#gaudi stool

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend, and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be.. but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.✶

NSFW — slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, flirting, mutual pining, angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, sort of grumpy x sunshine but eddie's just tired, reader and eddie are mid-late 20's

chapter: 1/20 [wc: 5.5k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise

“Yes.” A simple answer which spawned as many awkward scenarios, as it did great ones. Your name was spray painted on the side of a bridge, you spent nights learning to tango on abandoned rooftops, the amount of tales you accrued of bad dates could fill a self-help book.

Whatever the question was, the answer was “yes.” Life was more exciting that way.

Well, your policy usually lended itself to exciting adventures, anyway.

Currently, you were sat behind a desk with your boss, Mr. Moore, who slouched on his black stool with his cheek propped on his fist, pointing a pencil at a customer’s pink invoice sheet in front of you, explaining who to call in the spiral-bound catalog for the parts to be shipped.

The tall counter top partially obscured the both of you from employees and customers alike, but as you soon realized, the number of employees was slightly above two, and the customers even less; and if any of them paid you any mind, you couldn’t tell from the disorienting mix of exhaust fumes, dirty oil, and grease wafting in from the glass door on the left.

Thus began the first day of your new job at David’s Auto Repair. Boring.

————

Your second and third days were hardly different. Arriving at the butt crack of dawn and beginning the routine that definitely wasn’t in the ad in the newspaper: clean the bathrooms (hey, at least they had two), start the coffee pot after scrubbing off years of neglect caked onto the inside, and organize the paperwork Mr. Moore left for you in his office.

Oh, and most importantly, after locking up your bike outside the front door, you made your way through the echoey workshop and poked your head out the back door to the parking lot–which, by all means, was a gravel alleyway with overgrown trees blocking your view beyond the sleek black car parked next to the dumpster.

“Morning!” you greeted the one employee who arrived early and stayed late. “Eddie, right?”

The man leaning against the gray brick wall didn’t bother acknowledging you. Didn’t lift his head from its dropped back position, nor open his eyes. Definitely didn’t take the cigarette out of his mouth to bestow you the gift of his chipper attitude, nor did he uncross his arms to offer you the bare minimum wave.

And much like the other days, you sat perched behind your desk and beamed up at him as he walked past you to the break room. And as usual, he slid his gaze to you. And like normal, he didn’t say anything.

But he did hold your eye contact for a fraction of a second longer, albeit, he looked a bit frightened when he did, as if he were suspicious of your smile.

You listened to the clunk of his heavy boots fade down the hallway, then return with him holding a mug of coffee.

This time, as he walked by, he remained vigilant, and your grin went ignored by his stupid big brown eyes surrounded by envious lashes.

Lucky you, the reception area was essentially a glass cage. Behind the black pleather seats for customers was the glowing blue sky, and beside you were floor to ceiling windows showcasing the artificially bright garage where the man in grease stained coveralls twisted gaudy rings off his fingers and placed them on a tray with his coffee, before picking up a dirty rag and popping open the hood of the car he worked on past closing last night.

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” you mumbled in a mocking tone, sneering at his red name patch–Eddie. “Jerk.”

————

Friday was different. You locked up your bike, chucked your backpack into your chair behind the desk, and made your way to the back of the garage for the routine, “Good morning.”

For some reason, you decided to reveal your whole self; more than your head stuck out the door, or rising above the countertop customers leaned on when trying to schmooze deals on parts–hell if you knew how to do that, anyway. You didn’t get paid enough to bargain.

You stepped onto the uneven gravel and surveyed the scenery, looking both ways down the alley to the major roads on either side leading to the heart of downtown Hawkins. Absolutely dismally silent. Void of life. Except for the small things you never noticed, like faraway birds, the hum of a distant motor, buzzing bugs before they disappeared for the cooler months. You felt the dew settling on your forearms, and swore you could smell impending rain on the cloudless day.

“Is it always this quiet?” you asked, face pinched in confusion as you took it all in. “I swear I can hear my own thoughts.”

Eddie may not have appreciated your joke, but he did surprise you.

He kept one of his arms crossed over his stomach, and took the cigarette from between his lips to flick the ashes. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked the dilapidated fence across from him.

Feeling cheeky, you schooled the thrill out of your voice from getting a response out of him, and said, “What gave it away?”

A drag on his cigarette was his wordless answer. Fair.

“I’m from New York.” The implied City followed without clarification. “Just moved here last week. My roommate’s from Hawkins, and she had to move back to help take care of her parents. They’re older and her dad has some health problems, and yeah, I couldn’t afford rent on my own, so you know, why not. Why not follow her to a town so small it’s impossible to find on a map.”

All your talking earned you a magnificent thing. Eddie finally opened his eyes, if only to pin you with a mild glare, and a skeptic pinch between his brows.

He said more to himself than you, “You must really like your roommate to come here.” The inflection at the end was both amusement and contempt, no doubt.

“We met in our first year of college and became best friends like that–!” You snapped. “Both theater kids going to school for acting, and we later made a comedy troupe with a few other people. When she asked if I wanted to move with her, I said ‘yes.’” Inclining your upper body towards him, you explained, “It’s sorta my thing. If anyone asks me anything, I say ‘yes.’ Obviously, I can veto shit that’s dangerous or crosses any boundaries, but it’s my policy to try everything. Life makes better stories that way.”

Your unique brand of wisdom furthered his obvious distaste for you.

Eddie inhaled his vice until the orange glow burned to the filter. Smoke fell from his mouth in a rush as if he were about to speak again, but he didn’t. He merely stared at you. And if he were having a staring contest, he won.

“Well, have a good day, then,” you said, spinning on the toe of your shoe.

You sat in your glass zoo for the day shuffling papers, making calls, and filling out forms. Most definitely not talking to the guy who appeared annoyed at your very existence.

Unfortunately for him, Hawkins was tiny and the pickings were slim.

Maybe it was his eyes, or the way the short layers of his choppy hair cut escaped his low bun to curl themselves in face-framing waves, or the fact he was twenty-years younger than the other two mechanics, but you took a liking to Eddie, much to his dismay. And due to your affinity for his annoyance, you noticed the subtle changes in his appearance sooner than you should. 

————

Dark purple circles announced the lack of sleep under Eddie’s eyes before the bags could. Bloodshot and struggling to open past a sliver, he sucked down half his cigarette before the routine minutes of peace he carved into his strict schedule were interrupted by the newest knot in his muscles.

“Good morning!” you said.

“Morning,” he returned without thinking about it. Rookie mistake.

You stood closer this time, inching down the brick wall, approaching him as if he would startle like a wild animal to get a better look at the years wearing heavy on the fine lines etched into his face. Perhaps no longer ‘fine.’

“You good?”

He didn’t have the energy to put up his usual front. With his chin dipped to his chest, he kept his eyes closed, nearly drifting to sleep as he muttered, “Long night.”

“Ah.”

Your clumsy shuffling alerted him to your movement, and he reluctantly observed you standing a few feet in front of him, rocking on your heels. He filled his chest with an incredulous sigh before you even spoke.

“You seem like you could use some cheering up,” you beamed. “I could juggle for you! Should I do three or four?” Eddie’s jaw went slack, and the cigarette stuck to the wetness inside his chapped lips. You bent down to gather large rocks into your palms, opting for four when he didn’t answer.

You stood up and stepped back. Made a big show of tracing invisible arcs above your head with your gaze, readying your hands. Sucking in a breath. Building suspense while his expression slowly crept into one of tempered curiosity.

Tensing, you tossed all four rocks into the air, and made a genuine effort to catch them before they fell unceremoniously around you, bouncing off the gravel in your scramble.

Clasping your hands behind your back in feigned shyness, you announced, “I don’t know how to juggle.”

For a moment you thought he was going to continue to regard you as if you were a bug in his coffee.. Then his veneer cracked.

He snorted. The cute way, when someone’s trying to suppress it. A subtle shake in their shoulders, keeping their head down, and their smile hidden behind the heel of the palm.

Eddie hugged his arm tighter over his chest, and chastised himself, “Why’d I let that get me.”

And truly, when he flicked his gaze to you with the lopsided remnant of his grin, you were imprinted with the heat of his wonderment, and your body remembered that feeling. Sensing it later when you sat at your desk, tapping your pencil, rattling off a series of numbers and letters for engine parts, and you snuck a coy look over the phone at the exact moment Eddie turned around to ask Carl for a wrench instead of getting it himself from the tool box near the window.

And he felt your stare during lunch when you promised an irate customer their car would be ready by the end of business hours, and hung up the phone with the type of heavy-handedness one used when implying a ‘fuck you’ without stating it.

You pushed yourself from the desk and went to the fridge in front of the circular table in the break room, eyeing Eddie’s odd choice as you walked by. A bologna sandwich–fairly normal–but also a stained orange tupperware container with an array of dried out microwaved leftovers. A corner of spaghetti, pale instant mashed potatoes with three peas stuck on top, unidentifiable sludge that may have been beef stew at one point, and a handful of Kraft mac n cheese.

Pitiful amounts of food that most people would’ve thrown out.

Not that you should judge. Your lunch was the blandest rice-based meal your roommate’s mom made the night before. The woman had never heard of salt, much less other spices, but she was letting you live in their attic for free until you and Bobbie found a place to live.

Breaking your chain of thoughts, you smiled at Eddie on your way out.

He didn’t look up from his paperwork.

Wholly ignored.

————

Over the rest of the month, you learned there wasn’t a definitive pattern to which days of the week were hardest for Eddie, but it was clear when he was enduring the worst.

As the evenings grew cooler, you left the lobby door open, and in doing so, were wise to the bite in his words, the edge to his voice. The quick apologies to Carl when he let his frustration show. The fluidity of ‘fucks’ flying past his mouth, the way he wrung his nape while staring into the distance, and the lurking stress of bottled emotions causing his teeth to grind.

He approached you with concern spurned from the windows being painted black with night.

“You don’t have to stay behind, you know that, right?” Eddie got your attention in the doorway. You blinked at him, still seeing the words of the book you were reading swim past your vision. “I have a set of keys. I can lock up when I’m done.”

It was the most he’d said to you in two weeks. Three entire sentences composed of more words than he’d uttered if you added them all up since your juggling stunt.

“I don’t mind.”

A meager response which resulted in a standoff.

Eddie wasted no time bunching his shoulders at your defiance. He left streaky fingerprints on the door handle as he reached for his neck, and tucked his fingers under his collar to run his thumb along his chain necklace in a self-soothing gesture. A layer of grime coated his skin. His disheveled hair stuck to his sweaty, dirty neck. The front of his coveralls were blackened with grease, as was the white tank top he wore underneath, peeking above the unfastened top snap.

On the other hand, you overturned your palms and glanced around the barren room. “Is it really that much of a bother that I’m sitting in here being quiet?” you drawled.

“Yes.” Automatic irritation.

“It’s not like I have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t have a comedy routine to rehearse with your roommate?” he intoned in complete monotony.

“Ha-ha,” you replied, just as emotionless. You thought about correcting him in regards to you and Bobbie no longer doing stand up, but decided to grab your backpack and leave without putting up a fight. His concern about you staying late may not be genuine, but it was evident he wanted–or needed–you gone. You didn’t want to push his boundaries when he showed this level of discomfort, especially when the burden of fatigue wore beyond acceptable exhaustion, and he was ready to snap, no matter how hard he tried to quell it.

You surrendered, “Bye, Eddie.”

No reply.

In total darkness, you unchained your bike and hopped on, pedaling past the mailbox when you heard the thunderous slams of the service doors being lowered shut.

And you made it to the edge of the trees before coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the empty street, cracking your neck at the speed of which you whipped around to gawk.

Your heartbeat skipped, then timed itself with the extreme drum beat and opening wail of a guitar accompanied by high-pitched screamed lyrics.

The music may have been muffled, and the inside fluorescent lights struggled to penetrate the dense fog from the upper warehouse windows, but it was as if Eddie was subjecting the desolate parking lot to his own personal Judas Priest concert, hearing be damned.

You didn’t even know the dusty radio in the shop worked. But whatever helped him blow off steam, you supposed.

————

Today was a good day.

Eddie liked Fridays. Most people working weekdays did, but when he came inside early from his morning cigarette, and you hadn’t finished sweeping the shop, he made a point to idle around the orange car at the center, seeking your attention and offering an apology. Not a spoken apology, mind you. But it was rare he initiated eye contact, and when he did it with the purpose of showing deference in his softened features, you understood.

You forgave him with a gentle lift at the corner of your lips for an incident yesterday afternoon, wherein he grunted at you to leave him alone when you were telling him about one of the plays you and Bobbie acted in. Sometimes you required your own reminder of when you were being annoying, and gave him an apologetic smile for bothering him. He nodded. All was right with the world. All was forgiven and now he could get to work.

He wiped his hands down the sides of his coveralls, and leaned his upper half through the open car window to reach the latch for the hood.

The perfect opportunity to mess with him presented itself in all its glory. But first, you couldn’t resist taking a long.. long look at his backside, head tilted, mouth more than a little hung open.

“Huh?” He nearly banged his head on the roof, rounding on you with the sharpest glare in the Midwest.

Under the guise of perfect innocence, you kept brushing the broom over his work boots and toward the dust pan. “Sorry, sir, just doin’ my job. Gotta clean up the filth.”

“An actress and a comedian, huh?” he posed, allowing his smirk to foster as he gripped the edge of the door. “Gonna tell me you were a clown, next?”

“Actually..” You were interrupted by Carl coming in, followed by the near-retired Kevin who worked two days a week.

You greeted them loud and proud, overdoing it in the joy department at the ripe morning hour. Asking about Carl’s wife, and Kevin’s dog; really laying it on thick for the purpose of sending a message to the looming ghoul behind you: I’m annoying you on purpose now.

Still, as you entered the lobby, you caught sight of the sneaky grin on his face before he turned his back to you. A tight-lipped thing he was clearly trying to rid himself of while pulling his hair back into a low bun, and taking the time to tie up a bandana to keep everything out of his face, thus losing his security blanket from the world perceiving he wasn’t in a permanent bad mood.

And of course, Eddie kept up his act through lunch. Stomping through the lobby in that way people did when they were so very obviously trying to appear aloof, and coming across as anything but. Eyes staring straight ahead, but too wide and too aware to not be soliciting a reaction from their periphery. Chest out, muscles flexed. Posture the very opposite of casual, causing them to walk in a stilted manner like a robot.

And his charade continued when he came back from the break room, rounding the corner with softer steps. Slower. Hanging onto the precious milliseconds where your back was to him, and he could absorb your image freely without being noticed. Then, he lifted his chin and returned to his project, pretending you weren’t there.

Yep, so painfully obvious when he forgot reflections existed and you were surrounded by glass.

~~~

Fridays were the days he anticipated most. Work was grueling, and he had many things to finish before the break for the weekend, but he didn’t mind staying late. He preferred it.

Fridays meant he could rely on someone else handling the stressors at home, and he was free to earn his late hours at the garage, indulging in his loud music, and unwinding the constant state of tension lurking beneath the surface. It was the only way he knew how to cope. To stay sane.

Yeah, he loved Fridays. Until a surprise came running at him in her tiny pink shoes.

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and exhaled a long, hard breath through his nose.

“Sorry,” came Wayne’s earnest apology as his nephew wilted; shoulders sagging, head hung. Tapping the wrench he was holding on his thigh. Trying his best to keep it together. “Don’t mean to drop ‘er off on you, but work called me in, so I came here after picking her up.”

Turning away from the engine he was installing, Eddie assumed his authoritative voice, but it came out as a weary sigh. “Adrienne, you know the rules,” he warned lowly, “No running in the shop.” After a beat, he corrected himself. “I mean, no being in the shop at all!”

She giggled as she skipped away from him, sloppy pigtails bouncing with mirth, plastic glittery shoes slapping the concrete floor where a myriad of items she could trip on laid.

“Adrie!” He called out, but she was too busy opposing him to pay attention.

Lucky for her, a certain receptionist caught her by the shoulders before she crashed into a rogue tire.

“Whoa there, little Miss!”

You looked to Eddie for further instruction on what to do with the girl currently laughing up a storm at your feet, but he was frozen. A bit paler, and wringing the back of his neck. Unable to articulate any of the broken consonants on his tongue as he stared at you. You switched your gaze to the older man beside him, but he was equally confused as to why Eddie was having trouble speaking.

Addressing anyone who would like to volunteer an answer, you asked, “And who’s this?”

“This.. This i-is my daughter. She, I, Goddamnit–I’m sorry, can you take her inside? I swear she’ll be quiet. Right, Adrie?”

Seeing the pure desperation settle around his eyes, you assimilated into the role of babysitter, wanting to alleviate his anxiety despite the sudden surge of your own. You held your hand out for her to take, and she did so without a second thought, grasping onto you with her little fingers and standing up, being the one to lead you to your desk.

As the door closed behind you, you overheard the older man clear his throat under the strain of bad news. “The water heater is broken again, and I couldn’t– ..Before I had to leave.”

Their private conversation was sealed behind the glass. You didn’t care to eavesdrop. It was too heartbreaking watching Eddie frantically catch his fingers on his bandana before removing it so he could tangle his curls into his fist, tugging them over his face as he groaned in a fruitless effort to hide himself from the world.

But on the subject of his brunette waves..

His daughter had the same curl pattern. Almost the same cut, too. Clearly Eddie was the acting barber of the family. Something you’d find adorable if it wasn’t for the pang of rejection in your stomach.

Daughter. Family.

The words repeated themselves in your head as your eyes wandered to the black tray beside the tool cabinet. He wore several large rings. Lots of jewelry, in fact, but you couldn’t remember if any of them were a wedding band, and the embarrassment of developing a crush on a married man for weeks without taking two seconds to cross reference his left hand burned your cheeks hot.

“Hi,” his daughter said cutely, swaying from foot to foot while holding two of your fingers.

You crouched to her level. “Wanna draw while we wait?” She nodded, sucking on the tip of her thumb.

Steadying your spinny office chair while she climbed into it, you made sure she was comfortable before bringing out the black stool from Mr. Moore’s office, and sitting next to her. You opened your backpack, flipped to a clean sheet in your sketchpad, and presented it to her along with your colored pencils.

“Hmm, what should we draw?”

Adrie snatched the bubblegum pink color, and began her masterpiece. “Mrs. Teresa read us a book about a mouse.”

Thank God she said it was a mouse, because you didn’t want to be the one to guess what the two oblong circles on the page were.

Adorably, she filled you in on the parts of the story she remembered, and added a triangle of yellow cheese under the mouse, then waited for you to prompt another thing to draw. You followed the nocturnal theme and asked for an owl. She hesitated on what colors to choose, and you helped her pick out the shades of brown and tan.

“How old are you?” you asked while she inundated her bird with too many feathers.

“Four-and-a-half,” she said proudly. “How old are you?”

You raised your brows. “Certainly not four-and-a-half.”

At some point, your arm had wrapped itself around her. Maybe to help shift her closer to the desk. Maybe to collect her in a pseudo-hug when she completed her art. Maybe to let Eddie know everything was okay when he craned his neck to check on you while conversing with the man outside, and you put on your best face, grinning at the story his daughter reenacted about a cartoon she watched that morning at preschool.

“What next? What next?”

“Let’s see.. Can you draw me a bat?”

She was more sure of herself, grabbing the black pencil and outlining an entire colony of bats mid-flight with more attention to detail. “My daddy has bats.”

“He has bats?” you questioned, sweeping loose hair out of her face.

She pointed to her elbow.

Thinking on it for a moment, you perked up. “Oh! He has tattoos?” She recognized the word, nodding vigorously. “Interesting, interesting.”

She’d hardly begun to fill in their wings when Eddie opened the door, and held up the comically small backpack slung on his arm, signaling it was time to leave.

You helped her down from the chair, and she excused herself to the bathroom, which only contributed to the awkward silence when she disappeared down the hall and Eddie was forced to wait at your desk.

It didn’t have to be analyzed, nor stated. The reality.

He had an entire life outside of work.

Duh. Of course he did, but still. It was one he never shared with you. Not like you earned the privilege to know, or to be included in anything he didn’t want to divulge, but with how private he was, it came as a surprise.

Invoking the thousands of dollars you spent on acting classes, you moved on, and kept your tone light, “The butterfly backpack suits you. Not sure about the color, though. Bright pink clashes with your navy blue outfit.”

Tough crowd.

His sulky demeanor permeated in his dull gaze trained on his stained sleeves. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Dumping her on you like that. Normally my uncle has the day off work and can take care of her, but he’s gotta go in because someone called out sick, so, yeah..”

If it were at all appropriate, you would reach across the countertop to soothe him from picking at his torn cuticles. But it wasn’t appropriate. So you didn’t.

You locked your hands behind your head and leaned back in your chair. “Funnily enough, I worked a brief stint as a clown for children’s birthday parties, so I’m actually quite comfortable entertaining them.”

“I’m shocked,” he said, void of shock. Finding the strength to lift his eyes from the animals she drew on your sketchpad to the encouraging curve of your lips, he tried to match your grin, but it fell flat. “At least you can go home on time today.”

You sucked in a breath for a quick retort, but Adrie interrupted you in her tiny voice, “Daddy! I can’t reach the sink!” And maybe that was for the best before you humiliated yourself more.

Because, the truth of the matter was, you always had the ability to go home on time. It was only because Eddie stayed behind that you made excuses to sit at your desk past your scheduled hours, prattling off some nonsense about memorizing the catalog.

“C’mon,” he said to his daughter, supporting her on his hip. “Let’s get going.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t exactly patient, either. The creeping exhaustion he kept under wraps was breaking through. Stress fractures in the mask he wore around others. The sanity he gripped for dear life for the sake of Adrie.

He caught the empathetic pinch between your brows, and used the last of his energy to turn so his daughter could see you. “Say ‘bye,’ and ‘thank you’ for playing, Adrie.”

She waved with the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever wagging their tail. “Bye! Thank you!”

“Bye, Adrie,” you laughed. “Bye, Eddie.”

Like usual, he didn’t respond. Today that was okay.

————

Eddie was on the verge. He was trembling, failing to loosen a bolt on the water heater to investigate why it broke–again–when his hair was yanked–again–and his knuckles scraped a bent piece of metal–again.

He was kneeling on his kitchen floor, craving nothing more than a shower to wash away the work week until his skin burned, but he was not afforded the simple luxury.

No relaxation. Not for him. No one to call on when Wayne was gone. This was his life to fix. On his own.

After repairing cars all day, he was exhausted. Touched out. But Adrie needed something from him, something he couldn’t understand with his tired mind. All he wanted was a break. All he needed was a break from her using his coveralls to scale his body. All he sought was the energy to deal with her pulling his hair.

But he was not spared the fortune.

“Adrie, please,” he resorted to begging. And when she didn’t stop, he withdrew his arms from the closet, and pried her hands off his hair, peeling her away and setting her on the floor.

She made to grab him again, but he used his waning strength to squeeze her arms to her sides, giving her his full attention she fought for.

“Can I get you a snack? Or put something on the TV? Do you want a nap?” He listed off anything, shaking and desperate.

“I wanna play with Daddy.”

Guilt amplified the shame.

He was a shit dad. He knew. He did his best and it was never good enough.

“I know you do,” the words fluctuated in the wake of water stinging his eyes. “I know you do, but Daddy needs to fix this. I can make you a snack and you can eat it in the living room. How ‘bout that?” Under normal circumstances, that wasn’t allowed. She had a penchant for dropping sticky food on the carpet–which was just another thing he’d have to get around to cleaning–but he was willing to bend the rules for the promise of a shower.

Adrienne thought about his offer for a long while, and settled on his deal.

And yet, it was hours.. hours until he was able to sit down.

The water heater required more service than he initially thought, and his daughter wasn’t entertained by herself for very long. She came to him in intervals of minutes, climbing up his back and hanging from his neck. He stopped caring. He didn’t have it within him. He made sure she was safe, and that was it.

He fed her a dreadful dinner, and she was so happy for her overcooked noodles in pasta sauce. He saved the leftovers. Put them in the nearly-empty fridge and took out two beers for himself, cracking the tops before sinking into the couch.

Adrienne stood between his legs while he wrapped her in her favorite blanket, and placed her in his lap. The top half of his coveralls were tied by the sleeves around his waist. No matter how dirty he was, this was how they ended the night. Him staring blankly at the TV, and her cheek on his chest, ear pressed to his white tank top, listening to his heartbeat. Curling her fists into her tattered quilt in response to him nuzzling the top of her head, and resting there in a content hum. Closing his eyes. Turning off his brain. Tipping back swigs of beer until he felt better, and giving her kisses until she giggled and squirmed.

The kisses were as much for her as they were for him, giving and receiving the only affection in his life. Apologizing for earlier when he couldn’t stand to be touched.

Her hug was small, yet powerful. Clumsy, but what he needed. Another person to gather in his arms and have their weight fall asleep on his chest.

He collected Adrie, and gave her a few more doting kisses while carrying her to bed.

“Stay, Daddy.”

Sometimes he did, just to have a real bed to sleep in, but with how long it took to fix the water heater, there was only enough hot water to bathe her. He’d have to wait until the morning.

“Not tonight, Daddy’s still dirty from work.”

It hurt to walk away. It hurt more to sleep on the lumpy couch. Hurt worse when Wayne came home to crash on the roll out bed, and the sun funneled through the windows, and the day started all over again.

Hurt the most when Eddie thought about the surprised look on your face when you learned he had a daughter.

Hurt the least when he imagined a world in which you wouldn’t care, and still flirted with him come Monday morning, because fuck, it was the only thing he looked forward to after Adrie’s meltdowns on the way to school.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Well Directed.

Written for a very lovely, very patient anonymous commisioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Arlecchino x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.0k.

TW: Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Intimidation, Biting/Blood, Unhealthy Relationships, and Slight Dehumanization.

Arlecchino greeted you the way she always did – through touch.

Despite everything, you had to admit Arlecchino’s ability to dampen her footsteps, to muffle her breathing, to somehow disguise the weight of her state and heat of her unnaturally warm body and the very fact of her own existence was undeniably impressive – even more so when she managed to hide herself from someone like you, someone so preoccupied with knowing the exact position of every actor as soon as they stepped onto your stage. Your first hint that she was coming to see you was the feeling of her talons on the dip of your shoulder, drifting upward to the curve of your neck, then the sight of her reflection in the mirror of your vanity, appearing as if she’d always been there, as if your eyes hadn’t been fixed to the door of your dressing room since locked yourself behind it, content to spend your intermission in peaceful seclusion. You’d planned to use what little free time you had to clear your head and prepare yourself properly for the rest of the night, but as always, she was there to make sure your mind would be filled with only thoughts of her. If Arlecchino had it her way, there was a good chance you’d never be able to think about anything else.

When you tried to stand, crumbling under the reflex to put any amount of distance between you and her, Arlecchino’s hand rose to your throat, catching you just under the chin and burying her claws in each corner of your jaw. Immediately, you went still, and she rewarded you with an airy chuckle, a tilted head. “Good puppet,” she praised, loosening her hold on you with the assurance that you’d learned your lesson quickly. “You were brilliant out there. Truly, the rest of the production is paler for having to stand in comparison to you.”

You wished you could’ve preened, could’ve basked her praise the same way you did when one of your performances caught the eye of a particularly flattering columnist, when you overheard one of your costars gushing about how proud they were to be working with someone of your renowned. Instead, all her words – no matter how kind, no matter how adoring – ever seemed to do was send a chill down your spine, to make you regret ever auditioning in the first place. Could her praise be considered sincere, if you knew she wouldn’t remember a single line you delivered a few minutes after the curtains closed? Could you take her compliments as anything but blatant condescension, if you knew the only reason she’d sat through your performance at all was to admire her newest toy?

But, you couldn’t say that out loud, so you only bowed your head, settling onto the stool of your vanity as you attempted to find your voice. “It was only the first act,” you mumbled, eventually. “And my scenes were hardly anything noteworthy. My character doesn’t really find their footing until the climax.”

“I disagree. Try as I might, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” She didn’t have to tell you that. You’d felt stare prying into you every time you were on stage, and if it hadn’t been for the blinding lights, you were sure you would’ve been able to see her in the dead-center of the first row, grinning wildly as she watched you put on a show she’d already attended half a dozen times since opening night. If she actually bothered to pay attention, you were sure she would have the script memorized, by now. “Although, I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t wearing my last gift. What if I lost track of you up there, dear?”

Her last ‘gift’. Your heart skipped a beat at the reminder. It’d been a gaudy thing – a rose-shaped breastpin, crafted with tens of hundreds of pinprick rubies and lined with a frame of pure obsidian. She’d let one of her masked soldiers make the delivery, but her note had been clear enough. You were supposed to wear the awful thing during your next performance, in front of a crowd of hundreds. You’d crushed it under your heel before your anger could turn into mortification. The dread had only taken root as you cleaned up the broken pieces and began to imagine how Arlecchino might react to your ungratefulness. She could weather most things, but such blatant disobedient had never gotten you more than a bruised cheek, rope-burnt wrists, and a few days spent in the guestroom of her manor.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I tried, but the costuming department overruled me.” You let your eyes fall to the ground, playing sheepish. As if you were genuinely apologetic. As if any part of you regretted not being able to wear her claim on you in front of half the population of Fontaine. “You know how it is. Everything has to be approved by the director, lest a misplaced prop lead the audience to the wrong conclusion.”

She hummed, letting her hand fall to the low collar of your top. It was far from the most risqué costume you’d ever worn, but the plunging neckline suddenly left you feeling more exposed than you would’ve liked. “Give me a name.”

You stiffened. “…excuse me?”

“Who made the call? Give me a name and I’ll take care of the rest.” Her pitch-black claws ran over your collarbone, playing with the idea of breaking the skin. You already knew that the ghost of her drifting affection would linger for seconds, minutes, hours after she was gone, when you were left alone with her voice still ringing in your ears. It was more than likely that you’d spend the second act performing under the careful supervision of her phantom touch. “If it’s the director, don’t bite your tongue. The show can go on without that bumbling idiot.”

“No, I—” The threat was clear, direct. She’d made similar promises before – when the man behind the counter of her preferred bakery called you by your name as you hung from her arm, when one of her subordinates seemed just a little too excited to attend one of your shows. In her ideal world, you’d be little more than a ballerina twirling in one of her music boxes; there to smile and dance when she desired to see you and locked away from prying eyes when she did not. You’d do nothing but giggle and laugh and bend to her whims, too happy in her gilded cage to ever throw yourself at the bars. “I’m sorry,” you said, again, and this time you tried to mean it. “I… I lied to you, earlier. I damaged it this morning while trying to put it on, and—” A pause, a laugh. “Archons, I’m so embarrassed. I just couldn’t stand the idea of letting you know I was so thoughtless with one of your presents.”

It was far from your best work. Your speech was too stilted, your tone too dire for the occasion, your body language too stiff to convey much of anything beyond the simple hope that she would believe you. You would’ve been mortified to let anything so visibly improvised make it in front of a real audience, but Arlecchino was far from a critic. Her grin – as unwavering as it was monstrous – softened, her sadism partially sated by your complete, unabashed submission. Her hand fell away from you completely, and you beamed, letting your heart soar at the thought that she’d finally found some scrap of empathy for you.

Of course, your elation was quickly punished. It always caught you off guard – just how fast she was, just how strong she was, just how much she enjoyed reminding you of exactly why she could afford to be so self-indulgent when it came to her ever-growing collection of pretty little things. One moment, you were smiling at her reflection, and the next, the mirror had been shattered into more pieces than you could ever be able to count, anything it might’ve once shown distorted beyond all recognition. An intricate web of hairline fractures stretched outward from the point where her fist connected with the glass, but she regarded the devastation with little more than a slight hum, a sleeve dragged over her bleeding knuckles. “I think it’s my turn to apologize.” The sound of her heels against tile, the feeling of her arms wrapping around your waist. “You know how I get when I’m upset.”

Upset. You could’ve laughed, if you hadn’t forgotten how to use your lungs. You could’ve cried, if you weren’t too scared to move. If your unresponsiveness bothered her, if she noticed you hadn’t blinked since she lashed out, your paralysis wasn’t deemed worthy of her concern. Instead, she only pulled you against her chest, letting her chin rest on the dip of your shoulder. “You’re special, you know. I don’t lose my temper for every little actor who thinks they can get away with being so…” Her claws skirted over your side, threatening to tear through the delicate fabric of your costume. “Unappreciative. That’s a good word for it, isn’t it? You’ve always been the more eloquent one, between the two of us.”

Multiple temptations surfaced in you all at once. Part of you wanted to cry, to beg for her forgiveness, to promise you’d never be so selfish and so stupid again if she’d only let you go unharmed tonight. Another more rebellious faction screamed at you to run, to try in vain to hide yourself away from such an obvious predator, unwilling to acknowledge how many times you’d tried that before and how many times it hadn’t worked. And yet, neither impulse overwhelmed you, in the end. Arlecchino’s training took control and you left you speaking hollowly, the words finding your way to your tongue before your conscious mind could so much as realize that you’d opened your mouth. “Unappreciative, my lord. I’ve been unappreciative.” Then, leaning against her, “What can I do to earn your forgiveness?”

“Good little thing,” she said, by way of an answer. Her grin was the widest it’d ever been. “My perfect little puppet.”

This time, you were able to find a note of joy in her praise, to seek comfort in the fact that her faux-affection meant you wouldn’t be the next thing crushed under her rage. That happiness was only partially dampened by the weight of her lips against your shoulder, then drifting upward, latching onto the tender patch of flesh just below your jugular. Her teeth, like her fingertips, were sharpened to fine points, each able to pierce your skin with all the thought it would’ve taken her to swat a fly out of the air, to pluck a wildflower from its patch. You felt warm blood trickle past her lips and down your collarbone, let a low whimper slip past your grit teeth as she dug that much deeper, as she carelessly tore through everything she touched. When you shifted, attempting to relieve a fraction of the pressure on your throat, of the burning ache just underneath your skin, her hands clamped down around your hips, her hold on you tightening and dragging you that much closer to her chest, that much deeper into her embrace.

By the time she pulled away, there was a dark ring of bruising carved into the side of your neck, emphasized by the bright red stain of her lipstick against your skin, the trail of crimson dripping down your chest and pooling above your collarbone. You weren’t able to stop yourself, cursing as you scrambled for something on your vanity table that you could use to limit the damage, but Arlecchino stopped you, taking up either of your wrists and forcing your arms to your sides. “Trying to hurt my feelings again?” She ran her tongue up the side of your throat, adding a vulgar smear to the mess she’d made of you. “Leave it as it is – I want you wearing my mark for the rest of your performance. And, if someone tries to stop you, tell them I’m the only one you’ll be taking direction from, from now on.”  

You were too stunned to respond, too mortified to blink. Somewhere in the distance, a stagehand called five minutes to curtain, and Arlecchino let out a breathy laugh. With no small amount of hesitancy, she detangled herself from you, making her way to the door of the dressing room, the space now too contaminated to be called your own.

As her fingertips grazed the knob, her glanced back to you, her eyes meeting yours in the shattered remains of your mirror. You could’ve sworn you could still see the faint tint of your blood on her teeth as the corner of her lips tugged upward and something buried deep, deep inside of you withered and died.

“I’ll be watching, dearest.”

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: Family Heirloom and Starry Night (Discord Drabble) Two prompts in 24hrs, the drabblers are spoiled today. It's Lex's birthday! @thefreakandthehair I'm so sorry that my Frankenstien prompt for your b'day is also Steve Sad Boy™ hours. But it has a light-hearted end!!! 🏈🏈🏈 tw: death of a grandparent (way in the past)

"Why would mom mail this to me?" Steve finally mutters from his position at the kitchen bench.

Eddie shimmies upright on the couch and rubs at his eyes, long glazed over from forcing himself to pretend to pay attention to tonight's game. He'd flipped it over a good half an hour ago as the space he had given Steve started to linger on a little too long for his liking.

He just wasn't supposed to almost fall asleep while waiting for Steve to join and watch his favourite team win all those... points? touchdowns?

It doesn't matter nearly as much as the package that was delivered late in the afternoon – one that has left Steve glued to his kitchen stool.

A heavy but small and thin box with 'FRAGILE' and 'DO NOT BEND' emblazoned all over it, the red warnings leaving just enough space for their address and the return label.

Steve has opened it, Eddie realises, looking over his partner's impossibly hunched shoulders when he reaches him.

"I don't remember ever seeing that in your house, sweetheart," he says, standing close and snaking his arms around Steve's middle.

He frowns at the small framed print of Vincent Van Gough's Starry Night painting and rests his chin on Steve's shoulder.

"Mom hated it," Steve explains, "Refused to hang it anywhere in the house after my Grandpa passed. He left it to her."

Eddie hums in the affirmative.

The gold and gaudy frame doesn't exactly scream Mrs Harrington's taste in decor...

"Should I call her?" Steve rasps, setting the print down to pinch his nose, "What if something's wrong and that's why she is sending it to me?"

Eddie can feel his lip quivering.

"Maybe we should talk first, hmm?" he suggests, giving Steve a reassuring squeeze.

"Or..." Steve continues, his tone becoming bitter, "She's sending it now to make it official. That I'm no longer..."

He cuts himself off with a shaky exhale and looks around their relatively new (but technically very old and rundown) apartment. A quiet little spot in Indy they'd scored without too much searching.

One that they soon filled with their records and clothes, Eddie's amp and guitar and Steve's old trophies. Too many knickknacks they'd thrifted with the help of Robin and a lot of second-hand furniture Wayne found.

An apartment they are still in the process of making their own as they work themselves out together.

Their place in the world. Their home.

Eddie looks over to a patch of blank wall by the phone.

A spot that could use something...

"Do you like it, the painting?" he whispers, pressing a kiss to Steve's ear.

Steve grips the frame, his knuckles quickly turning white as he tenses up. He nods his head vigorously and sniffles.

"My grandpa..."

"Starry, starry night," Eddie sings low, "Paint your palette blue and grey..."

He reaches out to place his hands over Steve's and feels them relax in his touch.

"Look out on a summer's day..." Steve continues wetly, "Yeah..."

He sighs and closes his eyes, shifting his weight back onto Eddie.

"Looks like a pretty good heirloom to me," he says, swaying them just enough to leave Steve humming contentedly without threatening his position on the rickety kitchen stool.

Eddie continues humming the song, a favourite of Wayne's that he only ever passively listened to enough to pick up on the opening line and tune.

"Wanna watch the game with me?" he asks, nodding back to the television as he finishes the song.

Steve giggles, his shoulders gradually shaking them both.

"Baby, I watched that game two Sundays ago."

"But it's your favourite," Eddie argues, jostling their conjoined form, "The Cubs!"

"Eds, that's baseball!"

[quinnyundertow]

The Cult Leader’s Quarry

TW: NSFW 18+ , canon typical violence, murder, stalking, self-harm

CHAPTER 3 NOOSE DRAWS TIGHTER

Your home is embarrassingly sparse. The furniture is clearly secondhand from some local goodwill or flea market. The items are all mismatched and of varying levels of quality but it’s obvious the current owner cares for everything. This is what they call house poor. You spend so much on rent that the rest of your aspects of life suffer. He expected nothing more from a pathetic monkey.

The late afternoon sun paints the room in this orange glow as Suguru Geto crosses your living area. He walks in an oddly ethereal style, his robes moving almost imperceptibly. He pauses to pick up some gaudy decorative items off your side tables. He peers at them briefly before moving to the small bookcase you own. It’s mainly filled with manga trash and fantasy drivel. Though a few authors catch his eye towards the bottom, Murasaki Shikoku, Sei Shonagon, Leo Tolstoy, Fukumi Shimura, Sun Tzu, Osamu Dazai. So you’re not as stupid as he thought. For a monkey that is. He plucks out the book Colors of a Mother by Fukumi Shimura. It's an unpretentious book with nothing on the blue cover but the title and author. Turning it over in his hands he studies it for a moment. He hadn’t seen any sign you had a child. What a strange reading choice. Without another thought he pockets the book in his robes.

He’s wasting time, who cares that the monkey can read the classics. Refocusing, he takes a small black device no bigger than a pencil’s eraser. Due to his naturally tall form he doesn’t need a step stool to simply apply the tiny camera to the kitchen’s smoke detector in a way that looks inconspicuous. If Satoru wanted to destroy his curses, Suguru would just have to utilize technology rather than sorcery. There’s this voice screaming in the back of his head that he’s wasting time away from his true objective of eradicating all non-sorcerers. Nothing that voice says now matters. He has isolated himself so completely from other adults these last two years. That something about you has him coming back for more. He will devour and disassemble you; but tonight just doesn’t feel right. Not now, he can’t wait for that moment really. But he needs something more from you first. He’s not sure yet what that thing is.

Continuing his tour of your home, he notes your bedroom is surprisingly childish. You have stuffed animals strewn around the room, a thick fluffy comforter and hanging string lights. He can’t help the tiny smile that creeps on his face at the idea of the corporate woman he’s seen sleeping here at night. Speaking of corporate women, you should be home any minute now. He quickly places a camera in your bedroom before entering the messiest room in the house so far, the bathroom. You had been in a rush this morning. A makeup bag lay on your sink. Taking up your perfume he sprays a little in the air just to get a whiff. A shiver runs through him as he takes the scent in. He decides he wants to play a game with you. He picks up your toothbrush and sets it down in the opposite way you had it before. Would you notice? There’s a wall vent in the bathroom the perfect height for a voyeur's camera. He easily pops off the cover to set his camera inside when he can’t help but freeze. There’s already a camera inside the vent. It’s an older clunkier model that can’t stream but it can certainly be programmed to run at certain hours and record during them.

He feels his blood thrumming loud in his ears. Who has been spying on you? You’re his quarry, his target, his prey. Who was infringing on his territory? He barely hears your key in the front door lock before he applies his camera into a different area and leaves the older model for now. He slats the vent home and flicks off the bathroom light as you enter the main room. You’re all sighs as you shuffle around the kitchen and dining room. He’s sure you’ll have to pee soon and slips into your tub shower and stands behind the curtain.

The fact that you could find him here. Or that he could jump out and be on top of you at any second has him feeling a new type of elation he never had before. All his nerve endings are on fire as the bathroom light flicks on. The navy shower curtains is dark enough to obscure his figure. You give another long sigh and the intimate noises that follow give him an instant boner. You’re peeing while thinking you're alone. He isn’t even able to enjoy the full experience as he’s instantly is reminded of the other camera in the vent. He needs to take care of that. The idea that someone else is taking advantage of your private moments, the ones meant only for him, is going to drive him mad.

There’s the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and Suguru has an anticipatory knot his throat. One of your dainty hands reaches blindly into the shower and turns the water on. The cold water blasts his clothes but he barely feels it beneath his racing pulse. If you see him here it’s game over for you. He will either have to kill you or force you into a state where you are unable to tell anyone.

His breathing is picking up but the sound of the shower is masking it. When you step past the shower’s billowing curtain he’s going to grab you by the shoulders and slam you into the shower wall. He’ll let the freezing water spray you down. Your skin will erupt into goosebumps while your nipples harden painfully. You’ll be so terrified-

There’s a noise as you leave the bathroom. You must have forgotten something in your bedroom. Despite the fantasy's allure he exits the bath quickly. He isn’t ready for this new game to end yet.

He’s creeping to the bathroom exit when he sees a pair of your used panties at the top of your dirty clothes pile. He doesn’t even hesitate a moment before he swiftly pockets them. Geto is out of your apartment and riding the elevator to the first floor before you even return to the bathroom.

The longer he walks down the streets the more his mind works itself up into a frenzy. His consciousness is in turmoil. Why hasn’t he killed you yet? Is he getting weak? Is his resolve really that shaky? He pauses at a crosswalk on his journey to the train station. A monkey approaches him from the sidewalk. Her hips are swaying and hair is meticulously styled, “Hey handsome, looking-“ her spiel is interrupted by screams as the curse he let loose melts away her features until she’s no more than a mummified husk. He continues walking when the crosswalk indicates he’s safe to and ignores all the hysterical bystanders who just saw that monkey spontaneously combust.

So he isn’t weak, he didn’t feel anything when he murdered that woman. If anything he feels relief that one more monkey will no longer be on this planet. So you are his problem. Oddly enough that irritates him more. He pulls out the soft pink panties he had stolen off your floor. He holds them tightly in his fist as his jaw works in annoyance. He’s going to throw them into the next trash bin he passes. The entire walk home, bin after bin goes by and his grip on your cloth only tightens.

He’s doing mental gymnastics in order to justify not throwing them away. They were his reward; his trophy for his troubles. No one needed to know where it was from. He was the master of his own universe; he could do what he wished.

When he finally arrives home and locks the office door behind him his grip loosens. His fingers are slightly cramped from the extended vice grip they were held in. Little crescent moons dot the palm of his hand from his nails pressure. In a way he felt like a giddy teen once again doing something forbidden. He and Satoru had stolen panties before as a dare. This somehow felt far more satisfying.

Opening his hands he spread the cloth to view the whole article. It was cute, soft, and slightly stained at the crotch. Did someone turn you on today or were you naturally this wet? He couldn’t help but shiver as he lifted the garment to his face. He presses the softness to his cheek and inhales deeply the musky scent of you. His eyes roll back in his head as he continues to breathe you into him. He can’t wait to spread your thighs and get it from the source. Looking at the slightly damp crotch he tentatively licks, and then sucks at the fabric. There’s not enough there to taste your essence but the fact that your pussy dripped on this spot for hours today is enough to drive him wild.

He’s slipping open his robes. He doesn’t need to totally remove them to pull out his rock hard member. His tip is a furious scarlet with pearls of precum drooling from it. He’s rougher with himself than he normally would be. Your panties are pressed to his face so he can smell you all around him. He milks himself harshly and unforgivingly. He’s jerking himself to a fucking monkey. Ensuring he doesn’t enjoy the process as much as he could, he squeezes himself in a way that he will likely show bruises tomorrow. At the moment of his climax he releases his twitching cock. Slumping against the door he whimpers as he ruins his own orgasm. His hips are bucking in want, wishing for that gentle attention found in the afterglow. As long as he’s lusting over this damn monkey he doesn't intend to allow himself any real relief.

~~

It’s Thursday evening and you have been absolutely swamped at work this week. Your boss is genuinely a nice guy but when he’s getting reamed out by the higher powers, you and Zoe end up having to help with whatever unreasonable request is handed down. Instead of leaving around six both of you had pulled a late one tonight only leaving after ten PM.

The two of you sat in a smaller mom and pop restaurant, the tables on the floor are surrounded by cushions for seating. A half eaten massive bowl of ramen sits in front of you, along with an almost complete third beer. You are somewhat decent at holding your alcohol but tonight it’s hitting a little harder than normal and you are basking in that feeling.

Your attention is jerked up when Zoe slams her second beer down looking satisfied. Unlike you, Zoe cannot hold her alcohol at all and is generally reduced to a good natured giggly drunk by the evening’s end.

You're pushing around some noodles before putting them in your mouth with a lament, “What’s the buddhist version of hell.”

Zoe cackles, “We’re probably already in it. Look around you, ain’t it swell.” Suddenly a pair of chopsticks are pointing directly at your face just an inch away from your nose. Guessing you are thinking about your encounter with that monk earlier this week she continues, “You need to let that shit go. Didn’t you go past his temple when you saw him the second time? If anything, you're the stalker at this point.” Zoe eyes closed, is nodding to herself now as if someone else has made a really good point in the conversation.”

You pout heavily picking up a fishcake experimentally before putting it back into your bowl. “I wasn’t thinking about him and I didn’t call him a stalker..”

There’s a shuffling beside your booth as the third and final party member stumbles back from the restroom. He’s a lanky guy, his legs go on forever as he awkwardly sits back beside Zoe. “Let’s not use our chopsticks to point at others.” He chides lightly, tapping her arm.

Staring at her arm still stretched across the table Zoe reluctantly puts it down with a frown. “Y/N needed a scolding because she thinks she's got beef with a Buddhist Monk.”

You wave your hands quickly in embarrassment gesturing for Zoe to shut up. Unfortunately, all that did was grab your bosses interest even more. You quickly try to dissuade that interest. “I’m overreacting, really. I just ran into this monk two times and each time he just stared down like I spit on Buddha.”

Your boss tilts his head. He tends to take things seriously and apparently this would be no different. He raises a pale hand with bitten down fingernails; to rub the side of his hooked nose. “A Monk? Are they one of those culty types out of that former time association building?”

You gape up at him, which gains you an awkward but pleased smile in return, “Higuruma, how did you know that?”

He laughs under his breath so the motion is there but not the noise, “I make it my business to know what’s going on around here. I haven’t felt inclined to go to a service myself as it’s all mumbo jumbo hogwash but I’ve heard a man in monk's robes runs the place and has a decent following so far. His followers proclaim he can perform healing miracles.”

Zoe’s listening attentively despite being totally smashed and leaning against the wall for support, “Eugh, gross. Y/n, maybe walk on the opposite side of the street from now on.”

You nod at Zoe’s comment, “I have been and that seems to have worked.”

Your boss Higuruma Hiromi tilts his head to the side while watching you, “Did he say something to harass you?”

Your face is totally flushed with humiliation at this point. You are clearly overreacting and Higuruma’s kindness is just slamming that point home, “No he hasn’t said a word to me, please don’t concern yourself.”

Your boss waves for the check while mulling everything over, “You're not exactly one for theatrics. Let me know if something changes, we had better head out now if we want to make the last trains home.”

Unlike most corporate drinking, it didn’t feel forced at all when you were both invited out by Higuruma. He was unassuming and sincere, kept his private life to himself and never overstepped work boundaries like so many other men did in the workplace.

Exiting out into the cool air you watched pretty little puffs waft by from your exhales. The sidewalk was surprisingly busy considering the hour. Ahead of you Zoe gives a bit of a stagger causing you to giggle as Higuruma shakes his head in an affectionate manner before putting his arm through hers to give her balance. You can’t help but smile lightly at their backs. They would make a cute couple.. then again you didn’t even know if Higuruma was single.

It was at that point a chill went up your spine. Goosebumps rippled down your limbs and you reflexively pulled your arms to you and rubbed yourself to keep warm. You felt this undercurrent of unease, a creeping anxiety, like a predator was stalking you from the bushes. You keep walking with your group but you couldn’t help looking over your shoulder trying to see what gave you that ominous feeling. You aren’t the tallest person in the world but you figure a man in monk's robes would stick out like a sore thumb…..a man in monks robes? Why would you assume it was that monk again? You are really being weird about this whole thing. There was absolutely no one behind you that was paying you any mind. You need to stop drinking if this is how it affects your anxiety.

You turn to catch up with your group and when you do dark blue and gold catch your eye across the street. On the opposite side of the road walks the man who has been haunting your thoughts lately. The way he strolls down the sidewalk is as if he has nothing else in the world to do. Not only is he on the wrong side of the street but he’s still behind you by a block or so and isn’t even looking your way. Yet the goosebumps remain.

You turn and rush forward, bumping interesting others in order to catch up with your small group. Once within talking distance you realize there’s nothing for you to say. The man is simply existing and you’re freaking out. He’s probably on his way back to his temple which is on the way to the station. The level of panic you feel thrumming through your veins is uncalled for. You decide to stay closer to your group, feigning being unaffected, as you try with all your might not to look over your shoulder anymore to see if he’s still there.

“That’s the place right?” Higuruma nods, talking over his shoulder to you. You finally allow yourself to turn but instead of stopping at the temple’s building you're looking further back trying to find that man again walking along the sidewalk. Your gaze goes from person to person with no luck. He’s no longer on the sidewalk and you overreacted again. The guy in question probably entered his “workplace”. Higuruma watches you, puzzled as you look further behind the place for a moment and then give him your assent.

“Yeah.. that’s the place he was standing outside of when his cocksure buddy spilled my coffee and then asked me out to replace it.”

Zoe gave a fit of giggles at that, “Some men have no tact. Is it safe to assume you said no?”

You can’t help but blush at her correct assumption, “Kind of? I think. I don’t know, I ran like hell when I saw that Monk standing there all pissy.” Your group is crossing the street at an intersection close to the subway system. You can’t help but feel relief as the building fades from sight.

Zoe is leaning against Higuruma who is trying to keep a straight face as he holds her up under her arm. He fails when her next words are, “Maybe he just needs to get laid. God knows you do y/n.”

Your older boss chokes and has a minor coughing fit at the topic change, “Allllright Zoe, you’ve lost your talking privileges.” You’re scanning all three of your train passes as you head down a long group of stairs.

Zoe decides to ignore the memo and continues, “I am not judging, I need to get laid too. That’s why we’re going clubbing tomorrow evening. You can come too but you gotta loosen up a little guruma.”

His face is bright red and he looks like he's regretting everything that brought him to this point in his life. “I’ll go ahead and pass on that one Miss Zoe. I'm a little old for clubbing..also not really sure that’s appropriate as I’m your superior..”

The station is bustling with people trying to get home before the last train at midnight. There’s that loud overhead beeping letting you know the train you need is about to leave the station and the three of you race into the car and into a row of sideways seats. You couldn’t help but enjoy Zoe giving your boss the third degree. You had thought he was attractive and tried to hit on him for a while after being hired, to no avail. The man took his job as a defense attorney way too seriously for a woman to distract him.

The banter is natural and amusing as the two bicker lightly over things that don’t matter. You find yourself laughing lightly, just letting the booze marinate in you as the train leaves the station and moves towards your home. You are the second to last stop while Zoe is two before you. “Are you even able to get home safely Zoe?”

Your friend nods before flexing her arm, “You dare doubt me?” she gives a shit eating grin as Higuruma eyes her skeptically.

“I think I’ll walk Miss Zoe home. Just to be sure.” He mutters. If it was anyone other than Higuruma Hiromi you would never allow your girlfriend to be walked home by a man alone. But this man had an ironclad code of conduct and was one of those rare people you felt you could trust with your life. He sees the absolute worst of humanity every day. Trying to defend the innocent in cases that are labeled unwinnable. Sometimes his code of ethics is all he can rely on at the end of the day.

Nodding you let your body be gently jostled by the train car.’You aren’t exactly excited to be going home yourself. In fact, everyday this week you seem to dread it a little more. It had gotten to the point where you practically begged the complex's maintenance group to change your locks yesterday.

Little things had been around everyday this week. Your toothbrush, placed opposite of how you normally left it. Your makeup bag left unzipped with the smell of your perfume in the air. Those two were odd but could be explained as thoughtlessness.

Then came the harder things to explain. When collecting your dirty laundry to take to the communal washroom your dirty panties were nowhere to be found. You scoured the whole apartment trying to prove to yourself that you had just accidently left them in an odd spot to no avail. The straw that broke the camel's back was when you woke yesterday morning. One of your kitchen chairs had been pulled into your bedroom while you slept and was left for you to find facing your bed.

Once your heart was out of your throat and you could breath without hyperventilating you called the maintenance crew to get a fresh lock. That way if the landlord had lied about changing the locks before you moved in and/or had lost a spare key. It would be handled. While it isn’t a big change, you 're happy with the fact that you took initiative and got it done.

The train ride is short as you doze in your seat. Something about the warmth of the train car and the close proximity of friends gave you this sense of invulnerability. When the overhead announcer pages Zoe’s stop you look over to see Higuruma struggling with Zoe’s dead weight. You laugh at his face as the two leave the train. The doors close after a moment and the steady rhythm once again picks up. Your eyes are falling shut a little longer every time you blink. That is until an eerily familiar voice emanates from the seat directly in front of you, “Are you trying to be victimized?”

Chapter 2 —————————————Chapter 4

Taglist: @divinedolliebun

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[askrobouteguilliman40k]

Guilliman and Yvraine are attending to their morning rituals, Roboute shaving while Yvraine applies her make up. They make an odd sight, for the bathroom is made for a Primarch, the emissary must stand upon a stool to reach the sink and see in the mirror.

Oh the mirror, how Roboute hates it, he wanted a plain sheet of glass, but no, like many things in his life, it is covered in gaudy decorations, a gilt frame with cherubs carved into it. He would get rid of it.... But he knows Cato Sicarius would just replace it with something even gaudyer.

Sighing he focuses on the task at hand, removing the night's growth of hair, noting his hair on his head is still thining, but no signs of grey yet... The bags are still under his eyes, even his gene forged might needs regular sleep.... But there is just so much work to do.

He carefully moves the razor around the scar in his neck, paying close attention as not to cut himself on the uneven skin. So much to do. As he finishes up, he presses a button on the sink, the shaving foam, stubble and water vented into a small plasma reactor.

Yvraine looks over, just finishing applying her eye shadow. "Why do you do that? Burn everything that comes from you?"

Picking up a towel, he pats his face dry. "In this age of religious insanity, even the smallest fragment of my being would be considered a holy relic.... And I do not want religious wars started over something like my poop."

Yvraine giggles. "Surely you jest, Mon-kieg are not that insane." She looks into his unchanging face. "... You are not jesting."

He shakes his head. "I have read of wars fought over something so simple as a tooth... A single tooth."

She sighs and climbs down off her stool. "I will never understand your kind, even in a million years."

[thenerdyselfinsert]

Simon Riley x Groovy! Funky! Maximalist! Reader

I don't know what this is, I just thought it'd be fun to have this big brute of a man simp over someone in bell bottoms.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Gender Neutral! Reader

Tags: Gender Neutral Reader, Simon Riley, Ghost, COD, CODMW, fluff, first meeting, no use of Y/n, go-go boots

Word Count: 596

Simon Riley was not a brightly colored man. He wore all black, had his little skeleton motif, and that was it. That's what he liked. His flat was mostly bare -- efficient, he would argue. It had all the basics he'd need for when he was on leave. He didn't like excessive color, he didn't like patterns. He thought those types of thing were gaudy and distasteful.

So why was he staring down the bright little thing at the end of the bar?

There you were, a drink in hand as you leaned against the back of your chair. You wore denim bell bottoms that were horribly dated, and a ruffled, button up shirt with the ugliest pattern and colors on it. A denim vest and a white belt pulled the outfit together. On anyone else, Simon would scoff and laugh.

But on you? It somehow... worked.

Or maybe it didn't. Maybe that's why Simon kept staring at you. He was trying to figure out if you looked bad or if there was something charming about it.

Unfortunately for him, you noticed his glances. You were stuck between wanting to give him a little wave and making a run for the hills. I mean, what person wouldn't when a six foot something man dressed in all black is staring you down?

But, you had enough liquid courage in you that you decided to take matters into your own hands.

You hopped off your stool, finishing off your drink as you made your way over to him.

Simon's heart jumped into his throat when you approached him. He thought he had been stealthy, but apparently not.

"I don't bite," you said sweetly, "unless you're into that kind of thing. I don't judge either."

He coughed, a light blush just barely visible on the part of his face that wasn't covered by the mask.

"Sorry about that," he said, taking a sip of his whiskey. His eyes failed to meet yours, instead staring down at the bar, "Didn't mean to stare."

You shrugged, sitting on the empty barstool next to him, "I don't mind. I wouldn't dress this nice if I didn't want people to look at me."

He let out a chuckle, "That what you call 'nice?'"

"I know damn well the man in the skeleton mask isn't teasing me about what I'm wearing," you fire back, a playful lilt in your voice. He raised an eyebrow at that, a bit surprised by your comeback.

"'Fair enough," he said, taking another sip of his whiskey.

You leaned on the bar, watching him for a moment, a cheshire smile on your face.

"You got a name?" you asked him.

His eyes looked down at his glass, swirling the drink as he thought for a second.

"You can call me 'Ghost,'" he said.

You laughed at that, "Oh, so we're using fake names now, hm?" You leaned back in your seat, crossing your legs as you said, "Hm, okay then, you can call me 'Go-Go."

""Go-Go?'" he asked skeptically.

"Like my boots," you smiled, holding up your foot to show off the white go-go boots you were wearing. Simon looked down at your boot before looking up to meet your eyes. He finished his whiskey and pulled out his wallet, throwing a few bills on the bar.

"You a regular here?" you asked.

He nodded, "You?"

"Just moved here," you said, "I'm thinking about it. Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Maybe," he said, shrugging on his jacket, "I'll see you around, Go-Go."

You smiled at that, "See you around, Ghost."

[hottpinkpenguin]

Why are you looking at me like that?" "I like to look at beautiful things

With Darkling?

The Most Beautiful Thing - Darkling X Fem!Reader

A/n: thank you for your patience anon! hope you love it :) Word Count: 2368 Warnings: none (not proofread)

“Genya, you cannot be serious.”

She smirked at your reflection in the mirror, a look of mock offense on her face.

“Y/n, whatever do you mean?” 

She stifled a laugh as she continued pinning up your hair, plunging a few more pins into your hair. Her levity made your mood more sour and resentful.

“I’m glad you’re having fun with this,” you spat back petulantly. “I am not wearing this.”

You gestured down at the emerald green gown that Genya had procured for the occasion. It was a beautiful piece of handiwork, no argument there, but on you? It looked preposterous. You’d never seen this much of your own skin before, and the thought of wearing this in front of Ravka’s nobility made your stomach turn. The neckline was low - dangerously low, you thought, as you tried to pull the watery-smooth silk higher up on your chest to cover more of your decolletage. The side slit running up your leg was so high it felt immodest. With a well-placed breeze or a misstep on the dance floor, you worried that all of Ravkan royalty would get a healthy look at your backside. 

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Genya chided you as she pulled out a strategic curl of hair from your hairline. “You look stunning and you know it. You’re just fishing for compliments.”

You shook your head earnestly and too violently for her tastes. She playfully smacked you on the shoulder, barking the command “hold still!” as she continued to fuss over your hair. 

“Genya, I am as serious as the day is long,” you murmured. She raised a skeptical eyebrow at you in the mirror as she twined another sprig of baby’s breath into the hair at the crown of your head. “This dress is something for the Queen, but me? Gods, what will people think?”

“They will think that you have an exquisite eye for fashion,” Genya replied smartly, her voice taking on a more serious tone. She was getting irritated, you realized, and maybe rightfully so. She had made the dress herself, after all. When you’d told her that Ivan, arguably the second-highest rank Grisha general in the Second Army, had invited you to the Ravkan Court’s Winter Ball, she had practically fainted with excitement. You, for your part, had been less than keen on the event. Your ridiculous appearance was confirming your worst fears true: you would be laughed at. Ivan, Zoya, Fedyor. Even Alina at this rate. You had no business in these fine silks and lavish stones. The closest you’d ever come to finery before was the red kefta you’d received as a Heartrender when you’d enlisted in the Second Army three years prior. 

“Y/n, look at me.” Genya grabbed the seat of your stool and swung you around, away from the mirror where you were chewing on your lip and staring at your own reflection. You hardly recognized yourself. The ridiculous worry that Ivan - your oldest friend - wouldn’t recognize you whipped across your mind like a strong breeze.

Genya grabbed either side of your cheeks, forcing you to meet her eyes. She was already dressed for the event, having devoted most of the afternoon to preening and fussing over you. Her gown was a soft, sunrise-pink with delicate lace layers that seemed to melt into her skin at the sleeves and hem. She had a small cluster of baby blue delphinium blossoms tucked above one of her ears, and her red hair was long and loose around her shoulders. She looked glorious - a picture of the gentleness of spring amidst a harsh Ravkan winter. Her beauty only sank you further into despair. Next to her, you looked gaudy. 

“You look incredible,” she said pointedly and firmly. “You feel ridiculous, but that is not the same thing as looking ridiculous.” 

Against your better judgment, you considered her point. It made sense, you decided, and you felt a bit of that fearful tension in your chest loosen. You took a shaky breath in, feeling the chain of coral and moonstone gems around your neck rise and fall with your inhales and exhales.

“Tonight is about allowing ourselves to enjoy what being a Grisha in the Second Army has to offer,” she continued, letting go of either side of your face. Her hands interlaced with yours in your lap. “Tonight is about fun.”

You continued to steady your breathing, slowly allowing yourself to realize how ridiculous you were acting. You’d gone into battles before, for God’s sake. You’d stopped the hearts of your enemies and restarted those of your friends. You’d trained and bled and almost died for Ravka dozens of times. And here you were, cowering in your dressing room, because you had to wear a dress? 

“I suppose you’re right,” you replied after a moment. Your voice quavered slightly, but you were beginning to feel yourself relax. As always, Genya proved herself to be the tonic that you needed.

“Good,” she concluded, rising from her chair with a chipper smile. “Now that I’ve saved you from your own self-consciousness, can we head to the throne room? We’re already late.” 

You glanced at the window outside, noticing that the horizon was turning from burgundy to a dark, plum-wine color. It was much later than you’d realized. Rising from the stool on shaky legs, you let Genya whisk you out of your chambers. The cool evening breeze running over your legs - an undeniable reminder of that precariously high slit - threatened to undo what little composure you’d managed to recover. You did your best to press the concern from your mind and followed along behind Genya. She practically danced down the candlelit guest corridor of the Royal Palace. You could hear the distant sound of a crowded party: an indistinct murmur of voices, clinking glass, and somewhere beneath that the delicate melody of a violin trio playing a jaunty waltz.

“Genya! There you are! We’ve been waiting!” David raised a hand in greeting, a broad smile breaking across his usually somber face. Genya playfully huffed as she skipped the last few steps, her fingers locking with his outreached hand. 

“It takes quite a while to prepare oneself for events like these, you know,” she replied cheekily to David. He smiled indulgently at her before nodding courteously in your direction. 

“Y/n, Ivan asked me to tell you to wait here. He forgot something in his quarters. He won’t be but a moment.” 

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest as you realized what David was asking. He wanted you to wait here, alone?

“Well, perhaps I can go in with you and we can all rendezvous with Ivan when he gets back?” you countered, falling into step at Genya’s shoulder.

“No, nonsense!” she protested, placing a firm hand on your elbow and halting your momentum. “Stay here for Ivan, it won’t be long. It’s not proper to enter these kinds of events without your companion,” she told you insistently. Before you could argue, her and David had swept off, leaving you alone at the top of the staircase. In the hall below, you could see the shadows of incoming partygoers as they meandered towards the sounds of the ball, which were considerably louder now. A warm, inviting light from the direction of the throne room beckoned the attendees in, and delicious aromas wafted up to meet you. 

Feeling put out and out-of-place, you leaned back against the banister of the stairway, silently urging Ivan to hurry up as you lost sight of David and Genya in the crowd. You were truly alone now, nothing but you, your jewels, and the risque green gown. You fidgeted with a strand of hair that Genya had expertly teased out to frame your face, trying to remember what she had said to you that had eased your worries back in your dressing chambers. Looking out of place isn’t the same thing as feeling out of place… or was it the other way around? Just because you feel something doesn't mean you don’t look it? 

You were tripping over your own thoughts, anxiety and frustration increasing by the moment, when suddenly you had the spine-tingling awareness that you weren’t alone anymore.

You turned to find a tall, imposing figure standing a few feet behind you. Your heart jumped into your chest and you practically toppled down the stairs in your rush to salute the man in front of you. 

General Kirigan seemed to materialize out of the darkness as if he were made of shadow himself. His black kefta was gleaming in the candlelight, along with his coal-dark eyes. He was taller than you’d expected, and devastatingly handsome. His expression was unreadable with the faintest smile playing across his lips, his posture straight and regal. You’d only seen him from great distances, never this close before. And up close, he was every inch the legend that you and so many other Grisha revered. He oozed an easy restraint, the kind of genteel manner that sets true leaders and royalty apart from the rest, but beneath that veneer of control was the vibrating frequency of raw power. It both terrified and thrilled you.

“General Kirigan, sir, I didn’t see you there.” You stammered and saluted clumsily, the motion feeling laughably mismatched with your attire. His eyes glimmered with amusement as he bowed gallantly. 

“Y/n, I believe, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice smooth and dark like running water. You couldn’t hide your shock to hear him call you by name.

“It is, yes sir,” you replied with surprise as a deep flush painted your cheeks. The General’s eyes flickered over you with a glint of satisfaction that you were certain you imagined. 

“Ivan speaks very highly of you,” he continued with ease. He spoke as if talking to someone he’d known for years, with a confidence and fluidity that had always eluded you. 

Uncertain of how best to respond, you merely nodded, swallowing thickly. You were beginning to feel uneasy under his gaze. It was probing and unflinching, not lecherous but not entirely proper either. The flame in your cheeks grew hotter as you dropped your eyes, studying the plush red carpet runner on the marble staircase.

“I see you’ve chosen green tonight,” General Kirigan commented, gesturing at your gown. The abruptness with which he addressed your attire made you wish you could vaporize on the spot. It confirmed your worst fears: you looked so ridiculous that the Black General felt the need to point it out.

Unable to meet his eyes, you only nodded again, self-consciously smoothing the emerald silk against the sides of your hips. 

“It suits you.” 

The wind felt sucked out of your chest. You looked up at the General with a dumbfounded expression. His smile broadened, the first genuine and unrestrained expression you’d seen on him yet. Your mind went completely blank as his singular attention intoxicated you. Your mouth opened and closed futilely, your cheeks no longer ablaze with embarrassment but with a different, more primal heat. The sensation was unwelcome, especially in front of the highest commanding officer of the Second Army, but it couldn’t be helped. You tried to steady your fidgeting hands by looping one across your stomach to hold the inside of your opposite elbow, then playing idly with the coral and moonstones of your necklace, but nothing helped. All the while, the General’s eyes danced across your face, not quite searching, not quite settling. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you blurted out recklessly after a few more moments under his scrutiny. He smirked, running a hand through his midnight-black hair and chuckling as if you’d said something funny. The dimming candle glow in the staircase caught the angles of his face in a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. Your heart pirouetted in your chest, suddenly acutely aware of how beautiful he was, and how very close he was.

“I like looking at beautiful things,” he commented casually. It took you a heartbeat before you caught his meaning. He stepped towards you, so close that you felt the teasing breeze of his breath fluttering the strands of your hair that framed your face. He found your hand in an easy motion and raised your knuckles to his lips, holding your eyes with a smoldering gaze. He pressed a firm kiss the smooth skin on the back of your hand, sending goosebumps rippling up your arm and shivering all the way down your spine. 

“And you are the most beautiful thing,” he murmured with a final sweeping and appreciative gaze up one side of you and down the other. 

He dropped your hand gently and turned away from you, descending the stairs towards the sound of the party. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, leaning back against the staircase railing to balance yourself on suddenly unsteady legs. Your eyes followed him, your heart beating wildly in your chest as your still-blank mind tried to fumble through the interaction. He half-turned back in your direction and hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. 

Your legs were moving before your mind knew what was happening. You wer halfway down the stairs before you understood that he was waiting for you and that you were walking to him. A distant part of your mind reminded you that you were supposed to be waiting for Ivan.

You swatted that thought away with a half-smile as you imagined Ivan’s reaction to seeing you at the party on the General’s arm. You’d never hear the end of it. 

It’s worth it, you decided as the General held out an arm for you, sparkles in his eyes. Your arm threaded around his with a well-practiced movement that felt as natural as breathing. 

“Y/n,” General Kirigan murmured with a satisfied smile in your direction. 

“General,” you replied, shooting him a sly half-smile. 

“Shall we, then?” he asked politely, inclining his head in the direction of the ball. You nodded happily, allowing him to lead you down the hall and into the brighter lit of the crowded ballroom, all fears and worries evaporated from your mind…

[creaturecomfxrts]

wip huskerdust fic ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

let me know what you think! i want to finish it but…. whos to say….

Angel Dust shifted in the satin bar stool he was currently perched upon. In one of his many hands he swirled an obnoxiously fruity cocktail. In another, he propped his head up, slender fingers curled as his knuckles rested against his cheek, ever conscious of how he looked. If the spider didnt look like a slutty pin up doll from every angle, it wasnt enough. At least its not a floozy nightclub, he thought , sipping the drink as he surveyed the room. The pink liquid burned delightfully on the way down. It wasn’t as good as the custom drinks Husk made him. He missed the little umbrellas.

The place was huge and packed with people, gold studded walls, crystal glasses teeming with whiskey on the rocks and overblown confidence. Poker tables were spread out among the floor and sinners in gaudy outfits cashing in their life savings as the cards, chips, and booze flowed. Casinos weren’t his outing of choice, but he’d decided to join a mission that the radio demon had sent Husk on, if only because he was bored out of his fucking MIND in the hotel. It had nothing to do with the genuine companionship he had begun to feel toward the grumpy old man. Absolutely fucking nothing. Their present goal was to topple a rising new overlord’s empire, or at least begin the process of doing so. The two were here strictly to collect as much information as possible, get as little dirt on their hands as they could. Alastor had said the overlord was “unchivalrously inching closer to his territory”, whatever the hell that meant, and he simply would not allow his power to be contested. Husk, being a former overlord of gambling himself, was perfect for the job, much to his chagrin. Alastor had recruited him for task earlier that day, slinking over to the bar with his signature grin stretching at the edges of his face. Husk grumbled about it as much as one would expect, but largely held his tongue, accepting the assignment. Angel empathized, knowing the cold and sickly pull of the leash just as well as his friend. Alastor kept his cards closely tucked to his chest, no doubt the trait that scored him husks soul, so very few knew the cat’s affiliations with him. They both preferred it that way. now, hours later, they had arrived at the casino, and angel found himself with nothing important to do. Husk had told him as soon as they walked in to simply just “sit and look pretty” over by the bar while he worked the room. With no shortage of innuendos on his end, Angel and Husk parted ways to opposite ends of the joint. It had barely been an hour and the spider already had to fend off multiple overly handsy patrons with gold toothed smiles and flashing eyes, promising to win big just for him, or more likely, for whatever they hoped to get from him in the cheap hotels lining the streets outside the joint. None of them offered good information, not yet, anyway.

With nothing better to do in the moment, he found his gaze utterly drawn to Husk. There was nothing particularly eye catching about the man, at least at first glance. He was short, often rude, and had a prickly personality to match his rough appearance. Angel had originally not given him a second thought, just being glad that the cat kept the booze coming cheap and convenient, but the more time they spent tossing lighthearted animosity over the counter of the dingy bar, the more he found himself genuinely appreciating the bond they’d tediously settled into. He, only in the privacy of his own thoughts, tentatively called the man his friend.

Said man, in the present, was leaning back in a mahogany booth, cigar (where the fuck did he get that? Angel wanted one. The fuck?) lit, the smoke lazily propped between two wickedly sharp claws. Husk’s expression, though not close enough to read poperly, was completely relaxed. His poker face was immaculate. Even from here, he could see the other players tensed shoulders and baited breath, no doubt unnerved. Husk had piles of chips on his side of the table, and it would take a blind and deaf motherfucker to not predict the outcome of this round. Girls in seqiun miniskirts and too tight dresses leaned as close as Husk would allow, enamoured by his expertise. Angel bristled a little, then remembered himself. What the fuck was he jealous of? He could pull anyone in this place. He pushed the feeling down as quickly as it arose, refocusing on the center of his attention. They had barely been an there an hour, and Husk already had half the room wrapped around his finger. He was magnetic. Angel turned, only for a moment, to guesture for a refill when an enraged wail came from the far table of the casino. He whipped around, comically, alongside the bartender, who was just as engrossed in the match as he was. Husk must be somethin’ special if he could get the staff’s attention, Angel mused. The wail had come from a particularly sore loser, an imp in a finely pressed suit with his tail lashing as he forked over his previous winnings. Husk, fittingly, was grinning like a cat who just got the cream. Angel snickered at his own stupid joke. He felt something flutter in his chest at the confident expression gracing the cat’s face. It was so different from his usual tightly wound, brow-perpetually-furrowed, glowering kind of look he seemed to always have. Angel decided pontedly to not dwell on the fact that he paid close attention to the bartenders expressions to be able to even notice that in the first place. He took a rather large sip from his drink.

Snuffing out the cigar on the provided ashtray, Husk rose frim his seat, brushing past his new admirers with a flick of his feathered tail, heqding in Angel’s direction. The smug look had settled into a satisfied grin as he thumbed through the fat stack of cash between his paws. He slid onto the barstool next to Angel, placing his earnings between them with a happy sigh.

“This place is a shithole compared to the casinos I used to run, but by God, its good to be back.” He nearly purred, finishing up his tally of the money.

“You really know ya’ stuff, dontcha kitten?” Angel hummed, beginning to like this new side of Husk. The cat stretched, bones popping, no doubt from staying still so damn long.

“What the hell do you think?” His retort held no bite to it. “I didn’t become an overlord by fucking around, thats how I lost it.” He Paused, lost in thought for a moment. “Anyway, any luck, Legs? I aint got much information on my end, but another few rounds should get them talkin’, I’d say.”

“Nope. Justa bunch of horny freaks. nothin’ useful.”

“Keep workin it baby, your next drinks on me. Holler if you need anything.” He slid a hefty sum of cash to Angel, turning away as the spider retorted that he could buy his own drinks thank you very much.

“Think of it as a thank you for luggin’ your ass out here with me” The cat said over his shoulder, before slinking back into the fray to look for a new game to decimate. Angel watched him leave, the fluttering feeling back with a vengeance in his chest, somewhere underneath all the fluff and heartache.

After that brief yet confusing interaction, Angel drowned himself in cocktail after cocktail, getting comfortably wasted. He flirted with everyone, played his best “you can look but you cant touch” game he could. It was hard. Husk was far too distracting. The cat was drifting from slot machine to roulette table to poker game, round and round, only stopping to drop off his earnings with Angel. With each jackpot his eyes grew brighter. His posture straightened. His honeyed drawl grew smoother. His tail curved at the tip and twitched ever so slightly, a sign of happiness, and perhaps the only emotion he couldn’t mask from his adversaries across the table. Angel would never admit that he’d looked it up (He’d been curious. Could you blame him? The man never talked feelings. Angel had to learn to read body language, that was it.), and worse, found it ridiculously endearing. After not so subtly letting down yet another drunken suitor with no valuable information, he felt a brush of feathers against his back. Husk joined him at the bar, yet again with more winnings. “Making good use of that cash, huh, spider?” He quipped before flagging the bertender for a shot of whiskey.

“You know it Daddy” he cooed with a drunken grin, leaning in to the other demons personal space.

“Shaddup with that shit.” Husk grumbled, pushing Angel back, soft paw shoved into his face. “I aint your client.” Perhaps Angel was too drunk, but he swore he saw a hint of color tinge the other man’s furry cheeks. Husks brow furrowed, and the moment passed. “Wait… Ive got an idea.”

Angel cocked his head, curious.

“Theres a lot of pompous freaks in this casino. More so than many i’ve been to. Its clearly the atmosphere the overlord of this area wants to cultivate.” He continued. “You fit right in—

“Hey! I-“

“Let me finish. You fit right in to these motherfucker’s wettest dreams. You’ve had no shortage of suitors tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

Wanna be my arm candy?”

Angel felt his face explode with heat.

“What.”

“I- ahm- ‘scuse me. That came out wrong, sorry doll.” Husk coughed. “I mean, will you act as my arm candy for the evening? with your pretty little face on my arm, ive got a feelin’ people are gonna be a lot more loose lipped.”

Angel blinked. He blinked again. “You think thatll work, Husky? really? I mean i know im hot but i dunno…. you seem to be workin the crowd pretty damn well, kitty cat. Wouldnt wanna break yer stride.” He fidgeted with his many hands, not sure what to do with such a polite yet bold proposition. Normally, people dont ask, they just take. If Val wanted arm candy, he grabbed whoever he wanted whenever he wanted, including Angel. Especially Angel. This was different. He was snapped out of his head when Husk replied, kind as ever.

“Trust me, kid. It’ll work wonders. Whaddya say?” He slid off the stool, downing his shot before holding out a hand to Angel.

Angel nearly tripped over himself taking it. They walked shoulder to shoulder like a proper couple, elbows linked. Husk leaned closer, “New place, same job. Sit and look pretty. Do whatever you like. Flirt all ya want. But, if ya dont mind, just let me do the talkin, okay?”

Angel could only nod, butterflies swarming in his stomach so ferociously he felt nauseous for a moment.

[deliciouskeys]

This fic has been entirely inspired by @vanshoundd's Butchlander cowboy AU art. I went feral after I saw it and wrote 3k words as soon as my work week was over. The art didn't need fic, but... um... now you have it.

(thank you for keeping the Butchlander tag alive with your pretty art, Vans)

Frontier Justice. Butchlander.

Billy had just ordered his third glass of whiskey when a blond stranger strolled in through the swinging doors of the bar. The man decided to situate himself on the stool right beside him even though there were plenty of empty seats at the bar at this early evening hour. Billy glanced over as the man took off his bright white leather hat and set it on the stool beside him, wiped the sweat off his brow and took out an actual comb to rearrange his matted hair. He looked so very familiar and Billy was trying to place him. When the barman came over to ask the stranger ‘what’ll it be?’ and he ordered a sarsaparilla, Billy couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Bout what?” the man asked nonchalantly, even as popped the metal cap off the glass bottle the barman took out from underneath the bar.

Billy realized it was odd to be irritated by another man’s beverage choice, but this was ridiculous. “Enjoyin’ that?”

“Yeah?” the other man answered in an equally querying tone.

Looking at him carefully, Billy suddenly pieced together why the man looked familiar. “Say, aren’t you that Jack Lander fellow?”

“Indeed,” Jack answered, taking another long sip from the long bottle neck. “You a fan?”

“Just didn’t recognize you without all ‘em rhinestones and garish boots.”

Jack Lander was a notorious figure in the area. He gained his fame by traveling around with the Wild West Show that went around the bigger towns. He was an incredible natural talent, probably the best marksman this side of the Mississippi, and an expert with the lasso, although Billy always thought it was mostly showy tricks than good old-fashioned useful skills. Jack used to wow audiences with all sort of ridiculous feats like standing up on a galloping horse and managing to shoot glass bottle targets on the run. Billy attended twice before the show shut down, the first time dragged against his will by Hughie, a young ranchhand who was eager to see the show. The next year when the show came around, Billy went into town on his own, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing Jack Lander’s gaudy button shirt with rhinestone highlights across the chest and shoulders, catching the afternoon light seductively. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice how pretty Jack’s ass was in those newfangled denim dungarees you couldn’t get at most supply stores, stretched drum-tight around his hips and legs, a pretty blue color. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t rub one out in his tent that night, remembering the way Jack looked doing all his fancy trick roping.

Jack hmphed into his bottle of root beer. “What was wrong with my boots?”

“Other than the fact they were scarlet red and the spurs were painted to look like gold? Nothing at all.” Billy chuckled.

“Those were for the ladies in the audience,” Jack said flatly.

Jack Lander was certainly a ladykiller, but the reality was there were still not many as many ladies out here as fellows, and Billy couldn’t believe this man didn’t enjoy at least some attention from men on the side. “Didn’t realize it was exclusively for the ladies,” he said, winking, taking the last sip of his whiskey, gauging Jack’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Far from rebuffing the flirtation, Jack finally turned and looked at him, and smiled amiably. He made to clink bottle to glass before noticing Billy had finished his whiskey, and motioned the bartender over to ask for a refill for his ‘friend.’

“I’ll be paying for it,” Billy reassured the bartender who looked at the two of them skeptically. “It’ll be my fourth and the sun ain’t even set yet...” Billy warned Jack as he raised the refilled glass.

“Should have ordered sarsaparilla,” Jack said in sing-song, winking, clinking bottle to glass.

“Why are ya drinkin that vile kid stuff?”

“Because I’m thirsty?” Jack paused before adding. “And I like my hand steady and my wits about me.”

“Wits, huh. Well you might enjoy the conversation with me a bit more if ya didn’t have so many wits about you.”

Jack laughed, flashing his miraculously perfect white teeth, none of them crooked, broken, or worn down.

Billy glanced down to see he had not one but two holsters at each hip. What the hell did he need four revolvers and such a steady hand for? All Billy knew about Jack after the Wild West Show shut down a few years ago was that he started making his living bounty hunting. Sometimes it was runaway criminals, awful men. A lot of the time it was Apaches and Comanches that he’d shoot on sight, which was against the law, strictly speaking, not that there was anyone around here who would ever enforce it. It was a risky and cruel profession compared to driving herds across the plains like Billy was usually hired to do. It was a wonder that not only was Jack still alive, but that he looked not at all worse for the wear, even though his days of sleeping in a comfortable wagon trailer and getting glammed up for shows were over. His outfit was more practical, certainly-- baggier, brown trousers and coat with grime on the lower hems, a wide brim hat with no embellishments, unless one counted the visible salt fronts from head sweat. But he still had a small red bandana tied around his collar, and the shirt peeking out from underneath his coat was still a crisp white cotton number from what Billy could see of it. Billy was surprised at how tempting it was to peel Jack out of his layers and see if he was still a dandy at heart, and if his shirt was tailored to be form-fitting.

They both finished off their drinks, eyeing each other. They got up and Billy paid both of their tabs.

As soon as they walked out of the bar, Jack pulled Billy into the narrow shady alley between the bar and the next building—an inn of ill-repute of some sort.

“Can you really afford to be paying for other people’s drinks, William?” Jack asked in a hushed tone. Billy’s body was responding swiftly to being in close quarters with this man, but he soon felt the end of a revolver pressed into his chest. “From what I’ve heard of you, all you’ve done is rustled some cattle for someone else every now and then. Truth be told, I don’t even know why there’s a large bounty on your head when you haven’t held up a train or robbed a bank or been in any sort of bandit gang.”

Billy smiled wryly. He had his long rifle slung over his shoulder, but there was no way he could defend himself with it now. “Should’ve figured they’d put a bounty on me. Reckon it might’ve been the sheriff I shot over in Bitter Creek.”

“Ah, that’d do it,” Jack grinned, and his perfect white teeth looked more menacing in the shade of the alley. “Why the hell would you do that, William Butcher.”

“You can call me Billy if you’re going to end me. The sheriff was a piece of work, I got on the wrong side of him and it was going to be him or me. I didn’t run afoul of anything, he just took it into his mind that he didn’t like me. He hanged eight innocent people in the span of a few months working at that godforsaken little outpost. Mad with power. But I guess someone like you wouldn’t be judging a man for that.”

Jack smiled, more friendly this time without the rowful of teeth. There wasn’t really anything to lose. Billy leaned forward, despite the barrel of the Colt digging into his flesh, flicked the hat off Jack’s head and full-on kissed his would-be judge and executioner.

Jack inhaled in surprise, but returned the kiss full force, the faint taste of whiskey and the soft drink still on their lips intermingling. Jack eased the gun away, fumbling to put it back in the holster, breathing a quiet muffled moan into the kiss.

“Fuck-“ he said as he tore away. “Jesus Christ.”

“I would like the honor of fucking you. Just once. Before you bring my head in or whatever it is you do for proof of your kills.”

Jack was staring at him, pupils blown wide, still breathing hard.

“Take off your fucking coat. Let me look at ya,” Billy said, surprising himself with how imperious he sounded when he was in pretty dire straits.

Jack obeyed him wordlessly. Took off his coat, but didn’t give Billy much of a chance to admire him-- launched himself right back into the kiss, as if he were parched and Billy’s mouth was water. Jack’s figure hadn’t changed much since the show years, nice tapered waist that Billy instinctively grasped. Jack was a couple of inches shorter than him, and light enough that Billy simply lifted him off his feet, planting him on one of the water barrels stored in the alley. Jack didn’t protest, only pulled Billy in closer, pulling his hat out of the way before kissing him again.

They came apart again. Billy was out of breath too. “I’ll be honest, if you tease me like that I’m liable to just fuck you in the alley. Rather do it somewhere else. Unless you’re in a real rush to get to your next target.”

“Can’t say I am,” Jack said, still catching his breath.

“I don’t have a room at the inn. I sleep in a tent outside of town until there’s another cattle run.”

“Fine by me.” Jack shrugged. “I’ll fuck you under the stars. Inn here’s nothing to write home about-- got lice the one time I stayed the night coming through here before.”

Billy smiled wistfully. They rode out of town, the sun already low near the horizon, and the air quickly shifting from stifling to pleasantly cool to chilly. Jack was following behind him, having taken Billy’s rifle too. Billy thought about how maybe this was all a strange ploy to just kill him outside of the town line. Jack could shoot him from behind, and knowing his aim, he wouldn’t have any trouble dispatching him with one shot to the head, before Billy knew what hit him. But when Billy dared look behind him, Jack would smile, looking eager for what they had planned. No fear that Billy could lead him into an ambush of some sort. Pure unadulterated confidence. Billy found his tent site, and took a few minutes to build a small fire in the stone ring he’d made before. Maybe he was just stalling, knowing that once they did the deed, he was probably not long for this world. He saw Jack’s black boots come into his view once the fire was going strong.

“You wanna get on with it?” Jack said, and there was a note of whininess in his tone.

“Put the guns away, at least,” Billy muttered. “So I can peel you out of that outfit.”

His tent really wasn’t made for fucking—too narrow and low for anything but sleeping. The air wasn’t too cold yet. Billy lay out as many thick blankets as he could on the ground and Jack seemed to have no reservations, starting to strip himself down.

“You a seasoned rider?” Billy asked tugged off his brown pants.

Jack pulled a face. “Ridden my share. Tame, wild, you name it. Just so long as I like the look of it, I’ll ride it.”

This was a fantasy come true. That irritating pretty rodeo cowboy he was so taken with years ago was lying underneath him, ripe for the taking, admitting to wanting it. Billy opened his shirt carefully, not wanting to ruin the fancy tailoring or ivory buttons. The shirt wasn’t pristine white—there were pitstains and a bit of yellowness around the back of the collar. Jack wasn’t as perfect up close as he was in the rodeo ring. He smelled like horses, hay, and gunpowder.

“Reckon I’ll spare you if you’re real sweet to me,” Jack said, a smug smile on his face.

“And what if I’m rough?” Billy asked. He was almost reluctant to do it but reached into his boot and pulled out a sizeable knife that he pressed against Jack’s throat. Jack’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look too unnerved. This sick son-of-a-bitch looked like he was getting a thrill out of it.

��What if I’m rough with ya and take what I want then just slit your throat and leave you here in the desert for the crows?”

Jack was still smiling. “You won’t want to.”

“Why? Cause you’re such a good fuck?”

“Cause I like your style and you don’t seem like the kind.” Jack leaned forward, so that Billy instinctively moved the knife away from his throat before remembering himself.

Billy shoved him down into the blankets, holding him there because Jack kept trying to get up and resume kissing, or maybe intent on getting away and getting to the guns he’d discarded a few yards away. “Soft enough for you? Warm enough?”

Jack nodded. As Billy pulled Jack’s pants off his legs, his cock sprang out of its confines, raring to go. You’d never know they were negotiating who was going to murder whom. Jack Lander was a pretty little thing alright. A deadly, dangerous, unscrupulous little thing with a terrible profession, but Billy didn’t mind.

Billy didn’t want to have the knife in his hand. He wanted to take his time and enjoy this. As long as he kept this self-satisfied little strumpet of a man underneath him, he could probably hold him down with his weight. He threw the knife out of reach and picked up Jack’s legs over his own shoulders. He spat a gob of spit into his palm, quickly preparing himself, testing the body in front of him out with two probing fingers.

Jack squirmed but looked receptive, but when Billy pushed himself inside, there was a grunt of discomfort.

“Don’t have oil on me,” Billy muttered, kneading his hand against the soft flesh of Jack’s ass.

“Didn’t think you would,” Jack shot back, laughing.

Billy spat more into his hand, pulling out just enough to add a bit more to the mix.

“You gonna fuck me or what?” Jack said, sneering, moving his knees so Billy’s neck was squeezed tight between his calves. What Billy thought was a vulnerable position for Jack now let him choke Billy with relative ease. Billy shoved his legs down but Jack just wrapped his legs around Billy’s waist, digging his heels into him out of habit, as if even without spurs the motion could cause things to move along faster.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll fuck ya,” Billy gritted out through his teeth and set up a fast pace. He still couldn’t believe his fortune, both good and bad. He never thought anyone would bother looking for him—he hadn’t even shot that sheriff fatally, but he left town to be on the safe side and heard through hearsay that the bastard died of blood infection anyway. But if there was ever a good way to get hunted down this was probably it. If Jack Lander still managed to kill him, at least he got to fuck him first.

It was growing dark and the campfire cast flickering light along Jack’s pale skin, and their shadows against the tent looked elongated and distorted. Their two horses watched them from the post they’re tied to. Jack turned out to be quite a screamer, shouting and cursing into the empty desert when he came, hands going from tight fists to falling completely limp by his side. Billy pushed in quickly, relentlessly, satisfied that he made the other man mewl first. It wasn’t long before he came too. He slumped down on Jack, as much out of physical tiredness as growing mentally weary when he thought about how he’d probably have to kill Jack. At the very least, he’d have to take all the guns and both horses if he didn’t want Jack to follow him to the next town.

“You plottin’ what to do about me?” Jack asked, as if reading his mind. “I’m not gonna kill ya. I’m not gonna turn you in. I don’t need the money. I do this for my own pleasure.”

Billy relented and shifted his body weight off of him, courteously offering Jack the side closer to the campfire, but saying nothing.

Jack moved closer, pressing his body into Billy’s and looking sleepy. Neither was probably planning on it, but they fell asleep in the open air, only waking up when the fire died down and the air had gotten nippy. They shuffled into the tent, Jack falling asleep before Billy, squeezed close, arms in a loose embrace around him.

The next morning Jack was sitting there, watching Billy build another campfire. He looked half-asleep, shivering, wrapped in one of the blankets, with only his head showing and his hair mussed.

“I don’t have any more wood. We’re gonna have to resort to prairie coal this morning.”

“You think I’m so soft? That I never slept outdoors or made do with what’s out here?”

“You don’t look like you have.”

“Well you’re mistaken.” Jack looked away towards the horses before turning back. “I was meaning to ask you... if you were interested in my line of work at all?”

Billy only laughed in response.

“It’s not the most glamorous of jobs, I’ll give you that, but it’s better than doing cattle drives for other people. You might be good at catchin’ these villains.”

“Catching? Thought the point was to kill them. Dead or alive usually just means dead.”

Jack sighed.

“Why’re you so eager to get more competitors in your territory in any case?” Billy asked, finally stepping back from the fire to admire his handiwork, before putting a pot of morning coffee on.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a partnership. I do well enough on my own, but everyone needs a backup now and then. And it gets lonely out on the trail.”

Billy laughed. “Nah, you and I? We ain’t got anything in common. I never wanted to kill people as a profession.”

“Well, I know we’ve got an interest in the same type of night entertainment at least,” Jack muttered under his breath.

Billy stopped himself short when he caught himself imagining that kind of life. It was insane to even consider it.

“You don’t think Lander & Butcher has a certain ring to it?” Jack asked, smiling, unwrapping himself from the blanket and moving closer to the fire, stretching out his hands towards the flames. “We could bring some real frontier justice to these parts.”

[lanafofana]

Cuckoo for a Cuckhold

(I forgot to take screenshots of daddy zevlor so have this instead, it still fits cause...well you'll see)

Just under the wire (depending on your timezone) DAY 5 for HalsinTavWeek has come crashing through the finish line! But Lana! Where is Day 4's prompt?? Shhhh, my beauties, it's sleeping.

Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F)/Zevlor Summary: It's a special occasion. Halsin wants to watch someone rail his wife. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warning/Tags: Modern AU, Cuckholding, smut, masturbation, established relationship, banter, P in V sex, innapropriate use of tiefling tail, consensual kink No beta, we die like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And lo, an AO3 link for thee

Sitting at a gaudy bar, heavy bass music thumping loud enough to make him regret having ears, and drinking some of the worst swill he’s ever tasted, Zevlor was not having a great time.

Despite being the only patron physically sitting at the bar the bartender seemed pathologically incapable of giving him the time of day. When he tries to wave him down and the man, yet again, turns to someone else walking up to order something, the tiefling grits his teeth, tail lashing and resists the overwhelming urge to give him the stern talking to he so richly deserves. 

“Excuse me,” says a warm friendly voice. “We noticed you across the bar and really dig your vibe. Would you be interested in fucking my wife?” 

Caught in the middle of draining his glass, the last sip of lager slips down the wrong pipe and Zevlor chokes, coughing and sputtering. Regaining his composure he wipes his mouth and turns to look at who’s approached him just in time to see the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen smack her hand against the thick bicep of, easily, the largest man he’s ever seen.

“Not like that!” The woman chastises with a mortified smile. When she turns her attention to Zevlor he feels his earlier irritation fade as if she contained some innate ability to soothe the ruffled feathers of grumpy old men. She hands him a napkin which he uses to dab at his chin while he eyes the pair expectantly. 

“Sorry,” she was explaining, with an exasperated glance at her husband. “He was raised by wolves.” 

“Bears,” the man corrects. 

“My heart, my love, pleasestophelping!” The man grins, pecking her on the head and settling himself down on a stool miming the action of zipping his lips and placing the invisible key in her hand. “What he means to, er, say is hello, I’m Tav and this is Halsin.” 

Zevlor reaches out and gently takes her hand in his, gallantly lowering his lips to her knuckles. “Zevlor, my dear,” he intones mildly, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Enchanted.” 

“Oh!” Tav’s nervous smile softens, pleasantly surprised with the little display of chivalry. She looks lovely, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, a soft blush dusting her cheeks and he’s amused that she only thinks of withdrawing her hand when he lightly squeezes it. 

“I believe you were making a proposition?” He asks wryly, eyes flicking to the man behind her, who hasn’t stopped watching the proceedings with interest. 

Tav coughs,”Right.” Then, cheeks remaining stubbornly flushed she proceeds to stumble through the most charmingly awkward come-on Zevlor’s ever witnessed, let alone received. 

“You two are terrible at this,” he remarks not unkindly when she’s finished and Halsin stifles a laugh. 

“Practice makes perfect,” defends Tav with a sniff but she looks just as amused as her husband. “What do you say, Zevlor?” The heat in her eyes could have scorched him where he sat. 

“It would be my absolute pleasure.” At his wicked smile the petite woman grins and takes his hand, tugging him along behind her while Halsin settles the tab. 

They don’t go far, which is just as well considering the electric tension that practically fizzes into view everytime they catch each other’s eye. The fancy hotel they’re staying at already has a reservation in Tav’s name and the three manage to get all the way to the elevator before Zevlor’s tail snakes around her waist to yank her close enough to kiss. 

Hands snake up his chest to find purchase on his shoulders and he barely swipes his tongue across her lips before she opens up for him, moaning prettily as their tongues glide against each other.  

His hands on her waist travel down, untucking her shirt roughly. He slips his thumbs just below the waistband of her short skirt to trace circles on the sensitive skin of her hips, an action that earns him a particularly lewd moan that he greedily swallows with his tongue and teeth. His tail wraps around her leg and snakes upward towards her skirt and when he traces the warm damp line between her legs she shudders. 

“I know you don’t mind if I enjoy the show but I feel obligated to point out that this elevator has cameras,” says Halsin and Tav jerks back in alarm. Zevlor chuckles while she buries her face in the crook of his neck, hiding from the camera’s view, the tips of her ears burning brightly. Reluctantly he removes his tail from her skirt though he does take a moment to trail the tip down the back of her thigh as he does so.

Soon enough the door to the suite is shut behind them and Tav leads him by the hand to an impressive bedroom with a wall of floor to ceiling windows that reveal a breathtaking view. A sea of city lights spreading out into the distance, a cluster of artificial stars outshining the night sky.

Tav puts a finger under his chin to direct his attention back to her and gives him a look that could incinerate. “Unless you’re thinking about fucking me up against those windows, I think your attention is better served elsewhere, Commander.” 

He quirks a brow at her. “I didn’t tell you I was a commander,” he chides, face breaking into a slow smile. 

Tav shrugs, eyes twinkling, “You were right. We’re terrible at this. C’mere.” 

The tiefling bends his head to kiss her, hands finding her hips to tug her close. Her perfume smells like coffee and orange blossoms and he slips a clawed hand into her hair to hold her close, deepening the kiss.  

“I for one would like to revisit the window suggestion,” Halsin chirps from the bed where he’s already bare chested and under the covers. 

Breaking the kiss Zevlor gives the man an exasperated look. “Aren’t you supposed to be the silent observer?” 

“She broke character already!” Halsin defends. 

“It’s not your birthday, is it? She’s allowed to break whatever the hells she wants!” He leans back into Tav’s orbit to press a lingering kiss at the pulse point of her neck. “Well, my lady. Where would you have me?”  

Putting her hands on her hips Tav surveys the room, gaze lingering on the windows. “You know, this feels a lot less sexier than I imagined it. What happened to letting everything happen, y’know, organically?”

“Says the woman who planned out an entire scenario to pick up her own husband at a bar,” says Zevlor, unbuttoning his shirt and smiling innocently when she rounds on him with a frown. 

“What was wrong with my scenario? It had a lot of potential!”

“Oh yes, right up until, ‘We dig your vibe’ over there couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.” 

“Yeah, well your wife was too head over heels seeing you scowling at the bar to do anything but stare at you. Someone had to do something or we’d all still be down there.” 

“Fuck’s sake,” says Tav, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to fondly amused. She takes off her shirt and tosses it aside, stalking towards the wall of windows. “Right, you,” she points at Halsin. “Sit at the edge of the bed, there, where I can see you.”  

Obediently he does as directed and Zevlor, kicking off his boots and unbuttoning his pants gives him an arch look. “How are you already naked?” 

His husband shrugs with a wide, self satisfied grin. “No buttons.” 

“And you,” says Tav, feeling a little like she’s trying to wrangle cats. “Come here.” 

“Finally,” breathes Zevlor, crossing the room with wide strides and wrapping her in his arms. 

He kisses her hard, sinking his hands into her hair to hold her steady while he plunders her mouth. She tastes like sweet water and cinnamon and he moans when she sucks his tongue into her mouth. Breaking apart for air he grips her thighs just under her ass and lifts her, pressing her against the window pane and leans in to suck a soft warm nipple into his mouth hungrily. 

With both hands and mouth occupied his tail glides up between their bodies and sinks between the lips of her damp folds until he brushes against the tight bundle of nerves.

“Shit, Zevlor,” she gasps, jerking, mouth falling open. Through half lidded eyes she spies Halsin, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand palming his own erection while he watches them. When his gaze finds hers on him the man smirks, widening his legs and leaning back to improve her view. “Gods.”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Zevlor growls against her skin before switching to her other breast, sucking on her nipple to the point where pleasure meets pain and she keens, one hand fisting in his hair tightly while the other grips one of his horns. Releasing her tit he bares his teeth, his eyes burning bright with the ferocity of his lust. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wrecked for me, aren’t you?” Between her legs the tip of his tail slips warm and wet against her clit in a slow and lazy pace that has her blood burning in her veins. 

“Fuck! Zevlor, I can’t–,” her breathing comes in shorter, desperate bursts. “I can’t think.”

“Shhhh,” he smiles into her skin before he drags his teeth against the delicate skin in the crook of her sweaty neck, licking the salt from her body greedily. “Don’t think, my dear, let Zevlor take care of you.”  

She rests her head against the glass window at her back and her gasps give way to wanton groans and back again as he works at her clit with maddening precision. Her orgasm hovers just out of reach and she’s powerless to chase it, caught in his meticulous rhythm. 

Glancing at her other husband on the bed she whimpers at the sight of him, skin flushed with arousal, his leaking cock being stroked at the same careful tempo that has begun to beat like a heartbeat in her cunt. 

“Kiss me,” she demands, feeling the burning ember of her orgasm fanning into a sudden blistering wildfire. She tugs on his horn and he grunts but surges in to crash against her mouth, swallowing the moan that rips through her throat in tandem with her climax. 

He holds her through the inferno and when she can finally meet his gaze with eyes unclouded with mindless lust he lets her down gently. He removes his tail from her body but she’s always been faster than he gives her credit for and she snatches it. Holding his gaze she brings the tip, glistening with her arousal,  to her lips, sucking it into the warm wet heat of her mouth with an appreciative moan that punches the air from his lungs. 

He places his hands on the window on either side of her head, boxing her in, and breathes out harshly at the roguish smirk she gives him with his tail sticking out of her mouth. 

“You’re playing with fire, woman,” he mutters roughly. 

Tav swirls her tongue around the tip of his tail before pulling it from her mouth with a pop. “What do you want to do about it?” It’s a challenge and permission all in one. 

He turns her around kicking her feet apart and pressing her against the window and wishes he could be outside looking in at the sight she must make like this. Wet pussy dripping, pupils blown wide, skin flushed and hungry for a fuck right after an orgasm. 

He runs his hands down her body reverently, marveling that she’s given him the privilege. She’s so fucking soft and sweet and perfect. He runs his claws down her spine to the small of her back, smirking when she gasps and her hips jerk. Lining up his swollen member to the tight wet slit he kisses her shoulder before pressing his hips forward, clenching his jaw at the overwhelming sensation of her body taking him so beautifully. 

“Hells, woman.” He pauses, head bowed as he draws in a shuddering breath. 

Over her shoulder she grins at him, nothing but wicked mischief in her eyes. It’s all the warning he gets before her back arches and she presses into his crotch until he’s fully sheathed in her cunt, his balls brushing against her clit. 

Zevlor curses, grasping her hips tightly to hold her still, his tail flicking from side to side in agitation. But his wife isn’t one to be swayed and her back bows and arches, her hips rolling into his and he grunts. He can feel his composure slip through his fingers at the undulation of her tight wet heat squeezing his cock and in the reflection of the glass window he can see her smirking at him. 

“I warned you,” he grinds out through his teeth. The brimstone of his eyes flaring bright and hot sends a shiver down her spine. He tangles one hand in her hair, holding her face to the window and with his other he grips the soft plump flesh of her hip hard enough to leave bruises. He snaps his hips, pleased with the resulting lust drunk moan it elicits, fogging the glass. 

Her cunt is a hot wet heaven, swallowing his dick and his brain cells with each increasingly desperate slam of his hips. Their breathing becomes more labored, loud and harsh and peppered with desperate moans and grunts. Tav reaches a hand between her thighs and places her fingers in a ‘V’ where his body meets hers, adding a firm pressure to the base of his shaft that has his eyes nearly rolling in their sockets. 

With her face pressed against the glass Tav has a clear shot view of Halsin who looks nearly as wrecked as she feels. His hair, already loose from its customary tied back style, frames his face, strands stuck to his sweat slick throat and damp face. When their eyes meet the unfiltered intensity could have set her on fire. Her spine curves and she pushes herself back into Zevlor’s thrusts, desperate for release. 

The tiefling releases his grip on her hair and instead reaches between her legs, encircling her wrist and yanking it up to pin it against the glass. He doesn’t linger in the position long, her inner walls are bearing down on him so tightly he can practically taste her orgasm in the air. 

Taking both her hips in his hands he fucks into her harder, faster. Tav’s panting sighs turn into guttural moans that taper off into delicious whimpers. With each wet grasp of her cunt on his cock her breathing increases, each cry coming faster and sharper as she begins to unravel.

Wrapping a hand around her front he jerks her body away from the window and against his chest, slotting his mouth where her shoulder meets her neck. Pressing his teeth to the silky flesh there his tail lashes around and slipping deep into the lips of her pussy, grinding hard against her clit. The orgasm tears through her with a wail from her throat that goes directly to his balls and a tight clamping sensation on his dick that has him exhaling a breathless moan, his vision clouding with his own climax of euphoria. 

Spent and panting they stay locked together for a brief minute before with a tender kiss to her shoulder he pulls out, smiling softly at the noise of complaint it tugs from her lips. She turns to face him and pulls him in for a breathless kiss before they both break apart to look at Halsin.

The elf looks ruined, skin flushed dark, laid back on the bed with his arms spread out. His cum covered chest rising and falling as he catches his own breath. 

“I changed my mind,” he says when they join him on the bed. Zevlor, running a warm damp cloth down his husband's chest and cleaning the mess of ejaculate, arches his brow in question. “That was an excellent scenario.”  

Tav scoffs. “That was hardly what I had in mind.” She rolls over, nuzzling her pillow drowsily. “Maybe role play isn’t for us.” 

Halsin and Zevlor trade a look, their faces breaking into slow conspiratorial smiles.

“I don’t know,” says Zevlor casually, tossing the used rag to the floor.

“Practice makes perfect,” confirms Halsin sagely, grinning when he peels back the blanket to tug a squawking Tav into his embrace. 

The End

[danielfuckingricciardo]

Sealed With A Kiss - Charles Leclerc x Reader

Pairing - Charles Leclerc x Reader

Word Count - 1.6k

Content Warning - References to death

Synopsis - Charles had a bad day, but you come to him with an offer he simply can’t refuse.

Author’s Note - It’s been a while, huh? Honestly I wasn’t feeling so inspired but now I’m back in the swing of things and here with some spooky fics for the Halloween season! I’m such a Halloween girlie (gn) and I’ve wanted to write something like this for a while. So stay tuned for more spooky fics coming soon!

You approach him with tenacity in your step; the man sat alone at the bar, an empty glass beside his head that rested forlornly in his own arms. He was perfect, just what you needed.

You pull out the stool beside him and take a seat, tapping your talon-like red nails on the bar to attract the attention of the bartender.

“I’ll take a white russian, and another of whatever he’s having.” You say in a silky tone.

The bartender nods and busies himself with preparing the drinks, and you turn your attention to your new depressed drinking buddy.

“Cheer up, darling. One can never be so miserable when someone buys you a drink. It’s simply not polite.” You say, and he looks up at you, taking in your appearance.

You didn’t look like the other patrons of the bar. Most of them insisted on displaying their wealth, showing it off in tasteless and gaudy garments and jewellery that only served as a status symbol and nothing more. But you sat there, understated, in a simple black cocktail dress, with a ruby necklace resting around your neck. Somehow you seemed even more expensive than all the other posers in the bar, you didn’t feel the need to flash your cash, and Charles couldn’t help but be intrigued by you.

“Sorry, I, uh… had a bad day.” He says. “Thank you, though, for the drink.”

Your red lips curl into a smile, and you nod in appreciation.

“Bad day? Care to share your woes with with a complete stranger? A problem shared is a problem halved, or so they say.”

“I suppose. Uh, where to start? It’s my job, I guess. Things haven’t been going so well and my dream seems to be falling further and further out of reach, no matter how hard I try.” He says with a sigh.

You raise your eyebrow at him as the bartender returns with your drinks, and you pause for a moment to take a sip.

“That must be rather hard to deal with, yes? The human mind is a funny thing, often it is its own biggest enemy. You create aspirations and goals for yourself, and as you fail to achieve them, the battle with your mind only becomes more intense, distracting you from your true goal and rendering you further from ever achieving it.”

Charles takes a sip of his drink, “yes, I suppose so. We fight our own demons so much that we get distracted from the real fight.”

You chuckle slightly at his comment, and he looks at you in confusion.

“Then perhaps you should stop fighting those demons? Embrace them, maybe, listen to them.” You say, and you take a small pause to take another sip of your drink. “I think I could help you, Charles Leclerc.”

Charles looks at you, his eyes wide. “You know who I am?”

“I know of you, yes. And I think that I could help you achieve those dreams of yours. But I would require something in return.” You say with a sly smile.

The background noise of the bar suddenly falls silent, and Charles looks around to notice that everyone else around him had disappeared. He looks back at you, only to find that you, too, had disappeared.

“I suppose you would like to know the conditions of my deal.” You say, appearing from thin air behind the bar, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to top up Charles’ drink.

“Who… who are you?” He asks, and you smile at him once again, your eyes becoming black for just a second, before flashing back to their usual colour so quickly that Charles wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not.

“You’re a demon, aren’t you?” He asks, and you chuckle.

“Darling, I’m not just a demon… I’m the demon.” You respond.

You appear behind him and tap him on the shoulder with your sharp red nails, and he jumps, turning to face you.

“The name bestowed upon me by Lord Lucifer himself was Mephistopheles, however, unlike many of my demonic counterparts, I have elected to move with the times, so call me (y/n).” You say.

“Okay, (y/n).” Charles says, not looking entirely convinced by your existence.

“I have spent millennia assisting humans like yourself to achieve their dreams. Other demons will grant the wishes of any human who summons them at some dusty crossroads, but I am a little more… selective. The rewards I receive from these deals are much more satisfying.”

“The rewards?” Charles says, and you roll your eyes.

“Human souls.” You say, and Charles’ mouth drops open. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m a demon, not a witch, I’m not about to kidnap your firstborn or do anything else as grotesque. What in hell would I want with a human infant?”

“You want me to give you my soul?” Charles asks.

“Not immediately, no. The typical deal my kind offer to humans is ten years of life in which they experience no pain or suffering, either mentally or physically. We will fix whatever they require us to fix and they can live out those years the way they wish. And come the end, the demon will reap their soul and it provides them sustenance. However, due to my high status in hell, my deals work a little differently.” You say, and Charles looks at you, perplexed.

“I realise this is a lot to take in for a human. But I guarantee you that my offer is indeed worthwhile to you.” You say, and Charles suddenly appears as if deep in thought. It seemed that he was considering your offer.

“What is your offer?” He asks, and your red lips curl into a smile.

“A human soul like yours is worth far more to a demon than the usual soul. So I come to you with a greater deal. I will allow you to live out the entirety of your lifespan, in which you achieve that little dream of yours and live happily ever after. But when the time comes, I will reap your soul and consume it.” You say, and Charles looks rather confused.

“But that could be fifty or sixty years before you get your end of the deal?” He says, and you nod.

“When you’ve been alive for millennia, a single human lifespan feels like mere moments do to you. Trust me when I say, your soul is worth the wait.”

“How can I trust you to hold up your end of the bargain? You’re a demon, you could reap my soul right now and leave me dead in this bar.” Charles says.

“A demon can only reap a soul directly once the human has entered into a direct contract with them. Hell is, well, a bureaucratic hell.” You chuckle, “We are all bound to the contracts we sign, as are you humans. Once the contract is signed I have to deliver, and when you die, so will you.”

“This means I have no chance of getting into heaven, yes?” Charles says, and you roll your eyes.

“How many humans do you think actually make it to heaven? And even so, what makes you think that you’re destined for the pearly gates right now? I assure you, my deal will only serve to enhance your life, and yes, it does remove the infinitesimally small possibility that St. Peter might allow you entrance to that puritanically perfect borefest, but isn’t it worth the gamble? Is that minute chance of heaven really worth giving up everything you have ever dreamed of?” You say, resting your hands on his shoulders.

You lean into his ear ever so slightly, your lips brushing against his earlobe as you speak in a soft tone. “Don’t you want to be world champion? Don’t you want to bring pride to your family, your country, and your beloved team? Charles Leclerc deserves to be etched into the books of history as one of the greats, and I can make it happen. All you have to do, darling, is say the word.”

Charles turns towards you, his face practically touching yours as he speaks, “Yes. I want that.”

“Then allow me to give it to you.” You whisper, your eyes flickering into darkness once again. Charles can’t help but stare deeply into them. It was as if he could see into eternity itself, and he was truly captivated.

He nods, and you capture his lips in a soft yet passionate kiss. In that moment, you get a taste, your first taste of his pure and perfect soul, completely untouched by malice or hate. It was sweet, like ambrosia, and you felt a surge of strength and power run through your body as the contract was signed, binding the two of you eternally.

As you finally pull away, Charles finds himself once again alone amongst the excited conversations of the other patrons of the bar. There was no sign of you, besides the half empty White Russian on the counter, and his own glass, still filled with whiskey, the large ice cube slowly melting into the amber drink.

He quickly downs the beverage and slams his glass on the counter, before walking out of the bar with a sense of determination in his step. He no longer had to fight his inner demons, they didn’t matter anymore. He had a demon on his side now, and all he had to do was win, and in the end, that was all that truly mattered to him.

[oceandiagonale]

Note: the big fence isn't actually a fence, it's just a visual reference for me to see which way the door swings open 😂

a LOT more acnh references + image descriptions under the cut

(images: guzma's room made in acnh, from various angles. most of the things from his canon room are still there -- round end tables, an iron shelf, his bed, his throne/chair, several small dressers, nice lamps, and paint-spattered walls+paintings -- but they're a lot more organized.

the bed is against the wall bookended by two dressers, the iron shelf is against the wall, and his chair is being used at an actual desk. there are small sitting areas in the upper middle and bottom right corners of the room now, and spaces are separated visually by a variety of rugs. it's the same components as before, but more people can hang out in the space now.)

(images: main part of floor 2F of the Ultra Flare base at aether, made in acnh. layout is a square instead of a rectangle due to size limitations, and the square is divided into 4 even sections: a gaudy, gold-covered bedroom for Ghetsis, an equally gaudy "common area" that's also for ghetsis but has a table in it, a room chock-full of gadgets and tech, including tools and specs of Celebi for Cyrus, and a cramped, but still cozy, office for Archie and Maxie, which crams in two desks and a couch. every single room has a pager on the wall. notably, archie and maxie's office is the only one of this bunch that has a security camera in it.)

(images: back part of UF base floor 2F, which consists of Giovanni's office, storage/employee training room, and assembly/meeting room. The walls are all red, except for in the assembly room, which has stark robotic walls.

the office has dark tile floors, a desk with two chairs at it, a small seating area, and a Team Rocket banner and paintings of Giovanni's team on the walls, much like his office and gym in Pokemon Let's Go. like the others' offices, Gio's has a pager on the wall next to his desk.

the training room has fluorescent lighting, a tatami floor, filing cabinets, a fax/printer machine, a whiteboard, a projector, and many black folding chairs in it. there are iron bars along the walls of the office and training room, indicating that they can close in the event of a lockdown. there are also security cameras everywhere except for Gio's office.

The assembly room is full of all the acnh machines and gears available, as well as a red control desk.)

(images: the main area of floor 3F, again confined in shape by limitations. there is a fancy white/golf dining area with a long table and red carpet and spiral chandelier for Lusamine, and a small kitchen area meant to be used by everyone, which includes a nice hanging wooden light, kitchen island with bar stools, and fridge.

there's also a break room area, which has clearly only been used by Guzma -- he's dragged in a pinball machine, pool table, and dartboard, and Team Skull brand clothes and paintings are scattered on the walls, couch, and in the closet. he's also tucked a hammock into a corner by the vending machines. understandable, since he doesn't have his own office. there's a pager in the break room, and security cameras in each area -- though there are blind spots, such as guzma's table directly underneath the camera in the break room.)

(images: the back area of floor 3F, which consists of Lysandre's office, storage room, and meeting room. the walls are all black except for a red accent wall in the meeting room, and there is only one security camera in the storage room and one in the hallway.

The storage room is full to the brim with papers, broken machinery, filing cabinets, and boxes. there's a ladder and a moving cart in it for ease of access, as well as a clipboard with a checklist on it. there's a pager in the room, as well as a broom+dustpan set on the wall. it's a veritable treasure trove of information, which guzma has access to as the person lugging it all around. the room has an ugly beige argyle rug, and harsh fluorescent lighting.

Lysandre's office has a modern red-wavy-striped rug in it. on one side, he has a nice desk with a golden tree next to it, a desktop computer, a coffee cup, and a filing cabinet. on the other side, he has a large machine + red button, and a sturdy project table with a blueprint and an espresso machine on it. there are tools on the wall, but also a nice painting and cabinet. Lysandre has his own pager.

The meeting room is a stark place, with only one desk, screens all over the walls, and a clock on the wall. another pager, obviously, and dramatic lighting. This is the place that Lysandre and the other villains initially interviewed Guzma to join Ultra Flare, and the lack of other chairs or comforts -- or anything, really -- is the most notable feature of it. Lysandre clearly wants to make anyone who comes into the room as uncomfortable as possible.)

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 3

Aevar volunteered to take Loksen's knapsack to the headman's house up to the spare room, suggesting that he take a load off at the Thirsty Chocobo and wash any trail dust out of his mouth with some good vittles and libations. Loksen hesitated a moment, but the peaceful surroundings and the ride for the past couple of bells had given Loksen an inkling that the Hyur was a decent sort. However, he did insist on holding onto his weaponry, a longbow with quiver and his katana, but promised to keep them wrapped up and inconspicuous.

The tavern wasn't hard to find, a large sign showcasing a chocobo at a water trough taking up much of the facade was a dead giveaway. Loksen observed that it must light up at night in a pleasantly gaudy fashion with the illusion of the chocobo drinking the water. In a town like this, the tavern had an almost community center function with it's close proximity to the mine and relatively central location. Also being built mostly into the rocky face of the mountain provided a place for the community to shelter in times of severe dust storms or, as it can happen out here, attack from beast tribes or unsavory folk who found dirt and desperation in the wasteland a better alternative to dealing with the Brass Blades.

Pushing in the saloon doors, Loksen was surprised by how good it smelled in there. Normally a tavern, especially one so far from civilization had the distinct, but not entirely unpleasant, scent of ale, lagers and spirits of the past with the earthy smell of hardworking folks and the savory aroma of cooking food. Here, it was a delight to the senses, a mix of herbs, savory foods and mouthwatering desserts. There were several worn wooden tables and comfortable chairs around the immaculately clean dining hall and a staircase that led up to a more private lounge area upstairs. Behind the bar was a gigantic industrial copper container with various pipes running through for brewing various beers and several barrels of libations. There was also a view into the steaming and busy kitchen where even at this early hour there was a flurry of activity of several small figures preparing wonderful smelling food.

At this time of day the tavern was empty, not even a town drunk with a designated stool. With a town like this where everyone was able to work, there wasn't much opportunity for day drinking or laying about. But, Loksen was quietly thankful for the privacy and peace, having received a good deal of attention on the walk over from the chocobo porter.

As he approached the counter, his nose detected something odd. Based on the size of the workers in the kitchen he had figured they were Lalafell, but as he came closer...

"Pssshkosh! Welcome-hi to Thirsty Chocobo! How happy-pleased we are to see different-new uplander! I'm Slopjox Tastybrews, culinarian-cook of this herey-place," piped up a goblin behind the counter as she climbed up onto a walkway installed behind the counter.

[writing-yarn-goblin]

MERRY FUCKING (early) CHRISTMAS!

Holy hell, what a treat.

Thanks to @quinloki for further inspiring me to do this. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Rayleigh/ShakkyxReader

Relationship: none, but it’s the beginning of the end.

Song: The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie by Colter Wall

Warning: the devil, fire, drinking and how pretty Shakky is.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind starting from the beginning?”

The thought of recounting your story to the pink haired police man shook your core. You didn’t know if it was because of what happened…or if it was because of him.

The silver haired man who was taking nursing a serving of what could be aged bourbon. The pretty woman next to him whispering things as they sat next to you, maybe six foot apart, from the bar you frequented.

The bitter flavor of angostura clinging to your lips are you took a sip of your Old Fashion. Tonight was open mic night and you came to see what was fresh in the music scene. You could either ask for a track or bring your own instrument and sing to your hearts content.

Simple concept, but effective.

The gaudy club seemed to attract all sorts of odd fellows in the middle of nowhere. Almost like a reunion by the way they all looked at each-other and spoke to one another.

Almost like old friends.

Almost.

The looks they exchanged seemed to hide more than they showed and that made you felt more exposed to them.

Why, of all the nights, were you here? Something attracted you to this place and it rubbed you off in the worst of ways.

But just because it was worse, it didn’t mean it wasn’t welcomed.

The sick urge to see how the night unfolds just left you with a need to see it to its culmination.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“The couple by the bar wish to refill your cup. Would you like them to?”

You whipped your head towards where the bartender was nudging his head to, there they were.

Black haired woman with an angelic face, taking a drag as she waved at you and whom you presumed to be her husband…devilishly handsome with a soft smile gracing his lips.

“Yes..I uh, I’ll take my drink with them.” You mumbled, picking up your things, hopping out of the stool as you made your way towards them. Feeling how the brunette was sizing you up and her husband tear you down with his gaze from the inside.

“We don’t bite but…you looked mighty lonely. Thought you might like some more…pleasant company.” You heard his woman say, eyes of unlit coal starring behind you. Almost like if she did you a favor by moving you towards them. You heard the men behind you groan in disappointment and cursed a the couple under their breath.

“Assholes like that are normal in this part of town…” you whispered, making her laugh softly into the drink she was currently busy with.

“Rayleigh-“ you heard him say, his hand before you in order to present him self. Almost innocently. “This is my wife, Shakky. Pleased to meet you, Miss (L/N).”

“The pleasure is mine.” You whispered, reaching his hand to shake it and wondering how they knew your name. You thought it could be that you were a regular and they asked the bartender about it, all thoughts went to hell when he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles softly. His eyes focused on the blush your face was sporting in the dimly lit pub. You felt his wife place a hand against your shoulder and lightly squeezed it, affectionally, you might add.

“Please put your hands together to our next entertainer! The man, the myth, the legend…Silvers Rayleigh!”

“That’s my queue.”

“Go get ‘em’, Old man.” You heard Shakky say as he gave both of you a smirk, eyes swishing to you as you felt them swirl and zero on you.

There was something different about that stare.

It felt so deep and intimate. So inviting yet so…

So intimidating.

With a wink he gave Shakky a kiss on lips and squeezed your shoulder, fingertips as if they were scorching against your skin.

You felt your stomach do backflips.

The man was carrying a guitar case, as he sat on the stool by the stage he took out a black Gibson Orianthi with silver details on the top left of the body. The neck was jet black and he slowly whispered into the microphone.

Testing the noise.

He didn’t need to present himself to the public. He automatically began to play the six-stringer as the club went dark, lights only focused on him.

He let out a sigh and began to sing his tune.

“Well…

Reverend, reverend, please come quick…

'Cause I've got something to admit

I met a man out in the sticks of Good Ol' Miss…

He drove a series 10 Cadillac and wore a cigar on his lip.”

You saw how the fluid motion of his fingers expertly played his guitar.

The focus on his eyes was to the floor but that smirk was to you. You knew it.

You could feel it like if it was behind you.

“Don't you know the devil wears a suit and tie?

Saw him driving down the 61 in early July.

White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife-

I heard him howling as he passed me by…”

You were surprised. The smoothness of his voice was haunting and your body was now warm. You saw how Shakky was taking a drag from a smoke in her hands and gently caressed your shoulders, almost like if she was grounding you to your seat.

The lights started to flicker in the bar, you thought it was a power outage and the bar switched to a power plant…but no one else seemed to be bothered by it.

“I’d be wary of strangers moving forward, (Y/N).” You heard Shakky say as she took a gulp of liquor, knocking it back down. “You never know who the devil fancies…”

“How so?”

“You look like an untouched fruit. Begging the devil to bite into you.” You heard this woman say to you, blush coming back harder. “Innocent. Resilient and very capable of handling yourself, little one.”

You found odd what she was saying but you didn’t mind. It was comforting to not be alone. The conversation kept going to and through with between you two, it was turning out to be a very pleasant evening.

Like if you two were old friends.

The song kept progressing, and the more you saw him sing, the more you saw from him.

The deep dark eyes seemed to glint gold in the light. You saw how his hair seemed to be hiding something in its tresses as you saw what you thought was a horn poke out of the Snow White locks.

But just momentarily.

Briefly.

Almost as if it was just for you.

“Oh

Foolish, foolish was I…”

You were back to focusing on his voice.

“Damn my foolish eyes

'Cause that man's lessons

Had a price, oh, sweet price…”

The air felt chilly for a moment. You looked to your right, where Shakky was supposed to be, but the stool was empty.

“My sweet soul,

Everlasting

A very own eternal light..”

Your blood ran cold. The seedy pub seemed to be eerily still as the six-stringer on the

Stool on stage was strumming his melody.

The moment you blinked, you found yourself outside. Blankly starring from the at the pub, blanket across your shoulders as you saw the place go down in flames.

You don’t even recall being taken outside.

The cops didn’t take much time to go to you and help you out of your trance.

Now you found yourself being escorted out of the Police Station and got a taxi to take you to your home.

Your hands were cold as you stepped out of the cab with your heart in your sleeve.

You thought you could hear the old Six stringer sing as you went inside your home, showered and cozied up in your bed.

The melody still haunting you.

You found yourself singing the end of it as you drifted to sleep, image of the man with his wife, beckoning to follow him down the path that could mean your beautiful demise.

But you didn’t care.

If it meant to have those eyes looking at you again as he did, and her touch as she did- you’d happily take the plunge.

But for now, you rest.

“White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife

I heard him howling as he passed me…by.”

[grandma-susan]

“Hey ya hag… here I got something for you ..” he hands her a gift basket of food for her foxes and a new gaudy hat . “..‘thanks for your help when that accident happened at my castle . “

"Well!" Susan stood up from her garden, dusting her hands off and taking off her gloves and accepted the basket, "This is unexpected." She looked down and smiled at the effort. "I don't have that many foxes, you bumbling fool, but someone will eat it, certainly." She said setting the basket down on her garden stool. "I just happened to be in the area. Quite the sight to see actually. Its one for the history books. So? Hows the arm and leg?" She asked while she inspected the hat, it was of good quality but even she thought it was over the top in regards to the color and materials used to accessorize it. She held it out towards him. "Say. Rather than what you think I'd like...why not you show me what you think is a good hat?" She said, having seen some of the photos of Lilith during her visits to the Hotel Bar. "I'm interested to see what sort of creativity the fabled Dreamer has for a Summer hat." She said inviting him to show a creative vision of his with curiosity and interest.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Last Christmas Dedicated to @antoineroussel  for her winter fic exchange 2k23

Summary: Act 1. Home for the holidays, Charlotte isn’t looking forward to her parent’s annual Christmas party. That is until it provides the opportunity to reconnect with her childhood friend, and AHL player, Adam Lowry.  Act. 2. Charlotte avoid going home for the holidays to avoid the reminder of last Christmas and the heartache that followed only to cross paths with Adam who is now in his Rookie season with the Winnipeg Jets. Charlotte and Adam are forced to face the reality that their friendship may be something that needs to be left in the past.  Kinks & TW: Angst, holiday themed, original character, situation ship, friends-to-lovers, drinking/alcohol, heart break, size kink, teasing/banter, riding, breast play (mild), missionary, protected sex, (i probably missed something here so please be sure to yell at me if I did) ABOUT THE OC: Face Claim: Crystal Reed. Name: Charlotte aka “Charlie” aka “Mini”. Charlotte and Adam are written as childhood best friends. Act 1: Charlie is a University student and Adam is playing with the St. John’s IceCaps who were the WPG Jet’s AHL Affiliate from 2011-2015. Act 2: Adam is playing in the NHL with the WPG Jets.  Word Count: 10011 A/N: Thank you so much for reaching out and inviting me to participate in the exchange! It was an absolute pleasure to be able to write this for you! It was so much fun being able to write an OC again after writing reader inserts since April, and I got to indulge in writing both Adam and Angst. It got me right in the soul. I WAS going to fade to black with this piece (almost 5k words ago), but I have 0 self control... AND I hope you don’t mind that it’s holiday themed because I’ve had this plotted since we first talked about it, but I didn’t get it written until much later than I expected...

Listen to their playlist while you read. Last Christmas now has a sequel series! Read more of Adam and Charlotte in Just Me & You. 

​Act 1. 

“-Charlotte, honey!” 

It was the sickeningly sweet voice of her mother that greeted Charlie as she had done her best to sneak in through the back door. She had obviously failed. She should have known better, really, there was no way that she was going to be able to get away with going unseen when her parents were entertaining their family and close friends for the annual Christmas Party - not when her mother was always keen on showing her off. 

But Charlie had made other plans for the evening. She had intended to avoid the gaudy decore and the seasonal music that was too loud for Charlie to study comfortably. While her mother had tried to encourage her to put the books down, if only for a night, Charlie had managed to sneak out to a local coffee shop under the pretense of studying for the exams that would rapidly approach once she got back to school after the break - and so she hid at that small coffee shop down the road until the hours grew late and the open sign was flipped to closed. 

Warm eyes shut as Charlie turned in place, her head leaning against the door as she shut it to hide the sigh from her mother that hovered at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, and her friends as they gossips. She had hoped that it would have quieted down before she got home. Yet, the party raged on as if it were a frat party back on campus. Forcing a smile, she turned to face her mother and her guests, as her hand raised to draw her bright red scarf from around her neck. Dark hair dusted with freshly fallen snow fell in loose curls down her back as it was freed from where it was tangled in the warmth of her outerwear that was cast aside on a near stool. 

“Hi mom,” her smile was so forced it almost hurt as she looked at each of her mother’s friends awkwardly, “you ladies look like you’re having fun. I would really hate to ruin it-” She spoke causally as she reached for a festive paper plate, her fingers then finding the assortment of finger food that sat out on the counter, “I’m just going to head upstairs-”

Charlie was drowned out by an assortment of coos. All gawking about how grown up she had become in the few short years she had spent away at college focused on her studies, and how she wasn’t the little girl they all so fondly remembered. It left her grumbling as she pushed her way from the kitchen, keeping her head down as she moved for the stairs. Just a few more strides and she would be free, but her mom had other plans as her familiar touch came down on her shoulders to keep her daughter from wandering too far. 

“Ah, Ah, Charlotte,” she tutted her and suddenly Charlotte felt like a child again, “I think there is someone you’re going to be excited to see.”

Charlie had to bite her tongue to hold back a scoff, but there was no hiding how her large doe-eyes rolled as she thought to herself: Oh yeah, I bet there is. And so she followed her mother’s guidance, her expression no short of annoyed as she was forced to walk through crowds of her parent’s friends and over to her father who was entertaining his friends with one of his wild work stories - a story Charlie had already heard many times before, and she was sure everyone else had as well. 

Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar face that was meant to excite her beyond the desire to hide back in her room. It was there, seated in her father’s favourite armchair, his face half hidden behind a glass of amber liquor she spotted him. Full lips split, bearing a far-from-fake grin as she reached down to abandon her plate on the near coffee table. After that, there was no stopping her. Adam’s bright eyes that had contrasted her so effortlessly had found her face and he was standing up from the seat to meet her halfway. 

“Dad’s just letting you sit in his chair now, huh, hot shot?” Charlie greeted him playfully, her arms winding around his middle with ease without a thought and it was only as his arms wrapped around her that she realized just how much he had changed since he had left Calgary. Charlie could feel every muscle beneath his white t-shirt and he had easily grown another inch or two since his draft day three years ago. Her fingers moved cautiously over the expanse of his back as she pulled back just enough to look up at him as he returned the stare down at her. 

“Your dad and I, we did make that bet,” Adam half smirked, earning a shake of her head as she left out a laugh. It had been the best seat in the house, leather and perfectly worn in and it reclined. It was one that Adam had sought after for years as a child, so as it had approached his draft, Adam had bet that if he had gone in the top 100 players, whenever he had come back to visit he would get to sit in the chair. Adam had been drafted 67th overall that year, but he had never returned to her childhood home, until now. 

“I didn’t think he’d hold to it,” Charlie countered, casting a glance toward her father before looking back up at Adam, “what are you doing here, anyway? I haven’t seen you since Minnesota.”

“Surprised Mom and Dad for the holidays,” Adam smiled, his hands continuing to linger on the curves of her waist - his thumbs stroking over it slowly and she watched as there was a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He didn’t remember her body feeling like that - hell, they were practically still kids when he had been drafted to the WHL and had only seen each other briefly during his draft in Minnesota. While their history would always remain, they were far from the kids they once were, not they were practically strangers now. “And they would never cancel on your mom, so I wasn’t about to pass up on seeing my best friend.” 

His words made her skin tingle. Did he have the right to call her that still? After so many years of nothing more than sparse text messages and the occasional goofy Snapchat picture? Their different lives had divided them, but maybe now was their chance to really reconnect. 

“You’ve been here all night?” Charlie quirked a brow, taking a step back when she noticed her father cock his head to the side as he had begun to raise a brow of his own. 

She and Adam had always been close - their mother’s bathed them together, and she called her mom Auntie until she was 10 and knew better kind of close - but Charlie wasn’t a little girl any longer and her father knew that - her father also knew that Adam wasn’t the little boy that used to follow her around like a lost puppy anymore. He was a grown man now-

“Since your mom started making dinner,” Adam sighed, his hand reaching up to card through his shaggy brown hair as he cast a glance out the window and to the snow that fell outside, “they sure know how to throw a hell of a party.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the trouble you get into now,” Charlie teased, taking careful strides, and Adam fell in step behind as she moved to the makeshift bar. 

“Me, get into trouble? Never,” Adam was beaming as he leaned back against the wall. 

Charlie shook her head slowly as she mixed herself a drink, her pour a little heavy on the alcohol - but she had to make up for the lost time. Adam was surely multiple drinks deep after spending the evening with her parents, though he hid it well or had developed a very strong tolerance since they had last broken into her father’s liquor cabinet at fourteen. 

“That’s only because you’re always able to talk your way out of it,” Charlie reminded, taking the first slow sip of her drink that burned its way down her throat, “or have you been hit so many times that you’ve lost your silver tongue?”

“Nah, I still got it,” Adam assured. 

“Good, because I don’t think I can handle listening to All I Want For Christmas is You again,” Charlie half groaned, her hand reaching out to take one of Adam’s carefully. 

She didn’t dare look back as she lead him through the living room and to the stairs that would take them up to the second story, and up to her bedroom. Adam didn’t stop her, his steps careful and quiet as he followed up behind her, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he whispered to her, “you really want your father to kill me, huh?”

She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he spoke, and it felt like his laugh was sending vibrations right through her body as they came to her bedroom door. It was just as she had left it when she had moved to campus at seventeen. From her small collection of stuffed animals sitting in her favorite reading chair to the pictures that framed her vanity mirror, her parents hadn’t moved a single thing out of place. Charlie stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, her hand gripping the flimsy plastic cup almost desperately. This wasn’t the first time she had Adam in her room, but they had been just kids back then - the click of the door closing had her stomach jumping into her throat - and they had always had a strict open-door policy thanks to her dad. 

“Oh, you’re really wanting dad to kill you now,” Charlie teased him as she turned in place, finding his smile and following his eyes to the pictures on her vanity. They were an assortment of photos from when she was young, and many were with him. There were pictures of when they were babies, to the days they spent at summer camp together, and their most recent photo was framed and sat at the very corner of her vanity. It had been the morning of his draft, their families had gotten breakfast together and he was in the ill-fitted suit of his - prepared for the off chance that he may have been drafted in the first round. 

Adam didn’t reply to Charlie’s banter, and instead shot a smile back at her, his tone soft as he spoke to her, “lots of good memories here.”

“Yeah,” she agreed gently, stepping forward to join him at his side, “we used to do everything together-”

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss being kids or us?”

Us. The word left an odd taste in Charlie’s mouth, one that she tried to wash out with the strong alcohol in her drink. They had never really been an Us, had they? Sure, they had been inseparable for most of their childhood, Charlie & Adam, but that was their friendship. He had dated girls she had never approved of, and she dated guys Adam would inevitably scare off. Hell, they hadn’t don’t anything to suggest that there was a chance that they would have ever shared anything more than the friendship they had forged. She hadn’t wanted to kiss him… not until now as he stood so close to her in her room, wearing that smile she had almost forgotten and very much a man now. 

“I could always count on you being there back then,” Adam sighed and Charlie's mouth went dry, “every tournament, every game. Hell, we almost had your mom convinced to move you out to Swift Current, you remember?”

“How could I forget?” She shook her head as she remembered the nonsense she had tried to feed her mother and the dramatic lengths the pair had gone to before it was made clear that it was far from a reality for them. “Still convinced them to drive me out to see you almost every weekend - but they got you all the way across the country now, don’t they hot shot?”

Reaching her hand out, Charlie shoved against Adam’s arm, a playful habit that returned all too quickly as did the comfort of being around him. 

“Oh, you’re already going to start back up with that shit, huh, Mini?” Adam laughed, a large hand reaching out to abandon his glass on the vanity. 

Hearing her old nickname slip from his lips so effortlessly left her mouth dry. No one called her that anymore - not since she hit her growth spurt - but Adam, he would forever tower taller than her. Charlie licked her lips slowly before taking another long sip of her drink before she set it down beside Adam’s. Her hands then found his chest, so strong beneath her touch, in a playful shove. One that Adam met with his own, earning a laugh from Charlie as she took one stumbled step back. It wasn’t enough to send her into a retreat. Instead, she had leaned in for another playful shove, but she wasn’t met by Adam’s playful roughhousing. No, Adam wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her up with ease. 

When they were kids, she would have left out a laugh, or a groan of protest, but not, Charlie was reduced to silence. Her bedroom went blurry around her, and she could only see Adam and the grin on his face as he took careful strides toward her bed. She could feel each flex of his muscles as he held her so effortlessly, and there was no ignoring how naturally her legs had wrapped around his hips - and how his belt buckle grazed roughly over her jeans. The strength of his arms remained as they reached the bed, as  Adam didn’t release her to free fall down onto the mattress, instead, he was falling with her but she was left breathless all the same. 

Charlie did her best to hide the heave of her chest as she lay out on the bed, her dark hair fanned out beneath her and her sweater left wrinkled and bunched up her waist bearing just enough skin on her stomach to draw in Adam’s curious touch. She could feel his thumb drag over her exposed skin, his touch hesitant as if he shouldn’t be touching her there at all. Together they lay out on the bed in silence, Adam’s body hovering slightly over her own. Charlie could feel the heat of his body against her own and taste his breath with each inhale. It was an intoxicating combination. One that left her reaching down to her mattress and gripping at the covers in restraint. 

“Adam,” his name escaped her lips in a quivering breath, her warm eyes dragging over the softened features of his face. His jaw had slacked, and his thin lips parted as they were consumed by each of his steady breaths. Her gaze dragged over the angles of his jaw and up and over his cheekbones that had only seemed to sharpen as his youth left him. And his eyes were piercing as Charlie found them. His brazen stare was only obstructed by the shagged strands of his hair that hung down over his forehead and the intensity that consumed the blue of his eyes was unlike she had ever seen in him before - or maybe she just hadn’t been looking. 

Their gaze was locked, but it didn’t distract her from how his hand had left the skin of her stomach and dragged upward. Up and over the swell of her breast - that threatened to heave at just the slightest graze of his fingers tips. Those same fingertips danced over her collarbone - her neck stretching out almost instinctively, a heavy breath consuming Charlie as if to prepare for his fist to wrap around her throat - but his touch persisted. His touch didn’t stop until it had stroked over the angle of her jaw, and his thumb had found her quivering lower lip. 

“I’ve missed you, Charlie,” Adam sounded, his words a low groan as his thumb stroked her lip, leaving it almost numb, “fuck, you’re so…” Charlie watched as he licked his lips, trying to find the right word to say - and she didn’t care what he had to say. Not really - how could she when all she could think about was what his tongue would taste in her mouth? “...Beautiful.”

The word stung, just like the slap sixteen-year-old Charlie would have given him if she had even thought he was thinking something like that. But now, Charlie was very much consumed by his touch and his words held left her melting. 

“Adam, you shut your mouth before you say something stupid…” Charlie cautioned him slowly, his own voice weak as her lips dragged over the pad of his thumb. The graze left her shutter, her eyes shutting as she tried to force herself to ignore just how good it felt to feel his flesh in places he had never explored before. 

“Stupid? No,” Adam answered, and Charlie felt the bed shift oh so slightly. He was leaning in, his hot breath washing over her face now as his thumb tugged at the lower lobe of her lip, “I should have been telling you that a long time ago-”

Charlie scoffed, her eyes remaining closed as she parted her lips to speak again - too nervous to open them and see just how close to her he had become. If she had seen him so close, she wouldn’t be able to control herself. “Adam, how many drinks have you had?”

“You think I’m drunk?” his voice was laced with a laugh, one that left her own lips curling up into a grin. 

“Can you blame me?” It was only then that Charlie let her eyes blink open and she took in the sight of him. 

Adam was a mere breath away from her lips, his hair tickling her forehead as his eyes fell into slow, dreamy blinks. “Charlotte,” she hated when people called her by her full name, but in the moment, he had made it feel so intimate, “I really want to kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?” Charlie muttered, her lungs holding onto her breath as if he was going to steal it from her. 

“I’m only slightly worried that you may hit me if I tried,” his smile grew, and her own came to mirror his. 

“I’m not going to hit you, Ad-”

Before she could finish, he had stolen the last bit of air between them, his thumb leaving her lips to clear the way for his own lips.  His mouth met hers gently, cautiously, as if she may change her mind at any moment and raise a hand up to give him a good smack. Once upon a time, she would have. She would have pulled back with a gasp and her palm would have met his cheek with a sting because he was her best friend and she wasn’t going to risk that at sixteen. But now, her head was spinning, her body consumed by the mix of emotions that came with seeing him for the first time in three years. Excitement met longing and mixed with melancholy and it left her head spinning as his lips moved effortlessly against her own. Each motion drew her mouth open, adding depth and hunger to the first kiss they had shared. 

She reveled in the taste of sweet bourbon from his tongue as it met her own in a slow graze and it had brought such comfort that her hands eased from their rigid grasp on the covers. Her touch found the expanse of his back, her fingers wrinkling the thin-white fabric of his t-shirt as she left herself to feel his strength. It drew him in closer, Adam shifting in the slightest to hover fully over her form - never once breaking their kiss - and she could feel all of him. Her head was spinning, her thoughts gone as she was consumed by Adam and only Adam. 

Charlie was left groaning against his lips, her hands clutching him desperately, and her knees resting on each side of his hips as she lost all composure. She was pushing up from the bed, Adam giving her just enough room to seek out the hem of her knit sweater and he helped her draw it from her frame. It was then their lips were pulled from one another, both of them left gasping and eyes opening to meet in a desirous gaze. Adam stared at her, and Charlie stared back the only sound shared between them, desperate, panting gasps. If they continued, there would be no going back to how things were before, and they both knew it. But it didn’t stop them. 

Adam’s hands dropped her cable-knit sweater down on the bed, his eyes never once leaving hers before he reached back and took hold of the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He pulled it off in one swift movement, bearing the muscles of his toned chest and strong abs to her as he knelt between her thighs. 

Charlie let out an uneven sigh. She had seen him shirtless before, probably more times than she could count, but he had never looked like that. “Jesus, Adam,” she couldn’t contain herself, her hand reaching out to stroke down his chest without a single thought to how he was seeing her breasts in something other than a restrictive sports bra for the first time since puberty had finally decided to be kind. “What are they feeding you out there?”

Adam let out a low throaty chuckle as he arched over, placing his hand palm down on the mattress trapping Charlie beneath him against the bed. She watched as muscle she didn’t even know could exist flexed in his shoulder. Licking her lips, Charlie was near salivating at the sight of him as she pushed up onto her elbows to close the short distance between them and prevent Adam from having too much time to admire her soft, feminine body. His athleticism had never intimidated her until now. It was not his talent or his status, but his body that made her so instantaneously insecure. And she was sure he could feel it in the desperation of her kiss against his mouth and the angles of his jawline. 

Charlie could feel the vibrations of his groan against his own lips as Adam lowered himself down against her. He wasn’t heavy against her, but Charlie marveled at just how much of him she could feel. His chest was warm against the exposed skin of her breast, his friction sending the cups of her bra chaffing and making her nipples hard. Then there were his hips, which pressed down into her. It sent the cold metal of his belt buckle dragging over her skin and the pressure, paired with the strength of his thick, muscular thighs had her spreading her legs for him further. 

Her heels dug down into the plush mattress, her hips raising with the hope of grinding up against him only to meet the flesh of his abs. Charlie groaned against his lips, almost frustrated. Why did Adam have to be so damn tall? Usually, Adam towering almost an entire foot taller than her was an asset, but not when she was trying to be sexy. 

Leaning her head back she let it lull to the side, Adam’s hot lips dragging over the soft skin of her neck, and she used that leverage to reach her hand down between their bodies and didn’t stop until her careful touch grazed over the growing bulge of his cock as it tested the restraint of his jeans. Fingers traced up and down the thick outline, earning a low, quivering breath from parted lips. A breath that was laced with a subtle holy fuck that she did her best to play off as a moan. Adam was huge, in every way she could possibly imagine. From his height to his cock - Charlie swallowed hard - she was all the more intimate to take him now. 

“First time?” Adam muttered out against her skin, his tone only half teasing. 

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” Charlie gawked up at him, her eyes going as large as a doe in the headlights as she mocked him, “Oh Adam, I’ve been waiting so long for you to take me with your giant cock. I’ve wanted you and only you for so long,” she let out two desperate heaves before she was muffling her laughter into the strength of his bicep. 

“Fuck off,” Adam laughed, his hands taking each side of her hips firmly before flipping over in the bed. He guided him on top of him effortlessly, her knees falling on each side of his hips so that she could feel him against her cunt the only thing between them was the thin layers of their clothes. 

Perched up on top of him, her cheeks flushed with color, her hands coming to brace against his chest as she began to roll her hips slowly. The friction left her biting her lip, her arousal already beginning to pool between her legs as she could feel his cock growing harder - and it even left Adam groaning with impatience. 

He was propped up against her pillow, his bright eyes fluttering as he reached a single hand out to stroke over her warm cheek. He stroked the heated flesh, his fingers reaching out to hold her dark tendrils away from her soft features as he spoke to her. “I may not be your first, Charlie,” his tone was low, sultry and it left her mouth dry and panties wet, “but have you taken a cock this big?”

She let her hips roll slowly dragging her cunt from what felt like his balls to tip, and she shuttered as her head shook slowly from side to side. And she watched as his smile grew, the touch of his thumb stroking against her cheek a little more tender now. 

“We can go slow,” he assured, his hips raising as his hand dropped. 

She couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that took her as the pressure of his cock tested the friction of her jeans as he sunk his hand into his pocket. He fished out his wallet, drawing out the fine leather before pulling out the foil that had been tucked away among a wad of cash in various, colorful, dollar amounts. 

“That’s not the same one that you stole from your dad’s bedside table in high school, is it?” She teased him gently, her smile splaying over her lips as she crawled off of him and to the bed at his side. 

“No, no,” Adam laughed before he put the foil in his mouth and held it there as she reached down to take care of his jeans and belt. It was as he pushed them down he muttered, “that one didn’t fit.”

“Oh fuck off, they stretch,” Charlie scoffed, her handing beginning to work on her own pants. 

Spitting the condom out on the bed, Adam smirked and pressed up onto his knees. “Okay, okay, correction,” he raised his hands up as if in surrender, “it didn’t fit comfortably.”

“That’s what I thought,” she chided as she pushed her pants down to her knees, only for Adam’s own hands to meet the fabric and pull them down the rest of the way. 

Charlie could feel every lazy drag of his fingers against her skin, his touch like the strike of a match leaving a blazing trail on her skin in its wake. It should have left her pulling away, but it only made Charlie want more. His touch silenced her teasing, his fingers dragging back up the smooth skin of her legs as she was rid of her jeans and was left in nothing but her underwear. If it had been anyone else Charlie would have been flooded with confidence, but with Adam, it might as well have been her first time. He knew her better than anyone, every story, every scar, every secret. But it was only being near-naked in front of him that she felt truly vulnerable.

His hands kept gliding up. Up over the ticklish curves of her knees. Up over imperfect, tiger-striped thighs. And to the thin, flimsy fabric of her panties that left an imprint of the seams against her hips. Adam looks up at her through his shaggy hair as two thick fingers hooked her panties around her hips - and she couldn’t breathe. Not while he was looking at her like that, silently asking her permission to keep going with the most curious and caring of glances. Her lips parted, but she found no words. Charlie could only nod. 

Adam bit down on his lip as he eased her panties away from her lips. Charlie watched as his jaw went slack, his gaze dropping to the sweet heat between her legs as it was exposed to him. “Oh, Charlie,” Adam let out a satisfied hum at the sight of how her arousal, and how it had soaked into her panties, “you’re so wet.” His words were almost as if he were in awe, but then his smile grew and his tone became teasing, “Did I do that?”

His teasing cut right through her nerves and brought a smile to her lips that lit up her features and brought her the confidence she so desperately needed. 

“You might have had something to do with it,” her head cocked to the side sending her dark curtain of curls over her shoulders and over her breasts as she reached back to free the, from the confines of her bra. 

Adam’s eyes went as wide at the sight of her soft, womanly body fully exposed to him. His smile didn’t fade, no, it grew wider as his teeth took hold of his lower lip almost shyly. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Charlie muttered. Her words were a mere whisper as her arms crossed over her chest awkwardly in an attempt to cover her exposed breasts. 

Adam almost stuttered on his words, his cheeks flushing as he reached a hand out to gesture to her body, “you look, incredible Charlie. Absolutely, just, wow-”

“You're just saying that-”

“No, really,” Adam sighed, his hand reaching down and pushing down his boxers and abandoning them at the foot of the bed. She crawled up her childhood bed until he was seated against the pillow - his stiff cock laying out over the tone plains of his stomach threatening to draw all of her attention. It was there, propped up in the comfort of her bed, that he ripped open the foil and worked the thin latex over his cock with the strength of his well-worked hands. “Come ‘ere, Charlie.”

Silently, she obliged and crawled up the length of the bed and into his lap. Each of her knees found its place at each of his hips and her sweet, dripping cunt came to rest over his cock. Her stomach fluttered with the nerves of anticipation, her hips rolling oh so slightly so that she could feel the thick vein of his cock stroke against her clit. The pleasure burned through her body and coaxed a soft sound from Adam’s lips. One that lingered in his words as he spoke to her, “you’re fucking perfect.”

His hand reached out, stroking her dark hair back from her face, and back so that it cascaded down the length of her back. His hands then dragged down, Stroking at her eager neck and the angles of her shoulder and stopping at the impressive swells of her breast. Adam palmed at her supple flesh with his coarse hands, her chest consumed by desperate, heaving breaths at his touch - and he muttered out his sweet words, “so perfect…” Then, Adam was leaning in, his hair hanging down into his eyes as his mouth descended down. He placed slow, open-mouthed kisses over each breast. Kisses that warmed them with the heat of his mouth and were instantly cooled by the room’s tepid air. 

“Adam,” Charlie gasped out, her fingers finding his hair gripping just enough to ground herself but not enough to stop his movements as he sucked on one nipple, and the next, before his tongue dragged up from the valley between them to the sweet angles of her jaw. 

Adam raised a brow at her as he placed peppered kisses along her jaw, trialing his way to the corner of her mouth as he let out an inquisitive hum, “do you think you’re ready for me, Charlie?”

Nodding desperately, Charlie pressed up on her knees and gave Adam the room he needed to reach between them. She could feel his hot hand against the inside of her thigh as he took hold of his own cock, stroking it slowly as he drew it up to guide the very tip to her core - but it wasn’t without teasing her first. He dragged the tip of his cock up and down the fold of her cunt slowly, sending her arousal dripping down the latex and over his hand before he positioned himself at her core. 

“You don’t have to take it all,” he assured her gently, “it can be… a lot. So go slow, and we can stop if you need to. Okay, Charlie?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, her hand reaching out to brace herself against the strength of his shoulders, “yeah, okay.” She took two long blinks, trying to ease the spinning in her mind at the feeling of his cock between her legs. It all seemed like a dream, like the ones she would have as a teenager and would do all in her willpower to repress - because you weren’t supposed to think about your best friend like that. But it was the burning pleasure of slowly taking his cock into her eager cunt that reminded her that this was very much of a reality. 

Charlie took him slowly, inch by inch he spread her walls, and it left her cursing out under her breath in pleasure. “You’re taking me so well, Charlie,” came Adam’s encouraging coo, his hands having abandoned his own cock and found her hips to help carefully guide her as she rode his cock. With each rise and fall of her cunt around his cock, her head spun and she questioned just how much more of him there could possibly be. 

“Jesus Christ, Adam,” she near yelped, her head thrown back before she could bite down on her lip and stop herself. 

Adam hushed her gently, a single hand raising to stroke over her cheek. Charlie leaned into his touch as she panted, her lips parting and taking his thumb in her mouth without a thought in her head. She sucked on it slowly, earning a soft moan from Adam’s lips and it muffled her own as she eased down on him further and found the relief of his balls smacking against her ass. She had managed to take all of him. Smiling around his thumb, Charlie cast a glance down at Adam who was watching her with a dreamy gaze. 

“We’re going to have to find a way to keep you quiet, Charlie,” he beamed up at her and dragged his thumb from her lips and over her smooth cheek slowly. He cupped her face in her hand, his fingers knotted in her hair. “Because if your dad wasn’t going to kill me before, he sure as hell would want to kill me now-” 

“Don’t talk about my dad when you’re balls deep in my cunt, please,” Charlie begged, her skin ablaze and shimmering as she began to sweat. 

“Sorry, mood killer?”

“Just a bit,” Charlie gasped out as the tip of his cock pressed into her limits. She was so impossibly full of him, and it near had her legs trembling. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Adam spoke, his words almost charming as his hand gripped at her hip firmly, “just don’t make a sound.” 

His smile was wicked as he held her gaze and drew her in close to his body. With their bodies chest to chest, his cock buried to its absolute limit and her face tucked into his neck to muffle any sound that would threaten to spill from Charlie’s lips, Adam flipped them.

The plush mattress was welcome on Charlie’s back as she let out a soft yelp against the flesh of Adam’s throat. “Sorry,” she muttered softly, her smile blossoming and her lips dragging over his neck with every word, “I can’t help it - you feel so good.” 

Adam propped himself up with his elbows on each side of her head, his lips coming down to kiss her forehead with a slow lingering kiss - as he couldn’t quite reach her lips while he remained deep inside her cunt. His hot breath washed over her face with every exhale as he began to roll his hips, drawing his cock from her just enough to slide back inside her in a steady rhythm. Each thrust sent a burning pleasure through to her core, and a soft sound from parted lips. It was a moan that only threatened to grow louder as the pleasure grew. And when Charlie wound her short legs around Adam’s hips, she muffled her cries of pleasure in the strength of his shoulder and clung to him like he was her only source of gravity. 

Her eyes watered as she held onto him so desperately, her teeth grazing over his skin and the taste of him lingered on her tongue as she muffled her moans into his shoulder - and when he reached a hand back to grip at her thick thigh, holding it in place as he hit such a depth that sent his own eyes fluttering back with pleasure, her head lulled to the side and she forced to burry he gave into the flex of his bicep.

“Adam,” his name was a hymn on her tongue, her body shuddering as her climax threatened to overtake her - as he could feel its threat as her cunt began to pulse around him. 

His hand only left her leg to take hold of her chin, guiding her soft features took look up at his as they too melted with pleasure. His thumb stroked over her lips slowly, tugging at her lower lobe and drawing her sweet lips open to welcome his mouth. Charlie was consumed by Adam’s kiss - one that was unlike the one that had started it all. There was no caution, no that had all been abandoned now. His kiss was one with purpose. One that stole her desperate breath from her breast and flooded her with emotion. It struck her like a slap to the face, leaving her gasping against his lips and her head spinning. 

Not once had she ever been kissed the way Adam had kissed her, and it left her trembling as her core clenched around him. The grip of her was enough to draw him to his release. He lost all control, every thought of gentle caution seemingly lost as Adam pounded into her with a series of forceful thrusts. Then, with his cock buried deep inside her and sweat dripping down the angles of his face and body, Adam stilled. 

Faces mere inches apart, only panting could be heard. Eyes brown and blue were caught between open and fluttering shut as their bodies only began to calm. While Charlie crazed to continue to be close to Adam, the wrap of her legs around his waist loosened, her feet sliding down to the bed with a quiet thud. And she reached up both hands slowly to stroke his sweat-drenched strands from his face. Charlie watched as his eyes fluttered and his lips parted as he let out every heavy exhale that was laced with the whisper of her name on his tongue. And she relished in it, her own name echoing in her euphoria dazed mine until Adam’s words drew her back into reality. 

“What time is it?” his words were a soft whisper as he remained hovering over her and his cock still buried deep in her cunt. 

Charlie’s head lulled to the side, taking in the glow of her old digital clock. “Late,” she answered him simply, “people would have started to go home already… Your parents, were they staying the night in the guest room?” Her words were slow, hesitant even as she silently recollected the many times he had spent the night in her room when they were children. When they were too young for their parents to care, they had shared the bed, or even a tent out in the backyard in the summertime - but as they had grown older, her father more concerned about a teenager's urges, Adam had slept on the floor beside her bed. She remembered waking up with her hand reaching down over the edge of the bed to his hand even more fondly now. 

“No,” Adam hung his head, “we were going to cab home, my flight leaves early in the morning.”

Her heart fell, and her stomach twisted into knots. Of course, he would have to leave. They would need him back before their next game, and they kept a tight schedule - she was lucky to have gotten to see him at all. There was no easing how sick knowing she was going to have to say goodbye to him before the night was through made her. Not even the thrill of seeing him again, nor the euphoria of her climax could put it at ease. 

Charlie forced a smile, trying so desperately to hide the dread that consumed her. “We should probably get dressed before someone comes looking for you.”

“Your dad would really kill me then, huh?” Adam half laughed as he pushed up with whatever strength he had left as eased his cock from her core. 

She near whined as she was left void of him, her legs coming together firmly as she shifted to the edge of her bed. She bit down on her lip as she fought to find her composure, and when she spoke her tone with low but she carried her smile into her voice, “Your teammates would really miss you if you died over something so menial-”

“Ouch,” Adam hissed, his hand coming up to rest over his heart as if he had been stabbed through it, “menial? That’s how bad it was?”

“Adam I-” Charlie found herself stumbling over her words as she pulled a loose t-shirt down over her naked body - the Swift Current Broncos logo resting right over her chest, “you know that’s not what I meant…”

“I know,” Adam grinned his tone teasing as he discarded the used condom into the waste basket by her bed and moved to step into his boxers, “I’m just teasing you Charlie - and like, I mean,” he rambled as he tried to choose his words carefully, “you enjoyed yourself?”

“Well,” Charlie’s tone was teasing as she found his t-shirt, took it in her hand, and held it out to Adam casually, “you were right about being the biggest-”

“Oh, you’re just cruel, Charlie!” Adam laughed out so loud that she was sure that someone would have heard it downstairs. He continued to laugh as he stepped forward, his one hand pushing his shirt away while the other reached out for her. Soon, Adam had her in his arms again and hoisted her up so that he was holding her near and her legs could wrap around his middle. “Lie to me at least,” he playfully begged her as his hands kneaded at the soft flesh of her thighs, “tell me it’s all you’ve ever dreamed.”

Charlie shook her head slowly, her forehead coming down to rest against his carefully as she deadpanned, “worst I’ve ever had.” And then she snickered, her lips curling up into a smile to match Adams. 

“I don’t think I��ve ever been more relieved that you’re the worst liar I know,” Adam sighed in relief, “because I don’t think I have the time to prove to you just how good I can be…”

“Another time, hot shot,” Charlie hummed, leaning back just enough to peer around him and to the door when she heard footsteps pass in the hall, “I think we’ve pushed our luck long enough.”

Adam lowered her to the ground before his hands abandoned her body for the soft fabric of his t-shirt - but the ghost of his touch remained on his skin and between her legs even. It was a feeling that Charlie was sure would be difficult to forget - even if it all came to feel like nothing more like a dream in the morning. 

The pair dressed in silence, nothing shared between them except lingering glances and soft smiles as more and more skin was covered. It was only in that silence that Charlie could hear that the Christmas carols that had consumed the home had gone quiet and there was nothing more to be heard from downstairs than their father’s laughter.

“You should go down first,” Charlie decided as she reached for her robe and leaned back against the pale floral wallpaper that decorated her wall, “dad will ask too many questions if I come down already changed into my pajamas…” 

“Yeah, right, good idea,” Adam stuttered, his hand carding through his own hair, “so I guess, this is where I should give you a proper goodbye, huh? Because I don’t think you’re dad would like me kissing you at the front door…”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Charlie nodded slowly and swallowed hard - though, she would be much more worried about what their mothers would do if they had found out. She was already sure that they had been planning their wedding since they were five. “Don’t be a stranger Adam…”

“Just pick up the phone when I call Charlie,” Adam hummed, his tone almost dreamy as his hand came up to cup her cheek. Then he leaned in, placing a soft, warm kiss on her lips - one that would linger long after he left. 

“I’ll pick up, promise.”

“That’s my girl,” Adam praised, but when he pulled back he was wearing a solemn look. 

He hated goodbyes. 

And so did she. 

“Merry Christmas, Charlie,” was Adam’s final goodbye in the privacy of her bedroom, his thumb dragging over the skin of her cheek and neck before she was left completely void of his touch, “you were by far the best gift I got to unwrap this year.”

Her cheeks flushed red hot with color as she stepped back from the door. She hid just out of sight of anyone waiting just on the other side of the door. “Merry Christmas, Adam,” she spoke, her head leaning against the wall. It was from there that she watched him open up the door - his features falling into relief when he found that their parents were still very much entertained with each other’s company downstairs. He glanced back with a grin, one that silently screamed: SUCCESS, before he reached back and shut the door back into its place in the frame. Charlie didn’t move an inch, not even as she heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs just on the other side of the wall. There was nothing comforting about the sound of him leaving. Not when she so desperately wanted him to stay. Saying goodbye was something that had never been easy for them, not even as children - one of them had always cried. And now, they had made things a whole lot harder by blurring the lines between friendship and something more. 

Act 2. 

The warmth of the ski lodge was a welcome after a day spent out on the slopes. Charlotte’s body ached in all the worst places, but no one would have been able to guess it. Not with how she carried herself so well in a pair of heels and her short, yet elegant slip dress that hugged her body in all the right places. Her hair was left down in long, cascading curls, and her makeup was just enough to hide the sunburn. Charlotte and her best friend had escaped to the mountains for the holidays, the chalet was brought to life for the last big party of the year and she had let herself be consumed by it. By the music, and by the drink, hell, even the unwanted attention from guys, she thrived on it for it was all that could keep her mind from wandering to last Christmas. 

Last Christmas, seemed both like a century ago but also only yesterday in Charlotte’s mind. She could still so clearly remember the excitement of seeing Adam for the first time, and the sting of heartache as the days of the new year passed. They had tried to keep in touch, they really had - but with the time zones, and their busy schedules, it had led to an inevitable silence. She had to focus on her courses, and Adam got called up to the NHL, becoming the hot shot she had always told him he would be. Charlotte knew she should have known better. That she should have been prepared for ever the outcome, but it didn’t take away the ache in her chest that came with giving herself fully to Adam. 

Charlotte didn’t blame him, how could she? They both knew the risks, but that didn’t mean she wanted to risk seeing him again by going home for the holiday. It was too soon, it would only rip open the wound in her heart time was still trying so desperately to turn into a scar. A wound that was ripped open the moment she looked up from her drink and towards the bar when she heard the nickname she had tried to abandon echo in her mind like the beckoning of a ghost in the crowded room. 

“Charlie, I thought that was you!” Adam was pushing through the crowd that had formed around the table, dressed casually in a nice pair of blue jeans and a half-tucked button-down. He looked just as he had a year ago, the same face that had been burned into the back of her mind at the peak of her pleasure, save for the scruff that peppered his chin and jawline. Charlotte might have even thought it looked good on him if it hadn’t felt like someone had poured the salt from her margarita into an open wound - if she hadn’t felt like she was on the verge of throwing up. 

“Charlie?” one of her friends piped up, their brows furrowed. 

“A childhood nickname,” Charlotte rolled her eyes as her lips couldn’t find her drink fast enough. Her glass was near empty by the time Adam had reached the table, her face putting on a fake smile as she looked at her friend with eyes that looked as if they had been encased in candied sugar as they were consumed by the threat of tears. “This is Adam, we grew up together.”

Her friend didn’t need to hear much more than that. From the excitement of seeing him again to the pain of getting just sort of ghosted, she knew it all and it drew her face into a knot that she struggled to hide. “Oh, yeah, the hockey star,” her friend's words were like sweet venom that would kill you before you knew the poison you were drinking. 

“What are you doing here?” Charlotte’s voice almost broke as she shifted in her seat, her fist grasping at her empty glass desperately, “I thought you would spend the holiday back in Winnipeg with that tough schedule they keep you on-”

It was a casual jab at one of the many excuses he had used to explain his silence. Sorry I couldn’t text you I had a game… I had practice… I won’t be coming home for the summer, I’ve got training… They had all been just words on a screen then, his career too much for even a conversation with her then, but somehow, he had the time to celebrate the new year in Banff. It made her stomach sick. 

“Caught a trip out with some of the guys,” he nodded back towards the bar where a group of guys had gathered, some missing teeth, others bruised and banged up from their last games before their few days off, “we fly back out tomorrow, you should come to meet them-” 

Her heart was pounding like drums in her ears, her mouth falling open as she let out a steady, frustrated huff. How could he be acting so casually, so calmly? As if nothing had ever happened between them at all. Did he ever care about her at all? The thought hit her like an avalanche, sending a single glistening tear down her cheek as she abandoned her glass and pushed it up from the table. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could manage, her voice broken as she let her eyes drop to the floor and she began to push her way through the crowded room. 

Charlotte didn’t look back when she heard Adam call after her, and persisted through the crowd as she hoped that she would lose her in it. She was small enough, she could slip out of just about any room unnoticed, but Adam he towered over almost everyone in any room. He could use that to his advantage - so Charlie didn’t stop until she was in the foyer of the chalet, where the music was almost reduced to silence and the view of the mountains in the distance could be seen out its grandiose windows. 

She let the way the silver mood beamed down onto the slopes calm her. The sight brought a semblance of peace as the ache in her heart raged on. A peace that was lost when the echo of heavy footsteps took the foyer, and Adam’s voice pierced the air, his annoyance clear, “Dammit Charlie, what was all of that about?”

Charlotte doesn’t look at him, she doesn’t even want to listen to him as she’s standing in front of the window - the winter’s chill sending goosebumps as it permeated the window’s failing seal - with her arms crossed over her chest and her gaze locked on the mountain tops. She could feel the burn of tears as they trailed down her cheeks, tears that she tried to hide from him as he approached. 

Adam came to sand on her left, his towering frame leaning against the cold glass of the window. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, his figure only slightly distorted by the tears that built up along her lashes and smudged her mascara. 

“You should go back to the party, Adam,” she had tried to tell him firmly, but her words broke as soon as she said his name. 

He didn’t make an effort to leave, it was going to take a lot more to get rid of him than that and it left Charlotte’s stomach in knots - and it was left near lurching as she felt the warmth of his hand encroach on the expanse of her back in a careful touch. 

“Adam, don’t-” she wanted to bite out, but her words were a pathetic mewl instead as her head spiraled. Oh, how good it felt to be reminded of how it felt to be touched by him. 

His touch lingered, his fingers slipping around her waist just enough to carefully turn her to face him. She was sure he could see it all now. The tears. Her tired frown. The pain that was coming to love him and knowing that she would never be loved by him the way she needed from him. It could all be seen in the sad glimmer of her eyes. 

“Oh, Charlie,” Adam sighed, his face falling, softening at the pain that was painted across her beautiful features. 

“Don’t patronize me-”

Her words were cut short as the embrace of his hand came to warm her cheek, leaving her lips parted as she let out an unsteady breath. His touch was careful, and tender, as it wiped away the tears that strained her cheek. And she wanted so desperately to lean into that touch. To embrace its comfort and let it consume her as she had let it last Christmas. 

“Adam, don’t,” her whisper was breathy, her head turning and eyes shutting as she felt the gentle guidance of his hand as Adam tried to draw him into her. 

Charlotte desperately wanted to give in - it would feel so good to give in to him. To let him make it feel like everything was going to be alright. That their relationship would always be more than that of childhood friends, but it would be a comfort built on falsehoods. She wasn’t going to let herself get built back up only to be left in shambles again. 

Raising a hand, Charlotte took hold of his carefully, guiding it to her lips and placing a kiss on his palm slowly. Her eyes fluttered shut as she inhaled the subtle scent of his cologne, and left the warmth of his skin lingering for but a moment during her tender gesture. Then, she guided his hand back to his side, and her warm eyes met his gaze. Adam held a sadness in his eyes, one that told her that she didn’t need to speak a single word to him to explain anything. He knew the sadness she felt - and maybe he felt it too. 

“It’s been really nice seeing you Adam,” Charlotte's words were broken as she spoke, a genuine smile taking her lips for the first time, “but I can’t be doing this, not again…” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before her fingers slip from his like silk. 

Adam gave her a slow nod, the hand that had overtaken her back with the warm comfort of his touch leaving her void. Her chest ached as they held their gaze, the space between them growing as she took a careful step back. The air between them was suffocating, and it left Charlotte’s heart feeling tight in her chest.

It felt like a goodbye. A farewell to her childhood, to their friendship, and to any hope that either of them had that they would be able to sustain any kind of relationship into their adulthood. But life had taken them in separate directions. Adam with his career in Winnipeg - or anywhere else he could end up if he were to ever be traded away - and with Charlotte remaining close to her family and putting down her own roots in Calgary, there would always be too much of a divide. Too many obstacles to truly make something worse when they were both still so young and had so much more of their lives that were unknown just waiting to be uncovered. 

And so she left him standing in the foyer and made the walk back into the party alone. The ghost of his touch lingered as the music consumed her, her eyes growing bright as they fell on her friends that welcomed her back with smiles of their own. Smiles that almost eased the pain in her aching heart. It was a pain that told her that her love for Adam would never fade, and would go unforgotten. But with that pain, she could finally move on.