#and its only 11 o clock

[mangosmoothiepussyv3]

today sucks

[mayoiayasep]

wait now im having horimiya brainrot wauauauuaua

[secretlovezz]

Simon with an s/o who has a cat

Prt.2 here! <-

He hates your cat 😭

Their literally mortal enemies it's ridiculous

The cat glares at Simon 24/7 and he stares right back

You finally make it home after a stressful day at work ready to shower and relax. You open the front door and call out, "I'm home!" You get no response. It makes your brows furrow in confusion, having been used to a little furry friend lying on your unused shoes waiting for you to get home or hearing the heavy steps of your boyfriend making his way toward you. But today there was no welcome wagon for you.

Your heart immediately racks in worry the once steady beat of it moving to an unnaturally quick pace. Your hands move faster to remove your shoes and jacket wanting to look for the person and cat that once populated your apartment.

You call out again, "Simon? My Baby?"

"In here, dove." At the sound of your lover's voice, you're on the move heading to where his voice had been most prominent.

When you get to Simon- in the bathroom -he's clad in only a towel water still dripping from his hair and body and condensation on the mirror signifying he's just gotten out of the shower. Then your gaze goes to his face and his eyes aren't on you they're focused on something on the counter.

Your cat.

They're staring at each other both of them refusing to look away from one another. They were barely blinking. Then you realize why Simon's having a glaring contest with your pet, it's because the cat was on his clothes refusing to move out of pure stubbornness.

Suddenly you're glaring at the both of them too, "Are you guys being serious right now? This is getting ridiculous," you tell them and with Simon's response you roll your eyes and walk away.

"Oh, this is deadly serious, love"

Sometimes when Simon walks by your cat it latches onto Simon's leg kicking and biting the shit out of him (your poor boyfriend is just about ready to chuck the cat into outer space)

Your little fur baby definitely steals or tries to steal food from Simon's plates. Simon swears the cat gets stronger when determined to get into his stuff

Simon's cups have been knocked off of tables more often then not being left to clean up a mess that isn't his

Your looking up from your plate of food as soon as you hear grumbles and silverware clanking roughly against a porcelain plate. You smile a little at the sight in front of you. Simon's pushing your cats head back away from his food, while the cat uses all of his strength. Simon's scowl at the animal only gets deeper when he sees you smile at his unfortunate situation.

"You better not be smilin'," He says annoyance clear in his tone.

Now your laughing, a sound simon usually adores, one that makes his body relax, one that makes him feel safe, but now it has him clenching his jaw and has his eyebrows furrowed.

"Make 'im stop," He growls.

You pretent to think about it for a moment, pointer finger tapping your chin in faux thought, "I don't know si... this is thoroughly entertaining. What's in it for me if I help you?" The vein on his arm looked like it might burst at your question.

"If you don't get this dammed cat away from me it's gonna go missin'," you roll your eyes at his dramatics but called your cat to you regardless.

When you cuddle with one of them the other gets sooooo jealous

Simon will literally toss your little baby off the bed

The cat hits and claws for simon to get away from you

(Your constantly having to scold them its like having two children)

These two will argue with each other Simon's voice is stern its how you imagine he talks to new recruits and your cat is meowing loudly at him clearing cussing him tf out

Groggily peeling open your crused eyes open but quickly closing them as the bright morning sun peeked through your bedroom window you start to awaken. You rubbed into your eyes with the back of your fist before opening them again moving to look at the clock on the bedside table.

11:23

You slept in, or really someone let you sleep in because to your right your boyfriend seemed to have long since left the bed leaving the side he usually accompanied empty and cold.

You stretched and groaned the sheets and blankets moved with you weird groans and grunts leaving your yawning mouth as your joints crackled and popped. You sat up in bed still drowsy with sleep barley aware of your surroundings but still you gripped the enormous blanket and wrapped it around yourself as an act to shield the breezy-ness of the winter weather that leaked into your apartment.

Mreeeooow!

Your head whips to the door at the loud sound. Your cat was talkative but he was never very loud about him. This time the usual cute sound was replaced with an almost screech that made you cringe.

You take a deep breath before standing up and making your way to your room door. Once you open it the sounds of your cat get louder and now you can hear Simon too. His voice is booming but isn't loud it's stern and serious but filled with frustration and anger.

As you walk down the hall to the living area your duvet drag behind you on the floor. The floor creaks and groans under your feet alerting the two others in your home. Both their heads snap towards you. Your little baby's ears are pinned back in airplane mode and his pupils are dilated. Your big baby has his nose scrunched and lips downturned into a frown.

Your voice is laced with tiredness and a little deeper than it normally is, "What are you two arguing about this time?" The back of your hand is rubbing one of your eyes again as you speak.

"The little fucker is bein' disrespectful, he's not listenin' to me."

The cat meows loudly in response to Simon seeming trying to say he was lying.

You sigh and move to pick your cat up, he turns to putty in your arms and nuzzles his head against your chin. You walk towards Simon now. Leaning into him and humming contently when he wrapped his arms around you and the little one in your arms pretending to be annoyed but fully relaxing against your body.

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

The Gingerbread Kerfuffle - Modern! Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Seeking your husband's help in baking gingerbread turns out not be the roaring success you had hoped it would be.

Pairing: Modern! Daemon Targaryen x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: profanity, p in v sex, degradation, cunnilingus, spanking, overstim, tiddy play, rough sex, slight daddy kink if you squint, she/her pronouns used

Word Count: 1.75k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) Daemon girlies, you are up first 😋 i hope you enjoy!

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

“And what exactly is the difference between these two?” Daemon’s disgusted voice broke you from your focus as you focused on beating the milk and sugar. You sighed, turning to face Daemon as he held up the bag of flour and baking powder, looking confused. 

Why in the Seven Hells did you think it would be a good idea to try and rope your husband into helping you to bake gingerbread cookies? 

If it weren’t for the two twin girls soundly asleep upstairs in their beds, eagerly awaiting for your household’s traditional gingerbread cookies, you might have laughed until you woke the whole neighbourhood by now. 

“This, my dearest husband,” you took the bag of flour from his hand, “Is the flour. Or all-purpose flour as we call it.” 

“And what are its purposes?” Daemon inquired, a scowl on his face as his gaze flickered between the baking powder and flour. 

You paused, “I…actually don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s just essential.” Daemon scoffed, “Darling, are you sure you know how to bake?” You shoot him a glare. “Who’s the one struggling to tell the difference between flour and baking powder, darling?” You moved to check on the mixture in the mixing bowl. Your husband came up behind you, hopefully not to ask another question about the difference and functions of baking ingredients. 

Arms encircled you, as Daemon buried his face in your hair, inhaling your sweet floral scent. “You know…” Daemon murmured, hands creeping towards the front of your shorts. “I might not understand anything about baking, but you sure look sexy as hell while doing it.” 

“Mmm,” you hummed, playing along as Daemon continued kissing your neck. “Daemon, the girls.” 

“Won’t hear a thing,” Daemon concluded, trying to tug off your shorts. “As long as you’re quiet, darling.” 

You smirked, pressing yourself up against him. A groan and his hardness pressing against you made you know you had succeeded, causing your smirk to widen. “Come on, darling, what do you say?” Daemon murmured, hands grazing over your pussy over your shorts. “Let me fuck you?” 

“Hmm,” you pretended to consider it. “I say…help me roll up the dough into two balls, you dirty dog.” You spun around, pushing him off you gently. 

Daemon raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips, looking not at all bothered by your rejection. “I know what other two balls you can play with-'' He laughed as you shoved the mixing bowl in his arms, looking at him sternly. “Less dirty talk, more rolling please. I’d actually like to get some sleep before having to wake up early to bake these tomorrow.” 

“Yes, madam,” Daemon responded in a sly voice, as you narrowed your eyes at him. 

The two of you made fast work of it, rolling the dough into two balls, before putting them in the fridge. You let out a sigh of relief as you began washing up the bowls in the sink, it was only 11 o’ clock, which meant that the two of you could get in eight hours of sleep before having to wake up tomorrow to bake the cookies. 

When you finally finished washing up, you wiped your hands on the kitchen cloth, brows furrowing a little. It was quiet…too quiet. 

“Daemon?” You called out, scanning the kitchen for your oversized man toddler. You had asked him to put the ingredients back into the pantry, but the man was nowhere to be seen. “Daem-“ 

You let out a squeal as strong arms scooped you up, bridal style. Daemon carried you like you weighed nothing more than a rag doll, briskly walking up the stairs to your shared bedroom. 

“Daemon, what are you-“ you squealed again as he tossed you onto your bed roughly, immediately climbing over you and removing his sweatpants. “You think it’s funny, hmm?” Daemon lifted an eyebrow as he continued undressing himself, then moving to undress you. “Teasing me like a brat in the kitchen, acting all smart with me in the kitchen, like you’re better than me hmm?” 

You stifled a giggle, coyly trailing a finger down Daemon’s abs. “Well, to be fair, you were the one who confused sugar for salt. I think I-“ You yelped as Daemon flipped you over onto your stomach, landing a harsh smack on your ass. “Not so feisty now, are we?” He taunted, spanking you again. 

You choked on your breath as he continued spanking you harshly, but the inner brat in you refused to submit. “Says the man who doesn’t know the difference between a spatula and a whisk,” you mocked, sticking up your ass even more, leaning into his touch. 

Daemon growled, hand landing on your ass so harshly that it made you yip in pain. He immediately moved to cover your mouth. “Shh, little whore,” he said condescendingly, smirking down at you. “Don’t want to wake the girls, don’t you?” 

You were about to argue back, but then Daemon, clearly having had enough of your bratty attitude, thrust into you harshly from behind, making you scream into his mouth. He rubbed your back soothingly with the other hand, shushing you like you were a small child. “Shh, shh, I thought you said that we shouldn’t wake the girls, yes?” Daemon’s words were mockingly sweet, as he began pumping into you leisurely. He still kept his hand over your mouth, muffling any of your moans and cries as he fucked you. He groaned as you clenched tighter around him when he went faster, his hips snapping into yours. “Oh, the little whore likes it when I treat her rough like this, doesn’t she?” Daemon taunted, emphasising his words by thrusting into you when he called you a little whore. “Likes it when her daddy just fucks her with no care in the world, doesn’t she?” 

You nodded eagerly, and Daemon smiled wolfishly at that, planting kisses down your neck down your spine. “Such a good fucking girl, mmm, all for me,” Daemon smacked your ass lightly a few times, groaning at the erotic sound of skin slapping on skin. 

You felt a heated whisper against your ear, as Daemon grazed his lips against your ear, making you shiver. “And do you know what good girls get, sweetheart?” Daemon pulled back with a smirk as he watched you with mock pity. “Oh yes, my hand is still around your mouth. Tsk, how silly of me to forget.” He relished in the indignant “mmph!” noises he heard from you in response. 

“I’ll tell you the answer, sweetheart,” Daemon said blandly, like he wasn’t currently ploughing into you right now with the vigour of a bull. “Good girls get to cum, sweetheart.” With that, his other hand went down to your swollen pearl, rubbing it with his thumb. He laughed as he heard your noises becoming more and more needy, letting out a sated sigh as he felt you cum on his cock, your walls tightening around him as you did. 

“Oh, beautiful,” he leaned down and kissed you, taking note of how out of breath you were as he released his hand from your mouth. A smug smirk flickered on his lips. You were shaking so badly…

Too bad he wasn’t known for being “The Merciful” in the business world. 

You yelped when Daemon flipped you over. Your back hit the cool sheets, but they provided little relief as Daemon seized your legs, forcing them to wrap around his waist as he continued thrusting in you. Cries of pleasure fell from your lips as Daemon’s hot mouth went to suck on your swollen, hardened nipples, biting them lightly and delighting as you writhed under his tongue. 

“I can’t come again, Daemon, please,” you cried out, as Daemon’s pounding grew more and more intense and you felt the familiar coil in your stomach again. Daemon released your nipple with a wet pop, and looked menacingly into your eyes. 

“Yes, you can. You little slut.” 

Daemon lowered his mouth back onto your heated, sweaty skin again, this time devoting his attention to your neck and collarbone, while his hands came up to play and fondle with your tits, squeezing them. You let out a strangled moan as you came again, as Daemon flicked his thumb at your hardened bud. 

You had hoped that Daemon would let you go after that, but your husband had other plans. Your head initially lolled back against the pillows in exhaustion, but it snapped up again as Daemon spread your legs even wider. “What…”

A wicked grin was all you saw before Daemon dived between your folds, eagerly licking up your wet, swollen slit “No, no, no more,“ you cried out, hips bucking off the bed as you tried to pull yourself away from his hot, needy mouth, but firm hands gripped your hips tightly, preventing you from moving an inch more. 

You were always the sweetest thing Daemon had ever tasted, and he especially loved eating you out after your orgasms, with your legs shaking and barely managing to keep a hold of your sanity as he ravished you with his mouth. 

When you felt his skilled tongue flicking at your clit, you could feel your orgasm approaching again, your body trembling in preparation for it. “Daemon, I can’t, I can’t-“ A strangled moan tore from your throat as you came, squirting Daemon’s face and tongue with your juices. Daemon chuckled darkly against your folds, refusing to stop until he had licked up every trace of your cum. 

Exhausted after the three orgasms wrung from you, you collapsed back on the pillows. You felt a finger running along your overstimulated slit, as Daemon pulled himself up to you again, kissing you sweetly, a stark contrast from his former ravenous, wicked demeanour. 

Daemon pushed his finger into your mouth, giving you a simple command. “Taste yourself, darling.” Your tongue hesitantly darted out, sucking your own juices off his finger. A sigh emerged from your lips, and Daemon smiled, kissing your forehead. “Is it over now?” you mumbled softly, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Mmm,” Daemon hummed, looking down at your blissed out, fucked out state. “I think you’re forgetting something, darling.” 

You opened your eyes, looking confused. Eyes darting to the clock on the wall opposite your bed, your brows furrowed. “Merry…Christmas, love?” 

Daemon burst out laughing, hand trailing down to play with your nipples again. “Not that, darling,” he whispered, a devilish grin on his face. “I still haven’t come yet, haven’t I?” 

Oh, fuck.

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy @kmmg98 @norestfortheshelbywicked @hb8301 @hc-geralt-23 @babypink224221​ @mckenziewhite2005 

let me know if you wish to be added to a general taglist for daemon related works or just my works in general in the comments below or through this form! :) 

thank you for reading! if you liked it, likes, comments and reblogs are always highly appreciated! merry late xmas guys 😘🎄

[loveemii]

hiii!! can you please do husband!tanjiro x wife!reader , with tanjiro going out on a mission for a while and reader starts to grow worried that something has happened to him; he comes back exhausted, needing and missing his wifes touch so she.. (and you complete the rest)

you dont have to use she/her pronouns, its just that im a girl myself

thanks!!!! <3333

hello!! yes ofc i can, thank you sm for putting in this request! <333

- hope you enjoy ^_^ x

ꨄ——————————✧——————————ꨄ

It’s been almost a week since I saw Tanjiro leave for his mission, I hope he is ok and comes home already; anything could happen. Every time he leaves for a mission I think of the worst, most times he comes home within 2-3 days. But never this long..

Around 11 o clock pm there was a knock at our door, I look through the peep hole in hopes it’ll be my husband coming home from his mission. It was, “Thank goodness.” I sighed in relief he came home to me once more.

Without saying a word my husband Tanjiro ran into my arms crying, I clung onto him as well not letting go as I gently rubbed his back with one arm in hopes it’ll give him some sort of comfort. “I missed you so much!” He cried out, “I missed you more.” I replied, he pulls away to look into my eyes, he pressed his lips against mine and our tongues danced with one another after so long of not being touched.

Pulling away we smiled and I closed the door behind him as he made his way inside our home, “I made dinner earlier, I’ll warm some up for you.” My hand leading his to the kitchen as he took a seat. I warmed the food over the stove and served two bowls.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you ever since I left the house you know. Coming home to you brings me so much joy, knowing that you love me. I couldn’t ask for anything better.” Tanjiro suddenly spoke, I haven’t heard him say anything this sincere in a while, it was very nice to hear.

“Having you come home to me is what makes me strive to be better each day.” His smile lit up brighter which made mine as well. We finished our meal and decided to go to sleep since it was already so late. 

As I change into clothes to sleep in, I can feel Tanjiro’s eyes on me like a demons in the night. I notice him move from the corner of my eye; he was on the other side of the bed until he grabbed my waist while i was still changing. I had only had my undergarments on.

“Tanjiro, what are you doing?” I asked in a semi-teasing tone. My face was getting hot as he turned me to face him, “You’re so beautiful.” Tanjiro complimented before pressing his lips against mine.

We pulled away, “Sleep how you are, please?” Just hearing him say something like that was enough to make me squeeze my legs together, I didn’t. We laid in bed pulling the covers over, he pulled me into a cuddle and rested his head over my breasts as he closed his eyes to fall asleep which didn’t take long.

ꨄ——————————✧——————————ꨄ

i hoped you enjoyed how i created this anon! ^_^ thank you again for the cute request <3

- please excuse any errors

[dawnoftime22]

hi! How do you feel about writing a fic where Taylor and fem!r get married? (Both in white wedding dresses btw)

I love your fics btw :)

wedding day.

| T.S

Warnings: lots and lots of kisses, a single sentence of 'I don't deserve you' quickly avoided with Taylor's reassurance, and thats it

Summary: Finally, after years of your shared honest love and months of planning, you and Taylor decide to get married, and it was your special day to wear your beautiful wedding dresses and walk down the carpet.

Word Count: 4.5k

Category: FLUFF!

A/N: hehe I really loved writing this request, and kind of got carried away...although I usually write for gn!reader, I still adored this, especially because I got to write this at work<3 (I work at a wedding venue btw! so its very perfect) thank you for requesting this lovely story! I hope you enjoy :] reeally sorry if its too long

pls don't judge, I have no idea how to write vows

| Started on 13/07/2024, 11:34 AM | the 13th :o

| Finished on 15/07/2024, 4:12 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

“No more keeping score now, I just keep you warm.”

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

In the morning...

Sunshine filtered in through the window curtains, peeking in as daylight slowly arose, a gentle sight to lay your eyes upon in the morning.

You slowly stir from your sleep, feeling the brightness even behind your eyelids, at least until you opened them, needing to blink away the darkness that you once saw.

A yawn elicits from your lips, and you bring your hand up to cover it, stretching too, as you were at it. Once done, you take in your surroundings, registering that it was now morning.

Beside you, there she was. The love of your life, sleeping peacefully like an angel in bed. Her blonde hair almost seemingly glowed from the sunlight, radiant and nothing short of what you loved seeing.

You let out a gentle breath and reached up your hand, lightly tracing her cheek with the side of your index finger.

She was something precious, something you'd put in a treasure chest, or to keep in your pocket at all times to bring with you.

Her breaths were soft, so peaceful and deep in sleep that you if you weren't so close to her and inspecting her face, you would've thought she was gone from this world already.

You smile softly, admiring how her eyelashes went down, and her beautiful face structure. Simply everything. It felt unbelievable.

Today was the day. The day you'll officially put a ring on each other's fingers. Officially with a promise, a vow. You remembered how everything else before went, exactly how you had your small box ready, back at the restaurant balcony, with a stunning view.

But when you had brought out the ring and revealed it to Taylor, but in mere seconds of surprise, it doubled when she had one too, prepared to bring out still in her pocket until she showed it to you.

A small chuckle escapes your mouth at the memory, and you fade back into reality, focusing back on Taylor's curves and edges, and she was still asleep as you gazed at her.

Your eyes trailed over to the clock on the nightstand at the side of the bed. It showed 7:45 am. You still had some time, but you feared of the time needed to arrive at the wedding venue.

You lean down, giving her a soft kiss on her forehead. Then, pulling back only to go put another on her cheek.

A cheeky smile raised upon your face as you had an idea of waking her up, and you leave a kiss on the tip of her nose, then anywhere else you can on her face, peppering it all over her skin and trailing her jaw.

Slowly, Taylor was waking up by the tingling feeling of your kisses, feeling your soft lips lingering. She blinks away her sleep, letting out a small adorable and confused hum.

When her eyes find yours, a smile raises up on her lips, before she lets out a small giggle, now knowing the source of the tickles. She was still feeling your kisses, and it was the gentlest way she's ever woken up by.

"Good morning, baby..." she whispers groggily, her voice husky and quiet as her arms reach out to wrap around you, pulling you closer like a simple teddy bear.

"A very good morning," you reply back happily, and her heart jumps in joy at your voice, a chuckle leaving her lips as she knows exactly why you were so happy.

"Do you remember what today is?" you ask her excitedly, all while she was nuzzling into your neck, still kind of waking up. You on the other hand, had all the energy in the world.

She pulls back from the crook of your neck, looking at you with raised eyebrows. "Of course I do, silly..." she whispers, leaning in to kiss your lips and then brush her nose against yours.

You were all out filled with love as you gazed into her eyes, your smiles reflecting each other's without a doubt.

When you rested your head on her chest, her arms that were wrapped around you squeezes you lightly, feeling her very own excitement for today. "How did you sleep, baby?" You question softly, tilting your head to look up at her.

She gazes down at you tenderly before letting out a content sigh. "Amazingly...you?" she questions you back, wanting to make sure you had just the same comfort levels as she did.

You nuzzle into her face, making her scrunch her nose up. "Always, with you," your voice whispered. Taylor giggles, then buries her face into your neck again, feeling the blush coming onto her cheeks easily.

"You sweet talker...but I love you." She turns her head laying a kiss on your jaw, just between your neck, a warm, loving gesture.

Blood rushed to your very own cheeks, just about to feel dizzy by her love. "I love you, too..." you whisper back, closing your eyes for just a moment.

But upon remembering the important day, you open your eyes again, taking in a breath and pulling back to look into her blue eyes.

"Lets get ready to go, baby," you say, about to get out of bed, but Taylor's arms around you had tightened, pulling you right back into her embrace.

"Mm...just a few more minutes." She pouts, her eyes closed as she refused to get out of bed. At least, for now. She had just woken up, and wanted your time of snuggling.

"Mm, mm, we're gonna be late." You shook your head, murmuring to her as you tried getting out of her embrace, but very much failed, so you went up to boop her nose, which made her open her eyes and raise her eyebrows.

"Mhm, we won't be." she fought back, standing her ground in wanting to stay in bed, and you sighed softly, although the corners of your lips were raised up.

"The 'few minutes' can turn into an hour or more, sweetheart..." you reason with her, reminding with a hint that you still had your important wedding together.

She tried giving you a deeper pout and slight puppy eyes that had your heart clenching as you tried to hold on, but ti wasn't long until you hear a small sigh and a breath of, "Fine."

Your own lips turned down at her obvious expression of her slight frustration, and you lean forward to kiss away her pout, giggling softly.

"I'll make it up to you," you say, rubbing her shoulder before pulling her up with you to get out of bed again, to your success, but she was sagging against you.

"Not to say that I'm literally going to be your official wife today..." you lead on with a small melodical tune, going to the closet.

"Baby," she whines, and you chuckle, relenting as you knew she was a little disappointed in not getting some more time in bed.

You turn around to look at her. "Tonight, cuddles and kisses." your words held genuine as you hand her the clothes to wear on your way to the wedding venue.

She stares into your eyes, searching, then slowly taking the clothes. "...And more?" she asked quietly, going to place the folded shirts on the bed.

"And more." you lay one last loving kiss directly on her lips when she spun back around, surprising her, but she melted into it.

Once you part, you bring her to the shower with you, hand intertwined ever so gently for the warm water to rain down on your bodies.

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

At the wedding venue...

When you arrive at the wedding venue, you get out of the car to round to Taylor's side and open her door, to which she gave you a loving smile as she stepped out.

After you both step foot on the venue, you were invited to do an outdoor photoshoot first, and Taylor had agreed to do it with you, the event planner leading the both of you.

You had to change into a different outfit, one of your choosing for the pre photoshoot. Once done, you both walked to where the photos would be taken, and the sight had your eyes shining with adoration.

It was an entire scenery that might have been stolen from your dreams. There was a cobblestone path that trailed down to a big garden of scenery. A swing was hanging off the branch of a tree, and a lake stood proudly behind it.

You were honestly sure that you would spend a picnic with Taylor here someday if you were able to. Even she was taken away by every little detail thats been placed here.

"Tay, look!" You say, pointing to the lake. Taylor turns her head, at first, her expression natural and only curious of your excitement, but her face lights up when she sees the different colored feathers of the animals sitting on the water.

"Oh, my god, ducks!" she said, pure happiness filling her as she squealed, a big smile on her face at the surprise. You giggled at her shock, watching the look on her face

"There's even swans!" the blonde pointed out, gesturing towards them with open hands, having not expected there to be animals in such an area.

You raised your eyebrows but then shook your head with a smile, turning back to face the photographer. "Can we take a picture with them?" You ask, hoping for the best.

The photographer chuckles softly, and nods. "Yes, you can," they answer, probably used to the question, but they hold their camera firmly before helping you both to get in a good position and pose.

You and Taylor also got a heart-hand picture together as a bonus, behind the two of you, two swans swimming, angled at the right timing and making their own little heart shape with their necks.

The hired photographer gives you a thumbs up, and shows you the pictures to make sure you were satisfied. They were friendly, always being gentle and giving positive affirmations, but helping to make the photos look perfect.

Everything was private. Even the pictures taken are only going to be for you and Taylor. Maybe some for the outside world, or just your friends and family, but not all of them. You stayed until you finished the photoshoot, laughs and smiles shared with the two of you.

Once done, you both walk into the building for your wedding, having visited before, but seeing it again made your eyes wide with mesmerization.

The venue was beautiful and huge. The side walls were glass, and the outside held scenery of the pretty outdoor gardens, flowers and trees; the place where you had just been standing in earlier.

Along the walls, extending up to the roof, there were vines decorated in a detailed path, curving and hanging off corners.

Inside, you were walking on concrete flooring, not green grass. Still, it was breathtaking. It seemed almost like a greenhouse, but it wasn't extremely extravagant. Just...perfect.

Yet, the stage. The stage was the main attraction. No, this time, not a stage for Taylor's concerts. Although, it would be great for an acoustic show, you can see the look in her gaze off to it. She was already imagining how your wedding was going to be like.

Upon the stage large white archways stood tall. Flowers were down below and in the middle of the archways, mixed in with the smallest little lanterns. It all had a glowing backlight too, adding onto everything to make it complete.

You and Taylor went to the dressing room to get ready, the time starting to tick down to where the guests was on their way. The room was cozy and dim, enveloping the both of you like a warm embrace.

On the side, there was a rack of your two white wedding dresses. They were beautiful. Chosen and decided by the both of you with the utmost care and sincerity from your hearts. The lace was soft, and parts were flowy enough to make a satisfying movement.

Of course, you needed to get your makeup on first. As much as you were eager to wear the pretty dress, it was best not to get any makeup accidentally on it.

The stylist greets both of you when she enters, giving a kind expression. She could see almost instantly how great of a pair you make, and it lightened her heart tremendously.

You moved to sit on the couch, sitting patiently and waiting for Taylor to finish her makeup first, the light surrounding the mirror helping in making her face glow.

To think that she was sitting here, in front of you, not getting ready for a show, but for a wedding. Your wedding. Together. Well, maybe, a show for you...but this...she was making an eternal promise of her love and for yours.

You were double checking the notes of when you walk down the walkway with the event planner, but you couldn't focus. You look to see Taylor in her makeup chair, absolutely gorgeous looking. She was your distraction, and you didn't mind it at all.

The event planner notices, and they couldn't help but smile. Yet, they took your attention once more just in case. Of course, you go over the planning again, remembering everything without a hitch.

Soon, the both of you finish your makeup. It was a light makeup that show parts of your natural faces while still making it glow.

You get into your dress, Taylor following along behind you and being careful on her touch upon the dress. You adjust everything and look over your own, the all white outfit serving as its one true color, and not off to creme or anything at all.

Just as you were about to take a step forward to ask Taylor to help with your zipper, you see her standing in front of the vertical mirror, her teeth sunk into her lip as she stared and looked at herself.

On the other hand, your heart absolutely jumped, seeing her in the beautiful gown. She didn't have her zipper up either, her hand holding the dress together and trying to reach for it.

You slowly walk towards her, your hand reaching out to gently pull her zipper up before putting your hands on her waist, making eye contact with her in the mirror.

"You look perfect," you whispered under your breath, nearly not even sounding out in a volume. But Taylor heard it, her eyes lighting up as she turns around to gaze at you, her cheeks rising with a blush.

"Really?" she breathed out, sparks flying in her heart. You nodded, smiling brightly at her as you took a step closer. Your hands slide up, gently grasping her arms.

"I almost don't deserve you..." you whispered, barely even above a breath as your eyes looked at every part of her appearance, shaking your head lightly.

"Don't think less of yourself now..." she says, her eyes soft when she brought her hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin.

You lean into it, holding the moment of vulnerability with her. "I chose you. I love you just as much as you love me, and maybe more," she whispers through the space between you.

"Mm. That can be argued," you murmur, mindlessly letting your mind take control of your mouth without meaning to. But she smiles at the comment.

"Shh..." she puts a single finger on your lips, shushing you softly with a gentle shake of her head. "Just take it, sweetheart," she whispers, which did indeed make you back down.

You let out a giggle though, absolutely surprised at how she took control of the situation. Now, Taylor gazed at you, full of awe. You smile softly and turn around, showing her the zipper you needed help with, and she gladly and gently pulled it up.

Afterwards, your hair was still to the side to have ensured it was not getting caught on the zipper, but she leans in closer, seeing the opportunity to lay a soft kiss on your visible neck.

To your surprise, you tilt your head slightly to look at her, eyebrows raised and a grin on your face. "You, look like an angel, sweetheart," she compliments you charmingly from your shoulder, having you blush for the 100th time today.

"Thank you..." you whisper out, looking down in shyness as she steps in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. She chuckles softly, seeing your blush.

"I love you," she whispers, kissing the top of your head as she pulls you closer. You lean into her, wrapping your own arms around her and feeling the fabric of her dress.

"I love you, too." you reply, closing your eyes with a soft sigh. The two of you needed this moment, how real it was, and how it wasn't a dream.

Outside, the room, the small amount of invited guests had already arrived. If the music and the wedding planner coming in through the room wasn't obvious enough, you can hear the mixed conversations outside, just barely leaking through the walls.

They were playing Taylor's songs specifically made for you on the speakers, mixed in with your favorite songs together, melodies that echo through the hall.

You turn to look at her, and she gives you a reassuring smile before the wedding planner goes to take you both outside, at the entrance of the venue so you could await for your walk together and prepare.

You take a deep breath in, seeing the long pathway, empty only for the two of you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and Taylor can see your nerves setting off.

"Are you ready?" She asks you softly, standing beside you with all the comfort her presence holds. You look to her, taking another breath in.

"I'm, um, nervous...but...yes," you whispered, your voice shaking as your hands trembled. Taylor smiles gently, her eyes softening as she gives you a reassuring kiss on the cheek, her wondrous lipstick not even smudging or lingering on your skin, but her lips ghosting your cheek.

"I'd walk down it anytime you want, as long as its with you, darling." she assures you, leaning in to lightly brush your shoulders in a loving touch.

"You're so sweet..." you whisper, your lips raising up in a soft smile, and it was exactly what she aimed for, her heart swelling.

"Take my hand, baby," she says quietly, holding her hand out to you, and you slip your fingers in between hers, intertwining without a doubt, but she can feel the tremble in your joints.

"We're gonna do this together...okay?" the blonde captures your eyes, squeezing your hand gently. Being assured by her blue set of eyes that only held love and care for you, you nod.

"I'm ready," you breathed out, seeing the wedding planner walk up to the both of you, making sure you were both calm and ready, and that your dress was spread out perfectly.

It was time. This was it.

The glass windows on the side of the walls started to be closed by large metal doors, closing out the outside light, only for the orange chandelier and lights evenly places across the venue to take its place. It was dark, but the walkway had candles alit on its sides, accompanying the red carpet. It was all just to prepare for the two of you to enter.

The guests waited, some holding their breaths, some already even getting teary-eyed at the mere thought that this was where you were both being locked in, officially an intertwined couple.

Taylor's mom, Andrea, especially. She held tissues ready in her hand, some already used. Scott was sitting beside her, getting emotional too with Austin.

When you walk out together, everyone watching gasps, their breaths taken away by the beauty of your dresses and how you two fit together like puzzle pieces in the right place.

Everyone except her parents was requested to have their phones off, and they all obliged, the camera person in front as the main view, but it wasn't the whole world watching.

Both of your dresses flowed and drifted across the carpet, Taylor's white dress having the look and idea of flowers, trailing their pathes.

Your appearances were alit by the many glowing candles and bit of spotlight upon you, up until you both reach the altar where the marriage officiant stands.

When you reach the stage, you turn to face Taylor, still holding hands. The marriage officiant starts her words, the waiting making your heart grow even faster in anticipation, and you tried to make sure everything in your head was correct.

Taylor's eyes were on yours, never leaving. In this moment, it felt like it was only the two of you. The whole world faded in just a gaze.

"Do you, Taylor Alison Swift, take Y/N Y/L/N as your wife?" The officiant finally says, her eyes going up to travel between the two of you.

"I do," Taylor says, her smile growing wider as she looks into your eyes and squeezed your hand, ever excited to hear every word in this special day.

The officiant turns to face you, her lips raised up. "And do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Taylor Alison Swift as your wife?" she asks.

You nod, "Yes. I do," you say, your genuine happiness evident and overlaying your voice. Taylor's heart just about felt like it was about to explode.

"Now, since you have chosen to say your vows, you may hold each other's hands and speak in truth," the officiant says, lowering her book she was holding.

You take a deep breath, looking to the officiant before catching Taylor's eyes again, seeing her own hesitancy and nervousness in speaking her vows. You smile, and decide to go first.

"Taylor...I will love you, for all my life, and with my entire soul. You were there for me in my worst times, when I needed someone when no one else came to my aid. I don't know what I would do without you, but I know right now, I would do anything for you, and as long as I'm with you, I know I'm living happily. I wish to give you everything you've ever needed, all without resentment. All the kisses, all our shared days, we'll share with laughs and honesty. I hope we spend each second cherishing it all, because I will. With every chance I get. Because you, Taylor, are the love of my life, and I wish to give you this ring so we can have this sweet love forever."

You finished off your vow, some parts being shaky, and some parts holding the most absolute brightest smiles as you felt a swell building in your throat. Taylor already got teary eyed, a soft sniffle sounding out from her before she prepares and remembers her own vows.

"Y/N Y/L/N...With every guitar string scar on my hand, I take you to be my lover...After years and millions of tears, finally, with you, I'll spend all my time with until the end. You're the whole world to me. I promise that all my stares and gazing upon you, will always be filled with love, and my words whispered to you whenever you feel down, will always have care and sweetness. I vow that we'll always be together, in the times of need...and if there are, the times of the worst. The times that are the best, and anything in between. Take my ring, and I'll take yours, our soul to be intertwined, forever and evermore."

You tried blinking away the tears, but they had already fallen at her beautifully thoughtful words. She lets out a small laugh tearfully as she saw you already crying, even though she was, too.

The officiant had put down her book, and held out the board for the rings, and you both took one, slipping it on each other's finger with gentleness.

Once done, the officiant leaned back, and nods. "...I now pronounce you equally wed." she announces. Over in the front row, Taylor's mom was tearing up, looking up at the both of you proudly.

You gaze at each other, eyes holding your own reflections and emotions, and smiles wider than they've ever been. "I love you," you whisper, squeezing Taylor's hand.

"I love you, too," she says back, leaning in to kiss you, and you meet her halfway, your lips brushing before fully touching in a whisper of promise.

"We're gonna be together forever." You murmur against her lips, crying softly and needing to pull back slightly to gather yourself up, but forehead resting against her.

"Yes, sweetheart..." she whispered, smiling softly as she gently nuzzles her nose against you, the gesture making you pull her into an embrace.

Now it was forever, something you'll keep to for your whole life. Thank god for Taylor's indestructable makeup. All her tears had nothing against it, and especially not with her love for you.

The rest of the wedding went by amazingly well, with congratulations from many people, smiles, laughter, and loving stares. There was a polaroid moment, with you and Taylor and her friends only using polaroids to take photos. You danced together, and then cut the cake with Taylor too, both of you having brought the cut piece on the spoon up to each other's lips in a sweet gesture.

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

In the car...

The two of you had now changed into different outfits, sitting in more comfortable clothing. Taylor was driving, carefully keeping eye on the roads.

You breathe in the air, then let it out slowly, the seatbelt keeping you grounded as you sunk into your seat exhaustingly, but completely and utterly satisfied with how everything turned out.

The sunset traced your faces, and when you turn your head, it seemed to have made Taylor ever so graceful looking. You might have somehow fallen in love with her even more; if that was even possible.

You smile softly, unbelievably happy as you went to reach your hand over the centre console, resting it on her thigh as she drove.

"I can't believe we happened..." you whisper softly, your thumb soothingly moving. Her eyes flicker down to your hand, her heart swelling.

"But we did," she whispers, glancing to you. When she had the chance, she takes off one hand from the steering wheel, reaching down to hold your hand.

"And I love it," you said quietly. There was almost no more words to describe how you felt. It was all...overflowing your heart at this point.

She smiles softly, bringing your hand up to her lips to kiss it softly. "You're so precious to me..." she says, looking to see your ring she got for you on your finger. Her own hand held the same, but the one you got for her.

She kisses that part of you softly, too, making sure her love is known and marked upon it, and your face held a deep flush before you gently pull her hand to do the same.

The windows held the blurring scenery of a day, the sunset being the framing background picture of your love together, driving back home.

She was all you needed.

And you were all she needed.

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

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[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part VI)

Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, discussions of anxiety, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, protected P in V sex.

Word Count | ~16,400 

A/N | Oh you won't be able to move for all the fluff. Cheeky shout-out to @heydreamchild for this post which made me lose my mind in the tags and think about Eddie's relationship with Wayne's mug collection.

Taglist (please don't ask to be tagged if you won't interact with the fic)

Previous Chapter

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 You screw your eyes shut instead of watching the ping pong ball continue its high arch over the remaining cups on the other side of the table. You hear it hit the floor, the barely suppressed scoff across from you at another missed shot. 

Your cheeks are burning, have been since you started this game. You open an eye to find May smiling at you encouragingly as she lines herself up for her turn. She’s more practised than you. Invited to more of these parties, asked to play more of these games. The ball flies from her hand and lands with a gentle splash in one of the three remaining cups in front of you, her expression now tinged with satisfaction. You can’t blame her, you’d look the same if you were good at any of this. You fish the ball out and sip the lukewarm beer for a second before forcing the rest of it down just to get this turn over with. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, handing the ball to your partner and stepping aside to let him take his turn. Safely at the corner of the table, you glance quickly at the clock on the other side of the room. It reads 11:03pm, and you wonder if you could negotiate heading home by eleven thirty. 

Not likely. 

When you’d walked through the door, shoulders pressed between both your friends, you had yourself convinced that you would have a good time tonight. Tipsy from the white wine your mom let you drink under her supervision, warm with joy from an early evening spent with May and Heather in your room. It’s your favourite part of going out; the hour or two before. When it’s just the three of you, with nobody else to perform for, you fit right back together as you always did. Swapping gossip, exchanging compliments. Painting Heather’s nails a soft pink, her steady hands painting yours in return. You worked on May’s make up, smiled shyly  into the mirror when she set your hair up the way you like it and told you with a pout how jealous she is of its texture. 

You listened to Heather, gentle and happy at seeing her boyfriend, at the flowers he’d brought her. You spoke to May about the film you should rent for your next movie night; a comedy with popcorn or a weepy chick flick with chocolate. You’d watched from your bed, grinning and heartsore while May leaned into Heather’s shoulder, serenading her while she applied her lipstick. Heather rolled her eyes fondly as May crooned into her ear, “I can’t fight this feeling anymore!” 

Later, head truly fuzzy from paint stripper vodka and lemonade, you’d screamed all the words to Power of Love with them. Hands in the air, hips swaying, content in the knowledge that, if everyone in the house has drank as much as you, none of them will care to remember how you danced and sang tonight. It was exactly as you wanted it to always be. With your friends, believing entirely, at least in the moment, that you still put each other first. That you were friends now not just because you used to be. 

Only, Heather’s boyfriend had appeared like a grey cloud in the blue sky of your evening. Before you knew it, she was settled under his arm on a couch at the other side of the room, sipping light beer and talking with the friends he’d brought back from college for the weekend. All boys you can’t stand, and know May can’t stand either. The last time you saw them, when May had told them proudly that you were well on your way to NYU to study Comparative Literature, you’d watched two of them make eye contact, sniggering with each other into their beer. You weren’t proud of yourself for adding that you still might do Chemistry, not that it had helped much. 

Soon after, May was called over by some cheer friends. She’d grasped your hand and pulled you along with her, both a blessing and a curse that she refuses to leave you out. Lacking some of your usual self-consciousness, both from your continual sips at your drink and the fact that Caroline, blessedly, hadn’t shown up, you’d managed a brief, fairly friendly chat with Tracy about whether she was wearing too much blush (she was) followed by how well the basketball team will do this year (hell if you know). 

Then, when Josh, a boy May has had a simmering crush on since you were freshmen, invited her over to play beer pong, you let her pull you with her again. And here you are, paired with this boy in green and white. Ethan flashes his white toothed smile every time you miss a shot on account of your shaking hands. A charming smile that tells you how girls might get into trouble on his account; girls like Caroline, girls like Erin. You wonder if it was that smile that made Erin follow him upstairs that night, that made Caroline fall back into his arms with little complaint, all the blame placed elsewhere. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, squeezing the top of your arm before turning his attention to the table. May smiles at you again as Josh chugs beer down in a quick gulp, sending you all the signs of gratitude that make you feel guilty for thinking almost exclusively about the ways you could leave soon.

When it’s your turn again, you take stock of the cups across from you. Two on your side, four on theirs, so with any luck this is your last turn. You watch the ball just brush the opposite rim of one of the cups, before bouncing lamely to the table. “Okay, that one was close.” Ethan says kindly, elbowing you.

“Nah, her head’s in the clouds,” Josh says with a smirk, catching the ball and bouncing it a couple times off the table. “Too busy thinking about…Munson, right? Would not have thought that was your type, but uh, I guess that explains why you wouldn’t let Andy-”

“Leave her alone, Josh,” May cuts in, leaning away from him with a scowl. You feel a rush around your ears, your heart in your throat. You like to forget this fact, but sometimes you’re reminded of it like seeing it written in bright red neon. Just about everybody knows what happened between you and Andy to varying degrees of detail, and they can all use it against you whenever they want. 

“It’s not that serious,” he says, the following laugh more defensive when May rolls her eyes. “You are dating the freak, right?”

Your toes curl. “Don’t call him that.”

“C’mon, man,” Ethan sighs. “You’re killing the mood.”

“It’s dead and buried,” May corrects, face set in that brilliant frown that gets your heart pumping when it’s directed at you. 

Josh glances between the three of you, landing particularly on May and her crossed arms. He looks to Ethan again for support, throws his hands up when he finds none there. “Fine,” he says, smacking his teeth. “‘S boring playing girls anyway.”

He bounces the ball across the table to Ethan, and stalks off with his shoulders sagging. May’s face softens when she comes over to you, your chest warm at her concern. “You okay?”

“Mm. Thank you.”

She pouts, swaying a little. “Why are guys such jerks?”

“Um, I’m right here,” Ethan laughs, chucking the ball back and forth between his hands. There’s that smile again, easy and sharp and clean. You think of Erin, dragged through mud. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, barely glancing at him. 

“No problem. He’s an idiot when he’s drunk.”

If you were braver, you’d say he’s an idiot sober, too. 

“Looks like we need to even the teams up,” May says brightly. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” you answer, the only relief from the situation that this may give you a chance to escape for a brief moment. “I wanna get some water. You guys can keep playing.”

“You sure?” She asks, leaning in so it really is just the two of you, giving you a hit of tuberose and orange blossom, the same perfume she’s worn since your first high school party in ‘83. “I’ll come with you if you want.”

“It’s okay,” you say, squeezing her arm gratefully. “I’ll be right back.”

The air is fresher the second you’re in the hallway, without the clutch of warm bodies forcing you to mutter ‘excuse me’ enough that the words lose all meaning. The damp heat picks up again in the kitchen, smaller groups standing around with cups in their hands, some swaying to the distant music. You glance at the sink, find a couple crowded in front of it, their eyes intent on eachother. Even your slightly fuzzy mind decides against trying to navigate around them in search of water. 

“Hey, Ringwald.” It takes a good couple of seconds for you to register that the greeting might be for you. It requires a tap on the shoulder, Erin’s half there smile directed your way. She holds up a cup. “Want some?” 

You glance into it, find clear liquid that gets your hopes up. “Water?”

She snorts. “I know I’m pretty badass, but six shots of vodka in one cup is a little much. Even for me.” 

You take it gratefully, screaming at your tipsy brain to remember not to drink too much of someone else’s water. A couple gulps and you hand it back to her, surprised at how much you needed it, throat a little scratchy from singing earlier before your joy left with Heather. 

“So, uh, how are you?”

You nod, giving her a close lipped smile. “Yeah, fine. How are you?”

Erin tilts her head, her right eye narrowing. “No, I mean, like really how are you?” She waves her cup around, as if gesturing to the entire house. “Seems like you and May are friends again, I guess.”

“We were always friends,” you assure, heart panging. “She was just,” you search for it, unprepared for this conversation. Where you normally would avoid answering altogether, your cottoned up mind combined with the earnest desperation to defend your friend ends in a rambling answer. “I didn’t tell her the right way, you know? She was hurt, finding out from somebody else about, you know, Eddie and I. But we talked it all out and she’s forgiven me.”

“Forgiven…you?” 

“For not telling her myself.”

Erin taps a finger on her cup, considering you. “That’s what she was angry about?”

Your mouth opens, thoughts tangling. “Um, I mean, among other things,” you rush, giving her a reassuring smile. “But everything’s fine now.” 

“Okay,” she says, that half smile returning. “Glad to hear it, Ringwald.”

“I, um,” you step a little closer, forcing yourself to look right into her eyes. “I did want to say thank you for that actually. I just-” You just worried endlessly about approaching her, how you would even thank her for preventing you from being quizzed about your sex life in front of an entire group. You shrug, and luckily Erin seems to understand.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You shouldn’t have had to explain yourself in the first place. But those girls are pretty vicious when they smell blood.”

You’re struck with a pity for her you know she’d probably hate you feeling. You try to remember what she was like before her entire friend group turned on her, before she was taken in by that sharp smile. She still had the sarcastic wit, you’re sure. But without the undertone of anger that comes along every other sentence; less bite. Erin has always been confident, but now she carries herself like somebody full of righteous indignation and nowhere to put it.

“You can have the rest of this,” she says, handing you the water and looking away like she’s read your whole thought process and wants out of the conversation quick. “Those six shots actually sound kind of appealing now.”

“Okay, well, see you later?”

She gives you a little thumbs up as she passes. You watch her elbow past the couple at the sink to reach the bottles and cups piled beside it. Already feeling more sober than you had when you walked in, you finish the cool water, resisting the temptation to start playing with the material of your skirt. 

“Hey, uh…hey.” You look over at Neil from your Physics class, recognising the sound of somebody trying and failing to remember your name. “Could you talk to Munson for me? Tell him I’m good for the money, it’s just that it’s another week before I get paid.”

You blink. The information takes a second to move from your ears to your brain, longer to process their whole meaning. You feel a flutter in your chest; something like excitement, something like relief. “Eddie’s here?”

“Yeah, and he’s making a really big deal out of twenty dollars, you know?”

You look over his shoulder as if Eddie might be standing out in the hallway, finding only the empty doorway. “Where is he?”

“Uh, he was by the stereo I think? So, you’ll talk to him?” 

“Um, sure,” you mumble, pressing past him to walk down the hall back into the living room. There’s May, laughing as Ethan tips his head back to drink, the table laden with a new set of cups. On the other side of the room, Heather, nodding at something and looking serious as ever. 

And then you catch him; a head of messy curls, denim on leather, the cut out t-shirt you know Eddie sewed on himself by hand. He’s standing right next to the stereo, sorting through records. His curls shift with a shake of his head and you just know his expression is dismayed, truly disappointed in the collection. To his side, a group of boys is searching their pockets, failing to hide their efforts to pool money together. 

Eddie’s presence pulls at you, an invisible but physical tug, and before you know it you’re crossing the room towards him. He jumps a little when you rest your palm on his back, his hand flying to his wallet chain. Then his brown eyes land on you, and you feel the unique joy of watching Eddie realising it’s you. His expression turns in an instant from guarded to happiness. Round eyes look you up and down once in surprise to confirm it’s you, once again in appreciation. He leans right into you, smile a little wolfish. “Well, hey. What brings you to my darkened corner, sweet thing?”

What can you say to that? That in the six, seven hours since you’ve seen him, you’ve felt the lack of his presence? That you’ve spent the last hour in particular wishing you’d never come here, wondering why you didn’t go home with him instead? 

“Was surprised to see you.”

“Yeah, well,” he starts, gesturing with his head to the boys behind him. “My services were required, you see.” His eyes track down again, zeroing in at the place on your legs where your dress ends, the fishnet tights wrapped around your thighs. “You look, uh,” he clears his throat, clearly searching for the right word. “Shit. I mean, fuck. You look good.” 

Your cheeks warm. You turn to the side a touch, pressing your knees together. “Thank you.”

“I um, really like these.” His hand teases the hem of your dress, thumb brushing across the string of your tights. Eddie’s fingers are a warm sting that has your breath catching, your body aching to be closer to him, to more of his heat. 

“Munson?” Sounds from behind him, and the spell is broken. Eddie jumps again, hand parting from your skin like he’d touched a hot stove. His hair flies around him as he turns, face becoming impassive again. 

“Gentlemen,” he says, standing in front of you. “Managed to pool your allowances?” 

“Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie’s head tilts. “For future reference, save the shit talk till after you have the product in your hand. Unless you wanna add another ten percent for the ounce-”

“No, it’s fine,” another says, elbowing his friend. “It’s all there.”

Eddie sighs, taking the collection of rumpled bills from his hand. You watch him stand in front of the antsy boys, counting each note twice over just to watch them squirm. “Mm. Looks like it’s all here.” He brings his wallet from his back pocket, attached to his jeans by a chain, and tucks the money inside. Then, after glancing around him quickly, Eddie’s right hand disappears into the front of his pants. 

“Kept it warm for you, boys,” he cackles, pulling out a plastic baggy filled with green clumps and hurling it towards them. 

In the next second, he’s grabbed your hand and is pulling you through the crowd to the sound of, “Munson, you prick!” from behind you. You can hear Eddie’s almost manic giggling over the music, your heart pounding from speeding after him and the fear of the chance at being followed by five boys, all half drunk and furious. 

Eddie’s hand remains tight around yours until the cool air out the front door hits your heated skin, finally slowing to catch his breath, still chuckling to himself. You watch him, wide eyed, as he leans back against the front wall, head falling back and then forward to look at you. His eyes flash, his face tells you he’s proud. 

“Why did you do that?” 

His laughter stops when he spies the serious look on your face, your hands fiddling with your skirt. “Ah, shit. Sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t plan for you to be around but there wasn’t much I could do, sweet thing. It was already down there, y’know?” 

“That’s not what I- Why would you aggravate them like that, Eddie?” 

Something a little cold comes over his face then. “Satisfaction, pure and simple,” he answers. “The only kind I can get out of guys like that.”

“But, if you didn’t speak to them like that-”

Eddie’s already shaking his head. “If I didn’t speak to them like that- Hell, if I gave them that weed for free, got on my knees and asked for an ounce of kindness, come Monday they’re still gonna throw me, or Jeff, or any of the guys from Hellfire into a locker,” he tells you, voice a plea for you to understand. “Or call me a freak, or lock one of the freshmen, who still barely know their way around the building, in a supply closet for an hour.” Eddie tilts his head at you. “It’s got absolutely nothing to do with me aggravating them or not, okay? It's not about how nice I am, or how I talk to them - it's about this," he stresses grabbing his long hair, then his shirt. "And this. And D&D and the fucking trailer and my piece of shit father. No amount of sweet talk will fix it cause they don't want me to be nice; they want me to change. And I can’t do that, okay? More importantly, I won’t do that.”

Everything he says makes your chest hurt.

It makes sense, that this is how Eddie Munson thinks. Since your first stumbled word, you’ve been hiding yourself away, blending into the crowd to avoid all the pain that comes with being singled out. But him? Eddie has no interest in curling in on himself, shrinking his personality to fit in. Everything he says, every move he makes, is unapologetic. As true to himself as that shirt. 

But it hurts to think that something so unnatural to you could be right. For all your good will, all your work and staying under the radar, it hasn't saved you. Your need to keep quiet only led to Caroline’s harshness, the laughter from the cheer girls. Your desperation to avoid judgement only opened all the right doors for Andy to hurt you the way he did, for everyone around you to know exactly how. All your complacency, all your acquiescence, none of it kept your friends nearly as close as you’d wanted them. 

You swallow, catch Eddie’s eyes, and whisper in earnest. “I don’t want you to change.” 

You could cry at the relief in his face, the fast blinking that vanishes the shine in his eyes. His head tilts. “No?”

You shake your head vehemently, wishing he would hold your hand again so you could play with his fingers. He pushes himself off the wall and leans into your space, hair falling towards you. You look between his eyes and his collar, debating hiding your face there. 

“Not even my driving?”  

“Okay,” you answer, watching his dimples press into his face. “Maybe I’d like you to change one thing.”

“I knew it!” Eddie cries, throwing his hands up. “Sweet girls like you are only ever after one thing. You wanna fix me, huh?”

“No,” you whisper, smiling to the side. “Just, gently improve your interest in speed limits?” 

“Yeah? And what about my proclivity for pineapple and olive pizza?”

You chew the inside of your lip, suppressing giggles. “I think, given time, I can learn to live with it.” You feel a buzz of pride at Eddie’s laugh, the crinkle around his eyes he gets when he’s really, truly happy. “I do mean it, Eddie. I like you exactly as you are. More-” You take a breath. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

Eddie’s hand finds yours again, your fingers curling into his, your knuckles at his palm. 

“Like me enough to come home with me?” 

You want to. Desperately. The relief you felt at seeing him, your whole body telling you that you’d rather spend an evening with Eddie than here, navigating social circles you’ll never really be a part of. 

“I have to tell my friends first,” you say, watching Eddie nod. 

“Sure thing. I can wait.”

“Okay.” Your gaze travels between his eyes and his collar again, stalling your departure. You want a kiss. Want to kiss him all the time, even for a short goodbye. Eddie, sensing your hesitance to leave, narrows his eyes a little like he's trying to work you out. He catches your eyes dart to his lips, and they curve. 

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to you. It’s a perfect, innocent little thing. But you like it, like the domesticity you’re learning with Eddie. You want kisses goodbye and hello, his hand in yours in the car. You want elbows meeting sides while cooking together, waking up in the middle of the night just to hear Eddie breathing before you fall away again, catching sight of each other in the mirror while you brush your teeth in the morning. You want your daily life, with Eddie in it, with all the things he adds just by way of existing. 

You give him another quick peck, face hot, and run into the house before your mouth asks him to leave with you now and never come back. 

You find May in the kitchen, huddled together with a couple of the cheer girls as well as Ethan. She waves brightly when she catches sight of you, gesturing you over. “Hi!” She calls, hair mussed, clearly having continued to drink since you parted. “Where did you go?”

“Um, I was thinking I might go home,” you say, fiddling with your skirt. “M’tired.”

“Oh, are Heather and Patrick leaving too?”

“No, no. I ran into Eddie. He’s gonna give me a ride home.” 

You brace yourself, the back of your neck prickling with tension. You watch the expression on May’s face shift from confusion, not to anger or disappointment, but amusement. 

“Ohh-kay, you’re tired,” she laughs, shaking her head. You make a noise in embarrassment, checking to see if the rest of the group are listening in and she grins at you, pulling you into a quick, floral smelling, hug. “Have a good night, okay? I’ll see you later.”

You give her a squeeze back, chest warm. “Yeah, later.” 

You give a half hearted wave to everyone else, navigating your way to the living room. Heather is where she has been all evening, under Patrick’s arm. “Hey,” you say, avoiding eye contact with the boys around her. “I’m gonna head.”

“Already?” Heather pouts. A quick throb or annoyance rises and falls, your anger that she wouldn't have noticed either way reasoned with the fact that it was your decision not to spend any time with this group. 

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

“I thought I was giving you a ride?” Patrick asks, leaning over.

"No, Eddie's gonna take me home."

There’s a moment of quiet, information sinking in before Patrick's face displays a shocked frown. "Eddie? Munson? You're getting in that scrap heap he calls a van?" 

You look from him to Heather, spy the clear guilt on her face when you say, "He's my boyfriend. Heather didn't tell you?" 

“She most certainly did not- when the fuck-”

“I’m sure she can fill you in,” you say, voice edging towards breaking, thinking about her encouragement, her fingers on the cross around her neck. Heather's mouth opens, her hand coming to that very pendant, and you shake your head. "Bye." 

She calls your name behind you, but doesn't come after you when you leave. 

Eddie is waiting for you still, balancing a seat on the porch rail and smoking when you emerge. A dimple presses into his face when he flicks the cigarette away and slides down. “All good?”

You grab his hand, bury your face into his shoulder to lean on him a little. Breathe in leather and drugstore shampoo - Eddie, Eddie, Eddie - until your heart stops throbbing painfully. 

“All good,” you mumble, turning your head to look at him from his shoulder. “Home?”

You realise how tired you are when you are settled in Eddie’s van, your eyes and limbs heavy. You half want to curl up in the soft seat and drift, but get taken in by watching Eddie as he drives. His fingers following the guitar licks of his music on the steering wheel, his hair shifting when he rocks his head forward. The way he glances at you when he turns, catches you staring and grins to himself every time. 

"You know, I didn’t really have you down as someone who’d be into paaarties,” he says, eyes wide with his mocking tone. He glances at you again, at your worn out state, and half closes an eye. “And I gotta say, you don't seem like you were having a good time."

You think about that for a minute, wondering how best to explain your complicated relationship with social events. “I like dancing with my friends,” you start with a shrug. “And getting ready.” You lean your head back. “It’s like the only time the three of us are together anymore.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, glancing over at you. “Why’s that?”

Why is that? You’ve wondered it yourself. It felt like, suddenly, though maybe it happened very slowly without you realising, whatever delicate thread held you together started to strain as you moved in different directions. Or, as they did; leaving you lonely in the place you used to share. Waiting for them to visit, when it suits them. 

They changed. You stayed the same.

Only, you must have changed a little. You replay that last moment with Heather tonight in your head, wondering if you’ve ever shown her your hurt, your anger. Six months ago, you doubt you’d even have left at all. It’s more likely that you would have stayed, wishing to be anywhere else, until they wanted to leave. 

Eddie looks over at you following your long silence, adopts the soft, encouraging smile he gives you to show you he’ll wait for your answer, regardless of the reasons it’s taking you so long to find it. You get an inkling, then, of why you’ve changed, if only a little. 

“We’re all just…different than we were,” you say finally. 

“People change, I guess,” Eddie nods. “For better or worse.”

You think you might be better.

Exhaustion takes over when you cross the comforting threshold into Eddie’s home; the familiar smell and warmth of it sending a message across your body that you can relax now. You clean your teeth with the brush Eddie presented you with the first time you stayed over, scrub at your face with warm water until all that’s left are panda eyes you don’t have the fortitude to deal with. When Eddie takes his turn in the bathroom, you search through the little drawer he’d cleaned out for you to find soft cotton pyjamas that have your eyes drifting the second you have them on. 

When Eddie returns, you’re standing in the middle of the room fiddling with your hands, still a little worried about the assumption of getting into his bed when he’s not there. 

“C’mon, sweet thing,” he says, holding the covers open for you and tucking them over your shoulder when you’re settled on the good pillow, the one he insists you take every time. You watch, heart sore, as Eddie removes every one of his rings, counting the little metallic clanks as he drops them on the table. Then goes his bracelet, his watch and his wallet chain. You stare shamelessly as he pulls his shirt over his head, soft hair following the collar up, up, up, and dropping down again in a curly mass around his pale shoulders as the fabric pulls away. You hear the distinct clink of his belt, curl your knees up at the heat the sound sends through your core. Eddie wiggles his hips a little as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them ungracefully, kicking them off his heels. He stands before you in his blue plaid boxers, all pale tattooed skin. 

“You’ve been staring at me all evenin’,” he says, approaching you, dropping down in a squat so his face is right by yours. 

You can’t argue, but find yourself fiddling with the duvet, pulling it up to your cheek and half hiding in it to mumble into the polyester. “I like looking at you.” 

“Yeah? Well, looking’s free. Usually touching would cost you,” he says, reaching out with a finger to pull the cover down from your face and leaning in like he’s sharing a secret. “But, uh, just between you and I, sweet thing, you can touch for free, too.” Your toes curl, glancing quickly at Eddie’s pink mouth, watching his lips tilt. “Need some of my services just now?”

“Yeah,”

He hums, his big hand capturing your cheek to tilt your face to his. Eddie’s kisses are gentle and warm. You taste dried toothpaste on his lips, the lasting smoke in his breath from that final cigarette. Then, when your kisses have turned too sleepy to last, just soft presses to his bottom lip, he climbs into the other side of the bed and reaches out for you, fingers wiggling. You tuck yourself into his side, and fall asleep quick. 

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You drift to waking, gently pulled from sleep by sunshine peeking through cheap blinds and the distant sound of a barking dog. You are comfortably cozy under the sheets. Even having shifted to either side of the bed in the night, no longer tangled, you can feel the heat of Eddie at your back. 

You half snooze for a long time, eyes drifting open to take in the contents of the room. The amps and the Corroded Coffin wall hanging, a closet slightly more full than the first time you were here, a floor still messy but less littered with piles of half clean half dirty laundry. Eddie’s acoustic guitar, his writing overtop in white, THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS. 

You close your eyes again. The next time they open, the room is brighter. Turning ungracefully, you come face to face with Eddie, and huff a soft laugh through your nose. Eddie’s hair in the morning is a beast, pressed to either side of his face from his tossing against the pillow. Some locks frizzed to the point of dullness, some still set in loose curls; both types tossed over the front of his face. Reaching out, you tuck each lock back until you can see him properly, every pretty feature of his face.

You consider trying to wake him, but find yourself simply shuffling closer, tucking yourself into him, nose at his neck. Eddie hums, one arm coming up instinctively to settle over your half asleep body. 

You finally jump awake to the sound of the front door falling closed in a swinging slam. Eddie blinks opposite you, fully registering the noise and your presence together. He hums, closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath through his nose and opens his mouth wide to yawn so loud he might as well have screamed. 

“Coffee, boy!?” Wayne calls as Eddie stretches and cracks his pale limbs. He glances at you in question. 

You chew the inside of your lip. “Should he know I’m here?”

Eddie takes this in for a second, then smiles. “I mean, he’s about to, either way.”

Regret at not having asked Eddie to set an alarm rids all the warm cosiness of the scene. Your face feels hot already at the thought of facing Wayne on a Saturday morning having clearly slept in this bed. “He’ll- he’ll think we-”

Recognition dawns on Eddie’s face, and he shakes his head quickly. “He won’t think anything, sweetheart,” he tells you, leaning in till he’s put himself in your eyeline. Eddie’s expression is earnest until it shifts into an amused smile. “I’ll even tell him you slept on the floor to preserve my innocence. Score you some points with the old man.”

Eddie’s sleepy laughter has some of the tightness in your chest abating. The sight of his eyes crinkling at the sides, dimples digging into his cheeks, is a treat you don’t usually get so early. 

“What time is it?” You ask, realising it may not be early at all if Wayne’s back. Eddie grabs his watch from the bedside table, blinks away residual blurriness.

“Nine thirty.”

Later than you’ve slept since school started back up, yet even now, the thought of curling back up in Eddie’s arms and snoozing for a little longer is an attractive prospect you’re seriously considering.

“I heard your caterwaul of a yawn, boy! How many coffee’s am I making!?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. You nod. He calls back. “Three! If you can count that high!”

The sounds of clinking mugs and sizzling oil mix with Eddie’s soft grunts as he gets himself dressed, jumping up and down to pull his jeans over his feet and searching through the closet for a t-shirt adorned with three angels, all smoking. 

He takes you in when he’s put his rings on, no doubt almost as messy haired as him, watching him from his bed. Brown eyes bright, Eddie leans in to give you a soft kiss. 

“Morning, sweet thing,” he says. His hand cups your cheek, letting you press into his wide palm. “Take your time, mm? I’ll assure Wayne my innocence remains intact.”

Your nose scrunches at his teasing, even as you turn to press a quick kiss to the centre of his hand. Eddie rubs a thumb under your eye, then shuffles out his door. Immediately, the noise of clinking plates is smothered by the exchange of familiar jabs and teases between the uncle and nephew. 

The days you’ve spent here have made you realise how special their relationship is. Not something less than father and son, but in fact something more. Wayne looks upon Eddie with the exasperated fondness of a dad, but reserves the true judgement they can be prone to. No passive aggressive comments about Eddie’s track record at school, nor questions about the way he dresses, despite the bookmarked King James bible that sits on the coffee table. He’s ruffled Eddie’s hair kindly every time he’s been here while you were doing homework, hung his latest C- graded test up on the fridge. Eddie told you Wayne bought him that acoustic guitar when he was thirteen, saved up for months to take him to a real music shop in Indianapolis and let him pick one out. 

You can see, even, the parts of Wayne that have filtered straight down to Eddie. Their humour overlaps, the way they can banter back and forth with each other, never crossing the line into hurt. Though, where Eddie can’t help but grin at a good joke, Wayne remains deadpan through every jibe. 

Wayne, when he gets talking, can spin a yarn the same way Eddie can. Stories about his nights at the factory, his old job driving trucks across the country, his youth, told not in a long ramble, but structured perfectly to have you on the edge of your seat. 

You know now that Eddie’s kindness, the way he treats you, was a gift from Wayne. His genuine interest in your life, your plans. His continual, earnest offer of food from his fridge every time he sees you. When your mom made a lasagne for you to take in thanks for all the evenings you’ve spent here, Wayne didn’t send the dish with Eddie to school, but drove to your house with it cleaned to a shine to hand it back and thank her personally. Soon after, Eddie let it slip that the daisies he brought you for your first date were bought at Wayne’s insistence. 

You’d wondered, that day at the lake, how a boy treated like Eddie is treated could be so bright and kind. 

Wayne was the answer. 

So you should be braver, emerging from Eddie’s room in that big hoodie of his he’d been lending you on and off and shorts you’d left here the last time you stayed over, no doubt still sporting panda eyes from last night. But you find yourself making use of the long sleeves, fidgeting with your fingers against the fabric. 

Eddie’s in the midst of getting his wrist thwacked with a spatula for attempting to steal a streak of bacon as Wayne transferred them from pan to plate. Gasping, he holds his hand in the air and lets his wrist fall limp. “I- I can’t feel my fingers!”

Wayne silently watches Eddie flop his hand back and forth, only a slight crinkle at his eyes suggesting he finds anything his nephew is doing at all amusing. When he catches sight of you, his gaze barely flickers from your messy hair to Eddie’s hoodie. “Mornin’,” he says, turning his back to a still howling Eddie to shake the pan. “Eggs? Bacon?”

The temptation to refuse, to be polite and pretend you don’t want anything from him prickles at the back of your mind. Only, experience has taught you he’ll only plate you up something anyway. There for you if you change your mind, something both he and Eddie say frequently.

“Please,” you nod. 

“You gonna set the table, Eddie?”

“How can I?” Eddie cries, wrapping his other hand around the injured arm and holding it up as if the ailment has moved all the way to his elbow. “With this!?”

Wanting to make yourself useful, you venture into the cutlery drawer yourself, giggling as Eddie shakes his limp hand at you, before pulling up the fold out table at the other side of the kitchen. “You’re on coffee duty then, Ed.”

Eddie gives up the routine at the prospect of picking out mugs, his eyes shining. It’s an activity he seems to enjoy deeply; shuffling over to the expansive collection and perusing them like he doesn’t already know exactly who’s getting what.

Eddie likes to give Wayne a novelty Garfield mug, something about the quiet, serious man drinking from the head of the large orange cat tickling him. For himself, a black mug with THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE printed in white letters around a cartoon duck. For a while, he has been trying out different mugs for you, showing the best of Wayne’s extensive collection. But he’s settled on a white NASA mug Wayne picked up on a trip to Houston. “For my smart girl,” he’d said the first time he handed it to you, expression all fondness and pride. 

Eating together is becoming familiar to you now. Wayne has picked up on your tendency to keep quiet the same way Eddie did, sometimes asking you questions but generally letting you decide when you want to speak without much prying. 

“You two got plans?” He asks, glancing briefly at you then turning to Eddie when you look unsure. 

“Uh, nothing solid,” Eddie says, focused on the construction of an increasingly complex breakfast sandwich. “But I was thinking about heading to Greenfield to pick up an album. I had loan of Accept’s newest record from Jeff before he remembered I had it.” His tongue peeks out at his concentration, topping the egg, bacon, hashbrown and tomato with a final piece of toast. “Didn’t think three months was too long to keep it. I mean, what’s an album between friends?”

You watch in near fascination as he manages to keep it all in tact through a large bite. He chews slowly, and swallows. “I’d welcome a road trip buddy if you’d be so inclined, Princess.” 

Your face warms at the name used in front of Wayne, but you nod. 

“There’s a good bookshop, too,” he says, clearly holding himself back from taking another significant bite. “S’where I got my copy of Orpheus.” He must see something, excitement probably, move across your face, because next Eddie is flashing a pleased smile. “Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

When you’re all finished, dishes washed by you at your gentle insistence, face scrubbed further with luke warm water from the tap and hair finger combed through, you leave a yawning Wayne to his fold out. 

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The shop, located two towns over from Hawkins, smells like the music room at your first school. The memory hits you as soon as you walk through the door; standing in three lines and belting out an off tune Amazing Grace with another thirty kids. Playing with claves and tambourines. Eddie seems in his element here, directing you through display shelves of pop and country records around a corner to the back where his kind of music is kept. “Course, some albums I just use the cassette,” he tells you, rifling through a couple of records. You look around the section yourself, counting up the albums you recognise from Eddie’s desk, his glove compartment. “But when I love an album I kinda have to get it on vinyl, you know?”

You don’t, not really. You have your own pile of albums in your room, all plastic rectangles ready for your cassette player or your walkman. Your dad has a collection of country records, your Mom some Joni Mitchell, the Crosby, Stills and Nash records she played constantly when you were a child. Before Eddie started asking you to pick out albums you thought looked good in his room, you hadn’t touched a vinyl since your aunt asked you to put on the White Christmas over the holidays. 

Eddie senses your confusion, and shrugs. “I mean, I wanna see the album art for real,” he tells you, finding one as an example. “Not quite as effective at four by three inches, right?” You recognise it immediately as Holy Diver. Eddie has a shirt with this cover on it; a demon standing over a priest splashing in water. He was wearing it that day in the woods, when you ran right up and kissed him. He takes the record from you when you nod, placing it back carefully. 

“And there’s albums a stereo just can’t do justice to. They’re useful when I wanna skip songs. But hearing it from start to finish? At the highest quality? It just needs a record. Ah-” He finds the album he came here for and shows you. A blue background, with a chrome, blocky heart shape filled with valves and pumps. "Metal Heart," Eddie explains. "Latest, and best, album by Accept. They're this German heavy metal band? The lead guitarist, Wolf Hoffman?” He sighs wistfully, looking off into the distance. “Man, what I'd do if I got him in a room alone.”

You make an awful snorting sound when you laugh, have to ignore the delight on Eddie’s face lest you burn up entirely. "So,” you start. “Heavy metal is different from regular metal, or is it just another term for it?”

Eddie's face lights up at the question, putting on a refined accent. "Heavy metal, young lady, is a type of metal that encompasses many genres,” he explains, bringing a hand up to add to the role. “For example, one could say all thrash metal is heavy metal, but only a simple fool, would seek to claim that all heavy metal is thrash metal. Do you follow?” His character falls apart at your giggle. “I said metal too many times, huh? Note taken. You wanna listen?" 

At your nod, Eddie walks you back round to the front towards a row of glass booths housing record players and headphones. You watch his hands move carefully, treating the record with the same care he uses to hold your hand. When it's in place, he dons the headphones and places the needle, nodding his head until it reaches the start of the particular song he wants you to hear. His hair fans out a little as he removes them, making to place them over your ears until you flinch and he jerks them back. 

 “A little loud,” 

“Ah, shit, sorry,” he says, turning a knob on the record player. “I forgot. Princess ears.” He replaces the headphones, eyebrows raising in question. The volume more manageable now, you nod happily, listening to pulsing guitars build in intensity, joined by thrashing drums and eventually the telltale screeching voice that immediately transports you into Eddie’s room, the soundtrack of his life. 

Eddie’s eyes are all soft excitement, shining at you, watching for your reactions. 

If you had to make a list of all the things to like about Eddie, his passion would surely sit near the top. The way he fizzes all over to talk about music, and Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings. The way he’s desperate to share his interests with you. Not out of expectation for you to feel exactly the same about any of it, and certainly not with any assumptions that you should understand it already. Just to share, to let you in, to show himself to you. 

You wish you were more like him, that way. That you weren’t more comfortable hiding, keeping bits of yourself under lock and key lest their exposure leave the most delicate parts of you open to attack. You try to imagine Eddie using anything like that against you. You remember him leaning across the table to you on your first date, listening to you ramble about wyverns and etymology while your feet tapped your anxiety out onto the floor. He’d thanked you for sharing. Very metal, he’d said. 

Three minutes in, and you realise Eddie’s been playing the whole song in his head, because he brings his hands up to follow the chords playing in your ears with an imaginary guitar, hair shaking as he throws his head back and forth. Then he flashes his smile, soft cheeks displaying his dimples and smile lines.

You can’t help it. 

You step forward until your feet are patterned with his. You reach out for his sleeve, playing with the chains keeping the left connected across his wrist. Eddie’s still watching you when you tilt your chin, leaning towards him to press your lips to his. Anxiety prickles along your spine, but you know that nobody can see you. Even better, you know that Eddie is between you and the door, hiding you from the world. With the distinctive chains of his jacket in your fingers, his music sounding through your headphones, his lips on yours; everything around you is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

Safe, safe, safe. 

He pulls away with a huff of breath against your lips, giving you a series of chaste pecks like he isn’t quite ready to stop kissing you entirely despite protesting lungs. Your face burns, but it’s worth it for the way Eddie is staring at you when you finally open your eyes. 

“What was that for?” He mouths, gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes.

You bring your foot up, pressing the top of it to the back of your ankle and sliding it up and down your calf. A braver version of you would say what every part of you is screaming. Instead you shrug, still fiddling with his sleeve. Eddie tilts his head, clearly unsatisfied, but doesn't press you. 

"I like this," you tell him as it finishes, removing the headphones. 

"Well, that settles it," he answers, sliding the record from the player back into its sleeve. "You're coming home with me." 

You watch Eddie navigate the shop like it's a second home. He stops off at the cassettes, rifling through for anything new, anything he might not have heard before. He grabs a couple blank tapes too, looks at you to the side with pink cheeks. "In case I wanna make any more mixtapes." 

At the desk, Eddie places everything down carefully while you wait at the empty till. After a good thirty seconds, you start playing with the rings on Eddie's left hand while his other raps against the wooden desk. "Uh, hello? Anybody- ah, shit." 

"Munson," says the bespeckled boy who emerges from the back room. 

Eddie’s fingers twitch, and you cease your fidgeting to look up at him, find his face pulled taught. "Oh, hi. I, uh, didn't think you worked on Saturdays anymore." 

"Switched to the weekend shift," he answers, stony faced. "That gonna be a problem for you? Surely you’re not still in highschool?"

Eddie frowns, hand twitching again as he sighs. "Listen, man, I'm not looking to argue-"

"Don't know why else you'd show your face. You know your money's no good to me." 

Eddie slumps, all the easy happiness pulled from him. He hasn’t looked at you once, and your heart aches. 

"I'm buying these," you declare, searching through your bag for your purse. Tissues, no, lipgloss, no, mixtape, no. 

They both turn to you. The boy behind the desk takes you in finally, his nose wrinkling. "Oh yeah? You a metal fan?" 

"Mm hmm,” you say, voice higher than you’d like. 

"Okay, name three Metallica albums."

You glance at Eddie, find him rolling his eyes until you ask. “But Metallica only has two albums, right?" 

Eddie’s immediate smile is warmth inducing, causes you to shuffle with shy pride. You thrust out the money in your hand, start gathering up the items again to place in your shopping bag while Eddie grins in the face of the scowling man. 

"Whatever,” he says finally. “I don't wanna see you around here again, Munson." 

Eddie gives him a little salute, then grabs the bag from you and takes your hand to leave.

"Jesus," he breathes as soon as the bell announcing the doors closure sounds. "You can't talk like that, sweet thing. We're in public. You’ve-" He scratches at the back of his neck. “You’ve really been listening to me talk about it all the time, huh?”

You frown. “Of course, Eddie. I like it,” you answer, tugging his hand to start the walk back to the van. “Who was that?" 

Eddie’s smile drops. "Uh, Peter? We actually, kinda used to be friends. I introduced him to all his favourite bands back in the day, you know? Then suddenly he’s the gatekeeper of metal- I mean it’s a fucking joke.” He opens the side door, placing your bag behind the front seat. “S'how I met Gareth, really. Poor kid couldn't name two Dio albums so he gets insulted buying the latest one, what the hell is that? We all have to start somewhere. I mean, when I met that guy he was a U2 fan. Anyway-” he continues, closing the door. “I told him he was being a dick and he got all pissy about it." 

You chew your lip. "He acts that way, because you called him a dick?"

Eddie blanches, his head falling back with a quick groan. "Okay, I wanna add a disclaimer that I was sixteen and dumb," he starts. "And he really was being a dick, acting like- like all those guys metalheads are supposed to hate in the first place, and-" 

"And?" 

"And I hit him. Real gentle. With my fist." 

"Eddie,"

"Sweet thing, even you woulda decked him if you'd been there. I swear. And, I just can't fucking stand that shit, you know?" 

You do know. Eddie is all gentle touch and soft smiles around you, but something changes in him when he’s witness to injustice. He'd had to miss a date just last week because he had detention, brought about by standing over a sophomore who'd dared to mess with one of the freshmen in Eddie's club. "You make one vague threat about human sacrifice and suddenly everyone's got an opinion on what constitutes bullying," he'd complained later. "If teachers aren’t gonna teach that kid not to be a cunt, why shouldn't I scare it out of him?" 

You've heard him call the whole group his little sheep, laughing like he doesn't kind of mean it. Like he doesn't think of them as weird kids he'd gathered together in something of a herd, a pack. Like he doesn't think of himself as their shepherd, as their protector. 

"Point is," he says now. "He's the one in the wrong, I swear. Shit. I can't believe he works weekends now." 

"Well, I can go in for you." 

"Yeah? You can set him straight, my baby metalhead. Fuck- didn't even say thank you. Was too busy trying to pretend I wasn't half fucking hard-" You make a soft noise and Eddie blinks, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. How much was it again?"

You press a toe to the top of your other shoe shyly. "Can't I buy you them?" 

"Huh?"

"Like a gift?" 

Eddie’s face twists. You thought he was just being a gentleman, when he’d paid sneakily on your first date. You know now that’s only part of it. He likes driving you places but won’t accept gas money, likes making you dinner at his home but won’t let you pay for groceries when you tag along on errands. The only thing he doesn’t get twitchy about is your baking, but that’s because you’re there eating them too. You think this might further influence from Wayne; a certain pride, a refusal to accept anything monetary from you. 

"But, sweet thing-"

"Please, Eddie?" 

He watches you, conflicting emotions passing along his expression. "Okay. But you’re picking out a book. A real fancy one. I wanna see leather binding yeah? And one of those little ribbons attached, okay?" 

Your toes curl, nodding happily. "Okay."

You feel more at home as you walk through a glass door to the smell of old paper and ink. 

Joan Baez croons from the record player in the corner. The woman at the register nods as you enter but offers no other greeting. Eddie follows after you when you make a beeline to the poetry section; full of battered, well loved books with cracked spines and fading covers. 

You send Eddie a shy look, spine prickling from being watched in what feels like a solitary activity. You rub your thumb at a dusty shelf, wondering how to tell him, when he leans in a little. "Hey, you’ve been taking all my music recommendations. Anything for me to read?”

“Oh,” you say, mind lighting up before dimming at the thought of being too pushy, or recommending something he might hate. “I don’t know.”

“C’mon,” he says, leaning in more until he's all you can see, tilting his head until you’re looking into his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

You chew the inside of your lip. “Mm. Maybe- Have you ever read The Metamorphosis?” 

Eddie leans back, shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Can’t say I have.”

“I think,” you consider it again. “I think you’d like it. It’s about, well- A man turns into…an insect.” You simmer over the fact you want to share, let yourself believe that Eddie will be as willing as always to hear it. “It was written in German, and the word for what he turns into literally translates to, like, an animal you can’t sacrifice. Like, vermin?” Eddie’s watching you round off this information in a rush, smiling a little. “Kafka, the writer, didn’t want the actual animal to be specific. But sometimes it’s mistranslated and people say he turns into a beetle, or…or a cockroach,” you trail off, cringing at the sound of yourself. “I’m not selling it very well.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he answers. “Sounds suitably weird. Kafka, you said? I’ll get searching.”

Eddie disappears round the corner, leaving you to comfortable contemplation of the poetry selection. Rilke's entire works, some Wilde, some Shelley. You search for something new and land on a name you've never heard. Drawing it from the shelf, you peer at the cover, a silhouette of a bridge bathed in orange, with the Selected Poems by Marina Tsvetaeva printed above. 

You read a couple of the shorter poems, struck by her voice, her imagery. Turning to a random page, see the original Russian on one side, the English translation on the other. The title, asking the question, Where Does Such Tenderness Come From? Your heart pangs in recognition of her feelings as you read, the best part of poetry always finding yourself reflected back at you. 

You and your eyelashes - she writes. Longer than anyone’s, as if she knows about the eyes you wish you had the confidence to stare into without respite.

“Found anything?”

You jump, closing the book quickly as if you’d been reading something illicit. Eddie gives you a quick up and down look, keeping his distance until your shoulders drop their tension. “Yes,” you say, turning the book so he can see the cover. “I’d never even heard of her but I like her already.”

“Enough to kick poor Rainer off the top spot?”

You feel that strange warmth that comes with being known, the little reminder of things that Eddie has learned and remembered about you. “Not quite, but I’ll still give her a chance.” You glance down at the book in Eddie’s hands, glad to see he’s grabbed your recommendation. “You like it?”

“Seems weird as fuck,” he confirms matter of factly. “So it’s almost like I’m contractually obliged to read it, you know?”

He pulls the new book gently from your hands, retrieving his chained wallet from his back pocket. "My turn," he says with an unusual seriousness. “You want any others?”

You shake your head, lean up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek, surrounded and sheltered as you are by shelves and books. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Nah,” he says, face a soft pink. 

Later, when Eddie has followed you perusing shop windows, and you are full up on drive through fries, eaten in the front of Eddie’s van as you listened to his story of negotiating $20 of payment between his entire band for their nights playing at the Hideout, Eddie drives you back, glancing over at you every so often like he wants to say something, but turning his head back to the road every time instead.

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You feel relaxed, content, sitting comfy on the couch outside of Eddie’s trailer. He popped his head in earlier and found Wayne still sleeping, so you settled here to read in companionable silence. You, discovering more of Marina’s voice, drifting back again and again to the one poem that makes your chest full. 

Eddie lies with his head resting on your lap, flicking through the short novella. You play with his hair throughout, curling locks around your fingers and stroking his fringe back from his forehead. Occasionally, you glance down at him, taking in his furrowed brow and eyes shining wet at a couple moments. 

“Well, that was fucked up!” Eddie cries, snapping the book shut and somehow managing to whisper a yell. “He just dies? And they don’t care?”

You close your book to focus on him, resting it next to you. You let your fingers tangle into his hair, scratching softly. Eddie, even in his indignation, tilts his head towards the satisfying feeling like a cat. “Mm. That’s the point. He was living his life for his family, but they didn’t really care about him.”

“Yeah, but there’s not caring about someone and there’s hurtling fruit at them,” he reasons. “That Kafka guy had issues, I can’t be the only one who’s noticed.”

You crack a shy smile. “I think he’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie’s dimples tease you. “You’re a freak.” 

Your stomach flips at the affection in his voice, fingers stilling in his hair for a second before resuming their gentle caress. 

It hits you then, watching Eddie's pretty face, that you’re going to be alone with him again through the night, without interruption, and your throat lumps. As if he realises at the same time, Eddie sits up, hair still at angles from your exploring hands. His mouth opens, then closes again, his eyes flicking from your face to your hands where you’ve started fiddling with the hem of your shirt. 

Forcing yourself to take on his example, you ask, “what are you thinking, Eddie?”

“Big question,” he says. “But uh, I guess, I never thought…I never thought sex was that important, you know? Hell, I lost my virginity in the bathrooms at the Emerson Theatre.” His eyes scrunch closed as soon as he says it, like he regrets letting that particular detail slip right now. When one opens, and finds you smiling at him encouragingly, he sighs with his whole body. “And, I hope you know that it wouldn’t matter to me if you had been with somebody else,” he continues, eyes wide. “Like, at all. But at the same time, I’m happy I’m first, you know? Cause I know I can look after you. I can give you what you deserve. Which, again, technically should be a big fancy bed and linen sheets, but some people have absolutely no patience, so-”

“Eddie,” you groan. But it has no bite. You’re already smiling at him, grabbing at his palm to play with his fingers, heart full. 

He clears his throat. “So yeah, that’s what I’m thinking about. Also seeing you naked, obviously. But that takes up a good 30% of my brain pretty much all the time so it’s not entirely relevant here.”

“You’re so annoying,” you laugh, watching him clutch his chest in mock hurt.

“I just bared my soul to you!” He cries, watching your giggles incredulously. “Do’st thou mock me? Have you no heart, woman?”

You bury the rest of your laughter in his neck, feeling a kind of dizzy happiness that makes it hard to stop. Eddie’s chest shaking under your cheek tells you that he’s as affected, a hand coming up to stroke at your hair as the mirth fades. Turning to look at where your hands have started up playing with his fingers again, you think about what you want to say.

“Eddie,” you whisper, pulling from his neck, looking between his eyes and his forehead as you search for the bravery he has in spades, the ease to tell him that it always had to be him. 

Only, the front door of the trailer opens, revealing a sleepy looking, shirtless, Wayne. 

“Oh, Jesus, have some decorum, man!” Eddie yells, covering your eyes with his hand. 

“Evenin’, Eddie,” he says, followed by your own name. You wave, blinking to Eddie’s palm. “Get everything you wanted?”

“Yup, sweet girl bought me my very own Metal Heart,” he grins, tapping the album where it sits at his side on the couch as you wrestle his arm away. “Sleep well?”

“As good as I can.” He answers earnestly. “Just makin’ coffee then I’ll hit the road. You want anything?”

"I want you to put some clothes on!"

“No, thank you,” you answer over him, shaking your head and leaning into Eddie’s arm. When Wayne's gone, you glance up, find those soft eyes, those long dark eyelashes. Longer than anyone's. 

"What are you thinking?" 

You answer honestly. "That you're gonna look after me." 

"I will," he nods, sounding almost stern. "As long as you want me to." 

You wish it was easy to say, but all you can do is think it. 

Always, always, always.

Wayne leaves with a gruff goodbye, a reminder to Eddie that there's left over pasta in the refrigerator. You remember the first time you were here at the same time as Wayne, the almost desperate rush to get into Eddie's room the second he was gone. 

Now, you and Eddie stay, settled into one another for a long while after, until the sun has moved from high overhead to just behind the trees in front, turning the scene to a silhouette backlit with orange light. Eddie disappears, comes back with bowls of that pasta. You talk about school, and Eddie's band. He explains more about thrash metal, you tell him your new favourite German word you’d learned only yesterday. When the orange fades to blue-black, Eddie looks over at you. 

"Ready?"  

You wonder what it means, that despite the increasing thrum of your heart in your chest, you don't even have to think about it. "Yes."

He holds your hand all the way to his room, guiding you through like you don't know how to find his bed at the end. When the door is closed, sheltering you from the world outside, you wrap your arms tight around him, give yourself the comfort of hiding in his collar, feeling the slow rise and fall from his breath. 

Eddie hums, his hand coming to that space at the back of your neck that eases everything in your body that you’re used to holding tight. “How you feeling, honey?”

“Good,” you mumble. Then, wondering if he can feel the heavy beat of your heart. “Nervous.”

“Okay,” he says, fingers stroking and squeezing at your tender skin. “What are you nervous about? Anything we can fix?”

You let that thought sit. You are still learning how much Eddie means it when he says things like that. Still practising the belief that Eddie wants you to share your worries, carry some of the burden for you. The responsibility of trying to shed the weight, the disappointment of knowing some of it just has to be carried.

You’re resigned to telling him, but finding the exact reason for the nerves twisting your stomach takes its own time. With anyone else, you’d be worried about pain, about what happens if you have to stop. These concerns float away on their own at the feeling of Eddie’s hand stroking at you, his lips pressing kisses at your temple. Then you land on it, and press your face deeper against the softness of his shirt.

“I don’t know, I guess- What should I do?” You ask, voice small. “So it’s good for you, too.”

You feel his sigh from the rise in his chest, the shake of his head from the brush of his hair against your cheek. 

“Will you look at me?” He asks, waiting for you to tilt your head to find him. “You want the truth?” You nod, chin still tight to his shirt. Eddie’s eyes narrow a touch, leaning down conspiratorially. “It will feel good for me,” he starts, his free hand rubbing at your waist. “If we can get your pussy all soft, first.” A surprised throb between your legs has you clenching down on nothing, close to whimpering at the gentle roughness of Eddie’s voice. “All soft, and wet enough that I can just slide in, fill you up easy. Making you cum on my cock, sweet thing. That’s what’ll feel good, for me.” Eddie gives you a wolfish grin as he starts walking you backwards towards his bed, raising his eyebrows in question. “Think we can do that?”

It’s easy, then. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Mm, my good girl,” he says, holding you with the backs of your knees pressed to the side of his mattress, his nose at your temple. “Can I kiss you?”

Even easier. “Yes, Eddie.”

His lips press soft across your cheek and down to your mouth, warm and waiting for him. He's gentle with you, none of the fierceness you've felt in Eddie's kisses more recently. Like he's restraining himself, learning how you like to be touched in the lead up to something new. Your hands find his shoulders, soft cotton of his shirt, and rub at the fabric. His tongue flicks subtly against your bottom lip, but you're already desperate to taste him for real, letting him press deeper without any more prompting. 

You feel it at the sound of his laugh, the sudden curve of his lips, the huff of air from his nose against your cheek. The addictive high of showing Eddie how shameless he makes you, the knowledge that he sees you as you are. Not a wallflower here, or a naïve girl. Not an ingénue, to be taken advantage of, or protected from corruption. 

With Eddie, you can be as you are. Inexperienced and desperate in equal measure, as nervous as you are sure. 

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, pulling away only to blink down at you for a couple seconds before he captures your mouth again, tongue pressing to yours, hot and wet. You whine slowly, rising in volume, your fingers clasping at him. "S'alright," he soothes, giving you another press to your pout. His hand rubs at the back of your neck, encouraging you to lean your head into his support, give him space to leave plush kisses down the side of your throat. 

"Eddie," you whisper, softer than you'd expected. Not a moan, or even a plea for more. Just to say it, to feel the shape of his name in your mouth again. 

"So sweet," Eddie says, voice a wonderful vibration against your sensitive neck. "Sweetest girl I've ever seen- fuck. Can I?" His hands tug at the hem of your sweater and you nod desperately, helping him pull it off over your head. His lips return to your skin the second the material is on the floor, a wet press down to the softness of your chest. You feel his smile, his excited breath. He sucks, pulls at your flesh until it aches and you squirm. “Mm,” he sighs. “Can’t help it. Wanna mark you up-”

Gentle hands peel your bra from your chest, the tenderness vanishing with his tongue finding the pert bud of your nipple, treating the sensitive peak to wet warmth and friction that has your toes curling. The quick scrape of teeth makes you bat at Eddie's shoulder even as your body tilts to follow his mouth when it retreats. 

He gives the other similar treatment, groaning when your fingers drift upwards to tug at his hair. Another little squeak at the graze of his teeth and he’s pulling away to look at you. Your heart jumps at the sight of him, hair mussed from burying himself into your skin, face a light pink, lips wet and kissed dark. The way his eyes flick about you, you’re sure you must be in a similar state. 

Eddie’s throat bobs. “Wanna sit up on the bed, there?”

You nod, letting him help you up to the mattress and stand between your swinging legs.

“Need to go over something else, before we really get started,” he tells you, walking you back to sit on the bed, legs swinging off the side. Eddie drops to his knees to take your ankle in hand and pull at your laces. He sets your sneakers to the side, pings your socks over after them. He presses tickling kisses up your calves, eyes all bright when you laugh and kick at him slightly. 

Once he’s back at your height, his hands move to your waistband, thumbing at the button of your shorts. “You know that any time you wanna stop, you just say, okay? I mean it, sweet thing.” He pops the button, pulls at the zip. When his hands smooth under the denim to your hips, helping pull them down, he continues. “Doesn’t matter when. Even if I’m making this face-” He scrunches his nose up and lets his tongue hang out in a gross approximation of his expression when he cums and you can’t help but cover your eyes at the image. “What, you don’t like it?”

“That’s not what you look like!”

“That’s right, you’re the expert now, huh? This better?” He asks, stretching his lips flat and crossing his eyes. 

“Stoh-op!” You cry, somewhere between giggly and mortified. Eddie’s face settles back into its regular pretty softness, all shining amused eyes and laugh lines. 

“That’s exactly what you say to me if you want me to, mm? Or slow down or anything else you want, okay?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you murmur, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “Will you,” you swallow, playing with the neckline of his shirt. “Can you keep talking to me? While…”

“You say that like I'm gonna be able to stop talking. Hips up, sweetheart,” he says, helping you lie back so he can pull at your shorts. “Nah,” he breathes, hands disappearing to drag his shirt over his head. “You’ll be sick of my voice by tomorrow.”

Eddie helps you shuffle up the bed, your head falling easy to the good pillow. 

“Never,” you tell him, arms opening to pull him in. He finds your mouth again, kisses a little more desperate, already a touch breathless. Your fingers brush at the back of his hair, soft curls between his shoulder blades. 

Eddie’s hand dances over the soft skin of your stomach, pulling giggles from you when he hits ticklish spots. His fingers edge at the frilled waistband of your panties, waiting for your hips to tilt towards him to dip inside. 

“Oh, honey,” he says with a gentle pout, fingers meeting the hot wet warmth between your legs. “Should’ve told me you were feelin’ desperate.”

Your thighs twitch at the first gentle circle around your clit. Eddie’s thick fingers, the roughness at their ends that catches the sensitive bud so perfectly with each little rub. Already your mind feels light with pleasure, body sinking into the bliss of being touched by Eddie. You’re caught between watching his hand where it disappears, the impression of his knuckles moving under blue cotton, and pulling up the courage to stare back at Eddie as he scans every twitch of your face. He grins at you when you manage to turn to him, licking his lips quickly. The little peek of his tongue, the memory of all the ways it makes you weak for him, has your legs kicking and twitching.  

“Feels good, yeah?” He asks, eyes flickering to your lips as they open to let out a moan. “Want me to open this pussy up, sweet thing? Get you ready for me?”

You like that, enough that you nod desperately without thinking twice. “Yeah, want- please, Eddie?”

“Jesus,” he huffs a laugh, his fingers easing downwards only to drag slick from your pussy back up to your twitchy clit. “So fucking good, baby. Say please again?”

Your hips tilt up, chasing his hand though he makes no move to deprive you of it. Your whole body feels hot; from his words, his voice, as much as his touch. When you chance a look in Eddie’s eyes, all the warm brown has been swallowed up, leaving his gaze dark and intent on you. You curl your fingers into his shoulder, stare at the pick hanging from his necklace, swaying with the subtle movement of his torso following the pace of his arm. “Please, please, Eddie.”

You make a high noise of protest when his fingers pull away from your bud, shivers running up your spine at Eddie’s patronising coo, the jutting of his plush bottom lip. “Like I said, no patience. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” He sighs, pushes at your thighs to catch a glimpse of the dark, sodden material between your legs. “Just gotta get these off you, give me space to work, hm?” 

Eddie disappears from your side, moving down the bed to sit between your legs. His fingers hook quick into your waistband to pull your panties down your thighs. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, rubbing the wet cotton between his fingers. “Maybe you can be patient. You been wet all day, pretty?” You watch him lean over, hooking your panties over the headboard.

“Eddie,”

He only flashes you a grin, hand strokes at your thigh, fingers digging into the softness to push your leg back. You feel the sticky split of your cunt as it opens up for him, the wave of cool air against your heat. 

“Fuck, look at her,” Eddie breathes, dropping down to his front. His wide eyes blink in near fascination, like it’s anything new to him, watching your cunt flex and shine. “You want two?”

You clench down at the thought. “Yeah.”

Eddie hums, nips at the skin of your leg as he drags his fingers through your slick. The first press inside is a good stretch, lacking the edge of pain that comes with three. They sink inside easily with a wet noise that would have you squirming away if you weren’t so fuzzy in the head, so desperate for the pleasure Eddie’s touch promises. The pads of his fingers find the spot at the end of you that he has mapped out, pussy fluttering around his fingers in protest every time they leave to press back in. 

“Feels good?” Eddie asks, rubbing his face against your leg. You hum. “You want another?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, craving more, wanting everything. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Mm. Open those legs just a little more, baby- yeah, good girl.”

Eddie gives you one final press of his lips to your thigh as he withdraws his fingers, stroking at you again to gather your slick across all three. You feel the blunt ends of his digits at your entrance, the first push and-

“Oh,” you whine, the familiar ache nothing compared to the euphoria of Eddie’s tongue coming to lap at your sensitive clit. Your hands fly down to his hair, clenching around soft curls as if there’s any possibility he might pull away. He groans, sending a pleasant thrum across your nerves. “Eddie, please.”

Your hips twitch when his fingers meet resistance half way deep, but Eddie stops his approach before you have time to register any discomfort. Clenching tight around his half buried fingers, Eddie lathes his tongue, wide and wet, from where his digits disappear inside to the top of your pussy. Your legs kick again, clit throbbing under his attention. He waits patiently for your body to relax into the pleasure, gently pulling his fingers back before pressing even deeper into your supplicating cunt. 

“S’good, Eddie,” you whine, thighs pressing at the sides of his head without your wherewithal. All you know is you can feel him everywhere you need him most. His curls in your hands, tickling the sensitive insides of your legs. His tongue on your clit, gentle sucks that feel like kisses. His fingers filling you, stretching you and rubbing just right at the top wall of your cunt to send tingles along your spine. Ecstasy builds everywhere you can feel him, from a aching twitch between your legs to a wave that passes over your entire body. 

Eddie’s name escapes you on repeat without shame. You hear him curse, feel the breath of it against your clit, as you squeeze tight around his fingers, pulsing with each peak of the high. 

You finally slump into the mattress again, boneless and tingly. You ignore the wet sound produced by Eddie’s hand leaving your pussy, focusing on how he grins at you as he crawls up your body to settle over you, eyes crinkled at the sides with his satisfaction. 

“Jesus, you’re so hot,” he laughs, leaning down to plant a breathless kiss to your lips. “Thought your thighs weren’t ever gonna let me up. Started planning a life down there, you know?” 

You giggle, but can’t think of anything clever to say back, caught up in the perfect view of Eddie above you. Pink and lightly freckled, lips dark, the entire bottom half of his face shining from looking after you until he drags your slick to his tongue with his thumb. His hair falls forward like a curtain around your faces, tickling your cheeks until you reach up to tuck it back. He leans absent mindedly towards your hand then, enjoying the warmth of your palm. 

As you caress Eddie’s face, he gives you a gentle, wide eyed look. “You still wanna?” He asks, a little rushed. “Cause we can stop right here.”

“I want to,” you answer, just above a whisper, but sounding as sure as you ever have done. “If you do.”

“Yeah,” he nods, like he hasn’t quite registered the full meaning. Then, as if he’s taken it in, “yeah. Okay. Okay.”

Eddie climbs off the bed, leaning over his bedside table to search through the drawer, hands emerging with a box labelled TROJAN and a bottle of clear liquid. You watch him fumble a little with the box until it opens, and pull out a square wrapper that has your face feeling hot, as if the presence of condoms is any more illicit that how Eddie has been touching you already. 

“Look away!” Eddie jokes when he finds your eyes on him as he pulls at his belt. “Gotta keep my modesty in tact.”

You jokingly cover your eyes, hearing his laughter along with the clink of his belt, his zip pulling open. The mattress dips with Eddie’s return, and you peek through your fingers at him before settling your hands at your sides. Your mind fizzes at the sight of Eddie naked, settled on his knees between your thighs. Your eyes trace all the ink that decorates his torso, the softness of his stomach. The patches of dark hair on his chest, between his legs. His cock is a dark pink, swollen enough that the tip kisses his stomach. Eddie drags a hand over it with a soft groan like he’s been tortured by the wait. If he registers your staring, he doesn’t point it out, focusing on tearing open the foil wrapper and pulling a clear condom down over his length with a sigh. 

Your fingers pull at wrinkles in the sheets as Eddie squirts some clear gel from the bottle into his palm, dragging his hand over his cock again to spread it. “What- what’s that?”

“Oh, uh, lube?” Eddie says, throwing the bottle down on the mattress with a bounce. “Makes it easier to, like, move I guess.”

“But-” You’d press your knees together if Eddie weren’t settled between them. “I’m wet.”

Eddie’s eyes flash, lips quirking. “You are, huh?”

“Eddie,” 

“Mm. I know, sweet thing. But a little extra never hurt, mm?” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

“Okay,” he answers. “I think it’ll be easiest like this, probably?” He drags the spare pillow from his side, tapping your hips gently to place it under you, tilting your body up to him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, Eddie. S’good.”

“Okay,” he breathes, shuffling forward. With one hand, he strokes gently at your thigh. The other finds your pussy, his thumb playing with clit until you’re feeling pleasured and loose, settled back onto the bed with fluttering eyes. “Still want this, Princess?”

You stare at him, heart sore as you take in his open expression. You can see the evidence of how desperate he must be, how much he wants this. But he looks at you, and you know he meant it when he said you could stop at any time, that he isn’t expecting anything from you, even now.

This body of yours is used to freezing up, follows a routine of tensing and shaking at questions less serious than this. You breathe, swallow, force yourself to look him in the eye. “I want you, Eddie.”

He watches you, searching for your certainty. You smile, a nervous thing, but real, and he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna go slow. If it hurts, you say, yeah? Or kick me in the balls - whatever’s easiest.”

You giggle, shaking your head at him, your body feeling loose and relaxed by the time you feel the tip of him catch at your entrance. You make a soft noise at the back of your throat, wanting to watch him but also wanting desperately to keep yourself relaxed and open. You close your eyes, feel the softness of Eddie’s sheets under your fingers.

“Sweet girl,” Eddie murmurs, still circling your clit as the tip of him sinks inside. You feel the aching stretch of him, the pleasant warmth of Eddie’s cock under rubber. He’s saying something, talking to you like he promised, but you’re focused on your breath, on fighting the urge to bear down on him. 

He must be a couple inches deep when he stops and pulls back only to press forward again and you think, for a second, you will be able to lay back and take all the pleasure Eddie always gives you, but-

His thumb circles just perfect at your clit and your pussy flutters, the new tightness resisting the slow press of his cock. It’s a sudden, shocking hurt that has your hips flinching to another stab of pain. Before you can help it your body is tensing all over, a soft pained sound escaping your throat. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, voice rough, and that the squeeze of your pussy must feel good doesn’t even register. You can only think that he must be as frustrated with your body as you are. Not in control, but a witness to it falling back into routine, pulling taught even as Eddie starts hushing softly. The more you tense, the tighter you feel, the pleasant ache of him pushing inside quickly turning to a stinging stretch that has you clenching fists in the sheets, tears springing to your eyes. 

Eddie pulls out from you, and your chest throbs.  

“I’m sorry,” you cry, wanting to close your legs and hide away from him. 

Eddie’s warmth doesn’t vanish as you fear. In fact it grows as he leans over you, an arm coming to circle your waist. You feel his free hand at your hair, stroking it back from your face. “Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, his breath a gentle caress against your cheek. “You’re in that head, mm? C’mon out.”

The tears that had been bubbling under your eyelids spring free when you open them, tracking down your cheeks as Eddie shakes his head. He wipes each of them away with his thumb until they stop coming. “Sweet thing,” he breathes. “It hurt, and you needed to stop. It’s okay.”

His thumb strokes over your cheek again and you lean into it, resting your palm at the back of his hand as you sigh. Your fingers weave with his, everything better now that you can touch him, now that you can’t run away into your head away from his voice, so close to you.

“Wanna get dressed? We can watch something, mm?”

You shake your head immediately, feeling determined. “Can we try again?”

“We don’t have to-”

“I want to, Eddie.” You assure, hoping he believes you. You rub your cheek into his palm again. “But, can we stay like this?”

There’s a pause as Eddie blinks at you, then his mouth turns up. “Wanna change tactics, huh, Princess?” You nod, watching as he pulls away briefly to help pull the pillow out from under your hips, his hands pressing at your thighs so he can settle properly between them. You whine softly at the feeling of him, still hard and pulsing, between your legs. 

Eddie comes back to you with a kiss, lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, get your fingers pressed to his warm skin, playing with the ends of his hair. 

“Forgot who I was dealing with, didn’t I?” He says, rolling his hips so the tip of his cock drags over your twitchy clit. Your toes curl, the ball of your foot stroking a little at the back of Eddie’s calf as your legs curl round him. “My girl needs to touch me all over, huh?”

Eddie grins down at you, wiggles his hips just to hear you gasp at the friction of your clit, feel the way your digits dig at him, your right hand rubbing at a lock of his hair. Tension pours from your body at the weight of him all over you, the chance to watch Eddie’s joy at touching you, the pleasure he feels in tandem with yours at every roll of his hips.. 

He kisses you again, then both your cheeks and your nose and chin, peppers them in quick succession across your neck to get you giggly and soft. When he emerges, you watch each other. Eddie’s gaze flicks about your face while you count down the checklist of your favourite features; dimples and quirked lips, wrinkles at the sides of his eyes and laugh lines.

“Again?” He asks, one hand moving from your thigh to grasp his cock between you. You nod, press your digits into Eddie’s shoulder as his tip opens you up. 

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes through the first slow thrust, voice clear as day now he’s so close. “You’re so good, baby.”

Pleasant shivers run through you at the praise. When the stretch makes your body pull taught, your fingers press at Eddie’s skin, letting him feel your need to slow. When the sound of his shaking breath, the sight of his eyes fluttering at the tightness of your cunt around him, has you excited and pliant again, your fingers playing at the ends of his hair tell him that he can start moving once more. Eddie pulls back each time before pressing deeper, humming you through each new tender stretch until you feel the wiry hair above his cock tease your clit. Your hips tilt, chasing the delicious rub, and you feel Eddie’s cock twitch inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, face dropping into your neck to groan. “How’s it feel?”

Your cunt flutters at the strain in his voice. This time, rather than sending warnings across your body at an unpleasant sting, your pussy bearing down aggravates a dull throb. Like pushing on a sore tooth, it’s painful and addictive all at once, clenching down again for the satisfying feeling of Eddie’s cock twitching inside you, the sound of him groaning against your skin.  

“Good, Eddie,” you say honestly, fingers stroking through his hair. “Will you- can you move?”

“Yeah- fuck,” he nods into your neck, laughing softly. “Just gimme onnnnne second. Jesus. ‘How do I make it good for you?’ She asks, with heaven between her legs.” 

Your body shakes as both of you giggle together, cut off by another whimpering moan from Eddie. “Aw, shit, don’t laugh or I’m really gonna embarrass myself.”

He tilts his head to the side, looking at you with his chin at your collar. His hips pull back, relieving your pussy of the ache until he slides forward again, letting you feel full, the weight and warmth of him inside you. It’s different than his fingers, which map out the best spots and play with them. Eddie’s cock, thick and heavy, drags along all of them at once. 

His face is so close by yours, watching desperately for every sign of pleasure, any hint of discomfort. You open your mouth to reassure him, but all that escapes is a soft, pleased sound that makes his hips stutter.

“Feels good?” Eddie gasps, nodding like he wants to encourage you to agree.

“Yeah, s’good,”

“Fuck,” he says. “You’re gonna want this all the time now, yeah? Need your pretty cunt full of me?”

Pleasant tingles of shame dart up your spine, and one of Eddie’s hands slips between your bodies to rub at your clit again. 

“Yeah? Say it, sweet thing.” He groans, hips stuttering at a clench of your cunt around him. 

“Like being full of you, Eddie,” you whine, fingers tightening in his hair. “Want it all the time.”

“Jesus- Christ, you’re so good,” he breathes, his fingers bullying your sodden clit. The ache of his cock falls away in comparison to the onslaught of stimulation there, leaving only the satisfying resistance to your cunt clenching down, the sweet fullness, the friction against your sensitive walls. “You’re so good, letting me hear you. Your pretty voice- fuck. Just for me. Think you can cum?”

“Uh huh,”

“Yeah? Like this? Just like this?”

You nod desperately, hips twitching towards him. Chasing the rub of his fingers, the feeling of being stretched full when he presses deep, the throb of his cock inside. 

“You cumming, sweet thing?” He asks, as if he can’t see the flutter of your eyes, feel your body clasp around him. “Yeah? Holy-”

Your high is a gentle thing, compared to what you felt with Eddie’s fingers and tongue. A quick rise and fall focused at the top of your cunt that shifts quickly into the numbness of overstimulation. The lasting ache is too present for anything more, but it feels like a promise, a hint of how good it can be with Eddie, if you do this with him again. 

You feel boneless and tired while he finds his pleasure, staring down at your warm, satisfied face as he groans. You can feel him inside, the twitch of his cock as he groans, the sudden warmth behind rubber. 

His body half collapses on yours, sweat slick skin sticking together. You wrap yourself around him, foot stroking at his calf, hands scratching at the back of his scalp while he tries to catch his breath against your neck. You can feel the pound of his heart where your chests press together, know he must feel yours. When they slow in tandem, beating together, you find Eddie’s wide, soft eyes. 

“That-” his voice cracks, his throat clears. “Was that okay?” When you nod, offering a tired smile, he strokes some of your hair back. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” He says, waiting for you to nod again. 

You take a shaky breath as Eddie’s softening cock pulls from you, stealing all the soothing warmth inside and leaving you with a sensitive, fluttering pussy. You whimper softly at the tender feeling. “I know,” he breathes. “I know, sweet girl. Gimme one second.”

Shivers run up your spine when Eddie disappears briefly to deal with the condom, a little prickle of something unpleasant at your neck. You’re only starting to replay everything you just did and said that might be shameful, embarrassing, in your head when he returns. Eddie wipes warm damp cloth between your legs. He smooths away the uncomfortable, cooling stickiness. Predictably, he tosses the cloth over his shoulder to fall back into bed and pull you into his chest. There, with his arms tight around you, his adoring gaze set on you, any shame your mind could convince you to feel falls away. Why would you dwell on it, when you can let yourself feel all the warmth Eddie brings? 

You lie together for a few minutes, tracing Eddie’s tattoos. Over and over, you drag your pointer finger over the lines forming CORRODED COFFIN under his ribs, letters on Eddie’s skin.

“Thank you,” you murmur eventually, watching Eddie’s eyebrows pull together. You kiss his chest. “I’m glad it was you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, voice breaking a little at your immediate nod. “Well, uh, thank you for trusting me, sweetheart.”

You lie together until the sweat on your bodies is cool and sticky. When the first shiver runs up your body, Eddie helps you stand from the bed like he expects you to be walking like a new-born deer. You manage into the bathroom by yourself, emerge washed and clad in cosy pyjamas, his soft hoodie. Eddie takes his turn, and returns to bed with steamed warm pink skin and dripping hair that sprinkles droplets on your face when he shakes it out like a dog.

You drift asleep with Eddie’s breath at your ear, his fingers stroking steady at your waist.

You wake the next morning to that same sunlight through blinds, the same dog barking in the distance. If it weren’t for the new ache between your legs, you might have thought you’d dreamt the entire perfect day, woken up to find it was Saturday again.

You turn yourself over to Eddie’s side, find his long bare back, pale and dusted with freckles. In a second, you’ll curl yourself around him, wrap an arm over his torso so he can wake up feeling something like the way you feel when he holds you. 

But now, your rapid pulse pounds in your ears. Even as he sleeps, your body won't allow you to say it, or even whisper it. Your throat closes up with the thought of too much, too soon. 

But you ache to do something, to let the feeling out somehow. Caught between your throbbing heart and the worries that have kept you quiet your whole life, you shuffle forward, reach out, and draw eight letters, one after the other, on the soft skin of Eddie’s shoulder. 

I L O V E Y O U

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

Next Part

[darklyndivinely]

I punctured the abscess through abandonment

Fandom - Obey Me!

Pairing - Lucifer x Diavolo

Summary - "Diavolo raises his hand, hesitates, and then cups Lucifer’s jaw. Lucifer allows himself to lean into the touch, for his eyes to slip close; to savour it, this last time."

Warnings - SEXUAL CONTENT, ANGST, fluff, copious amounts of random shit.

Wordcount - 5k+

A/N - title from the english translation of this song. I've been working on this for ages. Dialuci is so exciting to me, the angst potential is endless. I hope it comes through here, because it's important to remember: for Lucifer, his family is above all, even his own happiness. Please do comment and tell me what y'all thought!!

Here's a beautiful rendition of the last scene done by @pseudonymphomania.

Read on AO3 • OM!Masterlist • Leave a tip! • Lucifer! Masterlist

It’s one of those days.

Black rain pours over Devildom. The sky, a churning thing of anger, had cracked open yesterday as he had succumbed to sleep. Some fourteen hours later, it was still in mourning.

Lucifer doesn’t mind.

Such forceful displays of nature, he’s found, cast a film of translucent languor over everything. His mind which is usually stretched thin with a million worries folds upon itself, over and over, until it occupies but a little square of space. All that exists then is the stubborn rain, the wailing of trees as they bow to the angry winds, and the soft ticks of his table clock.

Lucifer presses his forehead to the chilled glass of one of the windows. In and out, he breathes, his eyes shut and mind blank. A repose of quietude. He savours it, trying to document all the ridges of the calmness in his body, knowing that when it leaves, its departure will be long and hard to bear.

There’s a council meeting scheduled at four. He departs for it slowly, knowing that it won’t start till four twenty because tardiness is a vicious illness that his brothers have never been able to defeat. True to form, the last to arrive, Satan and Asmo, twelve minutes late, cite some ineludible mishap in the library. For a second Lucifer considers chiding them, becoming caught up in old habits, before reason returns and he puts halt to the achingly familiar words halfway up his throat. He knows if they escape today the sanctity of this beautiful day would become lost to him. So he gulps down a glass of cold water instead and lets it go.

“Where’s Mammon?” asks Asmo as he settles, eyes drawn to the only vacant seat now.

Mammon hadn’t been present for breakfast either. Lucifer had assumed he’d been summoned by his witches again. “He’ll be caught up. Let us begin now.”

For the next two hours, they discuss the many matters of importance around RAD. Vacant staff positions, complaints against faculty members, how to budget the million year-round events without compromising quality, and ideas for new events as well. Around the ninety-minute mark, the agenda gets lost somewhere within the frothing depths of the river Styx.

Between “A food contest where the winner cooks for me for the rest of their life,” and, “A fashion show where everyone writes a five-hundred word essay about my beauty and throws bouquets of pretty—” and Leviathan’s separate ongoing detailed verbal presentation about the cultural significance of some film adaptation of a novel that he believes all of RAD should come together and watch, Lucifer finds himself feeling some deep, ancient rot taking hold of his brain.

Diavolo’s well of patience, as it turns out, is infinite. His countenance is kind and sympathetic. 

Lucifer’s is not. 

He ends the meeting, his fist bunched around an eraser, barely holding himself back from lobbing it straight down Leviathan’s throat, and sends them all packing.

“Back by 11,” he says, easing back in his chair, “or Cerberus has free reign of your room.”

Diavolo chuckles beside him, refreshing their glasses with water. An easy smile slides onto his lips as the room empties. “Barbatos called,” he says, waving the doors shut with a flick of the wrist.

Lucifer hums, wiping the condensation off his glass and presses it to his temple, some of this morning’s calmness returning to him. “Contracts?”

“No, not yet. He’s happened upon Mammon’s witches. They run a bar in a nearby town that daylights as their hideout. Wonderful spot apparently; excellent mingling of the ley lines.”

“Was he there?”

Diavolo takes a sip of his water, shaking his head. “At a bar, five blocks over. Drunk as a fiddle.”

“Naturally.” Lucifer sighs, feeling the sudden urge to bang his head against a solid surface, preferably the sturdy pine table beneath him. “I apologise for his behaviour. Is Barbatos to return then?”

Diavolo’s lips quirk in a half-smirk, one Lucifer has learned follows a particularly amusing thought. “No. He insisted on staying to keep an eye out. He’ll ring in when Mammon departs for home.”

“Good,” he replies. “I will look over today’s notes and we’ll discuss them tomorrow.”

Diavolo nods, a sudden shine to his supermoon eyes. “Tomorrow then. Have a good night, Lucifer.”

Lucifer tips his head and says, “Goodnight, Diavolo.”

Mammon returns at half-past three that night, slipping through the garage doors straight into his room. Lucifer snaps his novel shut, does a last check on the barrier, and clocks out.

He’s awoken the next morning by a great racket of noise. He’s barely pulled his other pillow over his ears, the fear that the lot may have started a fire in the stove again being swept under the heaviness of slipping dreams, before there is a strong panicked rapping against his door and his sleep takes departure like a startled flock of ravens. He presses a prolonged expletive into his pillowcase and gets up.

Turns out, he’d missed breakfast. And when Asmo had gone to store the leftovers he’d discovered that the fridge wasn’t cooling anymore. Of course, in true menace behaviour, he’d complained about it loudly first before waking Lucifer up. So now Lucifer’s got a panicked Beel on his hands who is now worried for his recently bought cupcakes.

“They’re Madam Scream’s’, Lucifer! Poisoned hellberries and roasted creme! They won’t last two hours in this humidity. You have to do something!”

Lucifer pinches the bridge of his nose and sends the younger to heat all the leftovers in the oven. Is that working or does that also need a mass panic? Then he heads to his room for his phone and makes a call to Electric Demon, scheduling a home visit within the next hour. A shower sounds tempting but the food would go cold again, and Lucifer is a firm believer that heating leftovers more than once is a crime against one’s taste buds. He does his morning routine sans a shower and changes into a plain blue t-shirt and track pants.

Beel doesn’t seem sufficiently satisfied when Lucifer tells him that a technician is on his way. He stands awkwardly by the fridge in the kitchen, a cupcake box in hand and a frown on his face. Lucifer watches him from the dining table for a while, then, fed up, says, “Just open it already!”

Beel startles, turning to look at him. “Are you sure—”

“Yes! Open it or I’ll open it for you!”

Beel’s frown deepens. But he comes to sit at the dining table and begins to bite into his cupcakes with a focus that is perhaps a bit too much than the task demands. It’s all kind of adorable though and it eases a bit of Lucifer’s annoyance at the day’s bad start.

“Did Mammon come down for breakfast today?”

Beel shakes his head. He looks up suddenly, mouth full, his tangerine eyes fixing on Lucifer’s as if he’d been caught doing something naughty. Then looking as if in extreme pain, he slides the cupcake box towards Lucifer.

Lucifer chuckles and considers pretending to pluck one just for the fun of it all. He would have any other day, but he doesn’t. Not today. He slides the box back with a polite decline. Beel passes him a smile and digs into his food with more fervour. Lucifer resists the urge to ruffle his hair and leaves him to his sweets.

In the kitchen, Lucifer plates all the leftover food and casts a mild heating spell upon it. He takes it upstairs to Mammon’s room. It’s messy as always: clothes flung around, shoes discarded at the bottom of the staircase. Lucifer leaves the plate on the centre table. Mammon is sprawled on the bed in his briefs, his jeans a dark tangle on the floor. Beside it, there’s a half-empty pack of cigarettes. Lucifer toes at it, grimacing, knowing without a look that it’s one of those cheap, low-quality soft-packs. Standards were truly becoming non-existent nowadays.

The doorbell rings downstairs.

“Lucifer!” Beel shouts.

He sighs. I’ll check in later, he vows, heading off.

Later, however, doesn’t roll around until late that evening. Diavolo calls him up after the technician leaves.

“When are you coming over?” the prince says, straight to the point.

Lucifer considers his options. He could postpone, spend a lazy Sunday in the library and practise a tune or two at the piano. There’d be stacks of papers on his table tomorrow anyway, they’ll stay late at RAD and squeezing in their discussion wouldn’t be too big a hassle. However, it’s a nice day off and the prospect of being holed up in the library doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. He would much rather chase a pair of golden eyes.

“Soon,” Lucifer says.

“I just got a great idea for Barbatos’ gift,” Diavolo says the second Lucifer is within his sight. The prince is clad in a tight black t-shirt and loose grey pyjama with a pot of tea in his hands. Lucifer hums and takes a seat at the dining table, setting the file he’d brought over at the corner. Diavolo pours the tea into two cups. A subtle earthy smell wafts up in the steam. Fireweed, Lucifer recognizes. One of Barbatos’ own creations. He’d probably left a bunch of it behind for Diavolo to peruse.

“How many cups of this are you drinking a day?” Lucifer asks, taking a sip.

Diavolo’s forehead scrunches with a whine and he slumps into his seat. “Too much! I’m afraid I might be addicted at this point.”

Lucifer smiles around his cup. Trust Diavolo to become addicted to tea. “What is this idea then?”

The prince perks up and sets his cup down neatly. He takes out a small, brown drawstring pouch from his pocket. “Do you remember Ring 3’s Great Purge?”

Lucifer nods. “Yes. Nearly a million casualties.”

“Yes, that. There was a witch then, injured and hanging onto life in the Abyss by a single tree branch. I saved her and in return she gave me this pouch. Rare seeds of a flower that grows beneath the deep depths of the seas, she’d said.”

Diavolo spills the seeds onto his palms. Brown and dry. Entirely unremarkable.

“They might grow here,” he says, rifling the seeds gently with a finger. “And if not then perhaps they might blossom in the greenhouse, in a more controlled environment.”

“The Abyss is quite far away from the stadium. What was she doing there?”

“She wasn’t there for the tournament. She’d snuck in.” Diavolo pours the seeds back into the pouch and draws it shut. “Her niece had married a vampire from Ring 3 and was being abused. She wanted to rescue her. A very messy business, really.”

“Did she succeed?”

“He was rich, she was not. But yes. After a long court case. I delivered the judgement myself.”

Lucifer watches him, sipping at his tea. “It is a good gift, indeed.”

Diavolo smiles at him, a soft steady thing that makes Lucifer’s chest tighten. “What about you? What are you giving him?”

“I do not know.” Lucifer hadn’t even thought of it yet. “Any suggestions?”

Diavolo looks thoughtful, sipping solemnly at his tea. “Music, perhaps. He’s been in a slump lately. I haven’t seen him with headphones in a while.”

Lucifer hums. “Has he found the man yet?”

“Yesterday. But he’s demanded a day to think it over.”

“I highly doubt he’d be willing to forfeit his life when the alternative is so beneficial.”

“Beneficial!” Diavolo laughs sharply. “I plan to wring him dry to the bones.”

Lucifer smirks. “I would hope so.”

Diavolo eyes the file Lucifer had brought over. He stretches a hand to slide it closer and flips it open. “What have you decided?”

“Art and Psychology clubs,” Lucifer says. “Negligible dent in the budget.”

“A new hire?” Diavolo reads off the file.

“Part-time, but someone passionate and willing. I was hoping the Art club might focus more on polishing rather than teaching.”

“Hmm.” Diavolo closes the file and stands. “I will read it later. Are you perhaps done with that?” he asks, eyeing Lucifer’s cup. “I’m all stiff from sitting here.”

Lucifer gulps down the last of his cold tea and follows suit. He collects their cups and the pot, sets them in the sink and washes his hands. When he turns Diavolo is halfway across the kitchen, and he gestures at Lucifer to follow.

Diavolo’s room is halfway across the castle, obscured by the many turns into many indistinguishable hallways leading to it. The prince walks five steps ahead of him. Lucifer doesn’t bother to catch up. The length of the journey seems entirely too short for the view his position grants him. Then another turn and the sight of the familiar room.

The moment Lucifer has crossed the threshold, Diavolo is on him. There are two soft clicks behind him. A sudden arm around his waist and a pair of beautiful golden eyes. Diavolo presses him backwards into the now-closed door and melds their mouths together.

“I missed you,” Diavolo whispers against his lips.

Lucifer tightens his grip around Diavolo’s nape, the tightness in his chest dissolving in a sudden surge, and pulls the man into a feverish, bruising kiss. Diavolo moans into his mouth, a soft, needy sound, and presses even closer. He rucks up the back of Lucifer’s shirt. His fingers as they press into the small of Lucifer’s back are warm from the tea. The shape of his hand, his arm, his hips as they grind against Lucifer’s, their lips pressed together and Diavolo’s tongue licking into his mouth. It all seems so deliberate, so calculated—as if Lucifer’s body had been given shape with Diavolo in mind. It leaves him breathless and gasping, unmoored and full of want.

He pushes off of the door, sweeping his tongue over the roof of Diavolo’s mouth exactly the way he likes, and manoeuvres their entangled figures backwards. When he pushes him onto the bed the prince goes easily, pliable with desire, heaving, golden laser eyes set upon him. Lucifer climbs on top of him. He traces a light touch up the side of Diavolo’s hips, over his pants, along the hem of the shirt, closer, closer. Diavolo’s breath quickens, his fingers digging into the mattress. Lucifer presses the heel of his hand against Diavolo’s crotch. The prince arches off the bed. Lucifer smirks.

He leaves late that evening. There’s a burn to his body that leaves a delicate trilling in his chest. He hugs Diavolo goodbye at the gate, presses his nose into his hair and breathes. Dangerous, a grainy echo in the back of his mind says. But his brain is addled, his body loose, with moonshine sheltering them from reality under her silver cape. Diavolo cradles his face between his hands and kisses him softly. Neither of them says anything.

The whole family is sprawled around the TV when he gets back. Mammon sits on the floor with a blushing Beel, teasing him about some tasty flying burger. He looks up as Lucifer walks in.

“Do you have a headache?” Lucifer pulls out the painkiller he’d picked up at the castle. “Take this.”

“Wha—I don’t have a headache.”

“Take it. Now.” On the table, there is a half-empty bottle of cola and several glasses. Lucifer picks up the closest to Mammon’s. “Is this yours?” 

Mammon nods, looking fed-up, and takes the glass from his hands. Lucifer watches him swallow the pill then nods. “Who’s making dinner?”

“I am,” Satan says, cracking his neck and getting up. “Levi, you have this downloaded, right? Send it to me, I’ll finish it later.”

“Do you need any help?” Lucifer asks.

“No!” Satan shoots him a disgusted look and hurries away to the kitchen, muttering under his breath.

Lucifer smothers a smile. The film playing on the tv is strange. A donut-shaped black hole and googly eyes to the rescue. A little intrigued, Lucifer watches for a while, unable to let go of his want for a shower to properly take a seat. Nobody asks him where he’s been. It’s not like he ever answers when it’s those days with Diavolo. 

Then, naturally, Asmo walks in. His hair is wet, there’s a sheen to his skin, and he brings in the scent of strawberry body wash with himself. Appearing a little distracted with his mildly uncooperating hair he’s halfway into the room before he catches sight of Lucifer. He stops short then, his champagne eyes connecting with Lucifer’s. He tracks a slow look over the length of Lucifer’s form. A queer leer overcomes his eyes. Lucifer’s mood plummets.

“Hello, Lucifer…” Asmo coos, uncooperating hair forgotten now. “What naughty things have you been upto today, hmm?”

Acid froths in Lucifer’s stomach. Scorpions. Lucifer will have scorpions dig out all of Asmo’s hair, strand by strand by strand. And then he will set that fucking strawberry body wash on fire. Recognising a losing battle when he sees one, though, Lucifer shoulders past the younger to his room, even though the action almost brings him physical pain. His ears ring and there’s a stubborn itch to his hands. It’s only the thought of a familiar pair of lips on his neck that placates his more murderous desires. Still, scorpions and the death of many fruit-flavoured body washes.

The rain dries up. Time resumes its steady pace. Three weeks pass. Lucifer spends his days at RAD; most nights in his room on video calls with Diavolo doing paperwork. Asmo doesn’t do more than trail conspicuous looks over him on Sunday evenings after Lucifer had pulled him aside the first week and growled his serious scorpion-related threat into his face.

On Saturdays, he coerces the whole family into an outing together. First week it’s a museum (Satan), second it’s a Starlets Heart concert (Levi), third it’s a new Sushi restaurant downtown (Beel). Two days before the fourth Saturday, the house bill arrives, falling a wide margin below the budget. In a good mood, he takes them to a flea market and lets them loose. They come back heaving bags of books, two dozen DVDs and cassettes, a carefully wrapped artisan table lamp, and many small plastic bags of poison noodles that Lucifer swears he wouldn’t touch if House of Lamentation’s roof itself were crashing down upon him.

On his part, he buys a shimmering golden keychain of a cat for Mammon. He spots another in green and buys that for Satan. Most of his time, however, is spent at the vinyl shop thumbing through their metal collection. 

“Something less known,” he tells the shopkeeper, “and heavy, if you will.” 

The man plucks forth many, first from the newer section then older, but none feel right. The gut feeling that he gets, that tilting sensation in his stomach at the precise pick remains absent. He pays for a collection of classical sitar pieces and a pop one that Asmo swears an oath for on his “beautiful and lustrous hair that demons kill for”.

“If I end up disliking it, I’ll cut two centimetres off of them then.”

Asmo gasps. He touches his hand to his chest in faux outrage and scurries off. Lucifer laughs and follows. On the way back, they stop the car at AkuDonald’s and get takeout. Then ditch the plan to eat at home when Beel breaks and starts breezing through his dozen burgers with big bites. He tells Mammon to park beside a decent food truck. They order more food for Beel, open the doors, switch on the light and eat in the car. Like a big chaotic family. Levi drops a couple drops of his drink on the seat. Mammon complains his head off. It’s nice. He hopes they do this again sometime.

Later at night, after he’s sure all of them have fallen asleep, he sneaks out to meet Diavolo at the castle. For a second he freezes, puzzled at his own actions. Sneaking out of his own house in the middle of the night like some lowly thief, is that what he’d come to now? But then he drops down onto the castle grounds, Diavolo catches sight of him through the kitchen window, and his eyes light up with sunshine. He presses a long kiss to Lucifer’s lips when they meet. All the embarrassment in the world then seems worth it in the face of such beauty.

They set up the record player in the living room and sprawl on the sofa with glasses of ice-cold hellberry Demonus. Asmo’s album ends up being a hit. Diavolo laughs when Lucifer pretends to pout about his missed opportunity at playing barber. For the last song, a gentle and sombre tune, Diavolo pulls him upright and insists they dance.

“Are you mad?” Lucifer asks rhetorically. Drunk and mobile was not a good combination, not even in the face of such good music.

“Come on,” Dia pleads. “For me?” 

His eyes are pools of drunken affection, his lips flushed from the Demonus. Lucifer melts. He pulls him closer and spins their entwined figures around the furniture. Diavolo presses a kiss to the side of his jugular and rests his forehead on his shoulder.

I love you.

The thought is soft, akin to the whisper of rain that mists the winds at the dawn of monsoon. A tide—lapping, curling, rising, sinking. It flows over him, instilling a slow, deep shock onto him. Love? But—

Diavolo raises his head. His eyes are kaleidoscopes of black and gold. His carmine hair, a riot on his head. He nudges their foreheads together, a loose smile on his lips. They continue to sway to the music.

The long notes of the violin, the delicate tinkling of the ganzá, the shrill and strong vocals of the choir. The music soothes the anxiety that Lucifer might have experienced if the revelation had come to him in private. Here, with candlelight casting darkness into the slopes of Diavolo’s face, their bodies pressed together, hearts and feet in sync, the thrum of Demonus in his veins loosening the bolts of the closed doors of his heart, Lucifer could almost give name to the feeling that scented the air around them.

Like home had inhabited a body and become a person.

Like he might have fallen in love.

Lucifer’s eyesight blurs. He tightens his hold around Diavolo’s waist.

Stupid, stupid, stupid—

Black moon Halloween, Diavolo’s birthday, some couple hundred years ago now, he’d gotten drunk. The alcohol had always flowed without inhibitions, but that day Lucifer had indulged without restraint. Why he had done so he struggled to remember now. The prince had booked the whole club for a more private celebration. That was the first time they’d danced together, to some pop-rock song that had come up and Lucifer had been too intoxicated to remember to keep his personal interests to himself. 

“I like this,” he remembered saying.

Diavolo had immediately suggested dancing, perhaps excited to see him excited, and Lucifer had agreed without hesitation, already up and moving. The lights had been dim, navy blue and familiar. There was a moment, a still of the night in his mind, of Diavolo with flashing blue on his skin, eyes bright with joy, smile so wide and toothed Lucifer had been left utterly mesmerised. Golden.

You absolute fucki—

Diavolo presses a kiss to his lips. His thumb rubs indiscernible circles over the exposed skin of his forearm. Lucifer’s thoughts trip. The music has stopped. Silence reigns. The low crackle of the fire is barely audible. They are still wrapped up together. Reality is starting to loom over Lucifer, his heartbeat rising in his chest. Diavolo stares at him with hooded eyes, more smart than anyone ever gives him credit for. Seeking, searching, asking.

He should have known that this beautiful man who loved waking up at pretentious hours to go jogging and got excited at the prospect of paintball would be the one Lucifer would end up surrendering his heart to. He should have fucking known.

Lucifer tilts his chin and kisses him, gentle and unhurried. He pours into it all his emotions, nameless and gargantuan, trying to spell all the words that never make it past his throat. There’s always so many of them.

Diavolo smiles against his lips. He whispers something but Lucifer doesn’t catch it. He’s busy tracing the incline of the other’s cheekbones with his fingers, the flesh of his cheek, the curve of his ears, the sharp of his jawline. There’s an urgent need budding inside him, to savour, to consume, to take and perhaps, perhaps keep as well. It slithers through his body, golden and ablaze, and takes root somewhere deep, deep within him. Dia kisses him greedily, reflecting and reciprocating tenfold. His hands, looped around Lucifer’s waist, slide lower to cup his arse and grind their hips together. 

“Fuck,” Lucifer gasps against Diavolo’s grinning mouth.

They stumble over the little side table and fall onto the sofa. There are strings of saliva between their lips, teeth clacking, nails scraping against scalps.

Lucifer tears his hands through Diavolo’s tight shirt and presses his lips to the feverish skin. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Lucifer wants to fuse into him; crack his skin and bathe in him; meld their souls and mouths together for eternity. He wants to reach out, beyond skin and sinew, and press his lips straight to his heart.

He pulls him closer then; infinitely, impossibly closer. If he didn’t, he might disappear, his prince, his home. Like Lilith did, for forever.

Hold him, the deep grief in his body sings, tender and mournful like moonlight as he makes love to his prince, as long as your touch doesn’t scar him. Like it has everything else.

It is late morning when Lucifer awakes. The air is scented with hell jasmine and grapefruit. Diavolo lays asleep beside him on his stomach, a curved elbow obscuring half his face. Lucifer watches him, the red of his hair against the dark covers, the folds of skin at his neck, the gold-tipped horns, and the folded-back wings.

They’d never fucked through the night before. Even on days when they lost track of time, Lucifer would always leave. But last night something tangible had been shattered. A thread that he had been holding onto so desperately had slipped from his grip. The thought of leaving had never occurred to him during the entirety of yesternight. All he’d wanted was to touch Diavolo and employ his mouth over every dip and rise of his body. He’d wanted to feel him and breathe him and hear his own name slip from his swollen lips like fog in winters. He had scooped himself hollow and poured it over the other’s body.

Diavolo’s eyes flutter once, twice, then peel open, golden and hazy, a thousand miles away yet so near.

They hadn’t just fucked last night. They had made love.

Now as Lucifer watches the sleep desert Diavolo’s eyes slowly, a sour, putrid feeling corrugates in his gut. What had he done? He knew better than this; knew better than to hope for a happy ending. The arrows of grief hope hid underneath its veil, he knew them intimately. What could he say?

Today as you look at me with eyes warm and gentle, all I can give thought to is the control you possess over me. My sister was murdered and I’m bound to you for eternity. I feel infinitely more myself with you. Do you love me because you can control me or is this connection between us real? Your presence stabilises my being. I’ve known you for so long now but my wounds have never healed. I love you. I fear the power you possess over my family.

Lucifer stumbles out of bed. His vision swims. His heart beats deafeningly in his ears. The air tastes like torn-up soil and rotten feathers. There’s a moon over his head and his sister’s blood is on his hands. He reaches out to grasp the armrest of the sofa, steadies himself. Chesterfield. Striped. His hands will leave behind a bloody imprint on it. One more thing he’s ruined now. One more apology to make. One more guilt to carry. Breathe. His eyes open. He’s naked. Disgust makes his knees shake.

A warm hand settles over his spine. Lucifer flinches away. Diavolo freezes. “Don’t!” Lucifer growls out, his throat aching. Hollow eyes. Beautiful; dying. She’s choking on blood. What have you done? He has to save her, he has to protect—

“Lucifer, what’s wrong? Where are you—”

He stomps his way out. Every step makes his body quiver; a barbed knot in his sternum that paints his insides charcoal. It is only his memory and sense of direction that leads him to the living room. Their clothes are strewn around from last night. Lucifer switches into his human form and dons his. After a moment, Diavolo pads in behind him, dressed in plain white briefs. 

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Home,” Lucifer says, slipping into his shoes and zipping up his pants.

Diavolo clasps onto his arm. “What is it? Was it something I did? Or said? Tell me, Lucifer!”

Lucifer looks at him. There is puffiness beneath the other’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before. By the bridge of his nose, there is a tiny spot, a budding pimple. On his jaw, Lucifer can see the traces of slight stubble. All he wants at that moment is to kiss him.

“We won’t be seeing each other again,” he says, holding eyes with the prince.

A crack appears across Diavolo’s face. He’s so clever, so magnificent. Better than the most soothing symphonies and stronger than the hardest of rains. Diavolo raises his hand, hesitates, and then cups Lucifer’s jaw. Lucifer allows himself to lean into the touch, for his eyes to slip close; to savour it, this last time. Diavolo searches his face, his beautiful eyes fraught with despair, glistening. “I thought you wanted this,” he says.

Lucifer pulls away, his heart breaking. “I thought so too.”

Diavolo doesn’t stop him again.

Lucifer leaves.

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 3

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 3: a reporter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud knock came at the door. Spencer looked up from the article on his desk. His eyes glanced at the little clock that read 11:00pm. It was typical for his 'anonymous' parties to pay him a visit around this hour.

His office was an old storage room. The building a manger had been nice enough to move most of the stuff out of the room and allow him to set up his office and print shop. His printing machine was in the back corner and piles of new and old newspapers were all over the place. A small fire place had been roughly dug out of the concrete wall and did little to help keep the place warm.

He turned the old radio to a music channel, the Radio Demon's typical broadcast having ended, and went to the door. Once he invited the anonymous party in, he would turn the volume up so no eavesdropper could overhear.

He opened the door to a dark, red coat. His eyes trailed up the red and white lines, his blood running cold when he reached their face. Staring down at him was the none other than the Radio Demon. Spencer's knuckles had turned white from gripping the door handle.

"Greetings Mr. O'Connor. Might I have a word with you?" Alastor said.

"O-Of course." Spender stepped the side and held the door open. Alastor's eyes scanned the room as his cane tapped loudly on the floor. "I-I wasn't expecting you. I would have tidied the place up."

"No need. I don't intend to stay for long." Alastor stood by the fire and turned to face the small man. His eyes were wide and locked on Alastor, not noticing the darkening of the shadows in the corner of his office. I stayed covered with illusions and shadows combined, watching and listening.

"What could the famous Radio Demon want from me?" Spencer asked. He joined Alastor by the fire but kept a safe distance. His figure was as small and narrow as his horns hiding underneath his flat hat. He wore cuffed pants, black boots, and a long sleeve button up he always had rolled past his elbows. He scratched the scruff on his chin and shifted uncomfortably.

"It's my understanding you're under the threat of losing your job. Is that correct?" Alastor asked. Both claws rested still on his cane.

"Well, if you mean the mayor wants to switch to digital, then yes. Paper isn't really popular these days."

"I understand quite well. The digital era is trying to smother its predecessors. But I intend to ensure that doesn't happen. I believe you can be of assistance."

"Me? How?" Spencer's fear had melted most of the way. Was the Radio Demon asking him for help?

"There is a project on my hands." Alastor started walking. I watched as he circled Spencer, a tactic he used on everyone. "You know of the trouble Demons are in, as well as Full mage Humans. There is a Safe Haven for the persecuted. And I need someone I can count on to spread the word."

He walked past Spencer to stand in his original spot, careful to walk close enough that their sleeves almost touched. Spencer knew what he was asking of him. He wanted him to use his personal print machine to write articles about this Safe Haven and post them everywhere. But that brought many dangerous with it.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, why won't you do it? Surely you can reach a larger audience than me." He tapped his fingers together as the Radio Demon turned to face him.

"That is precisely why I'm looking for you to do it instead. This Safe Haven is nowhere near ready to be widely known. It needs more time to build and establish itself before it's many enemies discover it. This is to be a gradual reveal."

I heard Alastor's shadow chuckle in my ear. Only I could see it's red eyes open slightly to look at me. I felt Alcine, my own shadow, protectively cover my side closest to it.

"Well...I would love to assist you of all people, but I'm afraid I don't have the finances for it."

"That is something I will take care of." Alastor's smile widened.

"Right. Well...uh..." Spencer dragged two chairs from his desk to the fireplace. "It would uh...it would be tricky. And dangerous, for me especially." He went behind his desk to retrieve a bottle of whiskey.

"I've seen how you work," Alastor sat in one of the chairs, "I've seen you shapeshift into others to get what you need. I've seen the lengths you've gone to get a story. This task is something you could handle."

Spencer paused in pouring the second drink. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Some time."

"Oh...well...the stakes would be much greater. Especially for such a controversial and touchy subject," he said. Alastor motioned for me. "I could have enemies using me to get to this Safe Haven. Or they could simply ensure I stop publishing it." He finished pouring the last glass.

He closed the bottle and turned around, his feet freezing when he saw me standing beside Alastor's chair. I was in my Demon form and my shadow's edges were as sharp and janky as Alastor's. He didn't move for a long minute, eyes jumping between the two of us.

He cleared his throat. "I-I'm sure I could find a way."

Alastor accepted the drink but I declined, watching the small man try to sit in the chair without taking his eyes off me. A moment ago he had gotten somewhat used to Alastor's presence and now he was back to a rigid posture and stammering over his words. Had my presence really effected him?

"Excellent!" Alastor rested his foot on his knee. "Then let's get down to business."

****

I dove off the cliff and glided down to the beach. I slammed into the closest teenager and sent the group sprawling away from the jagged rocks in the water. They immediately got up and fought again. They were kicking up dirt and the kids were trying to jump out of the way.

The boy was clawing at Reagan who was desperately trying to run. His claws were razor sharp and slicing through her clothes. She already had dozens of marks across her skin. A Demon girl rammed her thick horns into his chin and tried to shove him away. He just took her with him and kicked her into the cold ocean.

He lunged for Reagan again but I caught him midway. His claw caught my nose as I slammed my body into his side. I planted my feet and made myself bigger as a Demon. His eyes widened and he scrambled back.

My eyes opened to the dim fire. My neck hurt from the strange position it had fallen into, my book flat on the ground seemingly waking me up, and the room itself was casted in a dim light. I yawned as I picked up the book. I set it on the chair and sauntered outside to the edge of the cliff. I sat with my legs hanging over and took a deep breath of the salty air. I remained there for what felt like eternity, focusing on neither anything or nothing.

"You seem upset."

I knew Husker was walking up to me long before he said anything. I kept my eyes on the cresting waves and pending rainstorm. I was wearing a coat since the temperatures were dropping for the fall season.

"I think that's the most you've said to me in weeks," I retorted. I heard him wince.

"I thought maybe you were happy with the way things were going." He sat down beside me and let his legs dangle over the edge. "What's wrong?"

As hurt and angry as I was with him neglecting me, I had been dying to speak my mind to someone. I certainly wasn't about to talk to Charlie or anyone new about my issue.

"He's using me again. I'm just a puppet for him to control, a tool to use. I wasn't part of that conversation. I was just there to make the guy say yes."

"What conversation?"

"We met an old newspaper reporter. Alastor and Charlie think it's smart to advertise the haven through paper articles."

"Ah," he nodded, "but...I mean this in the kindest way, but why would Alastor need you to get the guy to say yes? We both know he can convince anyone."

"I don't know. But he waited before telling me when to come out of the shadows. The guy was more willing to do it once he saw me. And Alastor smiled at me, too. Like one of his evil smiles."

"Hmm." Husker leaned on his legs and tapped his heels into the harsh stone. "That does seem strange. Maybe you—"

My ears twitched and my head jerked away. I locked my eyes on the group of kids on the beach. Three teenagers were fighting dangerously close to the sharp rocks. The little kids were yelling and Vivian was trying to break up the fight.

I dove off the cliff and glided down to the beach. I slammed into the closest teenager and sent the group sprawling away from the jagged rocks in the water. They immediately got up and fought again. They were kicking up dirt and the kids were trying to jump out of the way.

The boy was clawing at Reagan who was desperately trying to run. His claws were razor sharp and slicing through her clothes. She already had dozens of marks across her skin. A Demon girl rammed her thick horns into his chin and tried to shove him away. He just took her with him and kicked her into the cold ocean.

He lunged for Reagan again but I caught him midway. His claw caught my nose as I slammed my body into his side. I planted my feet and made myself bigger as a Demon. His eyes widened and he scrambled back.

"What is going on?" I demanded, looking between everyone here. Vivian was helping Reagan sit up and checking her wounds. I wiped my bleeding nose with my sleeve.

The other girl stood from the waves to join us, drenched and dripping. "He was taunting her."

"I was not!" he claimed. He backed further away before standing.

"He was!" she said. "He was telling her anyone could beat her because she didn't have any magic."

I looked briefly at Reagan before turning to the boy. He was new, a fighter from one if the recent rings we had saved.

"It wasn't meant to be taken seriously," he tried.

"Think next time, then," Vivian snapped. She was still in her Human form but the look she was giving made anyone anxious to be in her sight. "You're both from the rings. Did you really think it wasn't going to start a problem?"

"Well it did," I interjected, "and it won't happen again." I pointed a claw at the boy. "You're new enough to have heard our rules about no fighting." Next I pointed at Reagan and the girl. "And you've both been here long enough to know why we don't allow it."

They both dipped their heads.

"Come on." Vivian helped Reagan to her feet. The two girls walked past the boy and would be paying our new healer a visit.

I gathered the younger children and walked them back up to the top. The adults were quickly finishing another building before the rain came in. I made sure each child was back in their hut, safe and cozy. I had just finished when Reagan walked out of Althea's hut. The scratches were all gone but her face showed she still had some adrenaline still in her.

"Are you alright?" I asked her. She motioned to my nose but I passed it off. It had dried by now and it was only a nick.

"I'm sorry." She held onto her own arms. Her friend put a hand on her back.

"I understand why you did it." I touched her shoulder. She had revealed to me in prior conversations about the other teenagers poking fun at her magicless abilities. "But remember, fighting is easy. But not everyone can outwit someone with words."

"Right." She didn't sound too convinced. I walked with her and her friend to their hut and watched them walk in as the rain began to fall. Everyone disappeared into the safety of their warm, well lit shelter.

Husker invited me to join him and the others but I denied. I wasn't really feeling up to the socializing. I never was, though. I always felt out of place when I was with that group. I didn't feel a part of it.

I slowly made my way up the hill. I let the rain dot my clothes until it was all one dark color. I tilted my face to the sky and felt the wet grass sticking to my feet. I loved the feeling of rain. Everything smelled so earthy and fresh, so alive. I felt connected to it all, like I was meant to be here.

My joyful mood dropped when I opened my eyes. Alastor waited under the safety of the porch, cane in hand. I probably looked like a mess compared to him, always looking pressed and perfect.

"What?" I growled as I climbed the steps.

"Must there always be a reason?"

"There always is with yo—"

His hand covered my eyes and pulled me back. I felt the tingle of magic on my nose and froze. When he pulled his hand off I touched the smooth skin. I felt his presence past my shields again but this time was different. It felt as if he was searching for something.

I plucked his hand off and walked inside.

****

"It's been awhile since we've chatted. How's it been?" Rosie asked, taking a sip of the warm tea. She and Alastor were sitting in the private room of her store.

"She hasn't made any progress in the connection." Alastor was leaning back into the chair and running a hand over his face.

"You mean you haven't made any progression."

"Excuse me?" A red eye snapped up to her.

"Alastor, darling, she has to want to be around you. You have to be somewhat pleasant to be around."

"I'll do no such thing," he growled.

"Then the connection will remain weak." She took another sip.

He let out a sigh. "I don't know how to turn her around. She has nothing but anger and hatred for me. I can feel it."

"Then be the gentleman you are. She's the only one I've seen you treat in such a way. You treat Mimzy and I so much better than her and she's your soulmate, my dear."

"She's annoying."

Rosie laughed. "I'm sure she thinks the same thing of you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Ooooh boy. Welcome OC Spencer!

I may or may not be procrastinating the development of the feelings arc. I'm a little nervous if y'all will like how I write it. I'm so grateful to all of you who've been following along since the beginning, reading each and every post of mine. <3

[jumping-joey1104]

EJ HCs with s/o that works as a mortician ⚰️ plz? Don’t have to if ya don’t wanna. EJ is amazing and my fav since I was like 11!!

Ooooh! Hehehehe 😎

Eyeless Jack with Mortician S/O

I’ll be honest, he doesn’t know how to react. He was a completely normal human before… everything. Even then he couldn’t really understand the fascination with dead.

He’s a messy eater but he doesn’t play with his food, that’s rude.

Also this made me go on a whole hyperfixation on morticians so thank you for that. I have learned.

Ok, I’d like to think that you’ll first meet Jack when he breaks into the morgue. He doesn’t exactly understand the embalming process so he thinks that there’ll be a biohazard area where morticians such as you would put the intestines into.

Imagine the disappointment when he finds out this doesn’t happen, now he’s stuck in a morgue with half frozen bodies and the silent alarm going off.

Luckily for him you’re just getting to clock in, looking around to find the intruder. The place is quiet like usual, being a morgue there's always an eerie feeling. But something is different this time, you have a feeling you're not alone.

You try to push off the uneasy feeling and blame it on the normal excuses. The bodies less than ten feet away from you, the smell of embalming fluid and candles, even the crucifix affixed above the doors. Maybe that's where the feeling of being watched is coming from. Turning around would make you see the wooden sculpture staring at you, with disappointment or pride you'll never know and to be honest… or wouldn't care.

When you wheel out one of the newer cadavers and read his file you still feel that stare, this time blaming it on the body on the table. You think you would've gotten used to this but apparently not yet.

That is until you hear a click, like someone smacking their teeth. It makes you freeze and look around but you couldn't see the source of the sound. Until you look towards the closet door opened just a crack. That's where the staring is coming from.

You don't know whether or not you need to call the police, you did turn off the alarm and that was the first mistake you made. Suddenly being put into a horror movie as a pale grey hand snakes around the edge of the door with what seems like claws to be at the end. If you had any thoughts of running it's quickly snuffed as its clear that you’re not dealing with a human.

But the being doesn't reveal himself, instead only his hand stays holding onto the door as if to prevent you from opening it. He's trapped just like you are, another click coming from him as the sound of a stomach growling comes from the closet.

He's hungry, and his hand is reaching toward the counter next to the closet…

If you were scared before it's starting to dwindle as he blindly tries to grab at a notebook and pen on the counter. Knocking over things like a clutz before grabbing the counter. He still thinks you're working on the body, being blind, and the smell of formaldehyde makes it hard to track you.

He pulls the notebook into the closet for a few seconds before setting it back on the counter with writing on it. The writing is horrible and you can barely make out the words but it seems like a bad threat. Asking for organs or he’ll kill you.

And that's how it all starts.

He sneaks to your work while your clocked in now, not wanting to get caught like the first night. Despite the threat of loosing your job you sneak the unimportant organs from the cadavers to him and in exchange you gain a protector.

It takes weeks before he talks to you and even longer till he shows himself, it's scary at first but he still has that flair of humanity that makes you warm up to him. The fact that you're not scared of him makes him feel safer around you.

It's a morbid balance but neither of you cares, you're relationship becomes 50/50. He cares for you and protects you and you feed him and keep him hidden from the public eye.

[strawberry-milkshake-cow]

Hi! Can I request chuuya, Poe and tecchou night routines with their s/o? :)

Yess! ^^ thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none

Night routines with GN! S/o with chuuya, Poe, and tecchou from bsd

Chuuya

I think he stays up pretty late. Be enjoys a good wine and often stays up drinking. so more often than not you had to drag his drunken self off to bed. But on the nights he does decide to go to bed he wouldn't exactly tell you that he wanted to lay down with you. Instead he would only hint at it and get a little annoyed if you didn't take his hint. Yes a little embarresed and has no clue how to ask you. Once you realize what he wants you two go lay down. He defiantly clings to you while he sleeps. He likes breathing in your scent just so he knows your his he finds great comfort in this. Oh and he expects a goodnight kiss every night so you better remember.

"Hey don't you think it's getting late" you hear his voice as he entered the room leaning against the door frame. He looked at you expectantly. "Hm is it? I don't think it's that late" you say looking up from whatever you were doing. "Nope i think it's pretty late, I think you should get your rest...i could join you...i guess" he said a little akward. Then you finally realize what he was aiming for. You smile amused and nod "oh i think you're right! I would love for you to join me" you say with a smile getting up as you lay down on the bed. He holds an arm around you back as you start to feel sleepy. He's looking at You very intensively. You remember to lean over and give him a kiss, he's satisfied and soon fast asleep. Once hes asleep he clings his arms around you like a koala, laying his head on your chest he mutters "love ya"

Poe

I think he often forgets to take care of himself. He often stays up late working on his mystery novels so his sleep scedule is terrible. You'll have to remind him to go to bed when it gets late, because he won't even notice the sun has set outside. When he does realize that he actually is exausted and needs sleep, then he will allow you to lead him back to your shared bedroom. I feel like he would fall asleep very fast cuddling next to you and Karl sleeping on the end of the bed. I also think he would really enjoy if you read some if his novels before bed, Like a little bedtime story when he had trouble with his racing thoughts. All together you really help him out, without you he would stay up all night and probably fall asleep on his desk. So he is very greatful.

"Poe, my love, its 11 pm you've been working all day lets get some rest" you say calmly as you grab his shoulder. He was very focused on his writing so he jumped abit from the sudden contact. He looked over at the clock "oh it seems your right dear...silly me" he said a little embarrassed he got lost in his work again. You smile grabbing his hand you walk to bed, Karl was already fast asleep at the end of the bed. You two lie down he holds you close he was barely awake now as all of todays work came crashing down on him. He mutters in a sleepy tone "thank you my dear, you're always taking care of me... I appreciate it more than you know. Goodnight my love"

Tecchou

I feel like he has a pretty strict scedule he holds himself too as a hunting dog. He knows its very important to have his sleep, so he defiantly has a bedtime. 8:00 pm sharp. He tends to wake up early to go to work. As his s/o don't worry has not unreasonable. He won't force you to follow his scedule. You can stay up later if you like, he won't be upset. If say you can crawl into bed with him at any time and he would wrap his arms around you still fast asleep. He loves it when you stroke his hair as he falls asleep if you do decide to fall asleep at the same time as him. He also likes to listen to your heartbeat and hold you close just so he's sure you're safe and no one can hurt you while your in his arms.

It was about 11 pm when you finally felt tored enough to fall asleep. You quietly enter the room where tecchou was already fast asleep. You climb into the bed and under the covers, once your settled you feel a pair of earls wrap around your waist he rest his head against your shoulder holding you close to his chest. You smile snuggling closer to him "night" you hear him mutter. You were not sure if he was awake or not but you smile giving him a kiss on his forehead before you drift off to sleep.

[draco-dormiens]

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES - Chapter Sixteen

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

warnings: angst ;)

wc: 3326

masterlist

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Chapter Sixteen - The Night of the Ball

Saturday was met with pure excitement.

You woke to the sound of adrenaline filled conversations and girls running from dorm to dorm to show off their outfits. The thundering noise of running feet and squeals eventually stirred you from your prolonged slumber. Sitting up, you rub the sleep from your eyes to see the time on your bedside clock read 11:03am.

"Oh jeez," you mumble to yourself, "I missed breakfast."

Stretching, you throw the warm duvet from your legs and swing them off the side, expecting to be met with the wooden floor. Your feet collide with a box, and your still hazy mind short circuits for a second. It's wrapped in a blue ribbon, a card nestled between the bow at the top.

"Huh?" you sound, reaching down to retrieve it from the ground. How it got there was a mystery, unless Luna had placed it conveniently next to your bed. You take the card from the ribbon and open it, to read neatly curved writing that said:

and blue it shall be. see you at 7 in the common room. E x

Your eyes widen. The only E you are aware of is Edward, so this package must be from him, which only makes your stomach drop. Quickly you scramble to untie the ribbon and remove the box lid, rummaging through the pink tissue paper to be met with a sight that almost made you choke on nothing.

"Merlin above," you mutter, taking the blue fabric you knew so well between your fingers and carefully lifting it before you. The dress from Gladrags Wizardwear, in all its silky, blue glory, was folded amongst the tissue paper. You scoff in amazement, unsure what to think about the gesture after knowing the price tag. There was only one person with you that day, so Hermione must have told him. Did he ask her? Did he just guess? So many thoughts your mind started to feel even hazier. You take it from its box and place it over your body, looking at yourself in the floor length mirror. A smile creeps across your face, even though you had no idea how to thank him for such a gift. You stare at it for a long while, tracing the lines of it with your fingers.

"I could return it and give him the money back," you ponder, "or I could just accept it as a nice gesture and not feel guilty about it..."

Your stomach then grumbled furiously, bringing you back to the room. It was almost twelve in the afternoon now, so in order to seize as much of the day before the ball, you bundle the first clothes you see and head for the showers. You replay in your mind how you were to thank Edward, do you just show up in a dress worth Galleons or do you acknowledge it beforehand? It bothered you the entire way to the kitchen for leftovers. As you reach the lower floors of the castle, you catch a whiff of the remaining smell of delicious breakfast foods, enticing your legs to move faster towards the kitchen entrance. Upon entering, you see the tables full of foil covered plates and jugs of pumpkin juice. Starving, you begin peeling back the foil to see pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs and blueberry muffins. You help yourself, the house elves would rather you eat it than it go to waste. So engrossed in your munching, you didn't really register when the door squeaked open.

"Y/N?"

You turn, teeth still sunk into a muffin, to see Draco stood there. Quickly you remove the cake from your mouth and wipe your lips on the back of your sleeve.

"Draco," you mumble, "Hi."

"Hi," he says, cautiously walking over to where you were stood, "I, uh, don't usually see anyone down here at this time."

"You come down here after meals?" you ask him curiously, taking another huge bite from the muffin. He nods in response, taking one for himself. He peels back the casing, before indulging in the soft sponge with a satisfied hum. It's quiet for a while as you both eat, unsure what to say to lift the ever present awkwardness between the two of you now. Draco is the first to speak.

"So, uh, I guess I should apologise for being an arse the other night."

You wipe your hands on a nearby napkin.

"Yeah, you probably should," you say, looking at the napkin intently to avoid having to look directly at him. You'd forgive him in a heartbeat if you did.

"I just wasn't expecting to see you with-"

"Someone else?"

You break your own rule and make eye contact with him. He's staring back at you with an intensity, clearly annoyed about something he has no right to be annoyed about.

"I never said that."

"But that's why you were rude to Edward, isn't it?" you challenge, "because I was with him?"

Draco's jaw clenches. He feels bad about it, but yeah, he was annoyed.

"Just sudden, is all," he then mutters, reaching for another muffin. You scoff.

"Well, I'm not dating him if that's what you think," you spell out for him harshly, and Draco doesn't dare look in your direction, "I don't know what you take me for, Draco, but I'm not Pansy Parkinson."

You turn away from him, back to fiddling with your napkin. It's quiet again. Draco is picking at his muffin now, suddenly losing his appetite immensely. The tension is so thick you could spread it on toast and serve it.

"So, uh, you're not, like, seeing him?" Draco sort of mumbles, but you hear him loud and clear.

"No," you sigh, "but I am going to the ball with him tonight."

"Seriously?" Draco shoots you a disapproving look. It boils your blood.

"Is that an issue?" you ask, and he just sulks, huffing to himself.

"Not at all," he says, but it certainly sounds like an issue, "go with who you want."

"I hardly think it can be an issue when it was your decision to stop meeting one another," you then tell him, forcefully shoving your napkin into the bin, "this isn't my doing."

"Like you need to remind me," Draco mutters solemnly. You don't want to argue with him, but the ever growing distance between you is causing friction when you do speak to one another. And now this with Edward seems to have really grinded his gears. You let out a heavy, sad sigh.

"I don't think you have the right to be annoyed," you say, making your way towards the door, "but I get it. I'm guilty of it too."

"You are?" he said, stopping you in your tracks. You turn to face him one last time.

"If I am or not, it doesn't change anything. We'll be forever dancing in circles. That's just how the universe wishes us to be."

He has a longing look in his eyes. You wish to quell the demons that rage inside him and save his soul from his families clutches, but the further you get from him, the more you realise that you are just not that person. You give him a sad smile before turning back to the door, when his voice speaks out.

"I'm taking Astoria," he confesses to you, and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, "I just think you should know before tonight, that's all."

"Right," you breathe, "I can't say I'm surprised."

You left before he could say anymore, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes as you make your way back above ground. He was left melancholy in the kitchen, caught between the selfish but elated feeling that you too were experiencing the sting of jealousy, and the growing guilt he feels for another life he has managed to taint. The rest of the muffin is discarded in the bin, along with any hope of keeping you in his life somehow.

As the evening drew in, the dormant nerves in your stomach started to swirl. You drew out the last finishing touches to your look, hoping that time wasn't moving as fast as it was, but the clock almost read 7:00pm.

Edward would be waiting in the common room by now, you imagine. After leaving the kitchen in a state, you made your way to Gryffindor tower in hopes to find Hermione. To your luck she was home, busy helping Ginny make some last minute alterations to her dress. When she appeared through the portrait hole, her expression immediately became concerned.

"What's happened?" she rushed to say, placing her hands on your arms. The comfort of her being near caused the damn to break, and the tears just wouldn't stop coming. She led you inside to her dorm room, locking the door behind you both. From there you proceeded to tell her everything, from the dress, to the card, to Draco and Astoria.

"I didn't tell Edward anything about the dress," she goes on to say, passing you tissues, "even if he had asked me, I knew you wouldn't want someone buying that for you. And as for Malfoy, he has some serious audacity to be the tiniest bit annoyed."

She always knew how to make you feel better, even when you didn't think anything could. After a long talk and a whole pack of tissues, the weight felt much lighter on your shoulders. Hermione told you to try and enjoy yourself, and that however Edward found out about the dress, he wouldn't have bought if he didn't have the money. "He must want you to wear it," she had said, "and you'll look amazing. Just accept the kind gesture. It's not like he'll take it back."

Now you were staring at yourself with the dream dress on your figure, hair done and makeup complete. You wished there was something that would make you feel the excitement everyone else seemed to be experiencing, but it simply wasn't coming to you. You check the clock again, and your stomach hits the floor.

It's time.

Grabbing your jacket and purse, you head towards the common room, passing excited groups of girls making their way downstairs. As you enter the common room, you look around to find Edward when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Evening," he says smoothly, "you look divine."

So did he. His tie matched your dress, and so did the handkerchief in his pocket. He was smiling down at you with a glint in his eyes, a look you had seen before in a different pair.

"Thank you," you breathe, and smile, "and so do you, Edward. You look lovely."

His grin gets wider, holding out his arm for you. "Ready?" he says softly, and you loop your arm in his, allowing him to escort you to the Great Hall. Along the way you see students and classmates, either with friends or a date, their faces a picture of pure delight. It lifted your spirits to see the halls filled with such happiness. From time to time you could feel the lingering stares, knowing it was because of who you were holding onto. You glance up at him.

Just enjoy it, you tell yourself.

Upon entering the hall you were met by teachers, all dressed in their best for the occasion. Professor McGonagall greeted you both at the door, a house elf offering a sparkling drink. Edward takes one for the both of you, and you sip it to taste notes of apple and pear. Several long tables are lined with delicious food and mouth watering desserts. Elves wander around with trays of drinks, some couples are dancing to the gentle music the orchestra is playing and the guests from outside of Hogwarts are mingling from table to table. The hall was decorated to the nines, streamers of gold and white across the beams and twinkling lights dotted the dark ceiling. Candles lit the tables, the sparkle from the dresses catching the dim light as people twirled together. It was a wonderful sight.

"Would you like to dance?" Edward offers you his hand, and you begin to feel a little hot in the face. You hadn't danced in so long, you were afraid you might have forgotten how to. Edward senses your hesitation, and then leans in to whisper, "I've got you, don't worry."

You allow him to guide you, his hands taking your waist, your arms finding place around his neck. He smelt incredible, the music drifting across the room as you gentle swayed.

"I should thank you for the dress," you break the silence, "you really didn't have to."

"Oh, but I did," he chuckled lightly, "I wanted you to feel as beautiful as you are."

That had you flustered. You smile and look away instantly, but two fingers press under your chin, bringing your line of vision back to him. Your heart is thundering, but it's a feeling of wanting to run, as if you're doing something wrong. He's looking at you so intently, thumb brushing across your chin. You feel hot, but not in a nervous way, in a suffocating way.

"You know," he whispers, "I really didn't think you'd say yes."

"Huh?" you sound.

"Well, after running into Malfoy the other night, I thought you might have history," he then says, and your entire body tenses at the name, "but, if you said yes to me, then I guess I was wrong."

"You were," you quickly say, swallowing thickly, "Draco is an old friend."

Just then, as if you had summoned him, he enters the hall with Astoria on his arm. At first you don't notice, too consumed by Edwards clear advances.

"Do you want another drink?" Edward asks, breaking the intimate hold he had on you. You nod with your best smile, and he leaves momentarily. You make your way off the dance floor, just wanting to breathe and have some space, when you finally spot him.

It was like the whole world stopped, and it was just you and them in a empty room. Everything else went quiet. They waltzed in, Draco's award winning smile charming the teachers and Astoria's hand firmly around his arm. She's wearing green. Just as you thought she would. Draco's tie matches. His hair is neat and tidy, his suit a dark grey. He looks incredible. So does she. You find yourself staring, and in that moment, like a punch to your gut, you realise many things all at once.

You were not in their league. You are not a pureblood witch. Green is not your colour. Draco is not yours. He never was. Astoria is better. She walks beside him like she belongs there. Draco is a far away as he is close. He is not yours.

Your feet move before you, but a hand stops you. It's Hermione, she's smiling until she sees the distress on your face. "What's wrong?" she says, but it's almost like everything is in slow motion, your vision blurry and head a mess. Edward then returns, a look of concern on his face also, when you finally snap out of your trance.

"Y/N?" he says gently, "are you alright? Do you need some air?"

"I'm fine," you breathe deeply, mustering up a smile, "just got a little hot, is all. Thank you for the drink. Edward, this is Hermione, I'm not sure you've met."

You take a big gulp of the drink Edward passes to you, and Hermione shakes your dates hand and compliments his outfit. Your eyes wander over to Draco once again, now chatting away to one of the guests, no doubt a family friend. Astoria is laughing alongside him, leaning into his frame and resting her head on his shoulder. You feel physically sick, until Hermione turns to speak.

"Have you tried the food?" she says enthusiastically, "it's delicious, they even have your favourite cake."

"How nice," you smile, but Hermione isn't buying your facade. Edward seems to be, which is the only thing that really matters, "shall we go and look, Edward?"

He agrees wholeheartedly. Hermione goes to say something, no doubt to ask to speak with you, but soon swallows her words. She smiles, and then excuses herself to speak to Professor Slughorn who had just wandered in. Once at the food laid tables, your stomach churns at the thought of eating, when Edward offers you a delicious looking slice of cake. You pick at it, listening to him talk about everything and nothing. You make small inputs, nodding your head or occasionally making a sound of agreement. He doesn't seem to sense the tension.

Just across the hall stands Draco, with Astoria on his arm still, running her fingers up and down his forearm affectionately. The gesture makes him feel uneasy as one of his parents acquaintances talk at him about their business and how 'wonderful it would be to employ a Malfoy someday.' He does as his mother had taught him; you smile, look enthusiastic and never, ever show how disinterested you really are. His eyes keep finding you, and the sour taste in his mouth intensifies each time Chambers hands touch your body. It makes his blood feel like fire in his veins. You look so good he's almost jealous of anyone who approaches you. Draco doesn't think he's ever felt fury like it, and when Chambers leans in to whisper against your ear he abruptly ends the conversation and detaches Astoria from his arm.

He ignores the girls call to him, making a beeline towards where you were standing. Chambers arm was now around your waist, but you make no sudden moves. Then you laugh, and it's so sweet he could drown in the sound of it. Almost there, you're within a reach of his hand, when the music suddenly changes and Astoria catches up to him.

"Where are you going?" she speaks over the louder music, "it's the main dance, c'mon."

She takes his hand. Draco turns back to see you had retreated, possibly towards the dance floor as well. Couples begin to twirl and spin, the dance floor now littered with warm bodies and rosey cheeks. His focus is elsewhere, eyes frantically trying to find you. Astoria's hand guides his eyes back to her, pulling him against her frame as he automatically begins to dance. It's been driven into his system so much that his feet move without his brain telling them to. Edward had made a snarky comment about Professor Binns, and you couldn't help but chuckle before his gentle hands guided you towards the floor for the main event. Once again your arms rested around his shoulders, his hands securely at your waistline as he effortlessly glided around the room. He was focused on you, his eyes never leaving yours as the swift movements of the dance transport you to another place, the feeling of flying as your dress floats around your body, taking over your senses. You felt at ease dancing with him, but at the same time all wrong. As the music begins to slow, he pulls you back into him, gazing down at you with that same glint in his eyes.

"You, Y/N Y/L/N, are truly breathtaking," he compliments, and suddenly you have no idea what to do, as he closes the gap between you. His lips are an inch from yours seconds before you push him away, his face a look of pure shock. You're stood in the middle of the dance floor, heart pounding against your chest.

"I can't," you say, backing away through the crowd, "I'm so sorry, I can't."

It doesn't take long before you're rushing out the hall, gaining the attention of Hermione who swiftly follows in your direction, but also the boy who had been searching the sea of dancing students for you. Draco races after Hermione, desperate for a chance to stop her. He follows her with haste out into the cold corridor, ignoring the fact he had just left Astoria confused on the dance floor. Just as a reaches her, he takes her wrist, causing the brunette to spin and face him.

"Please," he pants, a frown forming on her face the moment her eyes land on him, "please, let me go after her."

disclaimer: i do not own hp or any of the characters in this story

dividers from: @firefly-graphics & @happy-ash-edits

[spadecentral]

🍟 3 AM Nuggies | Ruggie Bucchi x Reader

>> requested: yes, by @tulipluvlettr >> a/n: yay third req for the special!!

>> masterlist: 400 fllr. special , here!! >> summary: you and ruggie go get banned from a 7/11 >> reader prns: they/them >> warning(s): none

You woke up in the middle of the night to your stomach growling. Intertwined with your boyfriend's limbs, you weaseled your way out of bed, believing that Ruggie was successfully kept asleep.

Groaning as you open the door, you drag your feet across the floor as you make your way into the kitchen. Hissing from the light of the fridge, you stare aimlessly at its contents. Deciding against making anything, you close the door and stop back to the bedroom with a new task at hand.

"Ruggie," you say, only to see your boyfriend awake and waiting for your return.

"Yes, babe?" he groans, rubbing his eyes.

"7/11 is 100 percent open right now," you smirk. "Wanna go get some chicken nuggets?"

"It's literally..." Ruggie leans over and checks your alarm clock. "3:05 AM right now."

"And?" you ask, placing your hands on your hips.

"Valid point," Ruggie pulls back his covers and pulls on his crocks. "Lets go!"

Walking into the 7/11, you and Ruggie both split off to get whatever snacks the both of you needed. You dashed over to the counter and found the nuggets. Staring at them with intensity, the teenager working behind the counter came up to you.

"...You want some nugs?"

"O-oh, uh, yeah." you smile awkwardly.

"'lrighty then," they said, opening up the glass to get to them. "How many didja want?"

"Uh... like 20 or something?" you rub the bck of your neck.

"Babe I got the shit!" Ruggie came up from behind you with two slushies and a shit ton of candy.

"Oh hell yeah!" you smile, excited.

You could hear a groan coming from the cashier, but you didn't mind it. As long as you got your nuggets, that was all that mattered.

"Alright, follow me to the register." the cashier said.

"Actually," Ruggie said, holding up his finger. "If you could just... hand them over to me, that would be great."

You sighed as you realized what he was doing. "Ruggie..."

"C'mon! Laugh with me!" Ruggie said nonchalantly.

"H-hey... why are my limbs moving...?"

Snatching the chicken nuggets, Ruggie started running. "Lets go! Out, out, out!"

"I'm so sorry!" you yelled while throwing a couple tens on the ground.

You were most likely going to get banned from that 7/11 as well.

>> twst taglist: @ghost-hyacinth | @oseathepebble | @ventisaircurrent | @epelys | @pastelmages | @xphantasmagoriax | @atlasnessie | @divinesapph | @ze-maki-nin | @booming-spam | @rayisalive | @ruggiethethuggie | @queerlordsimon | @kyraxiyn

[lostneedcoopcake]

12 Clocks

My entry for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial ! It's been a long time since I wrote, so hope you like it! Word count: 979

When I went to my grandparents’ house, I always liked to sit at my grandfather’s office, decorated by hundreds of books above a warm fireplace. A comfy sofa was always there, waiting for me to sit on. I picked a book from the library and read it. It should feel lonely, being the only person in a huge room, sitting by the only light in the whole house. Well, there was an old hall clock across the fireplace, its constant ticking keeping me company. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. There were no distractions when it was noon or midnight, or nine or three or six o’ clock. Just the company of old, creaking wood, cogs rotating in it, telling the time to someone who was losing the feeling of time quite often.

I wonder whether it was chance or I was meant to pick up that book right above the fireplace. The moment I picked it up and was about to sit down, a bookmark slipped from its pages, just enough to show me the page it was resting on. I flipped the book at the page, finding drawn clocks on the pages. 12 clocks, drawn in various sizes on the paper with brown – or perhaps black that turned into black – ink, all telling different times. All of them being on different hours. I immediately, perhaps instinctively, turned towards the hall clock across the fireplace. I approached it and started looking for something. Nothing, at first. I took out my phone and shed its flashlight on the wooden body. The number “11” was marked on it. There was a clock drawn with the time telling 11:36. I turned to page 1136, which existed in the 1200 pages book I was holding and, to no surprise, saw words marked with the brown ink. “Knock on the wood 11 times and go to the attic.” read the words combined. Well, it was 17:45, so I had to wait until the time is right – that being 23:36 – so I can act this oddity.

In the meantime, I looked for the time of the 6 o’ clock clock. 6:18. That was much nearer, although I really wanted to see what was the hall clock hiding. Going to page 618, it read: “Lift the clock and shake it twice up and down and four times left and right. Blow the dust it has and go to the kitchen.”. So it was a small clock I had to find and rather fast in the large house that was housing more clocks than I initially thought it had. So, there I was, running around like a moron, looking at every easily pickable clock while taking with me all the numbered ones I could find. Those were clocks 2, 4, 8, 10 and 12 aside from clock 6. At 18:12, I managed to find the clock numbered “6”, a rather small, cream colored clock with intricate designs on. It seemed like it had fruit and pans on, although time had corroded its designs. I waited the few minutes remaining, using them to catch my breath and put down the other clocks. I acted the instructions and heard something falling inside of the clock. Going to the kitchen and leaving it on the counter activated some sort of spring, which made me jump and drop some plates. Slowly, I approached where the sound came from. A single drawer had jumped out with nothing more than a very fancy set of cutlery. I took it out and set it on a table. Antique, probably dating the 1800s.

The rest of the clocks followed a similar pattern, the even numbered clocks being small ones that included some sort of shaking in their instructions – although 8 had to be thrown on a wall until it broke – and the odd numbers being large clocks, hiding something inside their large bodies of wood, metal and glass – 9 was pure glass and had to use its reflections to find the object. All clocks were leading to an antique object in different locations, themed by the rooms they were found in. At last, it was time for the 11th clock to be examined. I looked at the objects that I had placed on the table, wondering if I’d ever get to 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. It did not matter, perhaps, only finding out what was the 11th hour hiding from me. At exactly 23:36, I knocked on its old wood 11 times. A small cog was seen stopping at the last knock and a key fell.

I took the key and went to the attic. In it was a very well lit table, a door and a clock, stopped at time 12:04. The room had multiple clocks in it, far from the light. I sat on the chair and, following the orders of the previous even numbers, I shook the clock. From one shake, a paper slipped through, tied in a crimson ribbon. I opened it, reading: “To whoever comes across this,

Hope you liked the treasure hunt in my house! Mary, my wife, gets quite annoyed finding random objects while cleaning, but I love making surprises when I help her around! For the guests and the family, of course. They always thought I was a magician, but, oh, what’s the greatest magic than a journey you went through? These treasures aren’t so valuable, they may be one day, but use them as you wish! And worry not for missing some hours, a broken clock says the time correctly twice. Unless you don’t want to find the objects, well where’s the fun of it, no? I do wonder, what else am I hiding? What did old me make again to keep you around and wonder not only of the journey of treasures, but the journey of your life, your treasure, too? Cheers, Grandpa John.”

[gemsofgreece]

The Great Friday customs

As you may know, Orthodox Easter is not celebrated the same week as Catholic Easter. Today is the Great Friday and this weekend is going to be the Orthodox Easter.

Here are some Greek Orthodox Easter customs for this day:

On Good Friday, the burial of the Christ is commemorated as long as His descent to Hades (as it is often still called in Greek tradition!). Early at dawn, women and children prepare the Epitáphios, a simulacrum of Jesus’ tomb, which they adorn with beautiful flowers. Each church has its own Epitaphios.

At 11 o’ clock, the Great or Imperial Hours (Μεγάλες Ώρες - Megháles Óres) are chanted by women. This is supposed to be Mary’s lament.

At 12 o’ clock, the Descent from the Cross follows. Priests remove a simulacrum of Jesus’ body from the Cross (which is raised the day before, Great Thursday). They lay a rich cloth on the Epitaph, more flowers and place the body on top of it. At this point, believers make a pilgrimage to the Epitaph, where they can kiss the Epitaph and young people and kids can crawl three times below the Epitaph, to take a blessing.

On the evening of Great Friday, every Church has its own litany of the Epitaph. In some coastal areas, the litany might even get in the sea to bless the waters.

The church bells toll solemnly throughout the day. You will hear them wherever you are in Greece that day.

In some regions of Greece, they make an image of Judas and put in on fire.

The Great Friday is the strictest fast of the year. Not only meat and dairy are prohibited among believers but in fact anything cooked in olive oil is forbidden as well. This day, people often eat lentils cooked without oil, plain tomatoes and olives (only their oil is prohibited!) and bread with sugar. Vinegar is used quite a bit that day, to also commemorate Jesus’ torment on the Cross, when a Roman soldier offered him vinegar instead of water.

The chants of Great Friday are some of the most famous in Christian Orthodoxy. They include: Η Ζωή εν Τάφω (I Zoí en Tápho - Life in the Grave), Άξιον Εστί (Áxion Estí - It is Right to Magnify Thee), Αι Γενεαί Πάσαι (E Yene-é Pásse - All the Generations), composed in the 9th century. The third one is the one believed to be inspired by the lament of Demeter for Persephone by the way.

Inspiration for the post: https://www.ieidiseis.gr/ellada/193221/megali-paraskevi-ti-giortazoume-ta-ethima

[bluebearial]

Comfort Zone, Chapter 1

A loose little sequel to Contact Heal! You have a comfy morning with your giant plush friend.

Chapter 2 here!!

View the full thing on Docs here!!

Morning came quickly. Too quickly, you’d think, as you reluctantly pry yourself from your dreams. You weren’t sure exactly what you were dreaming of, but you had a feeling it was good. Oh well, brains are just ‘funny’ like that, you suppose. You really don’t want to get up though. Your bed just feels so good right now. You’d found the perfect spot, and you felt like you were well on your way to becoming part of the mattress itself.  Your blankets are so warm, and so heavy. Their weight seemed to reassure you, to beckon you back to sleep. Your eyes have trouble adjusting to the light, and you could barely keep your heavy, tired eyelids open. In fact, you’re pretty sure you doze off a few times. Eventually, you opt to at least try to get up, to make the first move in leaving your bed, but something stops you.

“Mmnmghnnh,” something mutters.

Something heavy weighs down on you. It takes a moment for you to realize that it isn’t just a blanket that you’re under. A big, soft arm is draped over your back and around your side. It gives you a slight tug, tightening its grip on you, as a paw brushes against your cheek. You also realize that you’re snuggled up against something big. Dense fur cushions part of your face as you’re pulled just that bit closer.

“Lupa…?” You venture as your brain groggily feels its way through the previous night’s events.

Lupa, your housemate for the better part of a year. She’s bigger than you, she’s a wolf, and she’s made entirely out of plastic, stuffing, and fabric. A spiked collar adorns her neck, sitting above a golden zipper handle. You didn’t exactly ask for this arrangement. Almost a year ago, you were just buying a cute toy for your desk. But… most of the time, you’re not complaining.

“Mm~mmm… Hhmm?” As you hear the rustle of the sheets and the groan of the mattress, you had hoped that she would be trying to get up, but you instead feel that lupine nose start to nuzzle and sniff through your hair, her chest pressing more and more against your back as she starts to roll onto you. You blush, especially when she lets out the most content little “Hhwrrff…~” that you’d ever heard.

“Lupa... Luuupaaaaa,” you groan as you start to sink into the mattress, pinned even more by your friend’s sheer mass. “We need to get up. It’s…” You… trail off. Gosh, what time is it actually? You really weren’t sure, but - you could already tell it was later than you’d prefer, judging from how bright your room was. From beneath your plushy friend, you catch a glimpse of the clock on your nightstand.

11:04 A.M.

Hm…

Hm.

HUH?

You jostle your friend as your head darts up in surprise. How did you miss all your alarms? How did you even manage to sleep for that long? You’re pretty sure it was midnight by the time you two had gone to sleep. Which means you’ve been sleeping for… 11 hours?? …Which also means that the day is already almost half over!

“Lupa.” You begin, with more urgency this time, “Lupa. You have to get off of me. Like. Now.” You grunt as you try to pull yourself out from beneath her.

But she doesn’t budge. It was something you’ve only really come to experience during situations like this, but Lupa is surprisingly heavy. You suppose that a nine-foot-tall wolf plush would be pretty heavy; and that’s not to mention the fact that she’s a bit on the chubby side. But she wasn’t exactly crushing you. You were just kind of… pinned down.

“Please?” You venture, a desperate edge creeping into your straining voice. To your absolute dismay, a sleepy growl is your only reply. “Lupa, I have to go to work. I’m already late. More than late – I’d be lucky if I don’t get written up for this.” Another growl. Your thoughts, sluggish and addled with sleep mere minutes ago, start to race as you think of what to do.

“Listen. I can go to the store on the way home. Y’know, the one on the corner? Bed, Bath & Before? I’ll get you those extra soft pillows. The ones you really like to chew on? With the memory foam?” Your elbow sinks into her chest as you try to wriggle out, earning a low whine from your friend, “C’mon,” you grunt as you wriggle some more, “It’ll be great. Right? You just really really need to get up like right now please--”

“Mmnmnisssndyy,” She murmurs simply. You stop.

“Wh--… What?”

“It’s. Suuundaaaaaay,” Lupa draws out her reply with a tired, almost frustrated groan. She speaks in a slow, deliberate way. “You don’t have work today.” Your cheeks start to burn as your struggle tapers off. How could you forget something like that?

“Oh,” is all you can find to say as your mind switches gears, “Um… Right. Well, I’d still like to--”

“Dummy.”

“—to get up. I don’t really like getting up this late— …What?” It took you a moment to catch it, but she totally just said something, right?

“Duuuu~mmyy.” She adds some emphasis as she repeats herself. Her head was still nicely and firmly placed on top of yours, so you could really feel her voice vibrate against your body. Being as big as she was meant that her voice always had a certain bass to it, especially when you were this close.

“I’m—I’m not a- dummy,” you retort, too dumbfounded to put up any more of an argument.

“Iiii dunno. You look pretty dumb to me,” you could just hear the sleepy grin in her voice. You pout.

“Yeah? I bet I’m smarter than you,” you say with a surprising petulance.

“So? I’m heavier than you.”                    

“I—Oh my god. Okay.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. She’s got you there. “Okay. You win. Now, can we please get up? I wanna, y’know, do something today. We can’t just lay in bed all day.”

…Even if doing just that sounded really, really nice right about now, especially now that you knew you didn’t have any real responsibilities. Lupa’s mighty paw grips your shoulder, and she gently rubs her thumb along your neck as she considers your words. Her fuzzy, warm fur was always so soothing - and those squishy, satin pads have a way of making it hard to do anything productive.

“Mmwwrrff… Fiii~ne,” she relents, “I need you to admit something, though.”

“Admit… what?” You caution.

“That you’re a dummy.”

“Lupa…” You groan, but she only presses more of her weight onto you. “O,okay!” You wheeze, “I’m a big dummy.”

“Hey. I’m the big one here.” Clearly. “But you’re onto somethin’. You’re not just any dummy.” You take in a deep, much-needed breath as she lifts herself from you. Rolling over, you look up towards her. That wolf puts on the cheesiest grin you’d ever seen, tail swaying mischievously as she narrows her gaze down at you.

“You’re my dummy.”

For the fourth time this morning, you groan.

As you slip out of bed, Lupa takes a moment to stretch. She takes up a feral position, arching her back and reaching forward with those long, thick forearms. She splays her stubby, mascot-like fingers as she pushes her paws as far as she can, letting out a lupine yawn, before flopping back onto the mattress with a ponderous fwump. She was never a morning wolf, but. Even for her, this was a pretty slow start.

“Why do we even have to get uuuup,” she mumbles, voice muffled as her head nestles into the sheets, “Can’t we just, like, I dunno, snuggle or somethin’…?”

“Well…” You genuinely consider it for a moment, “We… could, but, what’s wrong, girl? Did you sleep okay?”

“Mm. Yeah, I did,” she sits up, covering her mouth as she stifles another yawn, “Maybe a little too good.” At your confused look, she continues, “Guess I had a really comfy pillow.” Shooting you a look that stuns you for a moment.

“’S not my fault I’m so comfy,” You feign offense, “But come on. I think you’ll feel better after you freshen up a bit.”

“I feel fiiiine,” she reassures you, shaking herself off a bit. Her messy, blue mane whips behind her, looking much more disheveled than usual. Split ends and frayed strands shimmer in the morning sun. Her shoulders are sagging, her ears drooping down. Her one eye looks down at you, covered mostly by a dark grey lid. You sigh and stand up, moving to her side of the bed. You brush a set of dark blue locks to get a better look at her face. You never imagined that a plush could get bags beneath their eyes… You take her paw in your hands, using them both due to its size, and hold it up.

“Come on, Lu. I think we both kinda need this,” you say, running your thumbs through the fuzz along the back of her paw. You knew that if you gave it a squeeze, it had enough give for your fingers to sink in. “To be honest, I’ve been fighting a bit of a headache myself. Could you at least do it for me?”

“Mmmm… Fine,” Grabbing your hand, she stands, “But don’t call me ‘Lu’,” she spits.

“But why not? I think it’s cute,” you say innocently. She balks.

“I’m not supposed to be cute.”

“You were the other night,” It’s your turn to grin at her, and that grey faux fur bristles in response. She looks taken aback – her eye widening, teeth gritting, making a point of looking away. She looks a little more awake already!

“So. We were, uh, freshin’ up, right?”

“Oh! Of course. I’ll lead the way, Lu.”

“It’s Lupa.”

“Lulu.~”

She groans, but doesn’t offer any other reply. You weren’t sure if she was too tired to put up a fight, or if she might’ve been partial to that name. Maybe you’ll keep using it then.

It’s a short walk down the hall to the bathroom. This morning, however, it’s more of a trek. You don’t find it too difficult to put one foot in front of the other, though it’s taking you longer than usual to get where you need to be. Lupa, however, is having trouble. Her tail is dragging along the floor. The heavy, muffled thump, thump, thumps of her feet echo up and down the hall.

“We could still go back, y’know…” She mutters between yawns, “Your bed is soooo soft. It’s like me, but. But more of me. Y’know? I wonder how big I’d get if I ate your mattress…” She muses, her voice turning unnervingly thoughtful.

“No--… No. I’m not letting you eat my mattress, Lulu. …Can you even do that? It’s a little big, even for you.”

“Mmm… good point. What about your blanket? I could fit that, no problem.”

“I think you’re big enough as it is,” you say as you push open the bathroom door.

“Says you,” she huffs, ducking her head to fit under the doorframe, “I don’t think I’m big enough.”

You offer a noncommittal hum. A part of you didn’t exactly… disagree, but you figure she’s at about the limit of practicality. Any bigger, and she’d probably have trouble getting around through your house. More trouble than she already has, anyway. As you close the door behind her, you notice the way she has to bend her knees just to fit in this little room. The way her tail is pinned up against the wall behind her. The number of times that that tail has bowled you over is…

It’s more than zero at least.

“Can you sit for me?” You ask, retrieving a brush from the medicine cabinet. In reply, you hear a THUMP behind you. A look in the mirror shows that she’s doing her best impression of a dog. Hunched over, legs bent, rump on the ground, and paws positioned between her feet. In the space you have, you kneel next to her, putting the brush’s handle between your teeth as you take a careful look at her hair. You run your fingers through that blue thicket. It feels fine enough, though a bit dry perhaps. Taking the brush in your hand, you slowly run its bristles through. It catches on something immediately. Ugh, you knew it. Tangled.

“We’ll have to wetten your hair up a bit, Lupa,” you say, slightly disappointed in how long this might take. For your own hair, you usually take water from the sink to dampen it, but… Looking over at that small, narrow thing, you had a feeling your good friend’s head – and the mile of hair draped behind it – wouldn’t fit. Speaking of your friend, she winces a little.

“I… don’t really like gettin’ wet,” she says. “It makes me feel soggy,” she shudders.

“I know…” you muse with a sulk in your voice, “I can dry you off after, though.”

“You’re not gonna put me in the dryer again, are you?”

“I thought you liked the dryer! It makes you so warm, and your fur gets so soft…”

“Mmm… Yeah… Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?…” Her tail starts to wag. The way her voice softens like that just warms your heart. You decide to lean against her, resting your head against her arm for a moment.

“But don’t worry, I understand,” you continue, “You get pretty dizzy by the time you’re out, right? We’re just doing your hair today, so I thought we could use something else.” She lifts an ear, angling it towards you as she looks down in your direction. Gosh, her little mannerisms were just…

Ahem.

“I’m gonna need to take your collar off too, okay? We don’t want it getting wet.”

“I can do it myself, y’know,” she mutters. “Watch.” You give her a knowing look, but you stand up, opting to watch. Lupa reaches up to her collar, and you watch as she tries to manipulate it with her fat, stubby, soft, clawed, plush hands. She fumbles with the latch a few times, grumbling and growling as her fingers keep slipping. After about a minute, she gives up.

“…Alright. Fine. Just do it for me.” She crosses her arms with a pout. You roll your eyes, leaving the brush on the counter before you step back up to her. You reach up, and with a click!, you undo her collar. Her annoyed growl rumbles through your hands as you reach up to fluff up her neck. You then enter the shower. Angling yourself so that you’d only get a little wet once you turn it on, you beckon her inside. This absolute golem of yours carefully steps in, nearly bumping the curtain rod off its mount, and awkwardly sits next to you.

“…We need a bigger bathroom.”

“You need to stop eating so much.”

“Wolves get hungry! Maybe I should eat you instead.” She licks her lips, before baring her teeth at you. You just look at her. Then, you turn the shower on. In an instant, her hair is drenched, absolutely deflating any claim to smugness she could’ve possibly hoped to get. Her locks droop over her face, covering her eye completely and extinguishing her grin.

“…Hrrrff.” She mutters, blowing a few stray clumps away from her mouth. You shut the shower off, leading her out and back to the middle of the bathroom floor. Taking the brush once more, you start to run it through her hair again. You start slowly, expecting resistance, but you quicken your pace once you see how much easier it is. You slow down once you meet a tangle, but a gentle tug is enough to make short work of it. After a minute, you fall into a rhythm. At first, you brush near the ends – getting the easier part out of the way. Once the lower part of her hair was sufficiently cleared of any tangles, you move further and further up. You were soon at the top. Even though she was sitting down, her head was sitting higher than you’d’ve liked… But! No matter. You keep brushing away, taking your time, making sure that it was as soft and full as it could be. Looking at the brush briefly, you’re thankful that no strands came out. You aren’t sure if she could even grow hair to replace whatever she might lose…

“…Hey, Lupa?” You’d may as well ask. “Do you actually… uh, grow your hair?”

“I—Uh-- …Yeah?” she replies, confusion coloring her voice, “Of course??”

“But- how?” you continue, moving round to her front. “Aren’t you, like, a toy? Well, kinda?” She tilts her head. Even behind all that hair, you see her expression flatten. She pulls the corners of her mouth backward into a line.

“I’m like, magic, dude.”

“Well,” you shrug. It’s as good an answer as any. “Have you ever thought about getting a haircut?”

“Nah.”

“Not even a little?” You start to brush the locks in front of her face. You kinda like the way they obscure her eyes. It makes her look… gruff. Mysterious.

“Nope.”

“Aw,” you tilt your head, running her hair through your hands as you try your best to tidy it up, “Would you do it for me?”

“Uh—Well…” She idly scratches her cheek, angling her head away. Her tail begins to sway… “M-Maybe.”

You giggle. Once you brush the hair away from her eye, making sure to leave the other half of her face covered, you set the brush down again. You could feel Lupa’s gaze lock onto you as you move to the medicine cabinet again, reach in, and pull out a hairdryer. You plug it in and flick it on. Lupa gives you a wary look, ears at attention when she hears it whirr to life, but you motion with your hand to reassure her. Once that warm breeze hits her, she absolutely relaxes. You’ve never seen her so happy. A wide, genuine smile spreads across her face as you aim it at her, and she leans in towards it. Her fur flattens and billows beneath the breeze, and it begins to take on a subtle sheen as it dries out. You aim it at her face for a moment, before running it down her hair. You collect some of it in your hand, spreading it so you can really get under all that fluff. Her tail bats you a few times as it gleefully sways from side to side, betraying her joy even more. It really makes you smile to see her like this. You return to her face for a moment, then her shoulders to remove any leftover dampness. With another click, the hairdryer whirrs to a stop, and you run your hands along her neck.

“D’awww, you like that, huh?” You ask, digging your nails in to give her the scritches she so deserves. Her ears flop down again, her jaw slackening. Even her foot starts to thump against the floor.

“Wwrrfff…~ Y,Yeaaa~h.~ Thanks, babe…~”

You stop scratching. Her ears shoot back up to attention. You both stare at each other.

“’B-Babe’?” you repeat her. Her fur bristles.

“Lupa, did you just call me--”

“O-Oh!” She shouts, “Um! Wow! I just remembered something! It’s pretty late in the day, huh?” She stands up, bumping her head against the ceiling. “—Ow. You gotta eat breakfast, don’t’cha? We should like, totally get on that.” With another quiet “Ow,” she bumps her head on the doorframe as she hurries her way out. You’re left there, stunned as you hear her thump her way down the hall towards the kitchen.

“’Babe’…” you muse. Usually, Lupa would call you a dork, or a dweeb, or… something, even when she was feeling lovey. But, babe? You hug yourself, cheeks burning. Picking up the collar that she’d left on the floor, you chase her down the hall.

…Before stopping yourself. You’re damp, you still have a headache, and- oh wow, you smell funny. Maybe you should shower first.