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bruhstories · 10 days ago

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Muse I

p.2 && p.3

summary: after futile attempts of producing paintings for the councillors of piltover, you finally find your muse. pairing: viktor x painter!reader warnings: suggestive content, strangers to friends-ish, angst, some swearing, afab!reader with she/her pronouns who wears skirts and dresses, somewhat canon divergent, particularly in part 2 w/c: 4k

a/n: this might be my magnum opus lol. it will come with a part 2. likes and reblogs are much appreciated and encouraged!

Paint dripped on the marble floor of your atelier — an unfortunate safety hazard that you were used to by now. You couldn't fill in the blank canvas with anything other than still life, despite being commissioned to paint portraits of every councillor, as well as a landscape of Piltover. But you lacked inspiration. Motivation. You had no muse, and councillor Salo definitely wasn't one, not with his snobbish attitude.

"I'm afraid we'll have to postpone your portrait, Councillor." You excused yourself and left the room, armed with nothing but a sketchbook and a dull pencil.

Piltover was a beautiful city, and you knew you could paint it if you just found a nice spot to view it from. Somewhere high above, where you could see it in its entirety. But until you found that perfect place, you roamed the streets, closely observing the architecture, the flora, the fauna. You walked on grass — you weren't sure it was allowed — and found a fountain, clear water trickling down the granite curves and slopes. Whoever sculpted it did a brilliant job, despite the water eroding the stone. In fact, the erosion added a certain charm to it.

You took your sandals off and sat down on a patch of grass to sketch the fountain, steady, so as to not mess up your drawing, even if it was just a guideline for your future painting. It was then when you saw him — the most beautiful creature you ever laid eyes on. His unkempt chestnut brown hair framed his face in a way that made your heart flutter, but his striking amber eyes had you hooked. Even from such a distance you could see the yellow and orange hues mixing in his irises.

Quickly flipping the page of your sketchbook, you began to draw him. Graphite slid up and down the parchment as your hand moved naturally, like it had a mind of its own. You sketched and shaded, not stopping until he did. Until another man joined him, effectively blocking your vision. No matter, your visual memory aided you in finishing the drawing, but you didn't stop there. You found your muse, and you needed to paint him.

Your nights grew restless as you juggled between painting Piltover, the councillors, and him. But he inspired you somehow, leaving only Councillor Medarda, half of the landscape, and his portrait unfinished. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get the colour of his eyes right, and it drove you mad. You couldn't remember exactly how much yellow you needed, or how much red. Was there a hint of green? Did you need to add a drop of blue?

A soft knock on the door of your atelier startled you, and you opened it, greeting Councillor Medarda. You forgot she was due for her portrait, and invited her into your messy chamber.

"My apologies, Councillor, I didn't have the time to tidy up."

"It's quite alright. I prefer this — the raw, unfiltered creativity. Besides, I've never met an artist that's organised." She smiled. "May I?"

"Of course." You nodded, bringing her more canvases and sketches to look at.

"You truly are gifted. The colours, the highlights, you must be a prodigy." The councillor nodded. "Is that-"

You snatched the paper from her hand, clutching it at your chest.

"Sorry, that one's... personal."

"Funny. I thought I recognised that man." She pondered, and the gears in your head rotated.

"If you do know him, could you introduce us?" You chewed on your lower lip, then left to show her another one of your paintings. "I just can't get his eyes right."

"Viktor." Councillor Medarda gasped at the sheer hard work you put into the portrait. "You weren't commissioned to do this."

"Like I said, it's personal. Practice." You swiftly corrected yourself. "Yes, good practice."

"I suppose I could take you to his lab. A fair warning — you might have to bring your supplies there, because he will never leave his work to pose for a painting." She scoffed.

"I can figure something out."

Mel Medarda kept her promise after what seemed to be an eternity. Although you hadn't finished her portrait, you managed to paint a good chunk of it, laying down all the base colours and shapes. She would have to come back another day, however. You walked with her, closely trailing behind with a box full of paints, brushes and thick paper. You didn't bring his portrait with you yet, because you needed to assess him first, and you couldn’t paint anywhere else but your atelier. Sketching was different — that you could do anywhere, at any time. But painting was intimate. However, you were considering making an exception for him.

"Goor afternoon, Jayce." Councillor Medarda greeted a very cheerful, very lovestruck scientist.

You could clearly see that he was doting on her, and she tried to hide her own excitement while maintaining a professional persona. It was cute to see a respectable scientist and a reputable councillor behave like teenagers — her hitched breath, his voice cracking, the quiver of her lip, the twinkle in his eyes — they were adorable. But you were here for someone else, not to witness their blooming love in a cold lab.

"Ahem." You cleared your throat inconspicuously, feigning a cough, and she remembered her promise.

"Jayce, this is Y/N. She's been commissioned to paint portraits of the councillors. Y/N, this is Jayce Talis, scholar, scientist, politician." Mel said, and you reached out your hand to shake Jayce's while propping the box in your hand with your knee.

"Nice to meet you, miss." His grip was firm around your fingers and palm. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The councillor stifled a chuckle, her thin, delicate fingers covering her mouth. As always, Jayce thought himself to be the centre of attention. He was the centre of her attention, that much was certain.

"She's here for Viktor. Have you seen him?"

"Viktor, yes." Jayce awkwardly rubbed the back of his head, then looked at the crate in your arms. "Do you need a hand?"

"Thank you, Mr. Talis, but these materials are quite precious to me. I'd rather hold them myself, if you don't mind." You gripped the box tighter.

Jayce found it amusing how fond you were of your paintings supplies, something you had in common with Viktor. He, too, was possessive of his work, in an incredibly stubborn, annoying way.

"Very well. Follow me." The scientist said, and you and councillor Medarda walked down a corridor of marble and limestone.

In classic Piltover architecture, golden columns decorated the tall walls, with blue spheres embedded in them, contrasting the polished white floor. Whoever designed it had a keen eye for details, you thought. Jayce and Mel partook in small talk, but you didn't intrude. You much preferred memorising the way to the laboratory, the number of stairs, and the motifs on the walls.

Two wooden doors stood in front of you, intimidatingly tall. Jayce opened one of them, inviting you and councillor Medarda in first, like the gentleman he was. You were taken aback by the materials on the worktops, the tools, the lights, the runes. It was a lot to take in, and you wouldn't understand what you were taking in exactly. But behind the tables full of hammers, screwdrivers and wrenches was your muse. He was focused on something, brows furrowed and lips pursed. A tiny bead of sweat trickled down his temple, slowly reaching his jawline, and you instinctively licked your chapped lips.

"Vik!" Jayce called out, but the man offered no response, still concentrating on whatever he was doing. "You'll have to excuse him. When he's working, he seems unable to hear."

You smiled — it was a trait you both shared. Whenever you immersed yourself in painting, you couldn't pay attention to your surroundings.

"Viktor!" Jayce moved closer to the table, snapping his fingers in Viktor's face, until the man scoffed.

"Yes?" Voice laced with irritation, he finally looked up at Jayce, then behind him. "Oh."

"Viktor, this is Y/N. She's an artist." Mel's hand reached out, and with a nod, you stepped forward, placing the heavy crate on an empty chair.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but I... well, how shall I put it?" You rummaged through the box and pulled out your first sketch of Viktor. "I would like to paint you."

He took the paper from your hand, amber eyes wide at the beauty of it. Viktor scanned the sketch and every detail that went into it, pale cheeks tinted pink.

"I understand if you find this awkward, or if you don't agree." You carried on, but there wasn't an ounce of emotion on his face.

"When did you do this?" Viktor asked, still staring at himself. It was like looking into a mirror, yet he couldn't recognise himself.

"A few days ago, by the fountain." You tried to guess his feelings, but he didn't let you see them. "Again, I understand you probably consider me strange for doing this, but I must paint you, sir."

"I'm flattered, miss. But perhaps Jayce would be a better candidate? You'll find he is much more appealing to the eye." He handed you back the sketch.

You glanced at Jayce, a look of disgust on your face that you tried to hide. Sure, he was objectively attractive, that you could agree on, but you didn't want that. You wanted him. You wanted your muse.

"I think it would be a great idea, Vik!" Jayce beamed at his partner. "You need a break."

"That is precisely what I don't need." Viktor rolled his eyes. "Besides, I don't want to leave my lab."

"I could do it here." You offered. "I won't talk, I won't disturb you, you won't even know I'm here."

"It's already crammed."

"Please." You leaned forward, palms slammed on his table, trying to get a better look at his eyes. You probably looked insane like that, but you didn't care — you were desperate. "If you don't like it, you can hide it, break it, burn it. It will be yours to do as you please."

Viktor was past the point of being irked. He was downright furious, but he had to shut you up somehow. And Jayce, who really needed to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.

"Fine." He mentally scolded himself for agreeing to do something so stupid. Posing for a painting? Ridiculous.

"Thank you so much. This means the world to me!" You picked up the crate to find an unused spot in the lab.

Viktor didn't mind your presence. You were true to your word — quiet. You didn't ask questions, didn't walk around the lab, didn't make him sit in some egregious position. In fact, he was surprised to see just how focused you were on your paintings. The fact that he didn't pose made it difficult for you to do a portrait — the whole point of it was for your model to sit still. And he did, just with his back at you, slouched and avoidant.

And you weren't always there. Bouncing between your atelier and the lab, between sleepless nights and painting, your schedule had become hectic. The bags under your eyes and poorly buttoned shirts, the strands of hair that stuck out from your updo, or the lines of green and blue on your cheeks were a dead giveaway.

But Viktor was the exact same, missing only the paint on his face and the skirt. You were like two peas in a pod, so much so that it drove Jayce up the walls to practically have two Viktors in the lab. Stubborn, hard-working, irritable, he found it ridiculous that you didn't become friends yet, or at least something more than strangers, considering how similar you were.

But you weren't strangers.

The act of transcribing one's mind, body and soul onto canvas, without losing any tiny detail in translation, was intimate in itself. You had to study Viktor, to memorise his gestures, his quirks — the way his forehead creased when he focused, how he found comfort in gripping the handle of his cane, the twinkle in his eyes when he had a brilliant idea. You didn't need words to understand him.

At first, he found it odd. Having an intruder in his lab, in the only place that brought him comfort, joy and privacy, felt violating. It definitely didn't help that you kept a close eye on him. He understood why — you needed to look at him to be able to paint him. But it was, naturally, strange. Then, he became used to you, to your shadow, your scent — of roses, cinnamon, a hint of vanilla. Viktor never grew tired of the smell of copper and smoke, but whenever you walked past him in the afternoon to set up your easel and paints and brushes, he took a very deep breath in, just to oxygenate his brain with your scent.

The utter silence in the laboratory frustrated Jayce. Since you trespassed with their consent, his partner became quieter, and you barely uttered a good morning or goodbye. He really hoped you being there would help Viktor socialise, but it did the opposite. The sound of graphite scraping on paper, or bristles on canvas was the only thing he heard in days. It was too much.

"I need a break." Jayce slammed a screwdriver on the table, startling you, but Viktor was unmoved by the sudden rattle. "Viktor?"

"I'm fine." His partner waved his hand dismissively.

"Y/N?"

You set the brush aside, then cracked your knuckles. It had been hours since you had a drink or food.

"I'll take a break. I can't be efficient if I burn out, and I still need to finish the landscape." You got up from the wooden stool to stretch.

Behind the cogs and tools, Viktor glanced at you, amber eyes fixated on your neck, trailing down your collarbone, and your half-exposed chest. He didn't know when you unbuttoned your collar, or when you bunched up your skirt, but the clothes looked like an uncomfortable confinement on you. Like they stopped your body from flowing naturally. He wondered — an intrusive, improper, shameful thought — if you sometimes painted naked. If you were more creative when not clothed. But he shook the thought away when you walked around his table to the small stove behind him.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Scientist?"

Viktor had forgotten how sweet your voice was, like a siren lulling sailors to their demise. He nodded, back facing you. He didn't dare to look at you after picturing you nude.

"Where did you study?" Jayce asked, and you really wanted Viktor to make that sort of small talk with you.

"Ionia, the Academy of Arts." You stirred the honey in Viktor's cup of tea.

"Mel tells me you're quite talented." Jayce complimented you, and you should've thanked him.

"Talent is nothing without hard work, Mr. Talis, as I'm sure you already knew, given your career."

Viktor smiled, even if you couldn't see him. He wholeheartedly agreed with you — even if both him and Jayce were geniuses in their fields, they wouldn't have accomplished anything without sheer hard work and dedication.

"You need to stop calling us Mr. Talis and Mr. Scientist." Jayce chuckled. "You've been in our lab for weeks now. You're part of the team."

"I wouldn't say part of the team, but I do appreciate the company. I can be quite lonely in my atelier." You placed the Viktor's tea on his table.

He couldn't help but feel a slight jab from your words. He, too, was lonely when Jayce left. But he didn't make an effort not to be. Work was more important, and he hadn't yet found anything to prioritise more than that. Jayce pulled out his pocket watch, and froze.

"Shit, I must go. I'm late to my date- my meeting. Sorry, Vik. Be right back! "

"Eeh, we both know these meetings take some time." Viktor grinned.

It wasn't the first time the two of you were alone in the laboratory, but it always happened when you were both working. You, however, were taking a break, and you needed it before returning to your portrait. Sitting in complete silence, you sipped on your tea, brainstorming ideas for the title of your painting. Viktor's Portrait didn't have a nice ring to it.

"You never asked to see it." You spoke, fingers wrapped around the warm mug, interrupting him for the first time.

He didn't, because he only agreed to it to shut you and Jayce up. He was never curious to see it finished, let alone in progress. But after spending weeks in your presence, and after you said that, he couldn't deny the curiosity that bubbled in his chest. Still, by this point, he could wait a few more weeks.

"I don't have any inclinations towards the arts, Miss Painter." Viktor playfully mocked the way you called him Mr. Scientist for so long. "I doubt any feedback I give will be useful."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Why were there two wrenches on his table? And two cogs? Two cups of tea? No, he was seeing double, his head was pounding, ears ringing. Viktor reached out for his cane, but when he took one step, his legs wobbled, refusing to support him. You caught him, a firm grasp around his forearm, and pulled the nearest chair for him to sit down after setting aside your mug.

"I suppose I am in need of a break, too." The scientist sighed.

Lately he had been looking paler, thinner. His clothes didn't fit him like they used too, trousers loose around his waist, held only by a leather belt. You brought his cane before he even asked you for it, and dug into your bag for food. Unwrapping the muslin cloth, you offered him your lunch — bread, cheese and a few dried fruits. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

"Eat, please." You encouraged him, breaking the bread in small bites.

"No, it's your food."

"And I'm giving it to you." The stern tone of your voice had him oblige.

"I've wondered, Miss Painter-"

"Y/N." You corrected him.

"Right, Y/N. I've wondered why did you want to paint me?" He asked after swallowing the food. "I'm a broken scientist, surely you could do better with your models."

"I am doing better." You pulled a chair for yourself. "I haven't had any inspiration in a very long time, despite being commissioned to paint fairly simple things. But then I saw you, and everything changed. Like it or not, Viktor, you became my muse that day."

"Well, I'm flattered. Truly." He winced at the weight of his brace around his calf. "I need to take this off. Too tight." Viktor bent over but his vision blurred, forcing him to lean back in the chair.

"I'll do it."

"Please, I don't need pity. Just to rest." He scoffed.

"It's not pity, it's help."

"Help because you pity me."

"Help because I want to help. Have you never experienced honesty from people?" You kneeled down between his legs to get a better look at his brace.

His jaw clenched at the sight of you like that. It has been too long since he touched someone, and although your intentions were pure, he could not block his sinful thoughts from tainting his mind. You were beautiful, clever, and you shouldn't waste your time with someone like him. Yet there you were, nimble fingers working the leather straps of his brace. You pulled it off, resting it against the table behind you.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" You looked up at him, and he drowned in your doe eyes.

Oh, there were plenty of things you could do for him, he just couldn't utter them, only imagine them.

"No, I'll just rest here if that's alright with you." Viktor nodded.

"Very well. I shall get back to my painting, but please, if you need any help, tell me."

When Jayce returned, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You were meticulously combining colours, eyeballing the necessary amount you needed to create the shades you desired. Viktor was back at his table, brace around his leg and a chair closer to him. And it was quiet, normal.

Days of hard work proved fulfilling — you had finished the landscape of Piltover, handed the portraits to each councillor, and got paid. There were other requests that you received, but they could be postponed. You were so close to finishing Viktor's portrait, and you didn't need to do it in his lab anymore, only adding minor details.

But you couldn't just gift it unframed, and so you bought a simple wooden frame that you painted yourself to match the portrait. Purple and golden. You signed it and added something only the Academy of Arts in Ionia taught — a magical rune. Focusing your intentions in it, visualising the magic in the painting, you wrapped the canvas and took it to the laboratory.

Jayce wasn't there, and you were so grateful for that, because you wanted Viktor to see it privately. You wanted to cherish that moment, just the two of you. Opening the tall wooden doors that you were so familiar with, you walked into the lab, portrait in your hands. Viktor was shocked to see you look so well put together — a dark green dress and heels that clicked with each step on the cold stone floor. He had seen you at your worst, face covered in paint and fingertips darkened by coal and graphite. But now he had the privilege to see you at your best, he thought.

"It is done." The smile on your lips was contagious.

His long fingers touched the twine knot around the canvas, almost afraid to untie it and look at the portrait, but your encouraging, eager eyes stopped him from hesitating. Viktor pulled on the string and unwrapped the paper, looking at himself. But he was different. His hair was longer, silver mixed in his brown locks. A purple cloak was wrapped around him, with golden adornments, and his cane was a staff, the handle circular and matching the golden in his outfit. The dark background was lightened by pale yellow shapes and lines, and his eyes were identical, the same amber hues he saw when he looked in a mirror.

"Have you thought of a name?" Viktor asked, still shook by how beautiful he was in that portrait.

"The Herald." You nodded.

The painting belonged in a museum, not in his bedroom to collect dust. He examined every detail, even the frame that was in harmony with him. Was that how you saw him? Like a god?

"I honestly don't know what to say. It's beautiful." Viktor's eyes narrowed down on the small rune in the corner of the canvas. "What is that?"

"Magic." You grinned. "At the Academy they taught us to weave magic into our art."

"Magic? What for?"

"Hopefully to help you get better."

"I'm afraid that is impossible, Miss Painter. But I do appreciate the thought." Viktor offered you a bittersweet smile. "How may I repay you?"

"By doing me the honour of modelling for me." You folded your arms across your chest.

"Didn't I just do that?" He snorted.

"No, you worked. I would like to study you more. Your features are unique, Viktor."

"That one I have never been called. Weak, broken, handicapped, but unique is a new one." Viktor sighed. "I think you've had enough fun, Miss Painter. I won't be an object of mockery."

You were stunned. Did he honestly think you were making fun of him? That you spent countless days and nights painting him just to ridicule him? That you lost sleep and hurt your fingers just to insult him? No. He was insulting you.

"Very well." You straightened your posture. He was not about to wound your pride. "Good luck with your work, Mr. Scientist."

#viktor #arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #afab reader #viktor arcane

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ghostofhyuck · 4 months ago

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NCT Dream and things in your shared apartment that makes sense.

Mark Lee ; subtle spiderman decorations.

It was a silly fandom joke but Mark took it seriously like lol okay spidermark we see you. So it makes sense that your shared apartment with him has some subtle spiderman decorations. And it's not like you two thought about it, it just happened that when you two go shopping and saw something spiderman-related, you two would buy it impulsively. There's a lego spiderman both in your apartment keys. A small spiderman figurine lay silently on the corner of bedside table. Or maybe there's a "I love Spiderman" magnet on your fridge too. Either way, it's cute and reminds you of your boyfriend so much.

Huang Renjun ; touches of your favorite color.

When you two first bought the shared apartment, you and Renjun discussed about the overall design of the flat, especially the color combination. Making sure that you two can come in terms, your apartment felt like a light spring because of the color combination. You two made it worked and it feels like home for the two of you! Also, you two are very meticulous with the design, like it took you guys a week to fully designed the whole apartment but it was worth it because it turned out so beautiful! <3

Lee Jeno ; everything comes in pairs!

Like. Literally. Everything. Is a pair. That's why the Dreamies would complain why you two only have two sets of plates and utensils, and Jeno would shrug, it's not like you two need more lol. The first thing you'll see is two pairs of home slippers, and key holder only has two hook. There's one long couch that only fits two people, and in the bathroom, there's a pair of toothbrush rest idly on the holder! But it's a cute way to show that the apartment is owned by a couple who's very minimal and tranquil with their life. <3

Lee Donghyuck ; mismatched decorations

I feel like the overall aesthetic of your shared apartment with Haechan is kinda chaotic but the more you stare at it, the more you think that hey, it's not that bad at all. Like it's fine that your collection of sonny angels is right next to Haechan's pc set-up. Or how a lego figurine of a sportscar is line-up on top of a cabinet and then, there's this cute miffy lamp next to it. Everything's just mismatched but it's your shared apartment, and no one seems to bat an eye at the confusing aesthetic of the apartment.

Na Jaemin ; photobooks as coffee table center

Okay mr. narcissism, it's no surprise that you have a set of photobooks on top of your coffee table. It probably contains: (1) pictures of you two on a vacation together, (2) portraits of the people he love the most, or (3) portraits of Dreamies! He swells in pride whenever there are guests and they would look into the photobook and just admire the portraits that he captured. Plus, it's placed in your shared apartment! He was just happy that his three kids hasn't chew the photobook yet, (and hopefully not!)

Zhong Chenle ; scattered bitten objects

It's not like your apartment's messy, but Daegal is such a hyper dog despite being your princess. She just loves to play and even though her teething phase is finished, she still lovesssss carrying objects to bite. You'll just go home to your apartment and find that Daegal had reached the throw pillow and now it's on the floor, ripped open with a few cottons on the floor and you couldn't be angry with her because she has her puppy eyes waiting for you. <3 Plus, you know how your boyfriend tolerates Daegal's biting habits lol.

Park Jisung ; a bed full of plushies

OH. Your bed with Jisung is just full of plushies and that's because you're obsessed with plushies and couldn't sleep without cuddling one. (Jisung would complain that you should just cuddle him instead.) He only have a few plushies there but you tend to just fill the bed that when morning comes, some of the plushies were already on the floor. You would pick them up and apologize for pushing them off the floor while your boyfriend just stares at you. But at the same time, he doesn't mind because it's like you two have a big family whenever he goes home and sees the pile of plushies on the bed.

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buckyandgeraltsupremacy · 1 year ago

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remus x shy!reader (part 2)

i'm a whore for slow burns and so this little mini series will be a slow burn

author: sj

warnings: fluff, full moon possessiveness, slow burn, reader is described as having longish hair and uses she/her prounouns

part one / part three / part four / part five

masterlist

---

this was your first full moon around remus since discovering he was a werewolf. you weren't nervous, just relieved you finally knew what was going on.

remus was terrified. everyone knew he got a little snappier when it came close to the full moon. he got wound tighter and tighter until happened and the last thing he wanted to do was snap at you.

you were 3 days away from the moon and you just finished with classes, following the boys to their common room to study with remus like normal.

you collapsed on the couch and remus fell into the cushion next to you. you both worked silently together for a while until you found remus significantly closer to you than he was before, your thigh pressed to his.

you weren't bothered by this, but remus was slowly combusting silently. he just felt this unexplained need to be touching you at all times. it started this morning when you were in class with him. your slytherin desk partner had his arm touching yours while you were both taking notes and remus thought he was going to lose. it.

at lunch he made sure he was next to you and that helped his need to be touching you. he usually started to ache before the full moons, but it seemed when you were close that he suddenly forgot about the pain and was only thinking about you. hence why he was trying to get closer to you while in the common room.

you sighed and put your books on the floor. you yawned and you slouched into the couch. remus studied you and noticed the tension you were carrying.

"lay down, bun. close your eyes for a while." remus said, patting his thigh. you nod and lay down your head on his thigh, hair cascading into his lap. remus felt his nerves start to calm and gently started running your hair through his fingers. he delicately plucked at your hair and fiddled with it.

about an hour later, sirius got restless and groaned dramatically on the floor.

"ughhhhh. i'm so bored. wake flea up so she can sneak to the kitchens with me and charm the elves." he said, rolling towards remus. remus stiffened.

"no. let her sleep. she's stressed and is actually resting right now. and if you wake her up, i will wait till you fall asleep tonight and find an insect to crawl into your ear and eat the little brains you have left." he said, it coming out a little more aggressive than remus intended, but feeling extremely protective of you.

the next day, all remus could think about was you. it was a saturday so he didn't expect to see you unless you wanted to come to the common room. and low and behold, you came through the portrait hole and came over to the boys with a small smile.

almost reflexively, remus' hands flew up to grab you as you passed, pulling you down almost on top of him as you passed. you gasped and giggled as you fell onto the couch next to remus, extending them over remus' sideways. remus sighed and pulled you into a hug and mumbled into your hair about how much he missed you.

"ew." peter mumurs.

"i had a theory that you would get possessive near the full moon and this is only proving me right." james says. your cheeks flush red and remus pulls back to look you in the eye.

"i just missed my bun is all. doesn't mean i'm some possessive alpha male." remus scoffs, looking towards the boys.

"your bun?! she's all of ours mate. not like you're dating the girl." sirius says, trying to get under remus' skin. remus' hands tighten around you, sirius' words already making remus' hypothetical hackles rise. remus, not wanting to admit sirius is right, just puts his head back to your shoulder and whispers, 'my bun'.

thus how you found out that remus gets a little possessive close to the full moon.

#remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x reader fluff #remus x reader #remus x reader fluff #marauders x reader #marauders era #the marauders #marauders

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uglypastels · 8 months ago

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Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works.

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist

Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases.

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally.

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room.

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother.

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas.

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject.

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte.

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises.

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention.

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly.

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked.

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away.

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received.

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework.

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done.

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you.

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming.

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense.

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg.

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’ ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip.

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited.

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind.

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair.

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever.

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head.

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day.

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head.

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap.

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea.

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed.

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick.

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up.

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye.

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks.

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself.

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there.

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger.

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side.

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that.

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do.

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences.

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now?

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores.

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content.

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine.

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed.

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by.

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter.

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better.

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice.

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did.

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet.

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions.

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind.

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for.

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man.

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of.

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh.

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation.

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance.

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family.

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly.

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone.

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met.

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn.

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so.

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely.

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for.

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves.

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here.

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family.

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools.

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit.

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek.

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping.

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think.

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do.

You screamed bloody murder.

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’ you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you.

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply.

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired.

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire.

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled.

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname.

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape.

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities.

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff.

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it.

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment.

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture.

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste.

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide.

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot.

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner.

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms.

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet.

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie.

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you.

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you.

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off.

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you.

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied.

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you.

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire.

‘Yes, mother.’

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words.

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss.

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time.

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.”

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted.

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours.

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio.

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone.

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did.

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio.

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens.

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave.

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

Chapter 2

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

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maxxxineminxxx · 1 year ago

Text

I wanna be more part 2 || eddie munson

part one: https://www.tumblr.com/maxxxineminxxx/730923192165826560/i-wanna-be-more-eddie-munson?source=share

warnings: angst, jealousy, cussing, underage drinking, kissing.

summary : y/n attends the party she was unsure about going to, only to find out that Eddies there as well with his "girl?'' Eddie is still ignoring y/n and she is determined to find out why.

A/n; I decided on making a part two I hope its okay. I tried to finish this part and upload it as fast as i could so if there is any errors let me know!

You haven't spoken to Eddie all week, and every attempt to catch his eye seems to fail. The guys from Hellfire, while friendly, are just as clueless about Eddie's behaviour as you are. You've missed being with them, but with the way Eddie's been acting, you doubt he'd even want you around at this point. You can't shake the feeling that he's got Roxanne as a stand-in for you. The two of them seem awfully close.

Yesterday was the first day of the week that you had biology, Eddie was in the same class as you and sat right next to you so you thought you would finally be able to maybe get him to even acknowledge your presence. But he didn’t in fact he didn’t even sit next to you he moved his seat and sat next to Roxanne instead. The two of them giggling the entire lesson.

The cheerleaders have been persistent in trying to convince you to go to the party tonight, but all you really want to do is wallow in self-pity. On Saturday nights, you and Eddie would have your cherished movie nights. This tradition had been going strong since you were twelve, and you hadn't missed one. But tonight, you couldn't help but feel that it would mark the first Saturday where this tradition would be broken. Eventually, though, you decide that it might be good to take your mind off the situation and distract yourself for a couple of hours by going to this party.

As you approach Olivia's house, its exterior gives off elegance and warmth. The well-maintained structure stands as a testament to a comfortable and inviting abode. Olivia's mother graciously welcomes you inside. Following the lively symphony of girlish laughter, you navigate through the house. The source of the cheerful laughter and singing leads you to a room where a flurry of activity unfolds. The air is scented with cosmetics, a delightful blend of powders and perfumes.

Within this lively environment, a group of girls are engaged in the transformative ritual of hair and makeup, each one a portrait of focused determination. Some of them in pairs, offering assistance and sharing opinions on outfits. The room is vibrant with colour, style, and a shared sense of excitement as they prepare for the party soon.

"y/n, get over here so I can get started on your makeup," Chrissy said to you, patting the spot next to her on the bed. You complied and settled in, letting her work her magic.

Meanwhile, Layla declared herself the outfit maker and designer, convinced that jeans were a no-go for a party. You observed as Carol and Olivia playfully teased each other and spritzed their hair.

"y/n, you're up next for hair," Olivia informed you, stealing glances at her own reflection.

“y/n is there anyone you like?” Chrissy asked as she finished up your blush. “Yeah, but I don’t really think he likes me back like that, he kind of only sees me as a friend.” You admitted to her, she looked at you with pitiful eyes. “Well, his loss yeah?” you hummed in agreement and carol placed her hands on your shoulders and then spoke. “Hold your breath unless you want to pass out from inhaling too many hairspray fumes, I’ve learnt from experience.”

This was going to be a long night. Slightly uncomfortable too, outfit wise.

Arriving at Jason's house, a wave of discomfort washed over you. The dress you wore hugged your form, its hemline leaving you feeling more exposed than you were used to. Layers of makeup adorned your face, a foreign sensation that you tried to ignore. Taking a deep breath, you pushed those sensations aside, determined to make the most of the evening. A break from the Eddie situation was much needed.

Compliments from fellow partygoers began to flow, and you couldn't deny the boost to your confidence. It made the uncomfort worth it. Though you couldn't ignore the lingering gazes from the basketball team. In the kitchen, an entire table was dedicated to a bunch of alcoholic drinks. You poured some into a cup, leaning against the counter as you took a sip. It was a moment of peace before you had to socialize. Although it didn't last very long before the girls were running up to you. The girls all come rushing up to you, whispering in hushed tones among themselves.

"Oh my god, you're never going to believe who even dared to attend tonight," Layla announces to the group, imitating a gag. "Eddie Munson and Roxanne are here together," she adds.

You scan the room, and there they are.

The sting of hurt cuts deep, a familiar ache settling in your chest. It's a harsh truth you've come to accept - Eddie's reluctance to attend parties with you is a wound that never seems to fully heal. No matter how much you plead, his answer is always the same: a resolute no. You've always turned down invitations like this because Eddie didn't enjoy them, and you didn't want to go without him.

You wonder if he would have done the same for you. And now, he's here, amidst it all, with her. She likely didn't need to utter a plea, a thought that only adds to the pain. You watch as she leans into his side, and he holds her close. Your gaze remains fixed on them until your eyes meet Eddie's. He looks at you, then turns to Roxanne, whispering something in her ear. They both giggle.

The alcohol begins to work its gentle magic, enveloping you in a comforting warmth. Leaning into Jason, who's positioned himself protectively between you and Carol, you find solace in his presence. It's surprising, yet oddly comforting. He places a protective arm around your waist.

“you, okay?” he asked with genuine concern you nod and give him a smile. “Just tired.”

Jason had promised to be your protector, ready to confront any guy who overstepped boundaries and made you uneasy. His genuine concern touched you deeply, especially when you confide your uncertainty about the party during your lunch conversation. As the party swirls around you, the noise and bright lights closing in, you start to feel slightly overwhelmed.

You stumble towards the front porch, craving the cool embrace of fresh air and a moment of peace. The alcohol has taken its toll, pushing you on the edge of emotions. Your heart aches for a chance to talk to Eddie, to find out the reason for his distance.

Lost in your thoughts, you settle onto the porch, consumed by all your questions and concerns. It takes a moment before you even register the presence beside you. Glancing over, your breath catches in your throat. There's Eddie, his expression etched with deep contemplation. It appears he, too, is lost in his own world, unaware of your arrival. The weight of your unspoken connection hangs heavy in the air between you.

But when he finally noticed you, he stood up, already ready to head back inside and ignore you once again. But you grab his arm before he can enter the house once more. Your voice trembles with frustration and hurt as you confront Eddie. His attempts to avoid your gaze only fuel your determination.

“Why are you ignoring me, Eddie? I think I deserve a damn explanation," you press your grip on his arm firm. His response feels like a dismissive blow.

"I don't know what you mean," he mutters, a fake innocence in his tone that grates against your raw emotions. It's as if he's trying to gaslight you, making it seem like you've imagined this distance.

"You don't know what I mean? How about how you ignored me all weekend, and then still didn't speak to me at school, no matter how many times I tried to reach out to you?" Your words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of your broken connection. The ache of longing for an explanation pulse through you, demanding acknowledgment.

Eddie's fingers dance nervously over his rings, a visible sign of his stress. He lets out a shaky exhale, struggling to find the right words. "I Dunno," he mumbles, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Your frustration grows, demanding an answer. "What do you mean you don't know? You just woke up and decided you were going to ignore me for no reason, huh?" The hurt and confusion well up within you, desperate for an explanation. You feel your eyes swell up with tears, and you blink them away, worried about messing up your makeup. Eddie’s confession hangs heavy in the air, each word dripping with sincerity and vulnerability.

"I love you, y/n, so much it scares me," he admits, his emotions laid bare.

"I've been working up the courage for years to ask you out or say something, but I figured you would never see me that way, and then I'd ruin our entire friendship. So I needed to get over you. And I couldn't do that by seeing you all the time, I only came to this stupid party to make sure you were okay,” he admits ‘’i even asked Roxanne to help me i don't know, maybe make you jealous, see if you even cared.’’

The sight of you with Jason seems to further drive home the point for Eddie, a bitter confirmation of what he feared. "But you look pretty cozy over there with Jason, so it looks like you couldn't care less," he concludes, his tone laced with hurt. Your heart aches, the weight of his words settling in. This is a mess of misunderstanding.

His words leave you momentarily speechless. He wants more than just friendship, and the weight of that realization settles in, both thrilling and terrifying. As he turns to leave, you find your voice, a mixture of surprise and longing colouring your words.

"Eddie, wait." But you've answered too late; he's already walking towards his car to leave. You run after him, yelling out his name, and he finally looks back at you.

The weight of the moment hangs heavy in the air as you try to muster the words. "Eddie wait” But your attempt at an explanation is abruptly cut off.

His voice trembles with pain, a raw vulnerability in his eyes. "Y/n, save it okay? I don't want to hear it," he interjects, his tone laced with sadness. His words struck you like a blow, and in that vulnerable moment, you couldn't hold back any longer. "I love you too," you confessed, the truth tumbling from your lips as he moved towards his car. You couldn't bear to watch him leave, to be ignored again. You had to tell him now.

As he turned to look at you, his face registered shock and disbelief, a thousand emotions dancing across his features. The weight of your unspoken feelings hung heavily between you, a bridge waiting to be crossed. He moved closer to you. So close that you could feel his breath fanning over your face. “Say that again,” he asked, tucking some of your hair behind your ear and locking eyes with you.

“I love you, Eddie.” He cupped your face with both his hands, and you felt his lips crash into yours creating an electrifying connection that sent shivers down your spine. It was a passionate moment filled with desire and longing. Our bodies pressed against each other as if trying to merge into one. Time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in the intensity of the kiss. The kiss was hungry and passionate. You had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever. He broke away from the kiss and looked at you with a smirk. “I haven't told you how beautiful you look tonight,” he said, his hands roaming your body. You blushed and hid your face in his neck. He held you close, pressing kisses to your cheeks.

‘’Please don’t ignore me again Eddie, i wish you would have spoken to me " you said attempting to make the situation serious again so you could understand how he was feeling.

"I know, I know I should've just told you how I was feeling, but I just couldn't,” he admitted softly. You brushed his bangs out of his face and watched as he gathered his thoughts.

“i didn't know how to talk to you about it or even approach the situation, i thought that if i admitted it to you i would mess it up and become a stuttering mess, ‘m sorry.” he expressed to me, he buried his face into the crook of my neck for a moment before he pulled away and looked at me with a smirk.

“So what's this I'm hearing about you loving me huh?”

“Eddie, stop, I'm still mad at you,” you said, fighting the urge to smile.

“Nonoo y/n you love me’’ “Y/N L/N LOVES EDDIE MUNSON’’ he screamed on top of his lungs “Eddie people are staring” you laughed and tried to cover his mouth with the palm of your hand.

“Let them stare, I'm only telling the truth.’’ he leaned in to kiss you once more. “How about I make it up to you with a milkshake?” “Only if its chocolate”

You and Eddie walked hand in hand to his van. It felt like a dream, the reality of your shared feelings sinking in with each step. The joy in your heart was palpable, unable to tear your gaze away from him, grateful that he felt the same way you did.

“y/n do you know what this means” he looked over at me and was suddenly extremely serious. “A cheerleader is in love with me.’’

“You are actually such a dork” you say as you grab his hand to hold whilst the two of you walk over to his van. “Yeah, but I’m a dork that you love.”

tags: (i hope this is everyone tumblr wasnt allowing me to tag some ppl so if i missed anyone im so sorry )

@thedyingwriter @daisyridleyyyy @munsonzgf

@sazifer @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @sashaphantomhive

@boomitsallie1 @emma77645 @ziggeddie @ahoyyharrington

@inesven

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #stranger things s4 #stranger things au

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cinnoasch · 4 months ago

Text

Charmed [2] (March x Reader)

A/N: Here is part 2! Once again extremely fun to write. I have received requests and am working on them, so they will be out soon! Story under the cut!

Charmed [1] Here

Word Count: 2852

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March runs a hand through his hair as he tosses another balled up piece of paper behind him. He had already finished his orders for today and now he was hunched over his desk, drawing. Papers are scattered across the desk, many of them have scribbles across them or large X’s drawn on them. He knew what you had said, that you didn’t care if his drawing was good or not. But to him, it mattered. Everything he did, he put his best foot forward. It had to be perfect.

“Woah, it’s like a tornado came through here.”

March glances behind him. “Oh, hey Ryis.”

“Hey.” Ryis replies, walking into the shop. He approaches the back of the shop, peeking over March’s shoulder. “Oh…those aren’t blueprints.”

March jolts and in a frenzy pushes all the papers and pencils off his desk. He looks up at Ryis, face burning in embarrassment. “...there was no point in me doing that, huh? You saw?”

Ryis grins, chuckling. “Yeah, I saw. So, I’m guessing things went well last week?”

“...I mean I guess.” March mumbles. “The only thing that’s not going well is this.” He gestures at the state of the room. “I can’t believe I’m saying this… but I’d rather work on nails than this.”

“It’s troubling you that much?” Ryis asks. He picks up a few papers off of the ground, looking at each of them. “These aren’t bad, you’re definitely progressing.”

“Yeah… but it’s not perfect.”

“It doesn’t need to be.” Ryis replies. He sets the small stack down on the table, and the portrait you gave March catches his attention. “Hm, don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

“Trust me, you’re not the only one.” March says as he leans back in his chair. He sighs slightly, his gaze wanders over to the portrait. “...I don’t want to give them something half-assed. Not after receiving something like that.”

“I get that. You want to give them something that invokes the same feeling you had, right? In my opinion, I don’t think it has to be a drawing. As long as it’s from the heart, I think that makes all the difference.”

“From the heart?”

Ryis nods, “Mhm. Just think about it. You’ll figure it out.” He gives a wave as he walks out of the shop. “See ya.”

“What the hell…?” March shakes his head. He stands up, stretching slightly. From the heart…? What did that even mean?

When you drew that portrait, was that from the heart? Heat slowly rises on his cheeks and March pushes that thought away. It was embarrassing to think about. Even more so, it was embarrassing to think about how happy he was whenever he looked at it.

March already knew why that was. Even Ryis had mentioned it last week. Was it because of these feelings that he wanted to give you something that expressed that? Something that was perfect?

Just then the shop door opens and Valen walks in, greeting him. “Good morning March. My, it looks like you’ve been busy. Practicing drawing, I see.”

His face turns red as he quickly starts gathering the papers and pencils off the ground and tucks them away in the desk drawer. He clears his throat, leaning against the desk. “Did you need something, Valen?”

“Yes, actually. I’m in need of some new medical tools. My old ones have dulled considerably.”

“Okay, I’ll get on it.”

“Thank you, March.” Then Valen adds, “You look…distracted. Is there something on your mind?”

March blinks a couple of times, then he sighs. “...sort of.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Don’t you want me to get started on your tools?”

Valen smiles. “Those can wait. Go on, tell me what’s on your mind. Maybe I can help.” She leans against the wall, waiting for March to respond.

“...If you wanted to give someone a gift…” March starts slowly. “What would you give them?”

“Hmm, that depends on the person I’m giving the gift to. Though I assume you’re giving something to a certain someone… say Y/N, for instance?”

“You…better not say anything to them.”

Valen chuckles, “I won’t, you don’t have to worry about that. Let’s see here…” She hums in thought. “Ah, well why don’t we rely on your strong suit then? Y/N did mention in passing that they recently lost a bracelet of theirs while in the mines. Maybe you could do something with that?”

“A bracelet?” He mumbles. He did recall a copper band that dangled off of your wrist, though you haven’t been wearing it as of late if he remembered correctly. “I could make them a new one… maybe silver?”

“I think that would be a perfect gift.”

March nods in agreement, “Thanks, Valen.” He takes a seat at his desk, grabbing a pencil and a blank sheet of paper from the drawer. He glances back at her. “I’ll have your tools done soon, promise.”

She lightly smiles. “I’m not in a rush to get them, so no worries. Good luck, March.” With that, Valen leaves the shop.

March starts to sketch out a few designs. It was no different than working on blueprints. He could do this. This could be just the thing that would tell you exactly what he wanted you to know.

--------------------------------

Friday night rolls around and March walks into the inn, fiddling with the finished silver bracelet in his apron pocket. Now that the day was finally here, he was slightly nervous. Did he go overboard with this? The past few days he had been working on the bracelet, even starting from scratch at some points because he wasn’t satisfied with it. Yesterday he had finally finished it though, the bracelet adorned with a few gems he bought from Balor, as well as some small designs March added himself. It was just some flowers and leaves, though he had to admit adding them was harder than he thought, especially on such a small piece of metal.

Would you like it? Hell, would you even accept it?

“March!”

The sound of Olric’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Come on over, we’re waiting for you, bro!”

March makes his way towards the back of the inn, seeing that he was the last one to arrive. You’re standing in front of the table, your assortment of tools on the ground beside you. Elise, Hayden, Landen and Valen chat amongst themselves, greeting March when he reaches the table. He takes a seat next to Olric and Elise claps her hands together.

“Alright, now that we’re all here, we can get started! Now, as we all know, Y/N has offered to be our model for tonight. I see you have all your tools with you.”

You nod with a smile. “I figured you guys might ask me to do different poses so I thought I might as well bring some props along.”

“Oh, can you pose with the pickaxe first?” Olric asks. “Like you’re in the mines!”

“Then the ax next.” Landen adds with a grin.

As everyone continues to give out suggestions, March rests his arm on the table, lost in his thoughts once again. He hated feeling nervous. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, hell he rarely ever felt nervous until you moved into town. But at the same time, March felt excited. He never gave someone a gift that was this special, let alone someone he liked. Yes, liked. He was certain of this now. He liked you.

“March?”

He blinks, seeing you wave a hand in front of him. “What?”

“Did you have a suggestion?”

“Uh, no…” He replies, glancing away from you. “Let’s just…get started.”

With that, the group gets to drawing, small conversations popping up here and there. Mainly about your adventures, how you were liking life on the farm, the drawings you brought to show.

“Oh, Y/N. May I ask you a question?” Valen speaks up.

“Yeah, sure!” You smile, leaning on your pickaxe.

“This drawing here.” She says, pointing at one of the papers on the table. “This is the bracelet you mentioned before, right? The one you lost in the mines earlier this week.”

You take a few steps forward, nodding. “Mhm, that's the one! Actually that was given to me before I set off on my first adventure, a present from someone in my hometown.”

“Oh, was it your lover by any chance?” Elise asks.

March lifts his head slightly at that question as you laugh, waving your hands in front of your face. “No, nothing like that. Just a childhood friend of mine.”

“Childhood friends! That reminds me of one of my romance novels. Do you still keep in touch with them?”

“Here and there. We send each other letters every now and then.”

“Do you ever think about going home?” Landen asks. “You must miss it.”

“I do…” You say. “But, I definitely think Mistria’s a place I can call home now.” Your gaze wanders over to March as you continue, your eyes meeting. “The charm of the town, you all…I guess I just fell in love.”

Valen chuckles, “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure everyone agrees that you’ve become an important part of Mistria now.” She then glances at you and March, posing another question. “That reminds me. Y/N, I had an… acquaintance, we’ll say, ask me what I would give someone if I were to give them a gift. I told them it depended on the person, what do you think?”

You turn your attention to her, thinking for a few seconds. “Well, I do agree that it depends on the person. The gift has to fit their personality or things that they like. But, I do think as long as the gift is meaningful, it still holds value.”

Valen hums in response, smiling as March also turns his gaze towards her. “So…if the gift was homemade and… let’s say from the heart. Would you accept it?”

“I would.” You laugh a bit. “Are we still talking in hypotheticals here? These questions are awfully specific.”

“Of course. I was just curious.”

March lets out a small sigh of relief. He was never telling Valen anything ever again.

Your conversation continues as you continue posing and switching out your tools. Eventually, everyone finishes their drawings and just like last time you go around the table showing them.

All of them had little details added here and there, whether it be crops, animals, even rocks. But each of them had their own appeal. And now came March’s drawing.

“March, your turn.” Valen says.

March slides his drawing to the middle of the table then crosses his arms as he mumbles. “I wasn’t finished with it yet… but there you go.”

You all take a look at the drawing. You could definitely tell that he improved, even if you only had a tiny glance at the drawing club’s work when they first started. You notice he drew you while you leaned on your pickaxe, a soft smile on your face. It was heartwarming, and carefully drawn.

You nod smiling. “I really like how you drew the expression here. Soft, warm. You put a lot of practice in, huh?”

March’s face heats up as you stare at him. He avoids your gaze, looking at the ground. “I just had spare time on my hands, that’s all.”

“Well, keep at it. I want to see a complete drawing one day.” You reply. Then you begin packing up your tools, turning your attention to the rest of the group. “This was fun! I’d love to join again next time.”

“You’re always welcome here, Y/N. You’ve made these past two Friday nights very enjoyable.” Valen says. “Are you heading back to the farm now?”

“Yep, early day and all. Good night everyone!”

They all say their goodbyes as you leave the inn and March hurries after you, drawing in hand.

“Y/N, wait a sec.”

You turn as you stand beside Balor’s cart, seeing March jog up to you. “Hey, March. I didn’t forget anything did I?”

“Well, one thing.” He says, handing you his drawing. “You wanted to keep it right?”

“Oh, right!” You take it, tucking it away carefully in your backpack. “You could’ve given it to me tomorrow, but thank you.”

March nods, then he hesitates with his next question. “You’re welcome… uh, can I walk back with you to the farm?”

“Oh, um, sure.”

You turn on your heel as March follows behind you silently. Within a few minutes you arrive in front of your house.

“Thanks for walking with me, March.” You say with a small smile. “Well, good night.”

“W-wait!”

You freeze as your hand hovers over the door handle and you look at March.

“I…” He averts his gaze as he pulls out a silver bracelet from his apron pocket. “This is for you.”

You stare at the bracelet, watching as the moonlight reflects off of it. The gems on it sparkle and you can see small flowers and leaves carved on it. “Did you make this…?”

“Yeah… I heard about you losing your old one, so I just thought you might like a new one.”

“Oh, so you’re the acquaintance Valen was talking about!” You laugh. “I was wondering why you seemed so interested in the conversation.”

March scoffs slightly. “She just happened to visit the blacksmiths and mentioned it.”

“Uh-huh… you are a bad liar, March.”

“… are you going to take it or not?” He sighs.

“Can you put it on for me?” You ask.

March freezes for a second but to your surprise he takes your wrist with one hand, and slips the bracelet on with the other. You were joking when you had asked but you didn’t think that March would actually comply.

“Mhm, perfect fit.” March mumbles quietly. He begins fiddling with the bracelet, turning it around your wrist.

“Uh…March?” You speak up.

He doesn’t respond, though you do see a small smile appear on his face. Then suddenly, he lets go of your wrist, stuffing his hands in his pockets quickly. He clears his throat, “Sorry, I was just… making sure it wouldn’t slip off.”

“It’s okay.” You reply. You chuckle slightly as you smile. “Say, if I made you a matching pair, would you wear it? Ah, but it might get in the way when you work… what about a ring then?”

Then your eyes widen as you quickly realize what you had said. You laugh nervously, averting your gaze. “I mean, you probably wouldn’t-”

“If it’s from you, I’ll wear it.”

You look at March, the moonlight illuminates your surroundings so you can see the blush that appears on his face.

“W-what?” He asks. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that is all…but if you’ll wear it, I’ll make it.” You reply as you look at the bracelet on your wrist. You smile gently as you hold your arm up, letting the light reflect off of the silver band. “I love it, March. Thank you again. I think this is the best present I’ve gotten in a while.”

March only nods, staring at you quietly. In his mind, he could make this moment better, if he just closed the gap between you two. He could hear his heart beating, loud and fast, almost as if it would jump out of his chest. If he made that move, would you reciprocate? Would things change between you if you didn’t? He was aware of how unfriendly he was at first when you moved into town, but slowly you somehow changed that. You had undeniably charmed him.

His gaze flickers to your lips. If he couldn’t say it in words…actions would do just fine, right? Screw it. March gently takes your wrist and lowers it, his hand slides down to hold yours. Then he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. It was quick, chaste, and it was over just as quickly as it happened.

March pulls away, the blush on his face even more apparent now. You’re still trying to process everything, not quite believing what has happened.

“Um…I guess I’ll see you later.” He mumbles quietly, letting go of your hand.

He was slowly regretting going based off of instinct, but in his mind, it felt like the right thing to do. The perfect thing to do in a moment like that.

March begins to walk away, leaving you standing alone in front of your house. But you call out to him and he turns around, seeing you smile.

“I feel the same way.”

He returns the smile, laughing slightly. He doesn’t say anything, only giving a wave as he walks off. He knew you’d visit him tomorrow to talk. His smile only grows larger as he walks home, a slight bounce in his step. A smile that was carefully depicted in a portrait. A smile that everyone had mentioned never seeing on March. A smile of someone slowly falling in love.

#fields of mistria #fields of mistria x reader #fom march #fom march x reader #march x reader

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seventeenreasonswhy · 3 months ago

Text

Super Shy ~ A JWW School-Life Romance Pt. 3

Star Athlete!Wonwoo x Shy Wallflower!Reader

Jeon Wonwoo... THE Jeon Wonwoo is... paying attention to you!?

~1.5k words

Read Part 1 + Part 2

Series content: fluff, first crush plot line, school-life anime vibes, slow burn/yearning, some light angst, classmates to friends to lovers, fem reader, reader is ~*super shy*~ and has low self-esteem, reader is kind of bullied (?), sweetie pie Wonwoo, appearances by Choi Hansol and more!, all characters are in high school so no explicit content (but probably kissing eventually).

My Masterlist

Author’s note: Thank you to everyone who has read, reblogged, and liked this little series so far! This part reveals more about Y/N’s interests and talents, which she’s afraid to share because she is insecure! But not for long with sweet Jeon Wonwoo around. Also she has a fictional younger sister named Daehee (not after anyone in particular, I just like that name). 😉 These two are so innocent and cute, I’m having such fun writing them! Enjoy!!

Taglist: @clownprincehoeshi @soffiyuhh @wonwoos-wineparty @hamji-hae @junniesoleilkth @seokqt @haniinah @yangtyunhannie @cherrylovescheol @lukeys-giggle @cookiearmy @sojuxxi @vixensss @lixisoul99 @mjpark15 @lelsforlino @neivivenaj @blvkkeddcc (lmk if you want to be tagged!)

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

“Whoa you’re going all out on that, Y/N—”

Your younger sister, Daehee, had come down for breakfast with her bangs still in curlers, wearing her school uniform shirt over her Hello Kitty pajama pants. She was watching you as you concentrated on preparing various dishes at the stove. A thin omelet, grilled shishito peppers, vegetable tempura; it was pretty simple stuff, but you’d developed an urge to create aesthetically pleasing lunches these days.

You couldn’t really explain it, although somewhere in your heart you knew it probably had something to do with Jeon Wonwoo.

For the past week, Jean Wonwoo had been spending lunch on the roof alone with you.

The two of you barely exchanged words, really. Your longest conversation probably lasted only a few minutes. But not for Wonwoo’s lack of trying! You still wondered why he was spending his lunchtime up there at all—even more so why would he keep trying to strike up conversations with you? You guessed he really was just that nice. But every time you were around him you couldn’t help clamming up somehow.

“Are you in any clubs, Y/N?” he’d asked you the other day, between bites of his kimbap.

“Uh, no...” you answered quietly, your nerves frazzled from your total lack of conversational skills.

“None of them appeal to you?”

“Uh, not really that...” you didn’t know how to answer him. You’d ended up just looking at him blankly, like a fool. However, nothing in his facial expression or his tone made you feel like you had to necessarily come up with an answer... But his gaze was intent, and you found it hard to hold onto for more than about three seconds.

“What do you do for fun? To relax?” he followed up breezily, “You’re the class mystery.”

“Um,” the odd self-consciousness you felt at being called ‘the class mystery’ aside, you couldn’t really think of anything to say to him.

Actually, there was one thing that came to mind... but it wasn’t something you’d ever shared with anyone. Your one ‘hobby.’ Though to you it felt more like... squeezing a stress ball. It was what you did when you needed to turn your brain off.

He wants to know what I do to relax?

You couldn’t say what compelled you, but you pulled out your phone and found the photo album you had saved of your miniature paintings.

You worked with acrylic paint on very small canvasses, using very fine, small brushes to create miniature floral designs, portraits, landscapes... Your style was incredibly detailed. You had hundreds of tiny canvasses in little boxes and frames all over your room. You took pictures of most of these tiny paintings when you finished. You had even recorded a couple of time-lapse videos, showing you creating them in fast motion. You’d never felt compelled to create a social media account to display or monetize them, though. You painted because it was what you had done since you were a preteen—the careful, methodical process of dabbing tiny paintbrushes into your carefully mixed colors, getting the tone and shading of a poppy flower’s petal on a tiny scale just right... For you, creating these paintings was like a meditative practice.

By some stroke of inspiration—or insanity—you handed your phone to Wonwoo. His face became visibly more curious as he took your phone carefully in his hands.

“Wowwww,” Wonwoo said, holding the screen closer to his face. He seemed absorbed in your phone—you even caught him zoom in on a few pictures. You could tell he was looking carefully through the album.

“You’re crazy talented!” he said after a while. He sounded genuinely impressed.

“No, haha,” you somehow laughed, coughed, and gasped at the same time, your heart accelerating out of embarrassment from his compliment.

“No, seriously—Y/N, these are really incredible!” he said. “They’re so detailed, and they’re so small! How do you even do that!?” His eyes were glued to your phone screen. A part of you was screaming inside, why on earth you would show these to him!? and urging you to snatch your phone right out of his hand, throw it over the side of the building even. You couldn’t believe that Wonwoo was seeing this, this... habit. And YOU had been the one to show him, of all things!

“I wouldn’t say they’re ‘incredible,’” you said, filling up with more and more anxiety over coming off as bragging or crossing some social boundary that you shouldn’t have crossed.

Wonwoo finally looked up from the screen, looking directly at you instead. You still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but you felt his eyes on you. After a long pause, you dared to glance up at him...

But he quickly looked away from you.

Ugh, I’m probably making him feel like he has to be super nice or something...

“Oh, whoa—a time-lapse?” He said, quickly recovering from the somewhat awkward moment when your eyes had met. But his stumbling across the most recent time-lapse video that you’d made prompted you to snap out of your reverie and bolt to grab your phone out of Wonwoo’s hands.

“Ah, don’t watch that!” you lunged for your phone, but Wonwoo reflexively pulled his hand away, surprised by your reaction but still effortlessly dodging your attempt. He smirked down at you, and your heart almost stopped.

“Why not?” he said, and the deep resonance of his voice made you realize how close your bodies were—you were practically sprawled over him after reaching for your phone, his face just inches from yours...

Your whole body seemed to flush a deep shade of red before you catapulted backward away from him. You could have sworn that you saw that Wonwoo smiling to himself, but you were so flustered and anxious about the way you’d completely invaded his personal space that you couldn’t think straight.

“I won’t watch it,” he said light-heartedly, smiling at you as he tossed your phone back to you. “But you are super talented, Y/N. Painting is such a unique skill, too.”

And just like that, he went back to eating his kimbap like nothing had happened. His relaxed, friendly tone mercifully neutralized the atmosphere, but you just stood there clutching your phone to your chest.

“It’s not that I’m embarrassed,” you started, even though you couldn’t look Wonwoo in the eye, “It’s just—I’ve never shared these paintings with anyone except my family...” Your heart kind of ached for some reason as you said this to Wonwoo, who just continued to look at you in silence. What on earth had compelled you to share that with him?

Agh, say something! You willed for this pause in conversation pass, but it didn’t seem to be budging.

“Thank you for showing me,” Wonwoo said at last. His low, gentle voice seemed to shoot directly into your bloodstream, flushing you an even deeper shade of red than you thought was humanly possible. You looked at him briefly, and something about the way he was looking back at you...

The moment had played over and over again like a movie in your head for the past few days. The directness of his gaze. The rich, sincere quality of his voice. The way he’d smiled to himself... you couldn’t stop thinking of that particular lunch hour.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Daehee watched you dip veggies in tempura batter and toss them in the pot of hot oil on the stove. You let your mind run through the questions it had been asking all week: why was he spending time with you like this? Did he lose a bet? Is there some kind of hidden camera prank you should be wary of? More than that, why was he being so nice?

“Hellooo, earth to Y/N! I said you’re really going to town on your lunches these days,” Daehee tried again to get a rise out of you.

“Oh,” you said, taking the last piece of tempura squash out of the oil. “I just like experimenting.” You weren’t lying, exactly—you did like exploring all kinds of different food and dishes. Cooking was fun to you, different from the calm of painting.

You would be lying if you said that an added bonus wasn’t Wonwoo noticing and complimenting your work.

You liked it when he praised you. It felt like he meant it.

No one could be that good at faking sincerity, could they?

You couldn’t help but hear that small voice in the back of your head, doubting Wonwoo’s intentions.

But he hadn’t done anything other than come up to the roof during lunch this week, mostly just eating in silence with you—the two of you simply looking out at the sky...

But after you had shown him your paintings...

Maybe it was since then that you had started to put more effort into your lunches.

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owliellder · 1 year ago

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author's Note: This chapter is a tad shorter, my apologies. I almost didn't finish it cause my meds started to make me feel real gross tonight, but I managed! I am determined and powerful and strong 💪

Cross posted on AO3

Session 4: Adding Details

Ever since the last painting session with Leon a few days ago, he's been a lot more lively. He jokes more, laughs more, and flirts a lot more. Specifically with you.

It's only been a couple hours into the next session and he's already called you 'sweetheart' five times. You counted. Hard not to when the man decides to put on the most seductive tone to say it, honestly.

You've begun to reciprocate Leon's flirting since clearly he's not one to hide what he's after.

"Alright Romeo, I need you to stay still and in position for just a few minutes longer. I don't think you want me to accidentally paint you with those goo-goo eyes." Watching his poorly hidden panic made you giggle, his eyes averting to somewhere to the right. "Actually I need you to keep your eyes up here, not over there."

Leon groaned and rolled his eyes before turning them to look back at the spine of the easel, doing his best to hold a lax expression. "You're making this difficult. You have the picture!" He complained, eyebrows raising as he gestured to the stand sitting next to you.

"Yeah but- sit still- you're making the same goofy look in it like you were before." Once he resumed his position, you walked over to him from the easel to get a closer look at his expression, humming softly all the while. Leon was beginning to sweat, mostly due to having to sit still for as long as he had but now partially from your sudden proximity.

After getting a good look, you walked back over to the easel to continue painting, to which he let out a small sigh. He wanted to get to know you more, he should've tried that before you started the actual painting, but better late than never.

The man kept quite for roughly thirty minutes longer while you added smaller details to his face on the canvas, using probably the thinnest paintbrush he's ever seen.

"Is that thing even adding paint to the portrait? Or are you just pretending to get me to sit here longer?" There was that suggestive tone again, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you as they began to strain, but you could've swore he did that cheesy eyebrow wiggle at you.

You shook out your arm to give it a good stretch before placing it back where it was. "It's doing something. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

Leon threw his head back with a laugh at your response, causing you to give him a quick glare before huffing out your annoyance. "Alright, clearly you're growing antsy. Let's take a short break." You stood up from the swivel chair and rolled your shoulders back, cleaning off your paintbrush with the solvent sitting next to you in a small mason jar. You had a couple of the windows open due to the fumes of the paint and solvent, so no worries there.

"Thank god..." Leon stood up with a loud and exaggerated groan. He wasn't young anymore, holding even a relaxed position like that was hard work on the body. "Thought I was gonna lose my legs." The dramatics this man possessed was funny, you had to admit.

"It's not that bad and you know it." You set down the paintbrush and turned around to see him mocking you with his hand. "Do I need to circle back to calling you a toddler? Cause I will."

Leon used the hand he was mocking you with to wipe across his eyebrow before letting his arm fall back to his side. "There's no need for extremes." Your lazy eyebrow raise at his response was all he needed to immediately follow up with "Sorry, ma'am."

It didn't sound genuine, but you'll take it. You nodded before walking over to the bathroom, scrubbing the paint from your hands to the best of your abilities. You had to use dish soap since oil paint was hard to wash off, that oily sheen was a pain in the ass when trying to hold a paintbrush.

The painting was really starting to come along. You worked fast while still remaining diligent. Oil paints were difficult to use, needing extreme patience due to how slowly it dried, how easily it could smear, and how hard it was clean off. No matter how nice you wanted to dress for Leon, you had to wear your painting outfit: A designated cheap and oversized outfit you picked out years ago for the sole purpose of taking a beating. You would wipe off your paintbrushes onto it to avoid having to use a paper towels or a rag each time.

Regardless, you were still as cute as ever to Leon. In fact, seeing you care so much about your work to be covered in paint was only making him fall for you more. Oversized clothes looked real good on you, so good that he'd been busy thinking about how you'd look in his clothes, hence that nearly blissed out expression you had to snap him out of earlier.

You both decided to sit over in the living area, Leon splayed out across the soft rug to give his joints a rest. He'd gotten a good look at how the painting was coming along before assuming his spot on the rug.

It was non-stop compliments from him. You could handle compliments, you've heard so many over the years regarding your art, but Leon's compliments were different. Instead of only complimenting the art, he decided to slip in little comments about you directly along side them.

"I went back to the White House over the weekend to look at the other portraits you'd done..." He started, head resting on his arms as they laid behind his head. "Just to get a feel for how mine would look once it's done."

"Is it living up to the standard so far? There's quite a bit more that needs to get done, and then it has to dry." You looked down at him on the rug, massaging your hand so it didn't cramp up more than it already had. "There's no standard for you to live up to, sweetheart. You could draw a stick figure and I'd be blown away."

You laughed at the suggestion, turning your head to look out one of the large windows to try and hide your smile. Wooing a painter was easy, apparently.

"You're just full of little accolades, aren't you, Mr. Kennedy?" You sighed, resting your chin in your hand as your elbow sat on your thigh.

"I can't help it. Being painted by such a pretty girl brings out the worst in me." Never in all your years of being alive had someone worked so hard to flatter you. Every single comment he made included something that had you flustered and struggling to respond.

Leon sat up on his elbows and looked over at you, that smirk as clear as day. He loved the way you could barely handle yourself at his compliments. "What're you thinkin' 'bout over there, angel?"

You let your hand fall into your lap as you looked back at him, giving his smirk a soft smile in return. "I could ask you the same question, calling me all these nicknames and such." It was only fair of you to ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

A little caught off guard, Leon hummed and pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he thought. What was he doing, exactly?

"Well, whaddya think I'm doing?" Yeah, that was good. Instead of answering himself, he'll just drag it out of you. "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're flirting with me." Your smile turned a bit more mischievous as you leaned towards him.

"Well, you'd be absolutely right, then." He responded with a chuckle, lowering his volume so he could fall right back into a seductive tone. "I got lucky enough to get my own painting. Even luckier to have you be the one painting me."

You gave him a small "mhm" as you nodded your head slowly, your tongue peaking out to wet your bottom lip as you listened to him talk. It took awhile, but eventually you managed a reply. "So... what exactly are you looking to do with all that sweet talk, hm?"

"Take you out on a date." His response was fast and it caught you off guard. Leon was so forward with what he wanted. When it came to the few people you'd dated in the past, you had to practically drag any sort of info from them. Your silence had brought him to sit all the way up now, body facing you as he sat with his legs crossed. "Is it working at all?"

It took a couple more seconds for you to nod, moving your hand to cover your mouth as you giggled. "Yeah, I think it is. Might need to keep it up just in case, though."

"Bummer, now I get to distract you even more while you paint me?" You stood up and placed your hand flat on his face, gently pushing his head back as you walked past him. "I'll paint on you if you distract me."

The session lasted a total of five hours, pausing for a couple breaks in between. You were now thoroughly painted out; hand cramping, eyes straining, and even with the windows open the smell of the paint and the solvent to clean it off the brushes had given you a slight headache. Leon was definitely tired also, given he actually fell asleep in the chair.

You decided to call it a day at that, patting him on the shoulder to wake him. "Time to get up and take your meds, old man." Leon startled awake, sucking in a harsh breath through his nose as he reoriented himself. When did he fall asleep?

You had already walked into the bathroom to wash your hands off, giving him the opportunity to wake up enough to stand. He yawned, walking over to look at how far along you'd gotten.

The painting immediately pulled him from his sleepy state, eyes widening with shock. You said you still had quite a bit left to do and it looked like this? It was like you'd ripped this straight from the 17th century. Leon was in awe. He looked good in this- no, far better than good. You'd captured his likeness better than the photo.

Seeing the man staring at your painting with his jaw dropped after walking out of the bathroom made you smile. "You like it?" You asked quietly while shaking your hands out as you hadn't dried them off all the way.

"No, I love it. You've got magic in those hands of yours, sweetheart." Leon crossed his arms, walking over to stand right in front of you. You clicked your tongue at him before your hand in front of him dismissively. "I wouldn't say it's magic, just years of drawing and painting endlessly until I got to the spot I wanted to be."

Leon closed his eyes and shook his head playfully, chuckling as he did so. "So humble of you." He followed you back over to the easel, watching you cover up the paints you were using with curious eyes. "About that date..."

You cocked an eyebrow, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you continued to carefully cover your paints. "What about it?"

"Just wondering when and where you'd want to go." The man grinned at you lazily, doing his best to disguise how nervous he actually was. "Hmm.." You glanced over at the wall clock you had sitting far above the light switches next to the entrance door, taking note of how late it was. "I'm pretty tired and I'm sure you are too, but how about we order something to eat here?"

Leon seemed surprised by your suggestion, grin widening as he nodded vigorously. "Plus, I am not going out looking like I just got assaulted with a paintball gun."

The two of you decided on something easy; pizza and soda. Leon opted to wear one of your many aprons to avoid getting any grease on his suit which made for an easy joke about him being a house-husband. Even though it was a technically a first date, both of you felt so comfortable with each other already, like you'd known each other for years. It was strange, but in a good way.

Leon was easy to get along with once he opened up. He really was a charming guy, even managing to get you to laugh with those corny ass dad jokes he loved so much. How such a man had gotten away with being single for so long baffled you.

The same went for you. Leon felt like you being single was just a fluke. There was no way someone as talented and gorgeous as you hadn't been swept off your feet yet. It was selfish of him for thinking it, but fuck was he ecstatic about that.

It was about 11pm when the two of you decided to call it a night, the hours spent bonding over random, seemingly meaningless stuff had really loosened both you and Leon up.

"Am I able to come back tomorrow and see you?" Leon asked in such a soft voice, motorcycle helmet in hand as he the other rested up against the doorway leading out of the building. He felt vulnerable for wanting to see you again like this.

"I won't be here tomorrow, need to give my hands a bit of a break." You giggled quietly, holding your palm out in front of him for emphasis. "But I can give you my address if you want to visit. I don't mind."

Those butterflies in his stomach fluttered at your proposal, barely able to nod after feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket once you texted him your address. He tried to act confident, having gone over every scenario possible in his head, yet you'd gone off script and he wasn't quite sure what to do anymore.

Seeing how flustered he'd become, you waved him closer, smiling as he bent over slightly. Leon thought you were gonna whisper something to him, that thought alone had him blushing, but feeling the gentle press of your lips against his had him struggling to breathe. He barely had a chance to react before you pulled away, his lips parted slightly as he stared at you.

You reached up and gently patted his cheek, running your hand along the stubble that had started to grow back. "Let me know when you wanna come over tomorrow, alright? Give me a little time to get dressed. I've looked ratty enough around you."

Leon wanted to protest that statement, you were far from ratty, but you just shushed his stuttering and nudged him out the door, giggling as he stumbled down the steps. He kept turning his head back to look at you every couple steps, feeling like some lovesick teenage boy who couldn't get his feet to work.

He was a little scared to drive home considering how uncoordinated he felt, but he made it back in one piece. Once sat on his bed, all he could think about was you and that damn painting. Leon didn't know what he was expecting when it came to that, honestly, but you seriously outdid yourself in his eyes.

Then you just had to flirt back with him, agree to a little date, and kiss him? Do you even know how hard it was to hide his boner from you?

He really did feel like a teenage boy, a simple kiss having him harder than a rock. Not to mention the drive home was uncomfortable since he had to position himself just right on the seat or else the constant vibration from his motorcycle would seriously cause him to crash.

Leon was weak. He hadn't felt this way in such a long time, but he guessed the newfound attraction came with the subconscious acceptance of his retirement. It's what made sense in his head.

God did he want you, masturbating in the shower to you wasn't enough, he needed you. All he could think about was your soft hands touching him, his hands all over your body, maybe even those pretty eyes of yours looking into his as he loved on you all night long.

The age gap was a bit of a worry to him in the beginning, mostly being insecure about his own age, but that worry was quickly brushed off when you kissed him tonight. You were a big girl. You knew what you wanted.

Leon felt so lucky that you reciprocated. All he'd felt since his retirement was grief, guilt, and pity for himself. Now you had him feeling like he was on top of the world and he couldn't ask for anything more. This little bit of sweetness in his life was so enticing, and of course he was going to follow it for as long as you'd let him.

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