sweat to his skin. Everything was falling apart around him.
“Yeah–Yeah, no, it’s okay. Yeah.” He hung up the phone, chord swaying against the grimy wall, and he pressed his fists above his eyes, turning in a slow circle.
Whistling, screeching, wailing. The boiling kettle on the stovetop pierced the sound of Adrie’s hiccupy bawling. Growing louder, and louder. Rising above the blood pulsing in his ears, the twitch in his strained muscles. The anger under the surface, bubbling. A vice on his chest. Clenching his jaw. Gripping harder. Growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger, his emotions grew bigger until the frustration slipped.
Eddie snapped the stove knob to the off position, and jiggled the broken shitty plastic back on the dial. He moved the kettle to the back burner–sucking his bottom lip in and biting down hard, seeking the relief of pain to keep himself from slamming the kettle into the next dimension. And after swallowing the thickened saliva in his mouth, he walked away from what would’ve been his late, late oatmeal breakfast.
The trailer rattled less and less.
His heavy footsteps exhausted to his socks sliding across the vinyl.
“Adrie,” he begged her name again, and again as he knelt to her chair at the green table. He passed his hand over her hair, petting it away from the sticky streaks of tears on her red cheeks, and he cradled her head to his neck. The flash of anger was gone. It should’ve never seen the light of day, but he was human. He was a single person, and he tamed it the best he could. He was fragile, about to break at the next sob in his ear, but he tried. “Daddy’s gonna fix it, okay? I’ll make it better. I’ll make it better. Let Daddy make it better.”
He was stuck in the loop again. Where everything was so much, and he was so weak. Gathering her as if she were still small and could fit into the crook of his arm. “Let Daddy fix it,” he begged again, rocking her as he did all those years ago; for her, and for him, not having the capacity to do more than cry along with her.
Peeling himself away from her neediness, he worked his hoodie from her fists, and dialed his last resort.
It rang.
And rang.
Hopelessness burdened the expanse of shoulders, dropping them at the fourth trill. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, pick up.” The only thing helping calm him was his hand pressed over his eyes. One less stimulus.
Another ring. He was about to give up when–
“Hello?”
“Hey, man! Uh, uhm, what’re you up to?”
The casualness was lost when Steve’s pause elongated to a nasally noise of understanding when Adrie’s whine cut through the static, and Eddie’s cheek smashed to the receiver as he moved into the hallway, curling his frame to the phone like it were a lifeline.
Steve’s tone feathered to the same one he used five years ago when Eddie called frequently, “Is everything okay over there? Nancy and I were packing up the car to head out of town with the kids, but I have a minute. What’s up?”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s okay, uh–hey, you have Robin’s number, right? For her parent’s place?”
His mood lightened, “Yeah, I think Nance does in her pocketbook. Nance!” He called out for her. Then, he spoke into the receiver, as gently as possible, with grace for him to deny if he wanted, “You’re not trying to call Robin, are you?”
“No.. No, I’m not.”
There was a stint of silence where neither of them broke the wordless understanding woven into their connection; phone, chord, wires, friendship.
At last, Nancy’s footsteps came in clicks on their hardwood flooring, and Steve expressed a soft, “I’m happy for you, man.”
Eddie didn’t correct him that it was about his game night. He simply let his friend’s praise fill the void. It’d been a long time since someone was proud of him.
————
The modest house near the empty plot of land was unassuming. Not much money was invested into the foundation, nor the many repairs, but oddly, it was the furniture and fine dinnerware passed through generations that would have anyone second guessing why a home with a cracked window from two summers ago had a china cabinet. And really, any gust during a storm could shatter the glass pane covered by a delicately orange curtain, but it hadn’t happened yet, and therefore, there was no need to fix it.
In the living room, the TV was too loud. In the kitchen, you closed the fridge with your foot and took the tea kettle off the stove, balancing the makings of a sandwich in your arms.
Eddie said to come over half an hour before everyone else so he could help you create your character sheet, and with it being 4PM, you had three hours before you were supposed to head out, and were spending the afternoon with Robin’s parents while she went to Vickie’s before her late night shift.
You placed two slices of bread on a plate when the phone rang.
From the other room, Robin’s dad answered, and his dry vocal chords carried an air of confusion, “Someone’s calling for you!”
“If they’re asking for bail, I’m not here,” you replied in a monotone voice, getting a butter knife out of the drawer.
There was a shuffle as he sat forward in his chair and inquired, wholeheartedly, “Are you asking for bail?” He waited for a reply while you continued to unscrew the cap to the peanut butter. “He says he’s not!”
“Mm.” Unconvinced this wasn’t one of your friends calling from a police station, you finished pouring the two cups of tea you were intending to make, put sugar into one, and carried them into the living room.
“He sounds like a nice young man,” he assured, adjusting the nasal cannulas higher on his upper lip before taking the cup from you.
Narrowing your eyes with wisdom beyond your years, you informed him, “They always do,” and placed the other tea on the end table between the recliner and couch for Robin’s mom to take whenever she wasn’t piecing together the answer for Wheel of Fortune and whispering it into the TV remote clutched to her face.
You took the phone from him and held it to your ear. “Yellow?”
There was a horribly sad sound on the other end.
“Hey! Hi! I, uhm, hey, it’s Eddie, I’m sorry for calling you, if that’s weird, but I’m–I’m going through a lot here”, he ended in a humorless laugh. “I-I-Adrie–So, look–Adrie, it’s okay, I’m fixing it–Adrie was on a playdate, and I don’t know, I think she got into a fight with her friend or something, and broke the toy they were playing with because she didn’t want to share, so she had to come home early, and now she’s upset because the playdate’s over, and the other girl’s toy broke, and–I already said that–but Steve and Nancy are going out of town, and I can’t find a babysitter last minute that will take her to their place, and Wayne’s out playing poker with his friends, and God, I–” He shifted, and you could tell by the fading whimpers that he moved down the hallway, and by the clack on the phone, it was his fingernails dragging along it as he scrubbed his hand over his face, desperate for someone else to come up with a solution. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m asking of you, but there’s going to be a bunch of guys drinking tonight, and I don’t want Adrie to be around that shit–”
“Eddie?” You didn’t mean to cut him off, but his panic was overwhelming you, and it was easier to concentrate on the one idea your brain latched onto without his input.
“..This is my only night I get to hang out with everyone,” he admitted in a whisper so shy you struggled to hear it. “I’m worried about her distracting me.”
You stared at the linen closet in the hallway to Robin’s bedroom. “I’ve got an idea, okay? Just hold on. I’ll be there in thirty.. maybe forty minutes. That okay?”
More movement sounded from the other end. You thought it was him hanging up without saying goodbye, but then you heard the sweetest thing.
“Miss Mouse is coming over,” he reassured Adrie, and the relief in his voice affected you in the worst way. Making you go all mushy when little Adrie’s hiccupy confirmation came from the depths of her face pressed to the base of his neck.
“M—ouse?”
“Mhmm.”
His hum filled your chest. Her noise of appreciation erupted goosebumps along your forearms. You were wanted–requested–and the square beads digging into your wrist had never felt closer to his, across town.
You addressed Eddie, “I’ve got a plan. Okay? I’ll be over soon.”
“Thank you,” he spoke into the receiver as you hung up.
The phone suspended on the hook in a weighty click. It bounced as you let it go, coil slipping from the table and falling to the floor. You asked your audience of two, “Is it okay if I leave early?”
“Of course you can, dear,” Robin’s dad answered, hoarse from the constant flow of oxygen drying out his throat.
“And can I borrow some of Bobbie’s old bedsheets?”
Her mom made a confused face, but agreed, “Whatever you want, sweet bean.”
–And thus, you had the catalyst for the second time you arrived on Edward Munson’s doorstep with your arms loaded with goodies–
He threw open the door with a dozen apologies stacked behind his teeth. “Hey. I’m sorry for calling you like that, she–”
The she in question came barreling out from behind him.
You dropped your knees to accept Adrienne. Discarding your overstuffed tote bag to hug her wholly; taking her into your arms, and consoling her with all the right words you prepared on your way over. “Hey, I heard you were having a rough day,” you said while tucking her into you tight. “You don’t have to be sad anymore. I’m here.”
Her cheeks had long since dried, but the whiny pitch to her voice teetered on the cusp of a sniffly cry Eddie had only eliminated minutes ago, after his speech about sharing. She mumbled against your puffer jacket, “You came to play wi’h me?”
“I sure did. And you know what? I brought you a surprise.” You flicked your gaze to Eddie to gauge his reaction, and your breath hitched at the beauty of his relief. Standing tall in the doorway over you and his daughter, taking a moment of peace with his eyes closed, mouth in a gentle line, and relaxation easing the near-permanent creases between his brows. The pleasure of a small break from parental duties affected him so physically, you could behold him for hours. Or tell him to go have a cigarette.
However, impatient as any four-year-old, Adrie wriggled in your arms for your attention, and asked what you brought.
Opening the tote, you took out patterned bedsheet after bedsheet. Stars, flowers, cowboys–as many as you could fit, and held them up. “Do you know what we’re gonna make with these?”
“A fort?” she asked, hopeful and bouncing with energy.
“A fort!” you repeated. “We’re gonna build a blanket fort! And I brought movies for you to–”
She grabbed the sheets and took off for her bedroom.
“Okie dokie.” You pushed yourself up from the concrete steps, and fanned out the rented VHSes like a deck of cards to show Eddie instead. “Sorry it took me so long, I stopped by Family Video on my way here. Has she seen these?”
He read the white clamshell packaging, and the dimple on his left cheek developed. “She has,” and before you could react, he pressed on with a reassurance, “but don’t underestimate how many times a kid can watch the same movie and never grow bored of it.”
“Good to know!”
Like that; intuitive, second nature; Eddie knew when he gave you news that could be disappointing, he chased it with a thoughtful remark, validating your considerate gesture.
You slipped them back into the bag, and shouldered it. “I was thinking we could move the TV and VCR in her room, and build a fort around it with a pile of blankets on the floor for her to sleep on like she’s camping. Super cozy. Maybe some string lights if you have some from Christmas?”
“That..” The subtle arch in his eyebrows climbed higher as his eyes drifted closed in true appreciation. “That sounds like a perfect plan.” And his face went apologetic again. “And yeah, thank you for coming early. I was trying to send Adrie on a playdate so she’d come home tired and want to sleep while we’re playing, but, yeah, that went to shit, and then I tried calling her usual babysitters, but they couldn’t watch her at their places, and my uncle’s gone until the morning, and Steve and Nancy are–”
Interrupting him, you stepped into the doorway, and he moved to accommodate you. “Next time,” you said, cupping his upper arm, “just call me first.”
You squeezed and trailed your fingers down his sleeve as you let the moment mature in traces of your fingertips brushing over the thick poly-cotton of his sun-bleached black hoodie missing its drawstring. He prized the moment by memorizing the angel the universe blessed him with; and you were rooted by his gaze, driven to wonder about the ardency which he watched the minute press of your lips when you swallowed, and the coincidence of his own lips twitching into a jumpy smile.
“Let me show you Adrie’s room.”
His home was much the same as when you left it. There was a pillow and blanket tossed on the corner of the couch, a Little Mermaid plate and fork dripping in the dish rack, an assortment of clean clothes piled into a laundry basket on top of the washing machine. Though, Adrie’s toys were put away and the bathroom sink was scrubbed clean of children’s bubble gum flavored toothpaste.
Eddie pushed open the door at the end of the hall, and for the first time, with the tail end of daylight piercing the burgundy curtained window, you saw beyond a few feet to the bed.
You wished you could say the precious girl in the middle of the room caught your eye, but realistically, your attention was drawn to the walls. Specifically, the amount of pink and white Barbie advertisements cut from magazines and special edition My Little Pony fold out posters lining every square inch of available space.
But the girly stuff ended at the height of the dresser beside you.
The bedroom was divided in half, horizontally. Above the mirror decorated in stickers and photos tucked into the frame, the ponies and rainbows ended there, obliterated by a sharp line of black. A RATT flag, Corroded Coffin banner, and printed images of paladins fought the encroaching Carebears and sweet things. Every heavy metal poster in existence overlapped the final push to the ceiling. You took it all in with an air of baffled amusement.
You waved a finger at the top half. “She uh.. a big Judas Priest fan?”
Eddie was already cutting his eyes to you with a sly smile, Adam’s apple bouncing with a mute giggle. “This used to be my room.”
“I figured as much.”
Mixed amongst the posters were guitars hung where only he could reach them, and there was an amp shoved beneath a white desk where his daughter was currently setting up her stuffed animals, picking up one to show you, then second guessing and putting it down.
Eddie vied for you before she could. “Wanna see somethin’?” he asked, walking around the queen sized bed to the closet. Accurately, you guessed he was going to show you a clue to his past, and stepped over the dragging corner of the blue and white comforter, shimmying past him to stand next to the small bookshelf, excitedly watching him reach into the dark abyss. From the top shelf he pulled a lump of jean fabric, and unfolded it, handing it to you. “I used to wear this every day in my youth.”
You pinched the article of clothing between the very tips of your fingers, and turned your head to cough. “Jesus, dude. How much did you used to smoke?”
“Way more than I do now,” he laughed.
After some heavy side-eyeing about his habits, you took a closer look at the garment. The blue plaid lined jean jacket had ratty edges everywhere it could have ratty edges; helped by its sleeves being ripped off, of course. A collection of pins and patches mirrored the ones on his (used to be) bedroom walls–before a princess ruled his kingdom, and fought back the dragons.
“You used to wear this everyday?” you voiced aloud, finding the sentimental value in touching something so dear to him, for him to hang onto it for all these years.
“Should I wear it tonight?” Taking it from you, he flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, and slipped his arms through the vest, turning around to show you the Dio patch on the back, pointing to it with his thumbs.
You golf clapped. “Very cool. Very tough.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie faced you and tidied the stray waves of his hair flowing out from under the hood, raking his fingers through his bangs until they were perfectly messy, and again, it was one of those strange exchanges where your too honest gazes met, and he diverted his humble smile to the floor, shy and bashful, but not in pretend like before.
You were in his home, in his daughter’s bedroom, doing him a favor, which was feeling less and less like a favor, and more like a convenient excuse you both seized as an opportunity to hang out.
“Miss Mouse!” Adrie gunned for your hand, and embarked on her greatest effort to break you away from her father, tugging you towards her collection of plushes you still needed to be introduced to.
You gasped at the honor, and asked, “Do you want to tell me about them while I braid your hair?”
She lit up at the suggestion. Eddie wasn’t the best at weaving plaits, and she wasn’t the most patient, so having an unbiased party step in to determine whether it was a ‘him’ problem or a ‘her’ problem sounded grand.
And as you sank onto the edge of the mattress with her sitting criss-cross between your legs, it was obvious within the first few twists of the French braid sitting flat against her head, and curved perfectly over her ear, that it was most definitely a ‘him’ problem.
Behind you, there was a great sigh at your victory.
Adrie held up a brown teddy with one glass bead eye slightly larger than the other after surgery was performed on him to replace the one he lost, and said, “This is Mr. Bear.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bear,” you said, using your best Children’s Television Program presenter voice to entertain her. You threw a smile over your shoulder at the silliness, and Eddie was already looking at you, warm brown eyes shining with the same fondness as yours.
“And he’s married to Mrs. Froggy.”
“Wow, a bear and a frog.” You nodded, impressed. “I guess true love knows no bounds.”
Feeling like the third wheel to you and Adrie, Eddie moved into action. “I’m gonna go out to the shed and start bringing in extra chairs, and the Christmas lights you asked for. And, uh, here’s her hair stuff.” He handed you a basket filled to the brim with every style of ponytail holder a drug store could carry. “You two have fun.”
Naturally, as he stepped away to leave, you curled your fingers at him in a childish wave, while Adrie used Mrs. Frog’s hand to do the same, adding on a sing-songy “Bye!” to hers.
And what a delight it was to witness the beginnings of the red flush creeping up his neck as he took a final glance at you both smiling up at him, and he pinched the hood over his mouth to shield his crooked simpering from further inspection.
~~~
The gloaming sky dozed in a blanket of pink and purple clouds knitted together with ribbons of orange.
Eddie leaned in the doorway to the porch, resting his shoulders on the frame as he crossed his ankles. The backs of his hands stung from overwashing them during the dry season, but his palms were soothed by the piping hot bowl he cupped to his chest. His muscles ached from unrest, but he grew warmer with each bite of the cinnamon sugar toast he dipped into the peanut butter oatmeal. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken the time to wipe down the folding chairs from the shed, but when you asked if there were any spiders on them in that timid wobble of yours, he had no other choice. And he’d do it again, even if his body protested the entire ordeal.
Squinting into the beauty of the setting sun, he sighed. Adrienne squealed. You cheered her on.
The pain in his hands subsided, the clawing hunger in his stomach settled, and the soreness in his lower back relented. All his worries fell away when his girl was happy.
For Eddie, standing by as the outsider to the scene of you and his daughter bonding over the neon green bottle of sloshy bubbles, he was aware of the catch in your voice when you asked about the unicorn and learned of his name, Fluff. You released a tender ‘aw’ from the back of your throat, and oh, it fulfilled him in ways he couldn’t possibly articulate. A simple noise, and it felt like a hug from an old friend. A pinky promise. A rare complacency in his life. Ataraxia.
He sensed it more, and more. When you sprinted back and forth on the porch, blowing bubbles for her to pop before they landed on the ground; giggling, laughing. Giggling, laughing. And he was smiling, smiling. It was sweet, so sweet; this new loop he found himself in. Gone was the stress. You took care of it. You heard him say Adrie needed to be tired out before bed time, and here you were, standing at the edge of the creaky floorboards, blowing a slew of bubbles for her to chase in the deadened grass.
She complained, “I can’t–reach!” She jumped, and jumped, but the bubble caught the gust from her fingertips, and continued floating away.
“Use Fluff!”
Elated at the ingenuity, she snatched Fluff from where he posed at your feet, and she launched herself off the deck for the last bubble, popping it with the very tip of his white horn. “Yay!”
“Rad!”
He watched until your forms were bathed in dusky blue, and the cold swallowed your heaving breaths.
Licking clean the last spoonful of his late, late breakfast, he reminded you both, “You girls better get started on this fort before it gets too late. Still gotta set up for the game too.” After whispering a curse under your breath, you ushered Adrie inside, and he asked her, “Can you take this to the sink?” Remarkably, she took his bowl without complaint, but stood stock still until he forced out a pointed, “Thank you,” in a tone implying she should scram.
She snickered at getting a rise out of him, and jogged away.
He reached into his pocket for the object weighing down the front of his hoodie, and produced a tangerine. Juice squished from the top of the fruit where he stabbed his thumb into the rind, and the scent of fresh citrus filled the air. “The chairs are certified spider-free. Got them inspected by a professional and everything.”
Your glare was mellowed by sweetness. “My hero.”
“Daddy.” Adrie was back, and with one simple demand of her hand held out flat, he peeled faster, and dislodged two segments for her. She popped them in her mouth, and ran to her room.
Interesting..
Testing him, you held your hand out flat as well, and with a bored stare, he placed two segments in your palm too.
“Don’t worry, I won’t call you Daddy unless you want me to,” you said, tossing them in the air, and catching them in your mouth. And as the fruit popped between your teeth, and the cold juice gushed like ice over your tongue, your brain caught up to what you just implied, and you froze mid-chew.
Eddie’s expression morphed from slack-jawed surprise, to intrigue, to his lips clamped tight, body shaking with silent laughter. “What?” he squeaked out.
“Uhh–I mean–How about we forget I said that?” you offered, wagging your finger from him to you.
No way.
No way in hell was he about to let you live that one down.
He loved your blunder. Reveled in it, even. It was sweet, sweet revenge. Payback.
Eddie took you off guard by snatching your wrist. He drew you into him as he pushed off the doorframe, bringing you in real close, eliminating the gap between your bodies. His cheeks may have darkened, but it was his greatest pleasure to imbue all his wickedness into repeating the same word you used months ago when he was driving you to Adrie’s school play and he made a similar joke about your bike and riding a man to work.
His nose scrunched with wolfish satisfaction. “Never.”
“Don’t be mean,” you whined. Putting up a weak fight, you attempted to twist your hand from his grasp to–hopefully–bolt away, and bury yourself in a pile of bedsheets for the rest of eternity; just somewhere you could hide, and desperately avoid thinking about the delicious zing traveling to the worst places.
But he wouldn’t let go.
There was clear disdain in the way his posture stiffened the split-second anyone other than his daughter called him Daddy, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to introduce the context of calling him such a name, whether it would happen when you were under him, gasping it into his mouth; or in different position, with your knees on either side of his narrow hips, bouncing out the syllables..
His breathing deepened. You squirmed.
Caught in each other’s trap. Impossible to look away, the sweltering fantasy sat heavy in your mutual gaze, wide pupils boring into wide pupils. Heartbeats pounding beneath the surface of uncharted waters. An intimacy to his study of your body language, especially when you tilted your head to the side, and the lingering wryness in his eyes turned curious.
Illuminated by the glow of the bathroom light above the medicine cabinet, the face framing layers of Eddie’s haircut brushed his cheeks from beneath the hard shadows of his hood, and the fog from your exhales mixed in the inky darkness.
Alas, the standoff came to an abrupt end when Adrie called your name.
“I should help her with the fort,” you whispered in a release of tension.
One finger at a time, he opened his harmless grip. “I’m gonna bring your bike up here in case the weather turns,” he said, voice the same as always when he had you this near; quiet, tame, cutting in and out in the vowels.
“What a gentleman.”
Definitely a gentleman when he bit into the tangerine as if it were an apple to distract you from his hand tugging down his hoodie to hide the hard outline stretching towards the thigh of his light wash blue jeans.
You sneered at the fleshy strings of fruit pulp gathering over his lower lip. “And by gentleman, I mean utter weirdo.”
~~~
By winter’s solid nightfall, most of the fort had been completed. Eddie visited the room to drop off the TV (after it had been cleaned of staticy dust clinging to the glass), and placed it and the VCR on top of a Coca-Cola crate at the foot-end of the blanket nest you created. At one point he grabbed his acoustic guitar from the wall, and brought more clothes pins.
You pinned the last corner of the sheet canopy above Adrie while she pulled her tea party table inside the fort, and set up her toys in the itty bitty pink chairs. She volunteered to string the twinkly lights herself, giving you an excuse to go to the kitchen where you could make the highest quality finger sandwiches as dinner for her and her cotton-stuffed guests. And by total coincidence, Eddie was beside you, hunched over the counter with a DND book opened to a page of illustrations with a blank character sheet to his right.
“Ham, mayo, cheese, and the thinnest layer of mustard,” he told you.
You organized the ingredients to Adrie’s sandwich and confirmed, “A hint of mustard. Got it.” Taking two slices of sandwich bread, you placed them on her Beauty and the Beat plate, and dipped a butter knife into the mayo jar, slathering a generous amount on one side. One the other, you merely suggested mustard had been in the presence of it with a single swipe.
He angled the book to you. “Which race and class do you want to play as?”
Looking over the pictures, there were more to choose from than you initially assumed, but there was a clear winner towering above the rest. “That one. The big green guy.” Apparently he was called a half-orc, and he was stacked with muscle on top of muscle. “I wanna be huge and brawny like him, crushin’ my enemies with my giant biceps. Like, everyone’s scared of me, but I save kittens on the weekends. Fighter type, or whatever’s the term. Melee? I wanna beat people up with my bare fists.”
Eddie glanced you up and down. “Overcompensating for something?”
Deflating, your puffer jacket swished fabric-on-fabric as you dropped your arms. You pouted, but the tug at his heartstrings went ignored as he rolled a large dice, and picked up the pencil.
So be it. It was your turn to sum him up in one glance. How his shaggy outdated haircut gathered on his shoulders, curtaining his face as he underlined words on the character sheet, not even paying you attention. How his jean vest paraded his music tastes under years of dust and a decade of smoke baked into it; offensive and meant to ward off others, unless they belonged. How he decorated his skin in macabre imagery, and wore his white tennis shoes with just enough dirt to show he didn’t care. How every denim item he owned came with holes. How his keys dangled from a keyring attached to his belt loop, so everyone was forced to listen to him expressing his apathy towards the world with each stomp, and rattle of chains swinging against his leg. How he bent over the counter with his hip cocked out, making his pants crease to his inner thighs, highlighting a particular package beneath a handcuff belt buckle. How he was decked out in his usual skull themed rings. Prickly, jaded, drives too fast, and has never heard of an ‘inside voice’ once he deemed you worthy of his boisterous ramblings. Loud, obnoxious, excessively weird when he was himself around you.
You asked, “Are you overcompensating for something?”
“I don’t need to.”
Cool, smooth, nonchalant.
I don’t need to.
Warmth flooded your abdomen. Heat reached your cheeks. Blood rushed, descended to the place your thighs clenched, where your jean’s stiff metal zipper went tight–and if you stood a certain way–the seam grazed over.
Rolling the dice again, his expression remained impassive as he filled in more blank spots, asking you in a monotone voice, “What’s your orc’s name?”
“Gary,” you answered in a bout of exasperation, annoyed he’s acting like he didn’t just say that.
There was no way you were about to be the one squirming again. After his teasing earlier, he deserved a dose of his own medicine.
Feeling undue bravery, you set the butter knife down, and rested your elbow on the counter, angling your body towards him with your hands linked over your stomach, wearing an adorably smug pinch of confusion between your brows. You were the example of casual when you asked, “Do orcs fight with a dagger? Maybe six and a half.. seven inches in length? Curved to the right? Real girthy handle?”
Eddie’s face lurched into wide-eyed awe at your bombshell of an innuendo. He turned his head slowly, frizzy curls sticking to his just-licked lips, fluttering in front of his gawking smile as he exhaled a stunned huff. His big brown eyes were alert with the thrill of the subject, and he stared, waiting for you to fold. You didn’t blink, acting classes coming in handy as his eyebrows climbed higher and higher, and you remained stoic, free of emotion.
A choked out– “I..” –came from his mouth, but he didn’t finish. He hooked his finger around a lock of hair, and twisted it, yanking more over the lower half of his face as he shrank into the comfort of his hoodie, leaving just his eyes visible.
At last, he answered, voice wavering high and tight, “A little over seven, I think.”
You lifted your chin, and rolled your lips inward, steeling yourself from voicing anything other than an impressed hum.
However..
Having a knack for bad decisions, you drew in a breath to speak–but Adrie came to your rescue before you humiliated yourself by saying something abhorrent like, ‘my, my, that’s quite a size,’ or ‘I heard that orc’s been single a while; what’s his skill level with that weapon?’ or worse, ‘need a second opinion on that length?’
“Are you almost done?”Adrie asked.
She sought the answer by snaking her hands under your jacket and clinging onto the back of your hips, making you jolt at her cold fingers creeping over your skin, and you stumbled after she trusted you to support her weight while she jumped onto her tippy toes.
You lost your balance, and your hero from further harm was Eddie.
Well, less of a hero, and more like he stood with his arms pinned to his sides, and took the brunt of your fall.
He released a painful wheeze from being wedged into the corner where the sharp edges of the countertop dug into his bones.
“Sorry,” you think you whispered, but maybe it never left your lungs.
You watched the subtle tic under his eyes when he said, “S’okay,” and the ‘s’ whistled sharply between his teeth.
It was amazing–incredible–to discover he had freckles sprinkled across the top of his cheekbones, standing out against the telltale shade of embarrassment. You’d never been this close to notice them before; near enough your nose tickled from the end of his hair. Never had the opportunity to catch yourself on his bicep, and feel the extraordinary body heat radiating off him, dialed on high from the last few minutes. And now you had to continue living as if you didn’t know his dick size.
Adrie brought you back to reality. “Can you cut off the top crust? It’s shaped like a butt, and I don’t like it.”
Letting go of Eddie, you reached for her, patting her shoulder for her back up and release you from this awkward prison. “Y-Yeah, of course. No top crust. Got it, little lady.”
She giggled and kept talking as you put an ample gap between you and her dad. Thank God she giggled and kept talking as you and Eddie regained some semblance of composure.
“Can you cut it in long squares?”
“Rectangles,” Eddie corrected gently.
“Reck-tangles,” she pronounced.
“Perfect.” He grabbed his pencil and dice, and picked up where he left off on your character sheet. And you were more than happy to play along, peeling the Kraft Single from its plastic film and placing it on top of two slices of ham before cutting it into long squares.
~~~
With her sandwich made, you and Adrie sat at the tiny pink table under the fort. Your neck ached from the constant hunched position, and your legs were falling asleep, but you’d deal with the pain if it meant having tea with the princess.
She tipped air from an empty tea pot into the tea cups, and Mr. Bear thanked her for his imaginary portion.
Throughout the play-dinner, Eddie was in and out of the room. There were noises from the closet, sounding like he was picking up shoeboxes filled with rattling items. The canopy drooped when he opened the top drawer on the dresser where it was tied. Musical notes from a wind instrument trilled from the living room.
After another bite of her sandwich–Oh, no, Princess Adrienne, I’m much too full, you may have mine–a ne’erdowell crashed your exclusive party.
“Hey, this is pretty,” Eddie said, poking his head inside; his grin lengthening into a frightful shadow from the Christmas lights stuck in his hair. He looked around at the hard work his little girl put into the fort, linking the bedsheets from his old desk, across the back of a chair, and held aloft by the dresser. The TV occupied the space one of his amps used to, and the nest of blankets covered what used to be a network of cords, albums, and magazines. But that was years ago. Now, his gaze settled on the adult woman feigning a long sip on her toddler-sized tea cup, and a hand smashed against his face–
Adrie shoved him out of the fort, and whipped closed the entryway bedsheet. “No boys allowed!”
“But.. I need to borrow Miss Mouse,” he begged in a pitiful quaver.
She cut her eyes to you, and rolled them into the next eternity (a move you’d become an expert in yourself.) You bargained with her in a haughty shrug, and after a moment of consideration, she drew back the curtain. “Fine.”
Making an unglamorous exit by crawling on your hands and knees, you accepted Eddie’s warm palm to help you stand. “What’cha need help with?”
“The folding table is behind the couch, and it’s annoying to pull out by myself with all the mugs in the way,” he explained on his way to the living room. “Oh, can you move that stuff off it? Yeah, just toss it in a corner.”
He used his shin to push the coffee table against the wall while you picked up the pillow and stack of blankets off the corner of the couch. But after collecting them to your chest, and the thinning pillow released a puff of air from its wilted self, you were struck with an array of scents. Hair products, cigarette smoke, vanilla, sour sweat; notes of exhaust, motor oil, and fumes.
It smelled bad in the good way.
The mix stung your nostrils, twinged at your eyes. But it was a comfort you hugged tighter. Familiarity you inhaled deeper. Home in your lungs.
You took his pillow, and Adrie’s kaleidoscope quilt with the tattered facing, and went to place them on the fold-out bed in the corner, assuming it was his; but as you neared, you scrutinized the collection of items on the oak nightstand beside it. A brand of cigarettes he didn’t smoke, a BIC lighter he didn’t use, a comb, and a clunky silver watch. And as you thought about it more, you saw the fold-out bed already had a set of sheets and a pillow balanced on top of it.
“Eddie, where do you sleep?”
There was much care put into your question, but the uneasy way it probed into his private life was evident in his change in demeanor.
He was slow to stand up from adjusting a side table out of the way, never quite unslouching the weight from his shoulders when he pushed his hood back to run a hand over his hair. The cuckoo clock on the wall ticked by as you watched him scratch his fingernails in tight circles on his scalp, roughing up his hair, never quite focusing his gaze on anything.
“Well,” he mumbled, gesturing at the lumpy couch cushions. “Here.”
Despite figuring as much, he never stated it bluntly, and to know another hardship of his reality squeezed your heart with sympathy.
He must’ve read the emotion on your face as pity, because his tone reflected an edge of annoyance; a deep-seated stress sneaking out when he spoke to those who didn’t get it. “Most of my paycheck goes to Adrie’s daycare. That shits expensive, and as much as I don’t want her growing up right in front of me, things will get better when she finally starts real school. I won’t be paying for that anymore, and I can start saving up, and maybe, y’know, start making some changes around here.” He spoke with his hands in a sad sort of shrug, waving at the trailer, though his gaze was cast down, and away from you. “But this is how it is, okay? I can’t do anything to fix it.” There was a haunting sort of pessimism that came from living in poverty. As much as he made statements about changing his life when he had more money, there was still the pile of bills in the kitchen, the numerous things in need of fixing around the house, Wayne’s truck on its last leg, and the fear of a random doctor visit wiping out his bank account. All of that resided in his tone.
You gripped his pillow harder, not sure what to say other than a hushed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
At that, he shook himself out of ruminating on his situation, and saw you were awkwardly twisting the pillowcase around your fingers, staring at the floor. He realized he messed up.
Every bit of him went soft for you. “Wait, wait, wait,” he soothed, striding three steps to you and cupping his palms around your upper arms. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. Not to you. Not when you’ve been the sweetest–seriously, the sweetest, and most generous person to me and Adrie. It–It, yeah, it hits a sore spot, talking about shit like having to sleep on the couch, but I didn’t mean to speak to you that way.” He finished with a final, sweet, but quick, and enunciated assurance, “I’m sorry.”
Overwhelmed by the whiplash in his change of attitude, followed by his sincere apology, you stammered, “Oh, uh, it’s okay. I understand why you reacted the way you did. It’s cool.”
At an impasse, you looked up at him. He stroked his thumbs over the cool outer layer of your jacket. Swish, swish, swish.
More, deeper. Swish, swish, swish.
You understood.
This was our first fight as whatever-we-are, and I’m showing you I can apologize instead of brushing it off and forgetting about it like I used to.
It was the mildest spat, yet it was a milestone for him.
“Seriously, we’re good,” you said, crushing the pillow to your chest.
Shifting the subject, he lightened the mood. “Also, did I mention how much I appreciate you coming over early, and playing with Adrie? The whole fort thing, going out of your way to get her movies, ‘nd making her run around like a maniac? Genius.”
“Yeah, yeah, put it on that ‘thank you’ tab you owe me,” you teased him, pulling away to set his bedding on top of his uncle’s.
“Soon!” he promised. He tapped at the side of his head. “Got some ideas brewing in here.”
“Not sure if I should be excited, or scared.”
Ah, his two-front-teeth-showing grin. Your favorite.
He laughed, and with your help, the couch was scooted away from the wall enough for the wood laminate fold-out table to be wiggled out from behind it at an angle which avoided knocking the mugs hanging from the shelf above it. You draped a tablecloth over it in a flourish. Eddie pressed the wrinkles out of the grid pattern, and began placing miniature standees from the shoeboxes onto the squares; parts of a village, cobblestone fences, and characters to fill out the town. When he didn’t need you anymore, you went to check on Adrie, and the moment you crawled inside the fort and she showed you the pajamas Eddie picked out for her earlier, there was a series of car honks outside.
Showtime.
“You ready, Miss Adrie?”
“Mhm!”
Tires crunched rocks in the makeshift driveway. Engines died. Noises, greetings, Eddie’s happiness grew louder, and louder. A group sounded off. Several sets of shoes scraped the cement steps, and in the amalgamation of voices was one above the rest, “Hey, looking good, man. Haven’t seen you since you almost killed my elven ranger before Christmas.”
You crawled backwards out of the fort, and caught Adrie’s hand before she ran out of the room.
From the living room, Eddie sucked his teeth, and dismissed his friend. “You had it coming all night with the way you were walking around not checking for traps.”
“It was one time! And besides–” The argument stopped. His blue eyes went wide with shock, outstretched arms drooping as he focused on something behind Eddie. He lowered the two six packs he was carrying. “A girl!”
Being led by an excited almost-five-year-old, you bolted around the kitchen counter, and raised your eyebrows at the blunt acknowledgement of your existence. You looked at Eddie, whose entire being depleted with a sigh.
With his head hung, he swept his arm towards you. “This is my friend from work. She’s playing with us tonight.” And under his breath, he muttered to the young man wearing a ballcap over his springy curls, “Be cool.”
He shoved a six pack at Eddie’s chest, and pursued you with his hand held out. “I’m Dustin! Eddie’s friend from high school, and previous Hellfire member,” he said, displaying a mouthful of adult braces.
“Dustin, it’s nice to meet you!”
Repeating people’s names back to them was a helpful memorization tool, but as your gaze shifted, the nerves of making a good first impression on Eddie’s friends sat heavy in your stomach.
The other guys on the stairs came up behind Dustin. In a rush, you were introducing yourself to the beginnings of a crowd stomping through the living room. Exchanging names and smiles and handshakes, you gripped Adrie’s tiny hand for support and said, “I’m the receptionist at the auto shop, that’s how I know Eddie.”
The one who approached you last–Gareth, drummer for Corroded Coffin–snapped his fingers, and exclaimed, “Oh! You’re the receptionist.”
“Alright, alright,” Eddie interjected, body and voice between you two. “Beer goes in the kitchen, and I’ll order pizza in a minute.”
He passed off the six pack to someone else.
Gareth reached into his leather jacket with a wicked, lopsided grin. “I brought something a little stronger than beer.” Though most of your vision was taken up by the back of Eddie’s shoulder, you caught a flash of amber liquid in a clear bottle, and a black label.
Kneeling beside you, Jeff–guitarist for Corroded Coffin–tilted his head down so Adrie could touch the wooden beads at the end of his short braids, and said to Eddie, “You know, since we’re havin’ it at your place again, why not make it memorable? Or not memorable,” he joked. “Maybe a sip for every roll under 13.”
Eddie gave him the Dad stare. “You’re gonna be shitfaced–Adrie, you didn’t hear that–by the time this is over, and I’m not organizing rides for all of you.”
“I’m driving tonight.” Lloyd–bassist for Corroded Coffin–jangled his car keys.
“And so am I,” a girl’s voice came from beyond the entryway everyone was crowding. “Now can we come inside before we freeze to death, or do you really think you can take on another basilisk without my help?”
A round of laughter gave way to the next group entering.
SWISH, SWISH, SWISH.
The girl at the helm of the windbreaker brigade went to the kitchen to drop off the case of beer straining her arms. (It seemed that was the payment of choice to the host.)
Sensing you were lost to the sea of faces, Eddie laid a comforting hand between your shoulder blades, and drifted it downwards to the small of your back. “That’s Erica, Max, and Lucas,” he told you in your ear.
Max held on tight to Lucas’ arm, taking smaller steps into the mixture of orange and blue-white lamps flooding the room tight with bodies, and shapes she was unfamiliar with.
“Aw, don’t you two look cute,” Gareth goaded them in an overly saccharine way.
Max groaned, “I told him it was lame.”
Whereas she shrank into her black and neon pink jacket, Lucas scoffed, and fueled her disgusted tongue click. “Matching windbreakers should be the least of your worries. You’re playing Dungeons and Dragons. You can’t get any lamer than that.” To finish, he popped the collar of his in a suave swish, and guided her into the kitchen.
She made a gagging sound, and Erica made one too.
————
While waiting for the last guest to arrive, the front door remained open. The glow from inside etched the peeling paint on the stair’s ornate handrail in gold. Warm laughter rolled out like fog into the dry frigid night, where neighbors could hear it. See it. Feel the vibrations of Eddie Munson’s friendship, support, weirdness being celebrated. Witness the joy others could not steal from him. They could observe the vehicles parked out front, listen to the rapture of claps when Adrie performed a song and dance, and taste the bitterness in their mouths when Eddie “The Freak” Munson continuously found his gaze drifting to the girl beside him, who beamed at him openly.
————
Fashionably late, a loud car turned into the trailer park; the obnoxious kind, where the motor rumbled like a death rattle, but in a cool way, because it was made to sound like that on purpose.
Eddie looked over his shoulder, and raised his hand at Mike. “Hey, man,” he whispered, keeping their conversation separate while everyone else was exchanging stories.
“Did you wanna check out the engine?” Mike bounced his eyebrows, swinging the keys to his bright yellow muscle car. “I installed it a few weeks ago.”
It was a tempting offer. He wasn’t opposed to car talk, nor freezing his hands off to fawn over the modifications Mike made to his beloved 1979 Mustang while in the big city for school, and, of course, Eddie was going to give him his usual spiel about working for David when he came back to Hawkins. However, he didn’t want to abandon the newest member to their party.
“In a min,” Eddie said to Mike, motioning with his head to come inside.
Assuming he’d just tossed his girl to the wolves, Eddie zoned into the conversation again, and rubbed his hand along your back. His palm passed over the warm spot on your jacket where he was comforting you before, and he glanced around the circle of his friends–tightly knit, and grinning at you.
He assumed wrong.
You weren’t shy, or intimidated to be the new person in a group of people who’d known each other for decades, failing to be heard over their easy banter and inside jokes. No. They were hanging onto your every word.
The group had gone hushed, captivated by your life. You had a knack for turning the mundane into marvelous enthrallments of relatable spectacular. Every sentence was more entertaining than the last. The punch lines landed, and kept coming. You worked them like a crowd–and when someone else shared a similar anecdote, you were asking questions, getting them to open up, and take the stage. This was you. You were in your element. You didn’t need Eddie.
“Oh! That reminds me of this one lady when I was waitressing in Philly..”
“In New York we had these huge pigeons that would..”
“Back home, there was this place on the corner where..”
Eddie took his hand away. The insulated warmth dissipated from his palm as he let it hang at his side. Your rolodex of stories separated you from him.
“Dude, you wanna talk about bad dates? This one time..”
“And then there was this guy who..”
“–Worst kiss ever.”
Details were spared–maybe because both he and Adrie were there–but the story beats were like stabs to his stomach. Clenched, sinking hot with envy. It wasn’t like him. Not really. He didn’t think so, anyway. But maybe he was wrong.
Jealousy prickled under his skin at every mention of ‘home’ and ‘date.’ He didn’t appreciate the heat to his cheeks, nor the loneliness of his hand reaching out for Adrie, only for her to notice him with a sleepy blink while she clung to your hips, and it was your fingers rubbing her little shoulder.
Of course he knew the subject of your stories, of course he knew you’d been on hundreds of dates, of course he knew you lived a larger life than him, but he’d never had to listen to the yearn in your voice when you spoke about the things you missed. The city, the people, being on stage. Performing, collecting stories, having dinners at sit-down restaurants. These were eccentricities integral to your design, and Eddie Munson had no place among them.
“Hey, Wheeler?” The lump in Eddie’s throat grew. Even Mike was transfixed on listening to you, forgetting about the keys in his hand. Leaning closer, he tapped on his friend’s teal raincoat to get his attention. “Mike? You wanted to show me your–?”
“Right!” Mike whipped his head around, sending his shaggy haircut bouncing in freshly styled waves. “Yeah, so I started with..” he trailed off, walking down the stairs, and out to the yard.
Before Eddie followed, he surveyed the group; Gareth was snickering his way through a story, while the rest of you went nauseous at his description of getting eighteen stitches, and replicating the sound of the needle popping through his skin.
“Babe?” he whispered under the group’s grossed out gasps, speaking the endearment for you only. Taking control, in a way, of his shame by reminding himself he could call you by a sweet nickname, and you’d answer.
You divided your attention, tipping your ear to him, and tearing your gaze from Gareth’s bizarre reenactment of how he fractured his tibia, and settling your eyes on Eddie’s Cupid’s bow when he made a request, “I’m gonna talk shop with Mike. Can you take over here? Get people settled, and Adrie in bed?”
“Of course, handsome.”
For couples, this is where he would duck to give you a kiss on the forehead, or bring you to his side for a hug and be on his way, and perhaps you gleaned those tentative actions when he hesitated on the lean-in, and sat in the subsequent awkwardness of playing it off as a friendly pat on your back when he realized, yeah, he’d never hugged you before.
You diffused the tension by laughing at him. Great.
As he rolled his eyes, you stopped him from leaving, and stepped away from the group.
“Where should we put our jackets?” you asked, pinching the zipper of yours.
Eddie paused in the middle of his gangly stride, and glanced at the two available hooks beside his leather jacket. It hadn’t started snowing or sleeting yet, so everyone’s coats would be dry. “Couch is fine.”
You said, “Cool,” and plunged your hand. In the blink of an eye, you had unzipped your jacket, and thrown your arms back, wiggling it down your shoulders and tugging it off by the cuffs. Underneath your jacket was a tight white tank top and unbuttoned flannel. A nice, fitted, ribbed shirt. Lower cut than anything you had worn at the auto shop, and clinging to your chest as you arched your back and shimmied out of your outer layer.
His gaze stalled.
You didn’t comment on it. He didn’t say anything, either, when his focus snapped to your face, and he read your sly smirk. Adrie, however, grew restless.
“I’m sleepy,” she whined.
“Okay, sweet bean,” you said, besotted by how little her hand was in yours. “C’mon, we can pick out the first movie to play in the fort, too.”
Eddie, thankful to have a distraction, and even more thankful you didn’t call out his obvious ogling, sank to his knees to give his little girl a goodnight hug and kiss. Part of him missed not being able to sit on the couch with her falling asleep on his chest, but the twelve peppered kisses to her cheek would have to suffice. He trusted you to take over the last few steps of Adrie’s night routine without his supervision, and sat back on his calves–after doting over her one last time by straightening out the long sleeves on her pajamas, and twirling the end of her braid around his finger.
“Night,” he kissed against her forehead.
“Night, Daddy,” she kissed back.
Kneeling on the carpet for a moment longer, he ran his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth at watching you walk away with her. He was hidden amongst the throng of legs, and deep conversation. Invisible for now.
Drop, by drop, his chest filled with tender emotions. A coffee pot of feelings he swore to suppress poured into his heart; brimming the edge, overflowing, bringing heat to those neglected hopes, longings, and desires. Minutes ago you spoke of home, and he was aware he was not owed the promise of you changing the location of home to within biking distance, but he could hope, because every second you spent with him and his daughter was another coin in the wishing well, sploshing the coffee over.
Soon, the overflow would trickle to his lungs. It would fill them up. It would reach his throat. It would coat his tongue, wet his mouth, and before he knew it, those confessions would be spilling into words for you to cup to your mouth and drink until you were as full as he was.
Or, he could suppress them tonight with alcohol. Just enough to dull the urge, but still act as Dungeon Master.
Or, the whiskey could loosen his tongue, and risky sentiments could flood over, one steady drop at a time.
Either way, he was drowning.
~~~
Diving into the true purpose of the evening, the party split between the kitchen and the table in the living room. Jeff went out to Lloyd’s truck, and brought in a long black case. Snapping the latches open, he took out an electric keyboard, and began setting it up in his lap while Gareth rapped his drumsticks on his thighs in a slow rhythm. In the bedroom, you fluffed up the blankets for Adrie to lay on, tucked the comforter to her chin, and brushed her bangs off her forehead while the blue flash of the Disney castle logo played across her heavy eyelids. Idling around the variety of beers on the kitchen counter, Max gripped one of the silver and red cans, and spun it around its plastic ring holder, straining to discern the label.
You came up behind her to let her know, “That one’s Bud Light.”
“Ew,” she frowned, “who would bring that?” She opted for the can of Pabst instead.
“Some people have no tastes.”
On cue, Dustin wove his way through Lucas’ and Erica’s argument over which Mortal Kombat character was the best, adding a quick, “Liu Kang, obviously,” and snapped a silver can from the ring pack. He looked from you to Max. “What?”
Shifting from the secret giggles rising in your chests, she shrugged. “Nothing!”
He squinted at her, not buying it. Cracking the tab, he took a sip, and then you became the subject of interest. “So,” he started, “how long have you and Eddie been friends?”
Perplexion drew Max’s eyebrows together.
Aware of where this was going, you got your own beer, and carried an airy, casual tone while popping the cap, “Oh, just a few months, since I moved here with my roommate–Robin, if you know her.” His expression answered for you, arching in an ‘ah!’ of understanding.
Max, though, was stuck on another detail. “Wait, you and Eddie aren’t dating? I thought–I figured since he’s never invited anyone here before, and his daughter was, like, holding onto you?”
“Yeah, Adrie’s pretty fond of me, I think,” you answered, hiding your own secret behind the glass bottle to your lips. “And Eddie’s cool, too, I guess.”
“Well, I don’t know about him being cool, per se–” she was cut off.
Blurs of black and teal tumbled in rivers of frosted breath, and clattering teeth. Mike shivered life into his limbs on his way to the sink to run his hands under hot water. Eddie’s cheeks and nose were tinted frosty red as he wiped the dirt from his numb fingers onto his hoodie, and pulled his wallet from the junk drawer to check it for cash.
His brown eyes zeroed on you first, Dustin’s wiry mug second, and Max’s tilted lips third.
As he picked up the phone to dial for pizza delivery with his grease-scraped knuckle, he warned in a playful inflection, “You better not be telling her embarrassing stories about me.”
“Oh, no!” Max promised him. “I didn’t even tell her about how I used to live across from you, and caught you–on numerous occasions–sweeping the porch while blasting ABBA, and screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. While drunk.” She didn’t need to see him from across the kitchen to feel the heat of his glare, and duel it with another cool shrug, defeating him with ease when the pizza place picked up, and he had to stumble over his order.
Once the hurdle of dinner was out of the way, the drinks of choice sweated under the cozy temperature of ten bodies packed like sardines at the table, and with Eddie at the helm of it all, the game commenced.
He set forth a toast. Affection swelled in his even gaze sweeping over his friends who had come to join him in his home, acknowledging the growth behind his ordinary request. He couldn’t speak it without a nervous tremble, no, but they understood. They understood. With pride, his eyelashes twinkled at the outer corners where mirth gathered, and his broad grin creased a slew of Crow’s feet into cascading to his smile lines with his dimple nestled between them. His silent gratitude thanked the room, and when he reached Jeff at his right hand side, Eddie flicked his eyes to the opposite end of the table, and brought the whiskey to his lips.
The room refracted beautifully in the carved edges of the smokey gray tumbler. It was silly, almost, how the squat glass vanished behind his large palm and thick fingers. Sillier, even, when you noticed these things and your heart pumped a little faster.
Sat at the far end across from him, you raised your beer, and sipped.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages,” he spoke in increasing speed and passion, descending into a lower octave as he stood and loomed over his dividers of books, binders, and folders acting as a shield to his Dungeon Master antics, “I present to you, the port town of Irrilis!”
He bowed, and swept his arms over the miniature display.
Sitting back, he guided everyone into the scene. Between describing the smell of the briny sea, the itch of stale sweat mixed with dried blood on their bodies, and the creak of wooden planks under their feet, he expertly wove lore into details of the town, comparing the afternoon sun on the backs of their necks to the stares they were getting. The townsfolk were not expecting newcomers this evening, apparently; and to finish the introduction, he cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed the caw of seagulls perched atop a gnarled bulletin board. When it became clear the fishermen were not interested in speaking to Lloyd’s tiefling, he asked if there was a guard nearby instead. Instantly, Eddie became one. He donned a constant salute, and rigid posture with a nasty curl on his lip, speaking in stunted sentences with a broadened chest.
Watching him perform was mesmerizing.
Your vision narrowed as if you were going lightheaded, highlighting Eddie at the center with sharpened colors. His broad movements coaxed you in, his ability to switch both his pitch and accent raced in your ears, his creature cadence hummed nostalgia along the back of your mind like an old memory of observing another actor on stage mastering their craft. Time forgot to start. He stole a glance in your direction and you were washed in humility. He was gauging your reaction to his geekiness, and whatever he saw, whatever was written in your expression, rewarded his vulnerability. Confidence set his face aglow; power in the way he beheld you. And you praised him by sitting forward, affixing him with all your adoration, considering yourself fortunate to be in his presence.
After all, you’d been enchanted by Eddie Munson since the first day he stomped past your desk with a fierce scowl aimed at the ground, and now? Now he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.
~~~
As with most DND adventures, the fun began at a tavern.
The group had spent too much time with Eddie as their DM, they knew the bulletin board was a red herring, so they explored the city until they found the seediest bar tucked into the end of an alleyway.
You were reading over the details Eddie wrote for you on your character sheet when you were snatched to the present by an array of sounds.
Eddie strummed down on his acoustic guitar, and silenced the vibration with his palm. He then plucked a slow, seeking, progression, circling back until Jeff harmonized on his keyboard, and they nodded their heads in sync while Gareth found the tavern’s beat with the ends of his drumsticks on the edge of the table. Lloyd angled his chair to put his guitar in his lap, and chased the melody quietly under Eddie’s, at a slower tempo.
To be captivated by someone, wholly immersed in their quirks and nature, is to cherish them, and as you played audience to your friend’s natural charisma and ability to impress you in new ways after months of knowing him, your chest panged with the ache to cherish him completely.
You were one beer deep on an empty stomach, and you were already intoxicated by him.
Their song continued as he laid out the exposition of the tavern, and as a party, everyone sat at the bar, or snuck around invisible to glean information. And that’s where you came in–
Jeff changed his tune to have a mysterious dissonance.
Erica’s rogue sidled in beside you at a table, and smoothly asked you a variety of questions: how long you’d been in town, if you knew of the disappearances, or had any encounters with the rumor of the undead lurking outside the kingdom.
You… You looked at your orc’s low intelligence on the paper, and seeing as how you were an improv artist, you roleplayed.
Inhaling a mighty breath, you filled out your not-so-intimidating frame with imaginary muscle, and shot out your hand. “I’m Gary!” you exclaimed, rough and tough.
The guitars stopped on a screech.
Pause.
Eddie covered his mouth. His eyebrows peaked sentimentally. And once his shoulders shook, and his snort squeaked out like a dying sprinkler, everyone laughed. In your periphery, they each reacted differently–all having their unique outbursts at your blunt introduction. Erica, too, giggled as she shook your hand. They were laughing with you. Definitely with you when Jeff chose a sillier ditty to play, and the guys matched him, upbeat and excited for you to wholeheartedly participate in their game.
Soon, your orc joined their party, and a series of clues earned from armwrestling other bar patrons led you down several paths to take, and after finding a lost tome near an underground jail cell (thanks to Dustin’s constant perception checks), your group was led outside, past Irrilis’ stone walls, and to their dying crops.
Mike scooped a collection of dice into his hand after, somehow, engaging in combat with a scarecrow, and began shaking them.
There was a bang at the door.
Mike jumped, uncupping his palms mid-shake, and the dice went flying. He caught three–snatched them right out of the air–and before they ricocheted off his fingers to add to the clatter on the table, he began to juggle them. One, two, three, four perfect rotations, and he set them down.
Eddie hadn’t yet stood up from his chair when his gaze wandered to yours, and he cut you a cheeky, significant grin. You shot him an exaggerated sneer in return. Stupid juggling.
He managed to not trip over the scattered mix of boots and tennis shoes mingling around the entrance, and balanced the exchange of cash for a stack of white cardboard boxes his eyes and handsome nose peeked over on his way to sliding them onto the kitchen counter.
“Orders up, boys.”
As grease soaked into paper plates, and another round of drinks were poured by Gareth’s heavy hand, you were all ushered into the next leg of the game.
Jeff played low notes as background mood music for your party when you came upon your next encounter: ghouls. They were low level, easy to defeat even if there were many, but it was an opportunity for Erica to teach you the different dice. Max leaned over, and helped you keep track of your abilities, and if you could execute them from where you stood on the grid.
When it was Max’s turn to roll for attack and damage in the rotation, she did so in a shallow wooden tray between her and Lucas. The dice tumbled around, pinged the sides, and came to a stop where Lucas could read the numbers, and do the math.
Least to say, she decimated her target.
Erica’s rogue on the other hand rolled a number Eddie was ambivalent towards.
“Convince me you can sneak up on him,” he proposed, squinting over his steepled fingers, and leaning back in his chair. They seemed to butt heads a lot, if her eye roll was anything to go off of.
She stood up from the table, and snapped her fingers at Mike to act as her overly large zombie. “C’mon.”
He groaned, “Not again,” but did as he was told, standing not unlike a limp noodle with a flat stare into the distance as she listed off her character’s skills for Eddie, and hooked her arm around Mike’s throat, bending him backwards over her pencil (pretend knife) to his back. She even shuffled him to where Eddie could acknowledge the poison on the tip of her blade would enter his kidney. He argued the undead did not have functioning kidneys, but conceded her efforts.
It was your turn next, but as you were mulling over the ghouls on the grid in front of your figurine, the rest of the table went silent.
The bedroom door creaked open, and soft footsteps padded out onto the kitchen vinyl. Eddie jerked his head up from behind the dividers. Gareth scooted his chair in, assuming Adrie was going to squeeze by on her way to her dad, but there was no need..
She wedged herself between you and Max, and splayed her arms across your lap. With her cheek to your thigh, she sighed, pitifully, “The movie stopped, and my head hurts.”
“Oh, no,” you consoled her in your silly Children’s Television Program presenter voice. “Is it the braids? They can be so un-com-for-table to sleep in.” Perhaps you instilled too much confidence in the pizza to soak up the alcohol, because you were now two beers and a few sips of whiskey deep into the ‘overly affectionate’ stage of your tipsiness. You collected the sleepy girl to your lap, and enveloped her in a bone crushing hug, rocking yourselves back and forth, fawning each other in a happy hum, unaware of the bewildered stares boring into you as you pressed a kiss above her ear.
The men around the table exchanged confused looks with each other, then threw suspicious glances at Eddie, who appeared struck by Cupid. The girls, much more intuitive and observant, smiled at the sweet scene.
She sat sideways across your legs, and kept a hand crooked into your flannel’s collar while you slipped the yellow bauble ponytail from one of her braids, and loosened the plaits. “Do you wanna roll for me?” you asked her, working through the tangles.
Thrilled to participate in her dad’s game, she woke up just enough to say, “Yeah!”
Max felt for your dice, and handed her the largest.
Instead of Adrie letting go of you to cup her hands around it and shake, she pelted it at the table, and after narrowly missing the LEGO skeleton standees, it came to a stop.
“Eight,” Lloyd said with a hint of regret.
You asked Eddie, “Is that enough to hit?”
“It, uh–” The table’s full attention turned towards the Dungeon Master. He dropped his gaze to his notebook, and traced his finger over the dog-eared page. The pressure of their anticipation manifested in his bouncing knee, masking the tremble that would be present in his words regardless when he answered, “Y-Yeah, yeah. That, uh, that hits.”
The party squirmed with awareness; pressed lips ready to burst.
Oblivious, you put the smaller dice in Adrie’s hand, and added up the numbers when she tossed them. “Eleven!” With your turn done, you unraveled the rest of her other braid, and combed your fingers through her hair, circling them on her scalp to give her some relief. Speaking to her, you said, “Wanna count to eleven while we pick another movie?” She started counting automatically.
There was another whisper in her ear, and she hopped off your lap with her arms raised. You cooed a small, “Thought so,” and picked her up, settling her on your hip. Knowing it was Jeff’s turn, and you wouldn’t be needed for a while, you pushed the bedroom door open with your foot, and closed it behind you the same way.
And the very second it clicked shut, the table erupted.
“Jesus, dude, you’re gonna impregnate your coworker if you keep staring at her like that.”
“Ew,” and “Gross,” came from Max and Erica respectively.
Eddie jolted from his trance, mentally erasing the sway of your ass from his mind. His cheeks seared vicious red at Gareth’s comment.
With more tact, Dustin lilted, “So, just a friend from work, huh?” His blue eyes sparkles with mischief, matching the upturn at the corner of his lips, foretelling no good from this interaction, either.
“A friend,” Jeff added, “that he has the biggest crush on.”
Gareth rolled his bottom lip inward, and cocked his head. “More like she’s his babysitter with benefits.”
Loathing the obvious sheen of sweat rushing to his face, Eddie warned him with a pointed finger. “Don’t call her that.” He swung to Dustin next. “And she is my friend, and my coworker,” he stated evenly, putting emphasis on the last word.
Being the voice of reason in these situations, but not entirely on his side, Lloyd told the younger members, “Around the time they started working together, he started coming to band practice not entirely in a bad mood. A few weeks ago, he was even smiling. Apparently they had this little Christmas party, and there was mistletoe–”
“Shut it!”
“You kissed her?” Lucas gasped.
Gareth was the one to knock the gossipy housewife wind from his sails. “No,” he scoffed with a laugh. “He was too much of a pussy.”
Several of the guys snickered, and one said, “So no benefits, then.”
Reining in his volume, Eddie warned them again in a low tone, “I’m well within my right to not want to make things weird between us if it doesn’t work out. I have to see her every day, regardless.” It was one of his oldest excuses in the book, and to be honest with himself, he dismissed it a long time ago. He no longer feared making things awkward, or tampering with your friendship.. but he wasn’t about to explain his real insecurities to so many people at once.
No one needed to know the true reason behind why he hadn’t asked you out yet.
No one had to know why he walked away when you spoke of ‘dating’ and ‘home.’
It was to protect himself, so no one had to look at him with pity when he explained he wasn’t a good enough reason for you to stay in Hawkins past the end of summer. Instead, he defaulted, “We’re just friends.”
Erica was gentle in her approach. “If we’re all just friends here, then why don’t we get matching bracelets made by your daughter?” On instinct, he tugged his sleeve over his wrist to conceal D-A-D-D-Y. “I saw hers when she was messing with Adrienne’s hair.” She saw M-O-U-S-E. “And if you’re just friends, why doesn’t Adrie ever want to be held by us? Or hugged by us? I honestly thought she didn’t like to be coddled by anyone besides you, but then that just happened..”
The questions sank in Eddie’s stomach. It cooled the frustration from his furrowed brow, and eased the tension from around his eyes. He didn’t have a satisfactory answer for the group, but he could share something close enough to the truth, it might better help them understand his hang ups. But first, he downed the rest of his double on the rocks.
Wincing after his swallow, he set down the glass, and ran the heel of palm along the edge of the table. “I’m taking things slow,” he said, “and you all know why. Okay?” Shrugging a bit, he lifted his eyebrows and spoke again to his binders, focusing on his campaign notes rather than his friends. “I only told her everything, y’know, about what happened to me a few weeks ago, so I’m still giving it some time. And, obviously, yeah it’s a big deal having a kid, and her getting attached to someone else.”
“Aw, he’s in love,” someone said.
Exuding patience by closing his eyes, he continued, “Right, so, if you wanna tell her some less embarrassing stories about me, maybe even make me look good in front of her.. I’d really appreciate it.” He ended with a beckoning clap, as if he were striking a deal with the blisters in his life.
“Or,” Mike asserted, “I can roll to hit this ghoul, and if it succeeds, you have to ask her out tonight.” Before Eddie could respond, Mike puffed a lucky breath into his cupped hands, and bounced the dice across the grid. “Thirteen!”
“Aw, sorry, man. Doesn’t hit.”
Vitriol bit into his snark, “Oh, really? Thirteen doesn’t hit, but eight does? Give me a break.” The more his face pinched into a sour expression at Eddie’s stubborn favoritism, the more wickedness laced itself in the Dungeon Master’s smug grin.
Gareth was contributing another goading remark about breaking strict rules if they benefited Eddie’s chances for getting good pussy, but the squeal of the door knob turning interrupted him.
It was noticeably quieter when you sat down at the table, beaming at the mixed signals of people avoiding your gaze, and meeting it with the type of excessive smile you gave a stranger after you were just talking about them behind their back. “So, whose turn is it?” Jeff raised his hand sheepishly. “Oh, you guys didn’t have to wait for–for me!” You hardly got through the sentence before you were giggling into your drink.
Fear not, Gareth broke the underlying tension. “Hey, did Eddie ever tell you he used to walk out on stage with a rose in his mouth, until” –he motioned at the corner of his lips with a grimace– “he cut himself on the thorns one too many times. Ow!”
Gareth clutched at his foot, and the men shot off rapid fire communication through sharp hand gestures, and widened eyes.
Jeff played the Jaws theme.
“Is that true?” you whispered to Lucas.
Lloyd shouted, “Can we get back to the game?”
Still red in the face, Eddie turned to him with his arms extended graciously. “Yes! Thank you! Let’s get back to the game.”
Adjusting his chair under himself, Eddie the Dungeon Master sat with the distinct grace of someone who went unopposed. Wispy curls of his hair caught the wind, drifting in frazzled layers wherever they pleased. The buttons and pins on his jean vest glittered, and tinked together. His lungs expanded with a long, held breath, stretching the black hoodie over his chest. When no one challenged his unceasing eye contact, he continued, “The ghouls were nigh..”
————
The night matured.
Dustin and Lloyd championed your party to an underground cave where the source of the undead were conjured. Eddie heralded your arrival by opening the box beneath his chair, screwing together something behind his barrier of DND lore, and bringing it to his mouth.
You shouldn’t be surprised by him, yet again, but the fact he played flute was just as adorable as his playful grin straining his plush lips to the metal, and his round doe-eyes flitting to yours, and away.
The notes he played grew increasingly haunting, turning intense during the battle with the necromancer who started this all. Then, as the foe turned to dust, Eddie trilled higher, and higher notes. Sillier, and sillier as Dustin looted the robes he left behind.
Everything about Eddie’s expression was impish when the group asked if the scroll found in the pocket was written in common tongue.
“Why, as a matter of fact it is,” he said, much too cheerful, and trilled an incensing measure.
He was being a menace, and the group began to sag with dread.
Dustin’s words were laced with suspicion and regret. “What does it say?”
“Let’s see! It says..” Eddie held up a prop coil of tea-stained parchment, and cleared his throat to don a brittle old man's voice, “I was a lonely necromancer who missed my wife, children, friends, and family. I was merely resurrecting them to have companionship, and you attacked me for nought. I hope you are happy with yourselves, and can sleep at night.” He abandoned the paper to incite violence in his quick succession of notes on the flute. “The dying crops are not my fault. The soil simply has too many minerals from the estuary near Irrilis, and the quarry to the north.” Peering at the blank sheet fallen to his notebook, he faked confusion, “And it says down here, in teeny-tiny writing, ‘You should have checked the bulletin board.’”
Dustin dropped his head into his hands. “You son of a bitch.”
The rest of the quests went smoother, you supposed. After returning to Irrilis and checking the bulletin board, the party’s findings led to the library, which led to a murder, which led to a mystery, which led to finding an object which had the group gasping in surprise. Apparently, the Crimson Order’s emblem on the second dead person’s body, and bite marks on the neck had a long history within the group. The next big campaign was vampire related. You celebrated along with them, cheersing the end of your whiskey, and chasing it with some much needed water.
~~~
Raw twilight bloomed behind heavy set clouds pulling flutters of white against the black.
The night winded down with more fetch quests sending the party deeper into the woods, and to the edge of the mountains. It would take several more sessions to cover the terrain beyond, or something like that. Something, something tales of a labyrinth or some sort before the vampire castle. Your memory was a little fuzzy. Going with the flow of music, whether it was the mellow strums of Lloyd’s guitar, the muffled notes of Jeff’s keyboard, Gareth’s battle march, or the dark piece Eddie played when he introduced an object of interest; your focus muddled with the jokes, the lore, the alcohol. The whiskey burned less, and the oaky honey thrived. You surrendered to the passage of time–interrupted, briefly, when the man sat opposite you answered every one of the boy’s questions with a riddle, and his rascally cackle at their irritation stole another piece of your heart. Falling deeper, and deeper. And deeper for him.
~~~
The early witching hours feasted on the weary adults who were no longer able to pull all-nighters. The game was over for now, and the group packed their things away.
Max asked you, “Did you have fun?”
“Yes!” you blurted. “I didn’t really know what I was getting into, but the atmosphere was so cool. Eddie really knows how to put on a show, huh? And hey, finding fragments of a dragon’s egg shell in a game called Dungeons and Dragons was pretty neat.”
Her laugh brought music to her affirmation, “Yeah, he’s a pretty good DM, and we’ve been hunting the dragons for two years now. Do you think you’ll play with us next month?”
“Totally!”
“Nice.”
Lucas dragged his hand down her arm, and placed the black and neon pink windbreaker in her awaiting palm. She zipped it over her cozy college sweatshirt. They were at the back of the congestion, shuffling around the living room, straying behind the chaos of stumbling adults doubling over to laugh at their clumsiness and inability to find their shoe’s match.
While waiting, you watched several of the guys clasp Eddie’s shoulder as they passed, and placed money in his hand. Oh. Shit. Your gaze snapped to the scattered stack of pizza boxes in the kitchen, and shame licked your cheeks. It never occurred to you to pay for your share.
Quickly, you found your puffer jacket under Mike’s raincoat, and wrangled some cash from the pockets. Your stride went wobbly between the table, chairs, couch, shoes, and bumbling grownups in the cramped trailer, but you squeezed your way to him. He was beginning his goodbyes smushed against the breakfast bar, not quite able to reach the front door just yet.
“Here,” you said, shoving a crumpled $20 at his arm.
Pausing his conversation with Jeff, he twisted to see you over the curve of his shoulder, and absorbed your apologetic face before noticing the money. His lips ticced at the corners. His nostrils flared with a soft snort. Amusement crinkled at the corner of his eyes. “Not from you,” he said. “Why don’t you go check on Adrie for me?”
“Oh.” A confused, maybe disappointed ‘oh.’ “If you’re sure.”
Fighting an internal battle, you stuffed the $20 in your jeans, and held true to your frown. You were about to argue, but your brain registered what he’d asked you to do. “Adrie!” you whispered excitedly, and made finger guns towards the bedroom.
You scurried (yes, scurried) off, and left Eddie to fend for himself.
Jeff was twisting his hand around his chin in mock rumination. “She doesn’t have to pay, hmm?”
“Not my place to comment,” Gareth said, about to make a comment, “but maybe you should think about cashing in those benefits.” He paused, drunkenness slowing him into a contemplative stare. “Or at least fu–”
“Anyway!” Erica saved the situation by pushing past all of them to wrench the door open. “Well.. that sucks.”
Icy flakes floated in pendulum swings to the ground, where they stuck.
Eddie stood on his tip-toes to study the severeness over his friend’s heads. The weather appeared to be in its mild beginnings, not yet falling in a considerable sheet from the sky, but still, he was a dad, and he was prone to worrying. The party hardly finished lacing up their shoes, and he was making them promise they’d call him as soon as they got home. They’d barely walked down the steps, and he was there at the bottom, holding his arm out. “Seriously, call me as soon as you get home,” he warned each household.
And it was only once the last car’s tail lights trailed red streaks over the main road, he went inside.
The trailer wept with emptiness. Remnants of being fulfilled remained–the trash, the lingering body heat, and stuffy air–but it sighed with loneliness. The trailer was pent up. In need of decompressing after the hours of putting on a show, and in a constant state of overthinking, entertaining his friends while fighting the itch deep in his chest that said ‘I wish none of these people were here except for you.’
The trailer longed for you, searching the couch, the card table, the kitchen where the bottle of whiskey was left behind. The trailer sought you in the corners of its belly, its lungs, its head, leaving the heart for last.
Eddie pushed open the bedroom door, and you were not in his daughter's bed. He lurched further into the room. Needy for the heart. And he found it. He found his home..
A pair of adult legs stuck out from the entrance to the blanket fort.
Judging by the angle of your feet and your knee tucked into the other, you were laying on your side. The powder pink bedsheet gathered in folds around your lower thighs. Strings of Christmas lights pressed against the shelter, and the TV flicked bright colors as it played a movie on a low volume.
Daring, his fingertips encountered the coarse weave of your jeans on his way to lift the bedsheet keeping your sleeping form separated from his greedy gaze. Stealing moments where he could be learning your face, placed a precious snore away from his daughter’s, sharing the pillow with her curls and unicorn hugged to her chin. Inhaling silently, and exhaling in a quick breath, not yet catching the sound in your throat akin to a mumbly whine at the dream playing under your twitching eyelids.
The sheet draped the back of his neck.
Risking, he traced the rugged outer seam of your jeans. Starting at your printed socks, and traveling up your calf, over the rigid mountain peaks of stiff fabric creased around your knee, and discovering the squish of your leg under his prodding. His eyes were trained on your face. He slipped his palm over your upper thigh. A gentle warmth of his presence. Next, he cupped the curve of your knee, fitting it into his hand, and he continued his stroke downwards, tightening his fingers to your shin, and stopping to squeeze your ankle. You didn’t stir.
He shifted closer, widening his stand and ducking under the canopy to reach your face.
Leaning over you, he anchored his balance to your hip, relaxing his hold on the arch of bone shaped like a strung bow, and dragged his other knuckles along your cheek. Three fingers worth. Three opportunities for him to press his skin to your hairline, and brush them along the flat plane before the adorable round apples he knew to be relaxed under the surface while you dozed.
You were soft. So unexpectedly soft.
Courageous, smooth peach fuzz welcomed a fourth knuckle. A simple sweep of the back of his hand to your face. Feeling you. All of you. Insatiable.
His breathing grew heavier at the hunger.
Stomach clenching from the craving of more.
Heart, starved.
It was animalistic, but you weren’t afraid. No, you weren’t afraid when you twitched and slapped at your cheek, expecting a fly to be tickling you in your sleep, but as you awoke, you prodded at the confusing obstruction, and glided your fingers along the underside of his. Plump ridges punctuated by hard calluses with scratchy outlines. You recognized them by touch alone, and fought through the pain of your bloodshot eyes to peer up at the man looming above you, and yawned.
“No boys allowed,” you whispered through the groggy haze.
Oh, he nearly let his tipsy tongue admit too much to your dopey grin.
Eddie could tell he was smiling hard enough his vision suffered from his encroaching cheeks. His eyes were inundated by his happiness, nearly closed to slits from how hard he beamed when he slid from gaze from you, to his daughter who enacted the ‘No Boys’ rule, and to you again. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, withdrawing.
He helped you stand. With difficulty. The whiskey hurled you into a premature REM cycle, and without consideration, he roused you from its depths. In your drowsy state, you clung to him for stability, depending on his chest to support you. Not that he was complaining. He was reliable, compensating for your swaying by grasping your upper arms, and teasing you with a, “Whoa there, silly.”
Stood outside the closed bedroom, there was not a chance for gaps to stop your lower inhibitions. Alone, you were together. In the same hallway where there was a thrifted painting of a lake scene hung beside the bathroom, a shelf with a set of wooden ducks amongst the ceramic knick knacks, a doorway where he ate his oatmeal while watching you and Adrie play. Those points of interest were all there; you were familiar with them, even if you struggled to open your eyes.
You fawned over him, snickering at nothing until your features tensed into confusion, not understanding the bits of ice clinging to the fibers of his hoodie, scraping at them with your fingernail. You collapsed into him more, leaning your forearms on his steady frame, rising and falling, accepting the lullaby of his pleased hum. The very outline of your torso discovered his, giving him a taste of your warmth; comforting you both with the actuality of such a thing. You skimmed your fingers up to his hair, picking at the sloshy liquid burdening the ends of his curls. “Why’re you wet?” you mumbled.
“It’s snowing,” he repeated from earlier, when the rush of standing whooshed in your ears, rendering him an otherworldly voice from beyond. “It’s not bad, but like hell I’m about to let you bike home in it. If you wanna give me some time to eat and have a cup of coffee, I can sober up and drive you, sweet girl,” he finished like hot honey.
You circled your palms over his pecs with the lack of awareness a blissfully buzzed person would for the lone reason of wanting to experience the texture of his hoodie burn your skin from the friction. “But wouldn’t you have to wake Adrie up to bring her with us?”
“I would, but she’ll be fine. She’ll probably fall asleep in the car.”
“No, no, no,” you shushed him, losing your merry smile for the first time in hours. “Robin’s working very, very, very late tonight. She’ll probably be off her shift soon. She can pick me up. And my bike can fit in her trunk, unlike your tiny car.” Many of your words mushed together from your drowsy, drowsy, drowsy imploring.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah! I’ll call her, and hey, we can clean up while she’s on her way.” When his expression was less than enthused at the suggestion, you waggled your eyebrows, and bit your bottom lip, enticing him. “We can make it fun,” you tried. “You know, we’ll play music, drink some more, eat whatever pizza’s left.” You walked your fingers up his shoulders, and he smoothed his hands around your wrists, flattening your palms to his clavicle.
Eddie lowered his head until he managed to peer at you through his lashes, asking a condescending, but lighthearted question, “That’s what you wanna do? Help me clean?”
You reaffirmed, “It’ll be fun.”
“Fine by me, sweetheart. Go call Buckley.”
The plans were put on pause while you called the back office of the grocery store, but after a short conversation, and many twirls of the cord around your finger, your voice lightened with relief, “Thank you so, so much. I love you.”
You hung up, and spun around to tell Eddie the fabulous news.
The two glass tumblers on the kitchen counter were assuming. Filled with ice cubes from the blue plastic tray in the sink, and situated in front of the opened whiskey. There was a decent amount left–a fourth of the entire bottle, probably–and he didn’t need to hear you repeat Robin’s message about her getting off work soon to unscrew the cap and begin pouring.
No distinct emotion crossed his face when divided an even shot into each of the smokey gray glasses, and paused the bottle above yours to ask, “So, what kind of drunk are you?”
The ice cracked and popped as it melted.
“Giggly, touchy,” you supposed.
He tipped the bottle and added another healthy shot to yours. You raised your eyebrows at his boldness, and scoffed out the same question, “What kind of drunk are you?”
“Hm.” He propped his hand on the counter, and cocked his hip out, staring out into the living room. You studied his side profile from where you stayed by the telephone, most notably how his light wash jeans gathered around the bulk of his zipper again; hoodie tucked behind the handcuff belt buckle. The weathered silver metal glinted an edge of orange from the lamp beside the microwave, shifting as he rocked his weight to his other foot. “Stupid, I think,” he said finally. “I make stupid decisions, ‘nd shit.”
“Are you trying to make stupid decisions tonight?”
His features kicked up, and instead of giving you a verbal answer, he brought the bottle up and dropped his head back.
“Eddie!” you gawked.
Your mouth hung open in awe, stunned into silently watching the bubbles race to the top of the amber liquid chugging ever closer to the neck of the bottle being strangled in his white-knuckled grip. His eyes were screwed shut, body tensed and struggling to finish it off, lips pursed in a kiss around the opening. Each gulp sent his Adam’s apple jumping.
He threw his head forward. The bottle slammed on the counter, final sips of liquid sloshing in waves along the bottom. He caught the dribble falling from his chin with his sleeve, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. All of him shuddered. Teeth bared as he grimaced through the burn, eyebrows furrowed in mild regret.
After the last jerk of shoulders battling the aftershocks of disgust, you mimicked his parental exasperation, “What in the world are you doing?”
Making a stupid decision.
A tight line of water flooded his eyes. He ran his fingers over his shy smile, turning to look at you with a particular brand of sheepishness usually reserved for teenagers who were trying to impress their friends. “I only had two drinks the entire night. I’m just catching up to you.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He agreed.
“Bobbie’s still gonna be a while,” you said on your way to grabbing your drink, now wondering if you were going to be the more sober one in half an hour. “Shall we get to cleaning?”
He lifted his tumbler by picking it up by the rim and clinked it to yours, but refrained from taking a sip when you did. Thankfully. “Wayne’s got some jazz records in the crate next to the record player, where the TV is.. Well, where the TV was. On that cabinet beside his bed.. If you’d just.. Look over there.. Okay, why are you staring at me?”
Memorizing the freckle of the side of his nose to your heart’s content, you shrugged. “You blush a lot.”
“Do not,” he denied in a mutter. He felt his cheek, poking and prodding and smashing at the skin being tugged down by his pouty frown. “It’s just the alcohol.”
“Ah.”
You sipped, swallowed, and snickered on your way to the record player cabinet, weaving through the staggered chairs untucked from the table. You laughed again. Just the alcohol, he said. Yet, he’d been flushed red all night. Or, at least, since he bragged about his seven inches.
~~~
The soundtrack for cleaning was a 25th Anniversary edition of a label’s best live performances over the years.
Various artists scored the yucky business of folding and stacking the chairs against a spare wall, trying not to envision a spider popping out at any moment from where it may be laying in wait under the seats. A fun upbeat tambourine number played when Eddie knocked over Wayne’s beard trimmer in the bathroom. Wondrous vocals warbled against your game of wadding up the used napkins and tossing them at the trashcan, while Eddie flung the paper plates like frisbees until both of you tired, and threw them away as normal. Brass horns vibrated under your hands and knees as you crawled around on the floor, finding all the crushed beer cans. Lazy drum beats coaxed both of your languid movements into the sort of drunken erraticism that came from being buzzed, gesturing without much consideration for sharp corners, or breakable things. He packed away his miniatures while you wiped down the counters, and he washed the dishes while you attempted to sweep up crumbs from the grid table cloth and fold it into a neat-ish square.
The record stopped.
A break ensued. You drank the rest of your whiskey, and Eddie searched every pizza box, divvying out the last slices for you to share over wordless respite, heads drooping, chewing slowly.
After washing the greasy cornmeal from his hands, and wiping the flour from around his mouth, he suggested, “Why don’t you put on the yellow record? Third from the end, on the left.”
You found the one he spoke of–golden yellow–and put the needle to it.
Together, you hauled out the dense vintage couch the few inches it required; done in dozens of centimeters, yanking on the ugly upholstery until your fingernails ached, and arms gave up. Eddie was rushing you, annoyingly so. Hurrying on in anguish, the table was flipped on its side, and its legs folded in. It was stuffed against the wall after some difficulty (the mugs remained intact), and after shoving the hulking piece of furniture to close the gap, you fell to the lumpy cushions with an exhausted groan.
You went boneless. Arms and legs landing wherever. Head lulling to the side. Eyes closed. Relaxed. Drifting off to the place where you were in the blanket fort at an alarming rate..
The song switched.
“May I have this dance?”
You opened your eyes.
Eddie’s hand came into focus. He was bent at the waist, extending an invitation. Reciprocating. Making true on his promise for the dance he owed you. It seemed so long ago; back when you knew him as a single dad who was private about his personal life. Now you knew. You knew his home, his past, his trauma, his notebook, his friends, his band, his daughter’s favorite stuffed toy named Fluff. You knew his pizza order (cheese with black olives), his favorite color (deep, sultry red), his laundry detergent (Cheer Free for extra sensitive skin). You knew his body temperature ran like a furnace, you knew the knot of pink scar tissue on the meat of his thumb, you knew the shimmery flecks of butterscotch in his eyes when he went teary. In the span of a few days, you knew him better than you did weeks ago, before Christmas.
You took his hand. He helped you stand, and in a brave exhale, he held you in timeless elegance.
It wasn’t like the dance before, where you minded the respectable distance two coworkers should. No. He still clasped your right hand in his left, sure, but from there the similarities to waltzing in the garage differed. Reservation did not stop at the top of his neck, or his bicep–you switched your friendly clasp from those safe areas, to introducing your torsos, and pinning his arm under yours in effort to reach the middle of his back. He enveloped your waist, coaxing your hips together with woozy enthusiasm. Close, close, close. Handcuff belt buckle catching on your jean’s zipper at each pass until you began to sway in aching unison to Frank Sinatra’s Somethin’ Stupid.
You empathized with the heady flush pinkening the bulbous tip of his nose, and gazed into his eyes. Or tried. His eyelids fell in sluggish blinks, and his envious lashes refused to part. The sway was a shuffle. Your head was swimming. Failing to focus on one particular thing before your vision went cross, and the room spun, despite standing almost still.
It didn’t take long for either of you to surrender.
Rocking side to side–no turning, no pivoting–you accepted the innate desire to rest your head on his chest, and even from a distance, his pulse beat against your ear. Hard pumps of lifeblood under your cheek laid flat on the faded black hoodie. If you looked the other way, you’d see the jean vest reeking of cigarette smoke thrown on the couch where he discarded it before asking you to dance, but you chose to admire your joined hands. Preferring to learn the dry skin where a scrape was healing on his thumb knuckle–how small your thumb was in comparison to the single stretch of bone until the next joint, and his blunt nail. Maybe he was admiring such a thing too, because he stretched his fingers and curled them snugger to yours, and he set his chin atop your head, learning another new intimacy.
You melted under the burden of his weight.
He exposed the issue of your hair catching on the stubble of his five o’clock shadow.
You craned your head against the grain, and he nuzzled his chin harder.
Two people discovering their deprived yearns.
The sweetness of being crooked into the hollow of his body. The possession of snagging a full grip of his hoodie between your fingers, and becoming the reason he filled his lungs. Existing around him. And he existed in you, in all the unexplored corners, and you dusted the cobwebs from his. Fulfilling the dark places. Giving them light, and acceptance. Sharing the slice of night before it turned day. Swaying, rocking, swimming together in an inebriated dance under a tin roof, under the sprinkling snow, under the opaque clouds, under the crescent moon, under the twinkling stars. Under the universes, and hypothetical alternate dimensions and timelines, and as attractive as they seemed, you wouldn’t choose a different one. This is the one. This is the exact dimension, the exact timeline you wanted.
No longer wishing to lead, Eddie closed your fingers into a soft fist, and placed your hand over his heart, cupping his palm over it and stressing the thousands of unspoken words in his squeeze.
Basking in the minutes stretching to hours, the music looped into a perfect eternity.
It was getting late, almost time to leave, you guessed.
You withdrew your head. Eddie lifted his. The spot his chin once resided on your scalp ran abnormally cold from the loss, and there must’ve been an imprint of wrinkled fabric on your cheek, because that’s where his eyes landed first on their journey to meet your resilient gaze.
The beginnings of his lopsided grin emerged.
He spoke, and it was a single word. “Yeah.”
You didn’t know why he said it, or what he meant, but in this moment, in his arms, with your hand nestled between his and his heart, you agreed, “Yeah.” This was special. Whatever this was, this was special.
A huff of laughter broke through your smile, and his. Giggly silliness.
You were embraced from the top of your thighs, through to the slight proposal of your hips, and ending at the acute strength of your arms pressing each other closer.
Eddie raised your hand from his heart to his face. His thumb ensured your fingers stayed curled in, barring you from investing in a full, unadulterated touch. Wisps of his hair traced your skin. His exhale snaked down your flannel sleeve. Your inner wrist stopped at the slick junction of his lips, where he had swiped his tongue over out of nervous habit.
Oddly, he tapped your hand a few times to his cheek.
It made you curious. You copied him, bringing his hand to your face. Hooked your thumb under his sleeve to expose his wrist, and tapped it to your cheek. Ah, you understood.
Such delicate, unscarred skin brushed against the ridges of your lips, each tap like a kiss along the edge of your lovesick simper. Closer to a kiss than anything you’d experienced with him before. Still so tender, and so pure.
“Yeah?” A raw tremble was present in your question; gone shy from the profoundness of the single word, and fearing you were attributing the wrong meaning behind something so little, yet so large in your relationship.
But he saw the doubt, and he reassured you, “Yeah.” By the wetness glossing over his eyes, he reassured you your assumptions weren’t wrong. He whispered it again, softer, to where the one syllable croaked out, “Yeah.”
This was special.
The alcohol sat like candor on your tongue. “Wanna know a secret?” you teased as you let go of his wrist, and guided your hands up to his nape, linking your fingers over the bulky hood prohibiting you from playing with the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck. He slung his arm around your waist, over top of the other, encompassing you in a true hug.
He squinted at you. “How drunk are you? Don’t go tellin’ me somethin’ you’ll regret in the morning.”
“It’s nothing like that, I swear.” There was a flirty whine to your pitch, and even flirtier breathiness to your voice. Encouraging him to maintain the sway, leading him side to side, foot to foot, taking advantage of flow to put an arch in your back, and rise onto the balls of your feet, undetected. Your heart skipped at the proximity. “You know how I said my top three favorite people were Robin, Adrie, and then you?” you reminded him. “That’s actually backwards.. I said it backwards. It’s actually you, Adrie, and then Robin. But don’t tell her that.”
His mouth hung open to respond, but his gaze was off, discerning something behind you in the distance. When he centered on you again, there was a new kindness to the wrinkles framing his handsome face. “Are you okay with sharing my number one spot?”
“I would be honored.”
“Good,” he emphasized, “I’d be heartbroken if you didn’t want to be my favorite.”
“I always want to be your favorite,” you preened.
The innocence slipped from his expression. He’d never heard you sound quite so needy, or eager to be something of his, and the effects were sudden and poorly timed.
Outside, rocks skidded on the cracked pavement. A car turning in from the main road sunk into a pothole, and bounced out. The music spinning on the record player crescendoed. The fluorescent bulbs in the lamps hummed with electricity. Scents of acidic tomato sauce and oregano were inescapable. Tiny pellets of hail pinged on the tin roof. You both looked up, listening to it pass after a drifty-cloud moment.
Eddie concentrated on keeping your chests together. His forearms dug into your waist as he found the best way to lock his grip. He dipped his head lower when you had no choice but to lean up, and into him. “If I give you my number, will you call me when you get home, so I know you made it safe?”
Every consonant and vowel vibrated in your skull, thrumming velvety richness through the daze.
“I already have your number,” you said amongst the warmth building, and building behind your rib cage.
He faltered, confused. “You have my number?”
“Mhm, an even bigger birdie told me.”
Both bewildered by the callback, and having a tendency to fall head over heels for anything and everything you did, regardless if it was an unsatisfying answer or not, Eddie snorted, and scrunched his face, observing you with all the judgment you earned. “That’s either really creepy, or really endearing.”
You dropped your gaze to his crooked smile, and the car approaching the blue and white trailer faded away.
His lips were gorgeous. Overly full, and a wonderful shade of fleshy red with a tint of pink. They were bitten. Chewed on when his nerves got the best of him. Behind them, the edges of his teeth showed. Above them, you put your energy into obsessing over his overly large nose, as you had in many instances, but never at this distance, able to see every pore, every freckle, every splotch, and realizing this could become a normal occurrence, being this close.
His eyes were overly large as well, and they followed each micro-tic of yours.
“Good thing you find me endearing, then,” you provoked.
He loved that response.
“I do,” he chased. “I do,” he gave in. The willpower to resist his urges crumbled at the admission. He pressed his forehead to yours, and conceded until his mouth ached with happiness, “I find you so endearing.”
The alcohol dulled the intimate gesture. The top layers of your skin were numb. You had to work harder to feed the starvation; grinding your forehead against his, digging deeper to feel the itch of his bangs stuck to the glisten of boozy sweat. Sliding your nose alongside his, smashing the tips to each other’s cheeks. Sharing the same breaths, panting feathery sighs into each other’s mouths. Then, another carnal bump of noses, clumsy and misaligned, and a hard rut bone on bone until your bodies tingled with satisfaction. Satiated. Full.
Eddie turned his groan into a ragged, “I fucking adore you.”
“I adore you, too,” you promised, on the verge of crying and not knowing why.
He pulled away, dragging the tip of his nose up the side of yours, and tracing it down, allowing them to stay connected for a moment longer. A cooldown while your stomach flipped, and your pulse raced. I adore you.
The whole thing was strange to do with your coworker, especially with your hands remaining latched where they were, and there was no grinding elsewhere; it was just sheer lust for touch. Mutual, too.
His overly large pupils bored into yours. Neither of you had appropriate commentary on what transpired, probably for the better.
A car engine rumbled outside.
“Yeah, I’m pretty toasted, I think,” you said.
He pinched his eyebrows in, and pursed his lips. “Think I am, too.”
Either way, it was a good excuse for you almost moaning his name, and him choosing to hinge his phrase on adore, as if the endearment couldn’t be swapped out, and suddenly, the entire sentiment would have changed. It would be a confession.
There was a knock on the door, and Robin’s voice came muffled, but the urgency of being stuck out in the cold was conveyed.
Both of you hastened separating yourselves, and fumbled around each other.
Always, Eddie was a gentleman and helped you put on your jacket after you argued he was way more plastered than you were, despite you being the one doubled over with your hands on your knees, wobbling, disoriented after reaching down for it. He made sure you were dressed before going outside. Zipped you all the way to your chin, even when you complained it looked dorky. He lined your shoes up for you, and waited for you with his eyes closed, drifting off to a dream while standing up.
He handed you off to Robin, and loaded her trunk with your bike. For whatever reason, you didn’t climb inside the car yet. You waited in the snow for him. Collecting glittery flakes on your eyelashes, inhaling the fresh, crisp air. Probably quelling the nausea, same as he was, taking gulps of oxygen while he blinked, and blinked, searching the swirling images for something his brain could comprehend to get it to stop.
You waited for him, never saying anything. In heavy steps, he came to you, and wedged his fingers under the door handle, popping open the latch with an expression of wryness, as if you expected him to open every door for you.
Which, he would, for the record.
Stopping you before you sat, he grabbed at your jacket and bent himself to you, no longer afraid to press the cold tip of his nose to the shell of your ear, and drag his lips over the peach fuzz as he spoke directly to you. “Call me,” he stressed against your shiver.
“I will.”
At that, he shut your door and Robin began backing out of his driveway, stunting his wave goodbye from the headlights blinding him. He moved to the stairs, then to the top of the landing to watch the car drive around the soft bend around the trailers, and out onto the highway, leaving him behind.
He entered the trailer, and it was full.
It felt full, anyway. In his stomach, his chest, behind his eyelids, in the dusty corners, in the mortal hollows, manifesting a tightness in his throat, and a contradictory heaviness to his weightlessness, floating on clouds after spending an entire day with his crush and ending it with I adore you.
Eddie brushed his hair back, neatening the tangles wetted by ice. He combed his bangs off his forehead, and drove his fingers against his scalp, leaving his hands on top of his head, stripping himself of the extra stimulation to hone in on the persistent throb between his brows where you staked your claim.
You had made your home there, and he couldn’t wait for your return.
“Jesus Christ.”
With his woolgathering out of the way, he went to where Adrie was half-asleep in the doorway to her bedroom, and he crouched onto his knees. “Were you watching us dance?”
Wrapped in a blanket and sitting slumped over, she nodded against the wood frame, and sucked in the drool threatening to spill over her bottom lip. Only having the energy to open her eyes a smidge, she still found it within herself to have gripes with him. “You didn’t let me say bye.”
“I’m sorry,” he pouted in a silly deep voice.
Stooping further, he worked his arm under her legs, and collected the sleepy bundle that was his daughter to his chest. He shuffled along on his knees over to the fort, and man, did he understand why you fell asleep so easily in the blanket nest. Just the accidental touches when he set Adrie down called to him, as did the bleating sheep hopping over fences in his head. It was enticing.. but the phone was ringing, and the first check in of the night as calling.
He knew it wasn’t you, but his heart leapt all the same.
“Sorry the phone might ring a lot,” he said. “Do you want another movie on? I’ll put another move on so it doesn’t wake you, okay?”
She scrunched her nose in a bad way, not like he did when he was laughing. Probably from the alcohol on his breath, and his waning coherency.
He stowed away his kisses for now. “Sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye, but I promise you, I promise you, okay? Miss Mouse will be back soon.” That was the heaviness in his chest. The decision. “I’ll invite her over, and we can all play together, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” she mumbled, loosening her grasp on his hair.
She was out, and he paced the kitchen while he chatted to stay awake.
————
Eddie sat at the small green table with his head resting back against the peeling wallpaper. A single light above the wrap-around counter skimmed the belly of the trailer. It traced the bubbles slipping down the bottle in front of him, and glanced the top of his pillow on the couch, submitting to the darkness past his plaid blanket waiting for him. The phone cord draped over his shoulder, down to his chest. The last call was half an hour ago. Maybe? He knew his last swig of whiskey was seconds ago. Everyone had checked in, and his ability to show an ounce of self-control was forfeited to the sheep. In his final blink, his body went lax, and he passed out.
Though, he could always count on the clangy ring to cut through their bleats.
Jolting awake, he searched above him for the phone, knocking it off the hook before it disturbed Adrie.
He was disoriented.
“Hello?”
Quiet as a mouse, a voice came, “Hey.”
He sat up. Alertness spread through him in waves, rippling from the decision sitting hot on his tongue, and stirring deeper, lower. Your greeting was filtered by the tiny microphone caged in yellowed plastic, but the dozy, sweltering rasp was there. “Hey, sweetheart,” he answered in kind, and inhaled deeply before the blood loss in his brain rendered him lightheaded.
One word in and he was wiping his palm on his jeans, and keeping it there, on his thigh.
“Sorry it took me so long,” you apologized in a whisper. “I wanted to wait until everyone went to sleep. I’m in the living room. In the dark.” You giggled as if it were a joke he should be in on.
He peeked behind him to make sure the bedroom door was shut, and wrenched the phone against his lips to stifle his own laughter. “Yeah? I’m sitting in the dark, too.”
You hummed.
He didn’t know if you were making a pass at him by mentioning you were alone as he was, so he chose something innocuous to comment on, bouncing the ball in your court. “You sound tired, baby. You should go to bed.”
“But my bed’s cold,” you whined.
Bingo.
Risks were worth taking as long as you participated.
In a matter of quick exchanges, he had his palm between his thighs, running his fingernails down the coarse fabric of his jeans and cupping the heft. “My bed’s cold too,” he matched your pitch, exploring his thumb upwards.
“If you were here, mine wouldn’t have to be..”
“But you live in someone else’s parent’s attic,” he teased.
“And your bed’s a couch,” you shot back.
He checked the closed door behind him one more time, and yielded, “You’re right.” You liked being right. He liked it when you were right. Your grin tinted all your pretty words when you were right. Well, they would, if you were speaking. “Babe?”
“Sorry, that was quick,” you said, struggling through a yawn after nodding off. “I’m laying on the recliner, and it’s really comfy.”
“Then go to sleep,” he implored in a chastising snicker.
You grunted.
Except, it didn’t sound like the other grunts and groans he’d heard you make over the months. This one was sweeter, higher, similar to the airy catch in your throat when your bottom lip dragged on his stubble. A moan of his name, he hoped. He twitched against the warmth of his palm. Growing rapidly under the first strokes of his thumb encouraging his descent, half-hard just at the thought.
How much whiskey he had was of no concern when it came to you. Clearly.
He couldn’t stop his appetite from lowering his voice, “Whatcha doin’, sweet girl?”
You turned it back on him, “What are you doing?” And when he was busy rearranging how he sat to give his jeans some slack to wrap his thick fingers around himself, you mused with an evident smirk, “Touching your orc dagger?”
Goddamnit. “If you ever bring that up again, I swear..”
“You must be, with how you’re avoiding the question.” You muffled your giggle–probably with your shirt collar, if he had to guess. Teasing him more, you slurred, “S’okay. I saw how hard you were staring at my shirt earlier. Just thought you’d like to know I’m not wearing it anymore. Not wearing a bra either.”
You’re right. He did like knowing that. So much, in fact, he smoothed his fingers in a long tug along his length, stroking twice over the sensitive head, and repeating.
“Not wearing anything?” he asked, sounding a bit more husky than he intended.
“Just the flannel. Gotta be a little dressed.. in case someone comes in.” You shifted in the middle of your sentence, and at first Eddie pictured you turning onto your back. Imagining your tits shifting against the flannel, and their subtle bounce as you got comfortable. How hard your nipples pressed to the fabric, and what they must feel like being licked and sucked into his mouth, and all the beautiful noises you’d make for him. Unfortunately..
“Touchin’ yourself for me, sweetheart?” Nothing.. “Sweetheart?” Oh.. “You fall asleep again?”
An actual grunt, maybe a hiccup, or a snore created static on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry,” you sincerely apologized.
Poor sweet thing. “Tell you what,” he reasoned. “Why don’t you go to bed, and think about how nice it’d be for me to be there with you; how warm I am. And I’ll take a shower, and do the same.”
You asked, “You mean you’re gonna think about me while in the shower?”
He squeezed himself. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. There was no fucking way either of you’d remember this by Monday morning. It was kinda thrilling; obeying the allure, and teasing each other without consequence.
“Nice.”
“Mhmm.”
Eddie closed his eyes in the following silence. The fantasy drifted to something tender. Sharing a bed. Waking up next to you. The alcohol made it difficult to remember why you called, and fathom why he was holding a conversation. His own hand went slack around the part his heart pumped blood to. The urge passed. The desire to brush his teeth replaced the lust. He was drunk, and he was losing the battle to remain conscious.
His body slouched ever forward.
“Eddie?”
“Hmm?”
“I can’t stay awake.”
“Neither can I..” Not that it mattered, but before the conversation ended and he summoned the strength to collapse on the couch instead of the green table for the sole reason of never wanting his daughter to discover him passed out in the kitchen from drinking too much, he heeded the heaviness in his chest. The decision. And he told you, “By the way, I thought of what to do for that ‘thank you’ I owe you. It’s time I pay you back for everything you’ve done for me.”
Processing his words at a slower rate, a few moments ticked by before the intrigue ate at you. “And what’s that, handsome?”
He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”
You snorted. “It’ll be a surprise if either of us remember anything after I failed nine rolls in a row, and you chugged.. Fuck, however much whiskey you’ve had. I don’t even wanna know.”
In a night of stupid decisions, he committed to one more; the joke was too good to not tumble past his loose lips, “Not enough to stop my orc dagger from growing seven inches.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, that was awful. I’m never calling you again. Goodbye.”
The speed at which you hung up sent him doubled over, clutching his aching stomach. He tried to keep quiet, really. He held onto his dignity just long enough to take three attempts to hang up the phone, and then it hit him with reckless abandon. He slapped his hand over his gaping mouth, and shook until the breathless gasps came out in squeaks, ugly laughing at his own stupid joke. He rocked back and forth, almost hitting his forehead on the table, and only caught his breath when tears brimmed his lashes, and he remembered his forehead was sacred, and he should stop. If he hit it, it’d be like an earthquake to your home. Except, that imagery also made him giggle, and he was at it again. Biting his tongue to subdue his outbursts while he stretched out on the couch cushions which rubbed his skin raw everytime he changed position. Finally, he was at peace. He tried to forget about the impending hangover he was going to have to explain to Wayne, and instead, he thought about you, and let his daydream take him to a fantasy where he could wake up next to you. And if he went through with his decision, maybe it could become a reality.
No. Not if. He would. He would go through with it. Probably. If you asked about it, he would, definitely. If you didn’t, he’d.. he’d still do it. He couldn’t keep living like this.
However, for both your sakes, he hoped neither of you remembered this night come Monday morning.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie munson smut#mechanic!eddie#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#the yes policy
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The ‘bad’ kind of desire
pairing: soobin x reader
synopsis: you can't touch him, because he's too innocent, too sweet. but god you wish you could.
warnings: implied fem reader (can't remember if it's outright said), dom reader, sub soobin, masturbation, fingering, lowkey corruption kink, mentioned mommy kink, think that's really it
a/n: the first portion of this fic has been in my drafts since roughly july last year and was in my notes app for a few months - at least - longer than that so don't even ask me how old this really is, but at least it's out!!😭
“Am I bad person?”
Beomgyu scoffs, looking at you with eyebrows raised. He nearly laughs at the ridiculous statement coming from your mouth.
"What?"
And that makes him lose it, unable to even hold it back as he barks out a laugh, looking at you as if you've grown a second head.
It’s a hard thing to fathom coming from you given that you’ve definitely never had any qualms about your morality when it comes to this kind of stuff. “Really? You’re asking me that?”
His best friend sits across the room, oblivious to the conversation, his headphones pulled over his ears, the game he’s playing flashing on the computer screen in front of him.
Soobin.
Sweet sweet Soobin, messy blonde hair left unbrushed, pajamas still on, not bothering to change as this was all he was planning to do all day.
Sweet Soobin who you can’t help but want to play with.
Who you can’t help but imagine how pretty he’d look with tears in his eyes.
"I'm not fucking around Gyu-am I a bad person?"
You groan and flop over on the couch, rolling over to rest your head in Beomgyu’s lap, looking up at him with a comically-in his opinion-concerned expression.
He gives you nothing but an exaggerated eye-roll. "Don't even start."
“But aren’t I?” You look again at the boy across the room, wondering why, why he had to be so stupidly adorable. His lips were twisted into a small pout and why it was so fucking cute.
Why? You wondered, feeling like this was all you were doing nowadays.
Beomgyu resists the urge to roll his eyes at you for the second time in a row, now at the way that you look at his best friend like some kind of lovesick fool, especially considering that all you really wanted was get into his pants. It didn’t really make sense, but hey, who was he to judge?
“Why? Just because you want to rock his shit? Step on him and make him cry? That makes you question your morality? Out of everything that you've done?”
You gasp, slapping his chest. “He’s right there.” You hiss, not exactly denying the words.
He ignores that, shoving you off of him. He knows as well as you do that those headphones are the expensive noise cancelling ones that he'd gotten from you last Christmas. He barely hear himself yelling at his online teammates much less your hushed conversation.
You look at him as if you want to take him out on a nice picnic date and let him lay his head in your lap while playing with his hair pointing at clouds. Which Beomgyu couldn’t really see in any world, you were never really the type.
But who knows? Maybe you were really just that eager for his dick at this point-or the more probable scenario-have him on your dick, that it broke something inside you.
“Why’re you so concerned now? Not like you had any issues with Yeonjun or Taehyun. Hell, you kept up everyone else in the dorms,” His voice goes higher as he attempts to poorly mock his roommates. “‘Y/N, more~’ ‘please, I need it-need y-‘“
“Shut the hell up.” You spit, quickly covering his mouth with your hand while your eyes flicker once more to him, still staring intently at his game.
Really, why were you so concerned now?
Beomgyu was right. You’d had no problem doing the same to them, to Tae and Yeonjun, but they were different-he was different.
Soobin was different than any of them. They were the product of having fun with someone you knew like the back of your hand and vice versa. Simply satisfying-albeit unimportant-a matter of getting your rocks off with people you knew could find your clit and would let you hit it from the back.
Soobin was Soobin though. The sweet boy who looked at you with the most innocent smile.
Who got all blushy and embarrassed when you so much as lightly and non-vulgarly flirted with him.
He’d squeak and duck his head away when you called him bunny - again, non-vulgarly, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing and it turned him on-just a little bit.
In other words, painfully obviously, it was clear.
“He’s a virgin!” You hiss, hand still clamped over his mouth despite his garbled reply. You know just as well as Beomgyu knows how bitchless his friend is. Despite the fact that offers for him were nearly endless he was too shy, too awkward to accept said advances. “-I can’t take that away from him, it needs to be special, it needs-“
Your hand, still over his mouth is touched by something warm and wet and you shriek, pulling away quickly with a look of disgusted horror. “Are you serious right now?”
“Fight me bitch, I will not hesitate.” He growls, looking triumphant with the fact that you’ve now backed up to the edge of the couch.
You roll your eyes at him, looking once again at Soobin.
Fuck, why does he have to be so adorably innocent?
Beomgyu rolls his eyes, wiping at his mouth. "Just trust me, he'd be happy to be used by you. He might be a virgin, but he's nowhere near innocent."
"And what do you mean by that?" You sit against the arm of the couch, wiping Beomgyu's saliva onto the cushions.
He lets out a dry laugh, glancing back at Soobin before reaching for the previously forgotten remote control. "It means he wouldn't be as freaked as you think he would be if he found your sex toy collection."
—-
You suppose Soobin had always been special in some sort of way.
Always there over the span of time that you'd known all of them. Sitting off to the side while you hung out with the others. In his own room while you were fucking around with his other roommates. Playing his game while you were hanging out with Gyu.
He'd caught your eye more than once or twice, or three times over the years.
He was hot. You'd never discount that. Hot in the loser-y, adorable, cute, corruptible kind of way.
But then again, that kind of was your type if you thought about it.
You'd never been particularly close with him like you'd been with the others. He'd never made much effort to hang out with you but he was there when all the others were, if not one-on-one.
And he got really, really embarrassed when you tried to flirt with him like you did the others.
You didn't mind much, you'd just come under the impression that he was kind of scared of women. Which was also kind of cute.
But Beomgyu was right when he'd said that you'd never cared much about morals in the first place.
It didn't matter how close of friends or if they were a virgin or whatever other silly things that made things like that 'trivial'.
Life was too short to pretend you didn't feel things and besides. Sometimes, you really, just...didn't care.
And it wasn't personal, when you wanted someone, you would pursue it and if there was now friend groups you'd single handedly broken up, well they'd clearly made it personal themselves because you always made it very clear that there was no feelings involved.
Besides the raw, hot tension that made your skin tingle like your nerves were livewire.
Soobin was different though, special.
You felt bad for wanting him. For wanting to dirty him up.
He was something pure, something beyond and above you, perhaps and that was something you weren't willing to ruin, no matter what Beomgyu told you.
—-
"Fuck," he panted, "please,"
The room was dark, the light of his laptop being the only thing illuminating his face.
"Please,"
Sounds filled his ears through the crappy pair he'd owned for years, refusing to get wireless ones.
"Please."
"Bet you fucking like that, don't you?" The voice, only a few octaves higher than your own, still sent shivers down his spine.
Close enough.
"You're a such a dirty slut, you know?"
He whined into his sleeve, a sweater paw pressed over his mouth to keep the moans at bay. "I'm sorry, no, no please I'm sorry~" It wasn't doing a very good job muffling his voice though.
"I need it~"
The video seemed to respond to his desperate pleas. "If you need it so fucking bad then you'll be a good boy and wait for mommy's permission. You hear me?"
Or maybe he'd just watched this video so many times he'd memorized all of the male counterpart's lines. "Yes mommy," he panted, "I'll be good, I-I'll wait for your permission!"
He wouldn't. He knew he wouldn't.
He couldn't, as much as he prided himself on being a good boy. This time he knew he wouldn't even make it through the seven minute and thirty-two second video.
Not with you in the next room.
He couldn't tell if you were with Yeonjun or Taehyun. It didn't really matter either way.
Because he would only focus on you.
You weren't loud, having endured enough of Beomgyu's teasing and gripes about your sexual habits. He decided he hated Beomgyu for that.
But he could hear your pants through the paper-thin walls, heavy and followed by your quiet praises. "Sweet boy," you cooed, just as the porn on his laptop continued, "Naughty boy, such a messy little-" He ripped the earbuds out mid-sentence.
He wanted to hear you.
Not some substitute for the real thing.
He could imagine if you walked it on him right now.
Laying spread out on his bed, pants not even all the way off-just messily pulled below his hips, just enough for his dick to breathe properly and for his hand to easily slide up and down with the amount of pre-cum leaking from the tip.
"Fucking please." He moaned, quiet and needy.
You'd see him a mess, his soaked through sleeves catching the drool from his lips, teeth biting into the soft fabric to keep from crying out too loud.
You'd see him shamelessly fucking up into his fist, calling out pleas with no one there to hear him.
"C'mon baby, you can take it, take it all for me." Your voice was accompanied by the wet sounds of what, Soobin wasn't completely sure but his mind quickly conjured a few different theories. "That's it, a little more~"
Fuck him, he wished you were speaking to him.
Cockwarming him, your pussy wrapped around his dick, warm and wet and squeezing around him so good. Fluttering kisses over his face and throat as you teased along the length of him, slowly lifting up just to agonizingly sink back down onto him, clenching tight while he moaned into a kiss.
Or stroking him to another orgasm, making him cum again and again until his body was shaking and tears streaming down his cheeks. Telling him he could take more, do it one more time, for you. Because whatever pain you'd inflict would be worth it, after all it was your hands doing the damage.
"Fuck you look so pretty like this, just makes me wanna fucking wreck you. Turn you into a mindless whore on my dick."
Fuck, so that was what it was.
His mind managed to come up with one more picture through the haze.
You'd have his wrists pinned over his head with one hand, over him, keeping him down with a surprising amount of strength.
God, he could imagine the way you'd look at him. Maybe you'd be kind and gentle, sweet words and a sweet hand, fulfilling every one of his fantasies while calling him your sweet little bunny.
Like you were with whoever you were with on the other side of that wall.
But he doubted it. Or, he hoped not at least.
In his head you'd be meaner, crueler. Look at him with dark, hungry eyes and watch in a sadistic sort of glee when he cried, when he whined, when he begged and pleaded for more.
You'd thrust into him, hard and punishing, slowing down just to make sure that he wasn't crying from serious pain before you'd slam your hips against his, driving the tip of the toy dead into his prostate.
He'd beg you, plead you to slow down, to be nicer to him.
You'd tell him no. Tell him to be a good boy, voice patronizing and low, tell him only good boys get rewards.
God, that’s what he needed right now.
Needed you.
Your words, your touch, your scent, your presence even. You eyes on him, watching as he fell apart.
Not you fucking someone else in a different room.
Liquid heat flowed through his body, scorching and consuming every coherent thought.
"More."
He imagined it was you. Your hands all over him, pressing up against his throat, fondling his balls, purposely, maliciously ignoring where he needed to be touched most while you drove into him over and over and over until he was screaming in ecstasy.
It wasn’t enough, not nearly
"You just love my cock, don't you angel? Love being fucked by me into a mindless whore?"
He silently cracked the lube open, lathering his fingers in it before letting them drift lower.
He'd done this before, but it had been awhile and the stretch was beyond overwhelming with your words ringing through the wall.
“You’re just a little angel, aren’t you, bunny?” And he pressed a finger inside, thrusting shallowly, breath picking up as you got louder.
"No, you're not an angel. You're a fucking whore, taking it like you were made for it, huh?" A second finger, following the first, scissoring himself open with a quiet gasp.
"Yeah? Fuck, is that it?" You laugh and he swears it's right in his ear, ringing through his head. "'m gonna make you scream for me baby,"
He whines in frustration, his fingers not deep enough - you not deep enough inside of him. No, he needs it deeper, harder.
More.
"Get on top of me baby, ride me," you mutter, so far but so close.
He can imagine, as he settles on his knees, that the pillow he straddles is you. That his legs are around your hips. That his fingers, positioning on the bed under him is your dick and your hands are pressing against his hips, holding him in place.
"You're mine, you hear that? Mine. My perfect little slut, taking my cock like a pretty little slut." His body trembles, eyes rolling back as he slowly sinks down onto three fingers.
"Your's." He moans in reply.
And finally, finally, he reaches his prostate, hitting it head on with his fingers.
Stars burst behind his eyelids as they slip shut, back arching into the intrusion. He could cry, he thinks distantly that he maybe is.
But it doesn't matter.
Because your hands are on his hips, controlling his movements, leading him the way you want him to ride your cock.
Up,
"Slut." You whisper.
and down,
"Whore." You lean up, teeth nipping at his neck but not hard enough to leave marks.
over,
"Baby," Breathing over the shell of his ear.
and over,
"Good boy~" Teasingly biting at his earlobe.
harder,
"Bunny," Kissing along his jaw.
faster,
"Mine." Across his cheek.
deeper.
Just barely there, ghosting across his lips-
"-Cum for me baby,"
And he does. With his mouth hung open, drool covered sleeve long forgotten over. With his eyebrows furrowed and body curled into itself, fingers pressed against his prostate.
Ropes of cum covering his chest, and his face. Some reaching his lips and his chin, staining his skin and landing in his open mouth.
"Fuck,"
And on the other side of the wall, "Good boy,"
a/n: i was thinking about making a part two but honestly if it took me a year to find the inspiration to finish this one, i'm not sure a second one will ever come out😭
#soobin x reader#soobin smut#sub txt#txt x reader#txt smut#sub!txt#sub kpop#sub idol#sub!soobin#sub soobin#afab reader#dom reader#dom!reader
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SOFT
ft. roronoa zoro
summary. unlike what many people think, zoro prefers sweet, reassuring sex by the woman he loves. wc. 750
cw / tw. fem!reader, soft!zoro, somewhat dom!reader unprotected sex, pet names (ex. sweet girl, sweet thing, baby) soft sex, riding, mdni 18+ readers.
an. this is my first attempt at writing a fanfic, i hope you enjoy! comments and reblogs are appreciated :) (also we need more one piece writers ugh)
most people who knew, or knew of zoro we’re always surprised to see him with such a sweet and compassionate girl. even the sheer size difference made others uneasy with their own thoughts. “god she’s strong for taking all.. that.” the voice came from a few blonde girls who were giggling behind you two. oh, how wrong they were.
zoro wasn’t a very romantic man, to say the least, but he knew how to be gentle with you. he made sure to watch the way your body moved when he touched you. the sounds you made when he did something you liked. he could be rough on occasion, but never without your consent. “what ya lookin’ at sweet girl?”
you were lost in thoughts about what those girls were talking about when zoro sleeping on your shared bed caught your eye, until he caught you stealing a glance. “oh just admiring you.” the tips of his ears immediately flushed a cute shade of pink. “not much to admire these days.” your smile dropped as he turned his head away from you.
it was the scars. zoro didn’t know if you still found him as attractive after being apart for so long. you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by bringing it up so you never did, which also contributed to the newfound insecurity. “don’t say things like that zo. i think you’re perfect.” it wasn’t long before you were placing yourself into his lap. “in fact, i think you look so handsome right now.”
there it is, that playful smirk on his face as you ran your fingers through his green hair. “yeah baby?” you replied with a quiet ‘mhm’ followed by a peck on his lips. “i can show you just how handsome i think you are hm?” you pulled away to trace the scar over his eye, giving it a quick peck before your thumb traced his lips.
zoros lips parted as your hips lightly rocked against his own, pulling low gasps and groans from your him. your small fingers rushed to rid the swordsman of his pants, aching to see him. “someone excited.” he chuckled at your antics. his rough hands began to kneed at your nightgown, slowly lifting the thin fabric to reveal your plush thighs spread over his. your lack of panties made his mouth go dry.
“lift your hips zo.” he followed your command and watched as you tugged his pants and boxers down his hips. zoro had never seen you so eager to jump his bones before and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t slightly boost his ego and turn him on. you wasted no time crawling up further on his cock making him hiss.
he felt your small fingers wrap around the base of his cock, quickly tugging as you kissed along his jaw. nothing could compare to this feeling. “slow down sweet thing you’re g’na give me whiplash.” you giggled against his tan skin, pulling away to face your lover. “i love you zoro.” his name came out as a whine as you lifted your hips and began to sink down onto his throbbing cock. “ngh fuck baby s’tight.”
the erotic noises he made couldn’t be contained anymore. your hand began to wonder his skin and you stared down at him with so much love and affection. “i love you so much yn. s’much mm-.” your hips kept a steady pace, keeping him in between calm and cumming. “you look so beautiful right now zoro.” his hips stuttered as he let out a breathy moan at the compliment. “could look at my sweet boy forever.”
it sent him over the edge within seconds. the featherlight touches, the compliments, the tightness of your warm walls around him. “m’cumming god! shit m’fuckin’ cumming!” the sight below you had your head spinning. your big strong man, trembling under you. “just a little more baby.”
he was trying so hard for you. his legs trembled, noises were escaping his throat that he had no idea he was capable of making. “mmh so close, just- ngh.” tears began gathering on his lash line, the overstimulation making his back arch ever so slightly. “yes m’cummin’ baby!” his arms caged your body into his, panting softly into your ear as you rode out your high. his body finally became calm, his soft snores filling your ears. all you could do was admire him, his watery eyelashes, and flushed face. you couldn’t have asked for more than this.
#roronoa zoro#one piece#one piece zoro#one piece smut#zoro x reader#zoro smut#roronoa zoro smut#roronoa zoro x reader#sub roronoa zoro#dom reader
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🏷️ f!reader, best friend!minho, fingering, choking
the soft noise that escaped you when minho's fingers brushed against your throat was involuntary. there was nothing sexual about the way he was fastening your necklace. or at least there shouldn’t be. his fingers lingered on your nape and you were suddenly painfully aware of how close he was standing behind you.
“what was that?” minho asked and you forced out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. of course minho, your best friend of many years, would notice the smallest change in your behavior. you tried to even out your breathing when his arm wound around you, his hand coming to rest atop your clavicle. his thumb caressed the dip at the junction of your throat and you had to close your eyes to stay focused. if only he knew what he did to you.
you bit your lip and kept quiet, praying he wouldn’t move his hand. if he moved it a little lower he’d feel the erratic beating of your heart. and if he moved it higher instead? you weren’t sure what would happen then, and you weren’t sure you wanted him to find out.
but minho, ever the unpredictable friend, surprised you by nudging you back into his firm chest. his breath was hot against your ear and you had to stop yourself from moaning when his fingers grazed your throat again.
“didn’t think you’d be into that sort of thing,” minho drawled, “unless i’m mistaken…?”
he left the question hanging between the two of you, its implications clear as day. it was a way out before you reached the point of no return that would change the course of your friendship with him forever. a small mercy even though it was offered too late.
slowly, you grabbed his elbow and guided his arm up until his hand rested around your throat. he wasn’t putting any pressure on it yet but the warmth of his fingers against your skin was enough to make you dizzy with desire. it was as if all those years of secret pent-up longing were finally unlocked.
there was a moment where he, too, seemed to contemplate his actions — was whatever this would lead to worth risking years of friendship? but then his hand clasped more firmly around your throat.
“minho…” you pleaded, thankful for his strong arms keeping you upright. he tightened his grip while his other hand made quick work of the button on your jeans. you gasped in unison when his fingers pressed against your slippery clit, his whispered fuck at finding you so thoroughly drenched surprisingly shaky. as if he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and now it’d finally arrived he couldn’t believe himself.
his teeth nipped at the shell of your ear, leaving a trail of sloppy open-mouthed kisses as he worked you open with two fingers. his other hand never left your throat. you weren’t sure if the lightheadedness was a result of the lack of blood flow to your brain or the fact that it was minho, out of all people, who held you so tightly.
“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this,” his voice reached you through your haze, “thought i would go insane.”
his fingers were back on your pulsing clit now, circling the swollen bud. the knot in your tummy was quickly tightening and you held onto minho’s arm like it was a liferaft keeping you afloat. he kept it firmly in place around your throat, the veins on his forearm bulging with every flex of muscle.
“m-min, please, i’m so close,” you begged, grinding your hips into his palm. he squeezed your neck and your vision erupted in bright streaks as your orgasm washed over you in waves. minho murmured sweet words of encouragement into your ear until he was sure you’d come down, your legs trembling with exertion.
you turned around. “lee minho, you are insane,” you finally croaked after you found your voice. the sight of his flushed face and satisfied smirk sent another rush of arousal through your heated body. “and for the record, i didn’t know i was into… that either,” you chuckled and shook your head in disbelief, “but let’s do it again.”
#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids hard hours#skz hard hours#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#stray kids headcanons#skz headcanons#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#lee know smut#lee know x reader#;skz blurbs
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HI CAP!!! I’m the anon who requested breeding & overstim like a week ago AND IT WAS SO GOOD OML TY.
Anyways I know requests are closed but I hope you see this when they’re open 😭
HEAR ME OUT: Breeding kink, overstim, praise, slight restraint (yknow strong dad bod Price 🤭), and AGAINST THE WALL.
Thank you cap~ Love you!
sorry this is so late :(
anyway here’s some p0rn lmao
18+, fem!reader
price had you pinned against the wall of your bedroom, your legs parted as the large front of him pressed up against you. his broad chest and the warm curve of his stomach kept you motionless against the wall, rendering you immovable.
he held both of your wrists in one hand, holding them above you and pinning them to the wall as his other hand took hold of your hip, angling you into place so he could continue fucking up into you.
you were shaking beneath him, sweating with trembling legs as your husband fucked you, splitting you open on his cock. you could hardly moan anymore, releasing small whimpers of his name as each thrust knocked up against the plug of your womb.
he groaned above you, animalistic and claiming, marvelling at the way your cunt sucked in his cock, taking him so well. after three orgasms, your entire body was alight with overstimulation, but still reacting to his touch. it made pride surge within him, mixed with the feeling of possession. you were his.
his cock stretched you open, your previous orgasms dripping out of you with each thrust, running down the inner fat of your thighs. price’s dick and front of his pelvis was also slick with your releases (which he always loved). the sounds were wet, sounding around your shared room and making your head spin.
“mmm, so good, baby—” price grunted, cutting himself off with a groan as the silken walls of your cunt clenched around him. “being such a good— yeah, that’s it— good girl for me, aren’t you?”
you nodded deliriously, your entire body wracked with pleasure. you almost felt dizzy when your fourth consecutive orgasm began to build like static in your lower tummy.
“‘course you are, ‘course you are…” price muttered, slamming into you and keeping you restrained against the wall. his stomach pressed to yours, his chest against your bare breasts. the feeling of you both rubbing together was driving him insane. he groaned your name, followed by a string of curses. “fuck, my good girl. my best girl. always so good for me, aren’t you, sweetheart? always so good for your captain.”
you tossed your head back against the wall and moaned, his words going straight to your pussy. you felt yourself flutter around the thick girth of his cock, forcing a strained grunt from his lips before he leaned down to attach his mouth to the side of your neck.
price sucked kisses there, continuing still to grind himself against you. you could feel his warmth, the hair spanning his chest and stomach, and his facial hair scratching lightly at the link of your shoulder. you moaned at all the added stimulus, your trembling body beginning to seize up as your release approached.
“john—” you moaned, hands struggling and flexing in his hold. but he didn’t budge.
he held you against the wall while he fucked you, grunting into the curve of your neck as the tip of his cock continued to bully up against your cervix, drawing whimpers and whines from your mouth.
“that’s it, let me hear those pretty noises,” he muttered against you, licking over your hot skin. “let your captain hear you.”
you did. you moaned and whimpered outwardly for him. for your husband, your captain. you moaned with each upward thrust of his cock into the slick heat of your pussy, body shaking beneath him as finally your orgasm neared it’s crest for what felt like the millionth time.
“captain.” you whimpered, and price moaned in response, continuing his pace and keeping his thrusts consistent as he brought you to the edge, your vision blurring in the corners.
“that’s it… that’s my girl. been so good for me, baby. you can come,” he praised, and then urged gently towards the end. “you can come. come all over my cock one more time for me. one more time like my good girl.”
you shattered beneath him— coming around his cock again, losing yourself in the feeling of him. your entire body shook, muscles stiffening as you arched off the wall, pressing ever closer to him as your orgasm consumed you.
you had to stop yourself from squealing as your release gushed out of you— liquid warmth splattering out from around his cock, dripping down your trembling thighs. the thrusting sounds grew wetter, and price’s cock twitched inside you, still battering the entrance to your cervix.
he groaned. “fuck, fuck— that’s it, that’s it— my good girl, just— fuck— just like that. let me come inside you… let me come inside this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”
you mewled, practically going limp against him.
“s’alright, baby, i’ve got you. i’ve got you. just let me fill you up, okay? let me get you nice and fat with my baby…” he trailed off, interrupted by a string of grunting huffs. “yeah— yeah let me fill you up. let me breed this tight little pussy and make her mine.”
price came with a guttural moan of your name, still talking against your neck, the vibrations making you keen.
he stood true to his word, pumping you full of him. he was so deep that you could feel the warmth of his release spreading inside you, and he slowly softened as he pumped himself dry.
“shit…” he whispered, pulling out of you and dropping your arms. the mix of your releases dropped down your thighs in thick droplets, and the sudden loss of his cock made you whine.
“it’s okay, it’s okay, i’m here.” price cooed, guiding you slowly over to the bed and laying you down. he lay down next to you, before you felt his fingers brush up against your core. he slowly stuffed two fingers inside you, but not before dragging them up your thighs to collect his seed that had spilled out.
price held you against him with his other arm, kissing you gently over the top of your head and across your face, all the while keeping you plugged with his thick fingers.
“did such a good job, sweetheart,” he told you. “i love you.”
#captainfern#captainfernsalutes#captain john price#captain john price smut#price call of duty#price smut#call of duty#call of duty mw2#cod smut
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𝐌𝐯𝐧𝐜𝐡
𝐒.𝐉𝐘
SYNOPSIS: Jake is a munch. That’s it.
WARNING: Pure filth, no plot basically just porn, oral (f receiving), Jake finishes untouched, fem!reader, oral fixation.
WC:
^^ NSFW UNDER CUT, MINORS DNI (not proofread)
Read under cut
Jake is a mean menace. More than a menace actually, he’s an evil fuck because as soon as you two became official he would use any excuse to get you riled up enough to the point of suffocating him with your plush thighs chasing that sweet release. He's like a chaotic mastermind- or rather what you call him ‘Horny Megamind’.
He’s so pussy drunk he needs it every day, every morning and every night. When you're out at a party or even visiting his childhood home in Australia he will find time to nestle between your legs like a baby bird in its mother's nest. Your cunt is like alcohol to him.
Jake was such a pussy driven maniac that if he didn't get a taste of you he would become cranky and agitated. He described the feeling as if bugs were crawling under his skin and he was dying. The only solution was to treat him like your good, pretty boy and give him his reward to satisfy his craving.
As much as he loved teasing you, the moment you would tease him back he would become visibly annoyed and shocked. You could see him biting back any words or noises that threatened to escape from his mouth, as he poked inside his cheek with his tongue. On the other hand, for you, it really was entertaining to watch, especially when you were surrounded by your group of friends or worse, at a family dinner. The way he tried to stifle his annoyance and soften his growing bulge was both amusing for you and embarrassing for him, making you eager to know what he’s planned to do about it once you reach your shared apartment.
Things only got more interesting when you two talked about things that you’d want to try out in the bedroom. Your mind scattered to times your eyes caught Jake mid-munch rutting his very obvious and painfully hard boner against your bed frame trying to get himself the same release he’s giving you at the moment. Personally you found the thought of Jake being so in love with you that he could cum just by eating you out so attractive that you had to mention it to him, no friction no touch, just him thrusting his bare hips up trying to get attention to his pulsing dick, only to be met with the nothingness of air whilst pathetically grinding his nose into the clit above his face.
You made a promise to yourself that you would eventually convince him to try cumming without touch, and the thought of him doing so of his own free will fills you with joy. However, you know that once he sets his sights on something, he becomes obsessed with it like when he was so adamant on making you squirt. So for the time being you kept that fantasy to yourself, waiting for the perfect opportunity to present itself.
AN: okay I'm actually back now, I'm planning a long fic about doctor!hoon and just know you'll be sobbing at it ☺️ And this is just a filler for those who were waiting, also urmh2 is in the planning I'm out of ideas for the part 2 plot but I do know who i want in the LOVE TRIANGLE?! (ik you weren't expecting that were you 😍)
anyways thanks for reading mvnch <3
#enhypen#enhypen smut#jake hard thoughts#jake x reader#jake smut#enhypen jake#jake sim#jake x you#sim jaeyun#enhypen jaeyun#jaeyun x reader#jaeyun imagines#jake imagines#jake hard hours#enhypen x reader#enhypen ff#jake drabble#jaeyun smut#enha jaeyun#enha smut#enha imagines#enha x reader#enha scenarios#jake sim smut#sim jaeyun smut#sim jake#sim jake smut#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen drabbles#enhypen hard hours
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'tis the season, i guess — CL16
pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader
summary: cold winter days bring unexpected company to your bookshop. or in which your ex needs help choosing a book for his girlfriend.
words: 3.5k
tags: angst, SO much angst, dark academia vibes for some reason?, genuinely heartbreaking. some fluff but not much!
note: this was based off of this request but i got a bit carried away and wrote a whole thing! also am now obsessed with listening to sabrina carpenter... i hope everyone likes this even though it is very painful, but lmk your thoughts pls!!
The bookshop was basically empty, all the noise you could hear being yourself trying to rearrange the books in alphabetical order, and soft music playing in the background.
you stood on your tiptoes in order to reach a book at the top of the shelf, knowing a bench was available but being too lazy to go get it. Wuthering Heights refused to reach your fingertips despite your efforts and soft curses to yourself a bit louder than usual due to the emptiness of the shop.
"Need help?" a male voice called from behind, causing you to roll your eyes. Here we go, you thought to yourself, another man who catches you alone in the shop and tried to hit on you, and you'll have to find him funny and play delighted to be in his presence despite how bothersome he is, despite the ring on his finger.
"No, I'm okay, really-" you started replying, putting on your best customer service smile, fixing your hair as you turned around to face the stranger. but the person who you faced wasn't a stranger in the slightest.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" he said as he reached behind you for Wuthering Heights, taking him zero effort to do so, increasing your frustration and disbelief.
those brief moments of closeness brought to you a thousand heart clenching memories, time standing still as his scent hit you softly.
"Try this one" you tried to stop giggling as you held the dark brown bottle in your hands and asked for his wrist.
"Tobacco Vanille? I don't want to smell like cigarettes!!" he joked, although he let you spray his wrist gently, so happy just for the sole fact that you were happy.
Your smiles reached your eyes as they met for brief seconds, waiting for the smell to hit his skin. Reactions weren't needed as your expressions turned from smiling to shocked, mouths widening at the scent that seemed to fill you both.
"It's AMAZING!" you half screamed excitedly as he smelled his wrist in confirmation. "Charlie, it smells so good I could eat you right now!"
He laughed at the nickname, at how pretty you looked, at how simple it all was. He kept laughing with the perfume in a perfectly wrapped package in his hand, the other holding yours.
"Uhm, hi" you said, as his big familiar hands stretched out to hand you the book, which you hugged tightly to your chest in an attempt to hide or disappear in it, you weren't sure "Thanks."
"No problem" he replied politely, almost annoyingly so, the tiptoeing already starting before more than a few words could be uttered, his hands in his pockets as he looked everywhere but you.
It was uncomfortable - the silence, the stillness, how both of you stood there like ghosts, waiting for some direction, something to do, something to happen. "So uhm... what brings you here?"
"Oh, I'm a wedding crasher" the stranger next to you replied, black tuxedo slightly touching your arm, a drink in his hand and shirt slightly unbuttoned.
"Really?" your eyebrows raised as you took in what he said and his appearance – the nose, especially the nose.
He laughed slightly, taking a sip of his drink and looking back at you "no, I'm friends with the bride," his finger pointed in the direction of the beautiful woman dressed in white, but all you could see was how big his hands were, adorned with rings. "And you?"
"I am an actual wedding crasher" you replied, cheeky smile adorning your lips despite the shyness you felt as your eyes locked with his. It was his time to raise his eyebrows and your turn to take a sip of beer as he repeated what you had asked seconds before. "Really?"
"No, I'm friends with the groom" you replied winking, enjoying the stranger's company and humor, his smile causing small dimples to appear in his cheeks as he looked down at his lap.
"You got me," his hand suddenly stretched towards you, palm open and inviting, "I'm Charles."
He kept shrugging and avoiding your eyes, despite the fact that he had willingly chosen to go to the place where you worked. It was making you impatient and angry, those emotions replacing the initial shock and sadness.
"I need your help choosing a book," his voice sounded weak and embarassed, shame coming through every vowel. You stood still, waiting for him to continue, wishing he'd speak faster, explain himself already or just leave and forget he even came. "For my girlfriend"
Those words twisted inside you like a sharpened knife that knew the cut would merely hurt, not kill. Despite that, you knew better, you refused to let him notice any sort of hint of how that information affected you. "Oh wow," was all you could say at first, turning around to keep placing books in shelves, distracting at least your body since your mind was restless "birthday?"
"Uh? Oh no, 6-month anniversary" he muttered, almost inaudibly. You were too aware suddenly of how your clothes felt on you, how ironic red was in the necklace you were wearing as you placed Anne Boleyn's biography in its correct place, tight between the other books. You refused to look to him now, nodding intensively so he would understand that you had heard what he said, your skin prickling as you struggled to move. Calculations ran through your mind, trying to place those 6 months in the timeline of both of your lives as he moved awkwardly behind you.
"It's funny actually, she really loves reading, I guess I do have a typ-" he began, trying to lighten the mood, but each word he said felt like another grain of salt being thrown at the open wound that was your heart.
“What does she like to read?” you interrupted him, purposefully so, knowing how clear your intention to move from the subject was.
“I read a bit of everything, but I love the classics,” you said as the cappuccinos arrived and sat prettily in the café’s table. You stared at Charles as he stared at you; his entire expression seemed to give you undivided attention, registering every word and movement of yours. He smiled at all the correct times, nodded at your statements and frowned at certain parts of your narrative almost as if he had been custom made for you.
“What’s your favorite book?” he continued, sipping his drink, some foam remaining on his top lip, a feature you smiled softly at, bravely leaning over with a napkin and cleaning it. “Thank you” he said as he noticed your blushing expression, his way of both reassuring you and brushing it off as something mundane, and you bit your lip, holding back a bigger smile than necessary.
“This is such a cliché,” you started, rolling your eyes at your answer, trying your best not to say it. “Go on” his hand suddenly stretched towards yours, resting on top of it gently, like a sheet perfectly fitted for a bed. Your body burned with the touch, what is symbolized, what it promised silently in that small café.
“It’s Catcher in the Rye,” you both burst out laughing.
“She loves Fitzgerald,” his hands touched random books, looking for something to do, fixing them, opening some of them and putting them back in place, reading the backs of them as if he was paying attention to anything they said.
“Good taste,” you tried the compliment route. You didn’t want to sound bitter, and you weren’t bitter. It was just a lot to take in so fast, his presence as painful as his words, the way both made you feel so small for such a big place, so big for such a tight room.
“That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool,” you quoted the author as you contemplated the choices available for a lover of Fitzgerald. Work could fill your mind. Pretending it was just one more client made it easier. “Any other author or book? Help me out, Charli- Charles” you cut yourself off before the nickname could come out, hoping he wouldn’t notice, knowing that he did. You felt his entire body tense behind you as yours did, making it seem like a picture frozen in time in place, The Star-Crossed Lovers.
Charles seemed so silent that you unconsciously felt yourself turning back to check if he was still there, if he hadn’t been a fragment of your imagination after all. He stood in place, for a moment his eyes looked at you as if they hadn’t seen you in his entire life, examined you as if you were as unknown as letters in a freshly printed page. That soon faded as he snapped back to reality, registering the question with incredible delay. “Faulkner. She also likes Faulkner.”
“Aaaand Faulkner is done” you brushed some of the dust off of your hands as you stood up, looking at the now organized Classics section. “At least for the next week! Thank you for staying with me, by the way,” you said to the phone, as its screen indicated that you had been on a call for 2:45:17 hours.
“No problem,” Charles smiled. You knew he did although you didn’t see him, and that sheer though made you smile as well. “Can you do me a favour though?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement, a puppy-like tone that you cherished “open the door, I’m freezing.”
At first you were confused at his request, and you were close to questioning it until it hit you. You didn’t believe it. There could be no way he was- you rushed to the bookshop’s door, opening it while still holding your phone. Heart racing, you opened the door and saw Charles’ frame standing there, the lights illuminating his red cheeks and nose from the cold, one hand awkwardly holding the cellphone, the other trying to balance two warm drinks. He was wearing a beanie that made him look younger, softer, a puffer jacket that seemed to hug him perfectly- “Is there a code or something?” he jokingly asked, his breath visible due to the cold air outside, and you realized you had been staring for too long. You stood aside, turning the phone off as he placed the cups on the counter and removed his extra clothes.
“You didn’t have to,” you started. “I wanted to.” “You’re so sweet I could kiss you right now.” “Do it, then.”
You started browsing through the spines of the books in the shelves in front of you, looking for answers to more than one question, relying on pulling you sleeves down to your hands to mask your nervousness.
“How have you been, though?” his voice made you jump a bit, pulling you back to reality as you pulled 2 books and held them against your chest with one hand, trying to keep them from falling by lifting a leg – an awkward stance, you were sure. “Great, actually” you replied, unconvincingly so.
Things were hard after what happened with Charles, and you had taken many different routes to get over it all at first – waking up hungover in strangers’ beds, not leaving the house, breaking hearts for fun, letting people use you for fun, meaningless moment after meaningless moment, where the highlight would be hearing a voice that sounded even slightly similar to his. They got slightly better, of course, a year had passed, you could function, yet it hadn’t scarred yet – it wasn’t even close. The wound was open and bleeding and hideous and his presence, his voice, his smell, his request, it all just made the blood spill harder.
“Really?” “Hmhm,” a nod. A cough from behind you, making you turn around. His face was stern, serious. Charles was considering if coming was a good idea, what even drove him to do it in the first place. There were so many bookshops, so many other gifts he could give, yet he felt like showing up, like seeing you, at least once. Now he was there and he felt peculiar. Something close to guilt crawled on his chest, but he wasn’t sure what he was feeling guilty of, which in turn intensified his guilt.
You reached for a third book, and as you did so, the ones you were holding fell once again on the old wooden floorboards. “Shit” you muttered, crouching to grab them as Charles did the same, you two being so familiarly close, the irony of the cliché overwhelming the both of you. Getting up, Charles felt the need to offer his hand for you to hold, a support you refused to take and acknowledge, pretending you didn’t see it when it reality it seemed to be screaming at you loudly and intensely.
“So here are my recommendations, I guess” you sighed, letting him assume it was due to tiredness, knowing that he wouldn’t. Placing the 3 books on the nearest table, they faced the both of you as you stood next to each other, his arm brushing against yours, eyebrows furrowed as he examined their covers and details carefully.
Mrs. Dalloway, Age of Innocence, and One Hundred Years of Solitude sat perfectly, yet stared at the both of you defiantly, knowing their words could cut through both of your souls if they pleased.
“Don’t let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love” Charles read aloud, laying in your bed next to you, your head resting gently on his chest as you felt him laugh softly, lying naked in . “You’re right, I think I like this author.”
You laughed alongside him, both unaware of the fact that you were laughing for different reasons.
Charles’ eyes glanced quickly towards you, the same memory haunting your minds as if you were locked in a cinema of nostalgia. Shyly, his hand reached towards the hardback edition of Age of Innocence, its soft colors drawing him attention when the other options were either too painful to grab or not as tempting for his eyes.
You leaned against the polished table, looking at the way he touched the pages tenderly, fingers brushing them with a softness that reminded you of times that had gone by yet seemed to close and so recent.
His features seemed so focused, eyes moving slowly across each sentence, eyelashes prettily adorning them, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed dryly. He almost seemed unreal, a mirage of a stranger who was once so familiar to you, breaking the spell when he chuckled softly. “What?” you asked, whispering, too afraid that a sudden movement might make him disappear entirely. The normalcy of the moment was as terrifying as it was comforting, a moment in which it seemed like you two were the same again. “Nothing it’s just, one of the sentences I stumbled upon…”
“Which one?” you rested your chin in your hand while looking up at him, forgetting the previous moments, the previous year, every previous instance in its entirety as he looked back down at you and bit his lip nervously.
“I want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that -categories like that- won't exist. Where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter.” the room went cold and silent as the night.
“I can’t give you a relationship” he stood in his own kitchen like a foreigner, a man you almost did not recognize. “Why not?” “Because I don’t do relationships and I don’t like labels and I don’t want to hurt you by convincing you that I can.”
Your ears rung as you fought back tears. You wouldn’t cry. You were too proud for that, to show him this mattered way more to you than to him. “If you don’t want to hurt me then try, Charles.”
He shrugged, arms opened in defeat and eyes looking at the window, the snow falling down outside, locking you both in this confrontation. “I can’t.” Frustration invaded your bones and skin as you asked why once again, though your voice was tired and broken.
“It’s not because of you, I just- Can’t I just love you?” “That’s what I’m asking you to do by staying,” you reply cut like ice, and as he moved closer to you and held your face in his hands, you knew you had lost. “I can’t. Because I can’t do relationships.”
“But you will” you pushed him away as you left, knowing you were leaving your toothbrush, spare underwear, and heart there.
He interrupted the stillness before you did, clearing his throat and his mind, failing to relieve you of the pain of the past. “I’ll take this one” he said, now too polite, too frigid to go back.
You held the book and moved towards the counter, aware of his footsteps behind you, following you. You knew he was doing it because he had to pay, because he was a customer, because that’s what you’re supposed to do – yet part of you wanted it to be for a different reason, wanted his hand to suddenly reach for your wrist and tell you it was all a lie, a big prank, he was sorry and he took it all back.
You wanted him to say something daring enough for you to explode at him, to scream everything you’ve been holding inside for a year, to go back to that kitchen and its dimmed lights. To dare yourself to ask how dare he come into your workplace and throw everything at you, all politeness and fragrance and small talk, like it was nothing when you felt everything.
Instead, you wrapped the present nicely, placing a bright ribbon at the top while he fidgeted with his wallet from the other side of the counter. It was almost done, this exchange, and you didn’t know how to feel anymore. You were tired. So tired.
“Why did you come here?” you asked, facing him fully, staring at his green eyes that tried their best to hold your gaze. “Seriously, Charles, why did you come here?”
At first, he stayed silent. You refused to break the silence this time, even if he left without an answer you knew you had asked it, you did not save it for late nights lying awake. “I know you think I didn’t love you, but I do” he said.
It didn’t seem like a reply to your question, it seemed like a statement he was waiting to get out since the moment he walked in, the phrasing odd with its verbs being intentionally used in different tenses that didn’t seem to matter, at least not anymore. All you could do was laugh in disbelief, anger, or hurt, or a mix of both spreading throughout your body.
“You were- are- very important to me. You helped me realize a lot of things and if I could, I would go back in time in a heartbeat. But I can’t” he grabbed the present, hinting at the fact that he was going to leave, yet it didn’t seem fair to you. This wasn’t an apology, and was nowhere close to it, your hands trembling were a proof of such.
“You never can” you raised your chin, pride fighting against hurt as tears threatened to roll down your cheeks, jaw tense and firm, “not when it comes to me.” And there it was. What you both knew was true, said aloud like a forbidden fruit that was now bit into.
“It’s more complicated than that. And it’s alright for you to hate me, but I genuinely do love you. I care about you and think about you more than I should-“
“Do you love her?” it was a stupid question, and you knew that. You knew whatever answer he gave you would be a slap in the face, unsatisfying and painful either way. You hated yourself for the slight jealousy you felt towards a woman you barely knew, who wasn’t at fault at all, whose only problem was being too lovable.
“I do. I wouldn’t have known that if it wasn’t for you” “Oh wow. Thanks for that one” you crossed your arms across your chest, making yourself smaller, trying to hide while looking at the clock – 15 minutes left until the shop closes. 15 minutes left of the last time you’ll ever see him.
“Why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn’t I enough?” he wanted to reach for you and hold you, a moment of involuntary movement almost drove him to do something he couldn’t possibly do, not anymore, at least. You looked at his sudden jerk of movement, how he stopped as if his muscles burned and prevented him from acting upon his instincts. It was the best answer he could’ve given you.
“I’m selfish. I want to look at a bookshelf and know a piece of you is there. I know I’ll never fucking see you again, and I’ll leave you alone, but God I need something to remind myself that you’re real” he said, eyes closing in shame or frustration, you couldn’t say.
“You took a part of me with you that night. And I’ll never get it back. And you walked in today and took a bit more. More than that book. And every time I think of you, you take another piece. So when you look at that book, think of your girlfriend. I am real. But what we had wasn’t. Not anymore.”
You started closing the register, ignoring his presence, hoping he’d go away. The only reason you noticed him leaving was the small bell that rang as he opened and closed the door, and you finally succumbed and let the tears run free.
#consti reqs ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ#charles leclerc#f1#formula 1#formula one#f1blr#f1 fandom#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc oneshot#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#charles leclerc angst#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female reader#f1 angst#f1 x you#f1 x y/n
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Midnight Muse (Part 4)
Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]
Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 3,556
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
Notes: This story is so healing to me 😌
_________________________________________
A deep thrumming rattling the walls shakes you from your sleep. It vibrates through your chest, the ardent bass and pounding drums reverberating in your bones. The timber of the singer’s words swims in your head, throat and low, and you’re unable to pluck the words and make sense of them this early in the morning.
You blink once. Twice. Your eyelids feel like sandpaper and your head is stuffed with tiredness, a sharp pain settled behind your eyes despite the darkness of your room.
Night licks the walls, and you groan, rolling over. Shoving your pillow over your head, it does little to block the disruption coming from the other side of the wall. You don't know what time it is. If it is still night, it’s either too early, or too late.
Which means that the sounds on the other side of the wall have to be one of those rowdy boys.
After moving the vehicle when ‘Azzy’—as the final boy so lovingly said it—had finally moved that death-trap of a ride, you were beginning to think that things were starting to finally look up for the rest of your first night in your apartment. He had been gone and his roommates’ party seemed to be winding down, if the three giggling, drunk girls on the elevator ride down were any sign. They’d been gushing about one of the roommates, Cassian, she’d said. Some of her brunette hair was disheveled in her ponytail, as if someone had tried to run their fingers through their hair, or had wrapped said hairstyle around their fist. Gag.
“He kept calling me baby,” she gushed to her friends, who were both squealing with excitement. You could hardly contain the desperate urge to roll your eyes at their annoyance, how they were openly talking about the lines of muscle cording his body or the length of his cock with a complete stranger inside this tiny metal box with them. It’s not as if they were whispering, and you’d cut a glance at the girl swooning over one of your rude neighbor’s appendage.
Her piercing green eyes were clouded and shiny with drink. Her cheeks pinkened with a blush that looked permanent. Her lush lips swollen and top button of her shirt still undone, she looked everything beautifully fucked.
Your mouth turned into a sour line, wondering which of the boys had been the one to claim her tonight.
With each passing day, the dilapidated elevator seemed to work slower and slower. As if it was your destiny to be stuck in the confines of this metal contraption with the worst possible people…or trapped outside of it, anyway.
Eventually, the doors had screeched open, but even the shrill noise didn’t deter the gossipping girls’ conversation. They stumbled out of the elevator with a cheerfulness only alcohol and dick could conjure, giggling their way down the quiet streets.
It was a miracle that you didn’t have a parking ticket clinging to the window of your rental. You’d moved it both easily and quickly, something you would’ve been able to do if that bastard Azzy had given you the damn space when you’d asked him to move his sleek motorcycle.
And of course, as you cursed his name for the umpteenth time of the night, he’d appeared.
Cloaked in a worn leather jacket that clung to the curve of every muscle, he’d shown up. There was a tight line to his mouth, deep eyes reflectant of the nighttime sky, caressed by equally dark, thick lashes. He nearly looked as tired as you felt, slight rings around his eyes. His helmet, that, when he shucked off pulled his hair up in the most perfect directions, even more so when he ran his gloved fingers through it with that damned smirk on his face.
He hadn’t let your gaze linger on the handsomeness of it as a streak of mischief streaking across his eyes like a star as he taunted you. Azzy’s tone was deep and dulcet, unexpected for the jeer falling from his lips. It took your tired mind to shear through the thoughts of that mouth and hook onto his words, and the asshole’s smile only widened when you scoffed and retaliated.
Oh, how he had gotten on your nerves.
Again.
And now this, music flowing through the wall at Mother knows what hour.
You’re so exhausted, you could cry. Your body is sore with the efforts of moving, mind a muddled mess. Tears prick the back of your eyes, tightening your sinuses as you grit your teeth, trying to contain them. If the fabric of your pillowcase wets with a drop, you would never admit it.
How has the day from hell somehow managed to turn into the night from hell too? What the fuck have you done to deserve this?
Even more so, how do the other roommates deal with this? Are they all awake and listening to the music, long bored after the party has died down? Or do they delight in the fact, knowing you are their neighbor and have already complained about the noise once. Why not bother you again, when any normal person would be asleep?
Frustration courses through your veins like a lance, hot and unforgiving. The rush has those tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and you push to your knees, channeling every ounce of burning hot ire and rotting tiredness into your fists, pounding them against the thin wall.
Your chest heaves, labored with irritation. You don’t smash your fists against the wall again, hoping that the once will have gotten your message across to the boy on the other side of the wall. There’s something that niggles at your brain, telling you that you know which one is fated to be on the other side of the plaster.
There is no response for one breath, two. Then, a thump as loud as your own, answers. Just one, like you had done to him. The music rings a touch louder, and it sounds nearly clear as day, like you’re standing in the front row to a rock concert.
Prick.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•
Sighing in frustration, you tear another sheet from your drawing pad, crumple it up with all of the pent up rage and annoyance, charging it with all of your ire. So much so, that you fear it might burst into flames. You want to tear it to shreds and stuff those tiny pieces of paper right up your douchebag of a neighbor's ass.
Instead, you throw the paper over your shoulder and let your head collapse in your hands.
Music pounds loudly through the earbuds you’d stuffed into your ears when it became clear that the raging music next door would not be turned down. You’d considered marching over there to give him a piece of your mind or punch a hole through this very wall, but instead opted to blare music so loudly you can’t make out the lyrics.
Art had been your next attempt at blowing off some of the steam turning your cheeks red. You’d pulled out the well-worn sketchbook from your bag, along with the colored pencils you always had stuffed in there, and attempted to allow your mind to unleash whatever it wanted across the creamy pages.
Except, everything that came out was trash. Lines heavy with exhaustion and anger, deep and dark, nearly tearing through the pages. You’d broken the tips on four of your pencils and couldn’t find the sharpener you swore you’d put in the front pocket of your bag.
It’s as if your body didn’t know what to draw. The beginnings of sketches quickly turned into shapes of madness and sleep-deprivation, things you couldn’t even make out. A bat that had turned into a gruesome image, flesh tearing from its bones. A cloaked figure atop of a black stallion that made your stomach clench. A few soft strokes of a pair of lips with an incredible smirk. Your shoulders had begun to loosen as you worked through this, but once you realized what you had begun sketching subconsciously, you’d torn away that page too.
And that had been the last page in your sketchbook, the black of the back cover taunting you, laughing at you.
It didn’t matter anyway, because your stomach had soured at the thought of your last attempt. You’d shoved yourself away from your desk, spine rigid and bones vibrating with tension. On one of the scrap papers you’d written a list of supplies to get while out shopping; pencil sharpener, new sketchbook, earplugs.
You’d even managed to unpack most of the boxes in your room before the sun had barely licked the sky. Terrible, you know, because you’ve only gotten a little more than an hour’s sleep since moving into this hell hole of an apartment. You curse Feyre’s sister, Nesta, who had claimed that this was her favorite place to live all the years she’d gone to school here.
At least you have been productive in the hours since.
Now, you’re trailing down the roads in town, headed to the small art supply store.
You’d waited until it was late enough for stores to be opening, and the town is quiet on this mildly sunny morning. You bask in it, shoving your earbuds into your pockets as you waltz, coffee in hand and fresh air coursing through your lungs.
You might’ve been able to fall asleep even with the sun peeking through your blinds, but you’d been determined to purchase the supplies you need for classes in a few days. Not even the sight of Azzy’s empty parking spot could turn you around.
Something you will probably regret later.
Feyre had been dead asleep by the time you left, and you figure someone should be getting sleep even if you can’t. At least, that’s how your thoughts are now, who knows how you’ll feel if this shit is a nightly occurrence. You might just have to persuade her to switch rooms with you.
The bell at the shop rings when you enter, but there’s no one at the counter to greet you. This, you don’t mind, because you aren’t in the mood to pretend like your morning hasn’t been one of the shittiest ones you’ve had in a long time, and you’re not even hungover. Whoever is on duty is probably stocking the shelves or something anyway.
Your gaze wanders around the store, stuffed full of art supplies. It’s heaven. Painted lined up by color, a rainbow bursting with life. There’s an entire aisle dedicated to sketchbooks and papers of all sorts, canvases larger than your body stacked against the back walls, spray paints, pencils, ink, carving tools, clay—any and all supplies for most artists can be found here, and that is no easy feat.
The scent of the store draws the tension from your shoulders, settling you to your core. You can feel the recharging of your creative energy, your artistic inspiration opening her eyes to take in the view.
Maybe you can talk to the owner and convince them to let you move in here.
You take your time, shuffling up and down the aisles, taking everything in for all its glory. Pristine tubes of paint, swollen like plump berries, not yet crusted with colors. Pencils with graphite of all weights and strengths. You pluck a new HB pencil from its container and slip it into your basket. And maybe you grab a few more.
A kneaded eraser is added after that, and ah-ha, the sharpener you need. A kit of watercolor pencils catches your eye, but you pass them up, instead heading to the sketchbook area, to linger in the scents of fresh paper.
There’s the shuffling of noise in another aisle, and you gather that it must be the associate on shift. Music begins playing through a speaker by the front, and it’s much less grating than the kind that had awoken you. The chill indie music fills the space with even more life, and combined with the streams of sunlight sliding in through the glass windows, you think your day may be starting to brighten.
You end up with three sketchbooks in your basket—a feat in itself not to choose one of each—and continue trapezing through the store. You pass by the sculpting section and pause for a moment, wondering if you should take a class. Then, at the thought of clay thick against your skin, caked under your nails and embedded into your clothes, you decide against it.
You grab a can of fixative for when you take your drawing class uses charcoals, another messy medium you don’t care for. You don’t like the feel of the dry chalk against your hands, sticking between the creases of your fingers. It takes forever to get out.
You may not know what type of art you want to stick with, but you know that those are out.
And there are so many different types of art to try that it’s almost overwhelming. Well, anything in your current state of fatigue is overwhelming, but you haven’t found the one thing that you can see yourself doing everyday. You don’t even have an artistic style yet, and you’re still fresh enough in college to take all of the classes you want to, weed out the areas of art you don’t care for and narrow down what you do like.
Surely, you’ll figure it all out. Someday.
You take the longest in the paint aisle. Tubes upon tubes of color scream at you, and you admire each one. From oils to acrylics, gouache to watercolors, it surely is the biggest section. Not to mention the plethora of brushes hanging above. You’d added a painting sketchbook to your cart, small enough for quick and simple paintings. You don’t want to put too much pressure on yourself yet, but you’ve always wanted to try it out.
Reds of all shades, ochres that remind you of autumn, phthalos and umbers and titanium white stare up at you, waiting for you to take them home, squeeze the life from them so their colors burst on your canvas. You gaze even snags on a unique color, and you lean closer to read the name: dioxazine purple.
You forgo that, instead grabbing a tube of the most important colors, colors you can mix together to create any other color on the spectrum. It’s almost like a super power, being able to mix such colors from only a few, and you love it.
After adding a few brushes to your basket, you head towards the front of the store to check out, halting in your tracks when you see who is behind the counter.
No, thankfully it isn’t Azzy, but it is one of his roommates.
He’s leaning against the counter, swiping through his phone. His dark hair looks surprisingly neat, brushed back with dampness still clinging to it from his morning shower. He’s clad in a black t-shirt that leaves a patchwork of tattoos on display. There’s an over-the-top cup of coffee on the counter that puts your simple one to shame. His posture exudes an effortless confidence, and when he looks up and catches sight of you, a dimple deepens in his cheek.
“Fancy seeing you here, neighbor.”
You bite back the groan at the base of your throat, moving closer. All you have to do is pay for your things and leave. You don’t have to talk to him outside of the necessary cashier talk, and maybe he won’t even try to taunt you.
Yeah, right.
“Hi,” you grit, placing your basket on the counter. He peers into it and you tense, feeling judged. You have no idea what kind of art he’s into, if he even is at all, but you don’t like him knowing this part of you, not when he and his roommates have been nothing but rude to you. It feels too personal.
His eyes flicker back to your face, taking you in, and the color reminds you shockingly of that tube of paint you were just looking at. You don’t balk from his assessment of you, taking in your tired eyes and the downturn of your mouth. You want him to stop looking at you and ring up your things, but instead, he smirks.
There goes your lighter mood.
Surprisingly, the first thing out of this one’s mouth isn’t a taunt. “How are you this morning, darling?”
Darling? That thought makes you want to grimace, but you swallow it down in favor of trying to get out of here without your state of mind plummeting further.
“Lovely,” you try for a smile, but it feels forced. His lips twitch higher as he clocks it as well. “And yourself?”
“Fantastic.”
You nod, pinning the sour remark to the roof of your mouth. Yes, I’m sure your party was just lovely, unlike my night of unrest.
Jerk.
“Right…” you trial off, eyes flicking down to your basket in an attempt to tell him to hurry the fuck up without so bluntly saying hurry the fuck up like you so devastatingly want to.
“First year here?”
“Second,” you answer flatly, praying he starts moving. The muscles of his arms flex where they’re on display, and he reaches into your basket, examining the first tube of paint he pulls out. Ochre.
Not for anything specific, maybe say, eyes.
“I’m a junior,” he replies, picking up the check out gun as slow as possible.
“I didn’t really ask.”
That mirth-filled gaze sweeps over you again and you try not to duck your head, to fight off the fire of both a blush at his attention and your irritation at his slowness.
“That’s right,” he muses, and the ring of the scanner going off makes you blink. “I’m Rhysand. I think we’ve met somewhere once.”
It’s what you’ve been waiting for, the teasing. How he’d answered the door after sensitive Azzy had and slammed it again in your face. You remember him perfectly.
“Are all three of you always this insufferable?” You ask, cutting to the chase. It’s a rhetoric question, one you already know the answer to, but he’s responding anyway.
“Most call it charm,” he shrugs, grinning.
You don’t hold back the urge to roll your eyes.
“So, your roommate is pretty cute,” Rhys drawls, scanning another tube of paint. That’s two in the span of a minute. He should be fired for such things. You glance at the door, praying that his roommate doesn’t waltz right in, because that, you think, would mean that you actually have the worst luck ever. “She got a name?”
Your gaze cuts back to him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t we all?”
“And yet, I didn’t catch yours.” He cocks his head and flips another paint tube out of the basket.
You grit your name through clenched teeth, the grip on your coffee cup tightening. Your already thin patience is now threadbare. Only a few strings holding on to your sanity, but Rhysand is quickly sawing through.
“Nice name for a lovely girl, I’m sure,” he teases, but there’s nothing funny about it. These boys might be having their fun, but to you it was never something to laugh at, and the situation has only gotten worse. “And what’s your roommate's name?”
“Sorry, she’s not the secret fuck type,” you bite. Though, she might be, after her breakup with long-term boyfriend, Tamlin this summer.
Thankfully, your basket is nearly empty. You set your coffee on the counter, pulling your wallet from your purse in haste. The quicker you can pay and leave, the quicker you can hole back up in your apartment. Maybe take a nap on the couch.
“Trust me, darling. It wouldn’t be a secret.”
You can’t help but splutter the laugh that bubbles up your throat. You stare at him, incredulous. “That usually works, doesn’t it?”
His façade falters and you lift your chin with pride. Clearly, you’ve caught him off guard. “What?”
“The whole ‘darling’ thing. You just expect women to swoon at that, huh?” His smile is hesitant, and he takes the card you hold out to him. “That’s what I thought. Can I have my supplies now, darling?”
Rhysand takes your card without complaint, running your total. His mouth is set in a firm line now, shoulders tense. The aura in the entire shop has changed, but you don’t have the ability to care right now, itching to get away.
He hands you your card back and nearly shoves your bag off of the counter with a grumbled, “Az was right.”
It’s your turn to question him. “What?”
“You are grumpy.”
The hot sheath of ire is torn away. Your fingers curl into fists around the handle of your bag, the other around your coffee cup. The bite of heat only fuels the irritation sliding up your spine, and you are unable to keep the cadmium red staining your cheeks as you glare up at him.
“Tell me you’re shitting sunshine when you haven’t slept all night because of your roommate.” Rhys answering smirk is cutting, suggestive. It makes you blind with rage. Spinning on your heel, you shove yourself out the door before he can answer your anger with another sly remark.
Fucking assholes, all of them.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•
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