#harrys sexuality crisis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Summary: A trip to the thrift store becomes overwhelming for Harris, and you and Eddie have to work as a team. But the real test of your relationship's strength is the crisis that unfolds days later.

Warnings: financial insecurity, school lock-in, missing child, police presence, mention of kidnapping, mention of drug addiction, blood (no gore)

WC: 8.5k

Chapter 19/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie has already been awake for two hours when the phone rings. One part of parenthood that he hadn’t anticipated is that children do not understand the concept of weekends. Harris had flung himself out of his racecar bed promptly at 6:30 in the morning, crawling under Eddie’s sheets and poking his nose until he woke up.

“Har, go back to sleep,” Eddie had grumbled, the last word extended in a whine. One cheek was smushed against his pillow, muffling his complaint. “It’s Saturday; you don’t have school.”

In response, Harris pursed his lips into a perfect pout and used his thumb to peel Eddie’s eyelid open, getting as close to his face as possible. His morning breath was tinged with the scent of chocolate; Eddie groggily made a mental note to better supervise his nighttime teeth brushing routine.

“‘M hungry.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself pouring his third cup of coffee while his son keeps his eyes glued to the TV screen, watching Doug stutter and stammer in front of Patti. Eddie smiles, a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that that’s probably what he looks like around you.

“‘Lo?” He cradles the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, wincing as he clumsily clinks the carafe into place. There isn’t enough coffee left to slosh over the side, a small miracle in and of itself, although he’ll have to brew some more if the caffeine doesn’t kick in soon.

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is sleepy yet sweet, smoothing all the creases of the morning. “Did I wake you up?”

Eddie laughs and takes a sip from his favorite mug, the one that proudly declares #1 Dad. It’s stained and chipped, but he’ll never throw it out. Wayne had bought it for him on his very first Father’s Day; ironically, Eddie had bought him a #1 Grandpa mug that year, probably from the same kiosk at the mall.

“Not even close,” he says, tongue flicking to the corner of his lip to catch the drip of coffee that’s pooled in the crevice. “Someone was up bright and early this morning.” His gaze flits over to the bowl of Cheerios snug between Harris’s criss-crossed legs, mostly uneaten despite his earlier protests that would make an outsider believe he was starving. “How was your sleep?” he asks, swinging back to your conversation.

You switch the phone from one ear to the other. “It was good. Would’ve been better if you were next to me, though,” you add, twirling the cord around your forefinger. If you could, you would capture the safety of his embrace and bottle it, releasing a bit each time you craved his gentle touch. “I might’ve even let you be the little spoon.”

He balks at this with a playful scoff, nearly spilling his coffee with the sudden movement. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles, licking the side of the mug before the bitter liquid can slide off and hit the ground. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Admittedly, his skepticism is rooted in truth; whenever you do get the chance to cuddle in bed, he’s always the one wrapping his arm around your waist, often taking the opportunity to snake a hand up your shirt and let the pads of his fingers brush over your breasts. It isn’t always a display of sexuality or desire–though you can’t say you mind that–but a connection, a way of ensuring that you stay close.

“Just a few more weeks until we get to find out for ourselves,” you tease, though he needs no reminding. Only sixteen days remain until you officially move in together, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s counting down. “Speaking of which,” you continue, glancing at the clock, “I was wondering if you and Harris wanted to do some furniture shopping for his new room.” You knew that he would be keeping his racecar bed; it’s unlikely he’ll part with it until he’s outgrown it completely. “Y’know, a new dresser or nightstand or something.”

There’s an extended pause on Eddie’s side of the line. You think the call dropped and are about to hang up and redial when you hear him say, “I, um…I don’t get paid until next week…” He nervously scratches the countertop with one fingernail.

“Oh.” You grapple with a response, trying to strike a balance of empathy without condescension. “Well, I was going to surprise you, but I sold some of Grandma’s old—”

“No way,” Eddie interjects, firmly but not harshly. “I’m not having you spend your money on me. We can just wait until payday.”

“I want to buy this for Harris. I…I probably should have cleared out Grandma’s room months ago, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could, but it felt wrong because I had nothing to put in its place.” You don’t care that you’re babbling on, forging ahead with your impromptu monologue. “It would’ve been too empty, but with you and Harris here, it won’t be empty anymore.”

Eddie tucks his thumbnail between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he prods, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

“Positive.” You’re much more assured in your reply. “If she knew Harris before she got sick, she would’ve spoiled the hell out of him, anyway.” The moment she saw him happily digging into the Oreos, she would have ensured that the cupboard remained stocked with Double Stuf. “In a way, s’like she gets to spoil him now.”

You can sense Eddie’s resistance tempering with an audible exhale. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure,” he muses, buying time to process the influx of emotions flooding his body. There’s the obvious gratitude that you’re so eager to take care of his son, but it’s cut with the insecurity of him not being able to do so. If you’re going to buy Harris furniture, it should be because you want to, not because he can’t. What if you hold this against him? What if, in the future, there’s an argument and you fire back with a retort about his shortcomings as a father?

Except…you have never done that. Ever. Not that night in the emergency room, or when you’d found out about the CPS report filed that evening. Not even when Eddie had made it his personal mission to tear you down, pulling insults from the depths and hurling them at you with reckless abandon.

You hadn’t brought up the way he’d helplessly panicked when confronted with the possibility of Harris’s learning disability, or how he’d let anxiety overtake him when he officially received a classification. With everything the two of you had endured, you’d never once echoed his anxieties about his parenting abilities; it was quite the opposite. With you by his side, he feels as though he can take on whatever challenge life chucks at him.

“Eds? Is everything okay?” Your tone is thick with concern; Eddie realizes that you probably think you’ve upset him. “We don’t have to go—we can do something else, or—”

“Sweet girl,” he says in one exhale, both to reassure you and to remind himself that you’re his, and he’s yours. Love surges through the phone lines when he speaks. “We can pick you up in an hour, if that works? I should be able to wrangle Harris by then.”

“Y’sure?” And, Christ, how his heart sinks when you shrink inward, reflexively making yourself smaller when you’re worried that you’ve offended someone.

Eddie doesn’t answer you directly, instead, calls out his son’s name. “Hey, Harris?” He frowns when Harris completely ignores him in favor of watching the cartoon. Using his free hand, he cups his mouth in a makeshift megaphone, amplifying his voice. “Harris Wayne Munson!”

The sudden sound jolts him out of his TV-induced stupor. “Huh?”

“Go get dressed and brush your teeth; we’re gonna go shopping with Ms. Sweetheart!” Eddie grins as Harris turns to him with a wide smile of his own. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Harris jumps up without further hesitation, inadvertently tossing his bowl from the makeshift table of his legs. Milk splatters, instantly soaking into the carpet, and the Cheerios topple out and land in a soggy pile. “Nooo, my bref-ist!” His big eyes well up with tears. “Daddy, you made me drop my bref-ist!”

“You, uh, wanna deal with that?” You can’t hide your amusement at the usual Munson chaos.

“Probably should, huh?” Eddie jokes back, stretching the phone cord as far as he can and reaching for the paper towel roll. “I love you, babe. See you in a bit.”

“I love you, Eds,” you tell him. “And Harris, too, of course.”

Some more static and shuffling; then, an energetic voice greets you. “Hi Ms. Sweetheart! Daddy made me drop my bref-ist,” the little boy reports.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Har.” You’ve perfected the art of mustering up sympathy for children’s not-soearth-shattering issues, a skill that every preschool teacher must possess. “Why don’t you help him clean up? That way, I can see you even faster.”

Harris pauses, mulling over his options. “Yeah, okay! Gotta go! Bye!”

You hear the clunk of him struggling to replace the phone on the hook, followed by Eddie saying, “Let me say good-bye before you hang—” click.

Pulling your own receiver from your ear, you stare at it with mild amusement. Never a dull moment with my boys.

Your boys drive up to your building just over an hour later. You stand up from the bench outside the entrance and smooth down your shorts where they’ve creased.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Eddie lets the pet name roll off of his tongue. He wants to kiss you as you slide into the passenger seat, but he withholds his affection for Harris’s sake. It seems silly, considering you’ll all be living together, but he doesn’t know how his son will react to the romance aspect of it. Will he be happy? Excited? Disgusted by any display of affection?

You give his hand a subtle squeeze, turning around to greet Harris. “Ready to shop till we drop?”

“Till we drop?” Harris wrinkles his nose, glancing between you and his dad. “Why would we drop?”

“It’s just an expression,” you explain, catching a glimpse of the smile tugging at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Just means that we’re going to shop until we’re too tired to shop anymore.”

“I never get tired,” Harris declares, sticking his legs straight out so his flexed feet push up against the back of the driver’s seat, nudging Eddie slightly forward. “Grampa Wayne calls me an ‘Energizer Bunny.’” He bounces up and down in his booster seat to prove his point.

Eddie reaches his right arm around, keeping his left firmly gripping the wheel, as he moves Harris’s feet from where they’re planted into his lower back. “So, Har,” he starts, easing his weight onto the brake as he approaches a red light, “we’re gonna look for a new dresser for you, and maybe a nightstand.” He takes a deep breath as he delivers the news: “That means we’re not making any pit stops for toys. Got it?”

You want to interject, to let Eddie know that you don’t mind splurging on a small treat for Harris, but you bite it back. Whether or not you have the spare funds is irrelevant: this is the boundary he’s set for his son, and you have to respect it, regardless of your desire to spoil him.

Harris, however, does not accept the announcement as readily. “Not even, like, a little one?” he presses, holding his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “Even if I’m really, really good?” He gives a hopeful smile, eyes blinking expectantly.

Eddie looks at you, serving as your cue to provide your input. You nod your approval, trying to hide your delight in being asked to make a parenting decision, regardless of how menial it may seem. He peers up through the rearview mirror at his son’s waiting face. “If you’re really, really good,” he acquiesces, features pinching into a grimace when Harris’s exuberant squeal echoes through the sedan. “You have to use your inside voice and stay next to us the whole time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harris confirms. “Deal, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Deal.” Laughter bubbles up inside you and you let it spill out uninhibited. You know that telling a child he can get a toy is an easy part of parenthood, but you silently swear to never take for granted being included in that choice. Harris joins you, though he’s not quite sure why he’s laughing, but your joy is contagious.

You lean your head against the car window, listening to the buzz of the radio filling the silence. Harris hums along, more on-key than the average five-year-old, which you can safely attribute to him having a musician for a dad.

“I’m not getting a new bed, right?” Harris says with sudden urgency. “Because I wanna keep my racecar bed.”

“Mhm,” you affirm, smiling when Harris relaxes back against the headrest. “Your racecar bed will be in your new room, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” That response satisfies him until he thinks up another question. “An’ you’re bringing your bed, Daddy?”

Eddie chuckles as he pulls into the Goodwill parking lot. He picks a spot close to the store, right next to a green Ford with a faded “Clinton ‘96” bumper sticker. “Um, no. I’m not bringing my bed.”

“So are you getting a new bed?” His eyes dart from side to side as he assesses the size of the car. “Where’s it gonna fit?”

“I’m, uh, not buying a new bed, either.” Eddie kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, swiveling to face Harris, who is more confused than ever. “Ms. Sweetheart and I are going to share her bed.”

Harris kicks his feet, processing this new information. “But you didn’t get married yet,” he points out, “so how can you share a bed?”

You rest your palm on Eddie’s forearm in quiet reassurance. “Some people share a bed before they get married,” you explain simply, knowing that less is often more when talking to young children.

“When are you gonna get married?” he asks, more curious than meddling. “Because it’s taking forever. My friends’ mommies and daddies are already married.”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Harris essentially referred to you as his mommy; instead, he slowly exhales. “I’d like to marry Ms. Sweetheart someday, and I think she’d like to marry me, too.” He looks over at you with a sheepish grin, and you give his hand an agreeing squeeze. “But, for now, we’re just going to try out living together. How does that sound?”

“I guess that’s okay.” Harris isn’t completely thrilled with his dad’s response, but he relents anyway.

“While, we’re, uh, on the subject,” Eddie continues, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he carefully considers his words. He chews on the inside of his lower lip. Is he really doing this? Is he opening his son up to this relationship? “You know that Ms. Sweetheart and I love each other very much, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes,” Eddie continues with only some trepidation, “sometimes, when grown-ups love each other a lot, they hold hands o-or kiss. Would that be weird for you? If Ms. Sweetheart and I held hands, or kissed?”

You avert your gaze, partly from bashfulness but mostly so Harris doesn’t feel any pressure from either of you.

The little boy looks at the car’s ceiling, centering his focus on the overhead lighting. Finally, with utmost certainty, he declares, “just no tongue-kissing.”

You snort out a laugh while Eddie goes bright red and sputters, “where did you learn about that?”

“Young and Restless,” Harris reports nonchalantly.

Eddie rubs his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his lids until his vision blurs. “Remind me to tell Wayne to stop letting him watch the soaps,” he grumbles to you, turning back to his son. “Yeah, no tongue-kissing.”

You easily lace your fingers with Eddie’s as you walk through the front doors of the Goodwill. Harris starts making a beeline for the toys, but Eddie uses his free hand to pivot him in the direction of the furniture department. Harris huffs but complies, trudging alongside you.

There’s a bright blue nightstand on display that immediately catches his eye. “Look!” he points, smiling so wide that all of his baby teeth are on display, “can I get it? Please?”

Eddie smiles warily, flipping over the white tag hanging from one silver drawer handle. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees the price is within the range of what he’d like to spend; rather, what he’d be comfortable asking you to spend.

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” he says, posture straightening with the announcement. He runs his fingertips over the surface, checking for any chipping paint or splintering wood, but the finish appears to be intact. “I’ll go tell someone to set it aside for us.”

He sets off in search of an employee, leaving you alone with Harris. You swallow the nervousness building in your throat. You spend nearly every day taking care of children, but you’re suddenly inundated with the memory of losing him at the flea market. Those few minutes when you couldn’t locate him were some of the scariest of your life.

And yet, it hadn’t prevented Eddie from giving you another chance.

“Are you excited to move in with me, Har?” you ask, reaching out to ruffle his curls.

He nods, then looks straight up at you so that you’re staring at his nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart?” The position of his neck changes his voice’s pitch so it’s froggy. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Can you marry my daddy?” His eyes shine with potential. “And then you can be my mommy for real?”

You crouch down to his height, heart melting at his request. “Harris, I love your daddy very, very much. And I love you very, very much, too.” You poke his nose gently, and he giggles. “Being married is a big responsibility—”

“‘Sponsibility?”

“Mhm. Responsibility. It means a really important job.” You slide your heart pendant across the chain on your neck anxiously. “And your daddy and I want to make sure that we’re ready for that kind of responsibility before we do anything, okay?”

Harris nods, but you can tell from his crinkled nose and furrowed brows that he doesn’t fully understand. You can’t blame him; it’s an abstract concept, one that even you often have trouble comprehending. “But I can tell you one thing: whenever your daddy wants to propose, I’ll say ‘yes.’” You smile at the thought of Eddie asking you to be his wife.

“Is that where he gets down on one knee and asks ‘Will you marry me?’” You’re about to respond when he adds, “and then someone runs in and yells about being their long-lost ‘dentical twin?”

Yeah, no more soap operas for Harris.

Finding a dresser proves to be a much more difficult task than picking out the nightstand. Everything that Harris likes is out of budget, and everything within budget is too worn down or small. There’s one that’s in good condition and isn’t too pricey, but it’s covered in hand-painted unicorns.

“That’s for girls!” Harris groans, stomping his feet. The last word is stretched in a whine. “I can’t have girl stuff!”

“We can paint over it. Whatever color you want,” you quickly jump in, trying to avoid a meltdown, but your efforts are fruitless. Fat tears stream down his cheeks; he’s already determined that the dresser is tainted.

“No! No, no, no!” he howls, throwing himself on the floor. He smacks down on his tailbone, fanning his tantrum’s flames. He quiets for a moment, too shocked to cry, but then he’s screaming louder than before.

It’s as though he’s lost control of his body, arms and legs knocking into the lower shelves without care. You can’t block him in time before he knocks over a lamp—a Nickelodeon-themed one that would have been perfect in his new room, ironically—and it shatters on the ground. Ceramic splinters, scattering across the linoleum like roaches in the light.

People start to stare, some with sympathetic looks, and some glare angrily at the child daring to interrupt their shopping. Eddie’s face blazes, vision swimming as he wracks his brain for a solution.

You’re faster, slapping a few bills into Eddie’s palm and jolting him from his thoughts. He watches you scoop Harris off of the floor, trying to avoid his flailing limbs.

“Go get the nightstand and pay for the lamp,” you tell him, straightforward and precise. “I’ll get him to the car and calm him down. Keys?”

Eddie blinks, the information swirling around him but not quite penetrating the surface. It’s when you hoist Harris onto one hip and balance his weight in one hand, using the other to make a ‘gimme’ motion that it registers.

“Y-Yeah, sorry.” Eddie fumbles for the car keys and tosses them to you, the two of you working in tandem. A well-oiled machine. You nod gratefully, wincing as Harris’s foot makes contact with your thigh. “I’ll be right out.”

You’re able to bring him to the car, struggling to unlock it and hold on to Harris. After a few failed attempts, you manage to open the passenger door and sit him on the seat.

“Harris, hey, Harris?” you start, keeping your voice soft and even while trying to pull his attention. His sobs are slowing down but he’s definitely breathing too rapidly for your comfort. “Hey, bud. You’re okay, all right?” You extend your hand and he tentatively places his own palm on top of it. “You wanna give my hand a squeeze?”

He does it, the motion grounding him enough that he can focus on your body in front of him. You don’t want to touch him, knowing that his senses are already overstimulated from the tantrum. Instead, you relax as his squeezing grows stronger and his breaths gradually even out.

“There ya go, Har. Just like that.” You smile warmly. “That was a really big feeling, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” His voice shakes and hiccups. He swipes at the tears on his cheeks, smudging them into his skin.

You reach into the center console and grab a tissue, wiping the mucus from his nose and lips. “Good as new.” With no trashcan nearby, you shove the used Kleenex into your pants pocket. “Can you tell me what made you so mad in there?”

“D-Don’t want girl…girl st-stuff,” he stutters through ragged breaths.

There’s a time and place to discuss the optics of categorizing interests into ‘boy’ and ‘girl,’ but you know better than to have that conversation now. “Oof, that’s why you were angry! That’s a lot to handle.” You gingerly tuck a curl behind his ear. “But, Harris, did you see what happened when you started hitting and kicking?” He shakes his head. “Well, you knocked over a lamp and it broke. You could have gotten hurt, or someone else could have gotten hurt.”

Harris’s face falls as you speak, absorbing what you’re explaining. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he sniffles. “‘M sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you sigh, “sometimes, when we have big feelings like getting angry, we do things we shouldn’t without even realizing.” You pause for a moment, biting your lip as you consider your words. “Do you want to hear what helps me when I have really big feelings and I can’t scream and cry?”

“Mhm.” He nods again, little tongue peeking out to swipe up the tears above his mouth.

“I take a deep breath and close my eyes,” you start, demonstrating both actions. Inhale for three, exhale for three, and repeat. “And then I picture myself being in my favorite place in the world.” You smile at him, blinking back the sadness that comes with memories of holidays at Grandma’s. “Wanna try it together?”

Harris responds by closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. “Good job, Har,” you softly praise him. “Now breathe out; make sure you’re thinking of your favorite place, okay?”

“Thinkin’ about the zoo,” he whispers, voice raspy from shrieking for so long. “Daddy taked me there and we saw so much animals.”

“Zoos are a lot of fun,” you agree with a laugh. “I’ve never been to the one in Hawkins. Maybe we can go over the summer?”

“Yeah! I wanna show you the flamingos!” His grin stretches across his cheeks “Do you like flamingos?”

Like most people, you don’t have a strong opinion on flamingos, but you respond with an enthusiastic, “I love them!”

“Love who?” Eddie’s voice breaks into the conversation. He’s rolling out the nightstand in a cart, keeping one hand on top of it to hold it steady. “Me?”

You laugh, opening up the back door so he can wedge the furniture next to Harris’s booster seat. “Yes, Eddie. I love you very much, don’t worry,” you tease, seizing the opportunity to inconspicuously check him out. His biceps flex as he maneuvers the nightstand, and you have to tear your gaze from his denim-clad ass when he stands up and triumphantly wipes his hands on his pants.

“C’mere.” He pulls you in, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout and planting a smacking kiss on you.

While you giggle, Harris is not as amused. He claps his hands over his eyes and groans.

“No tongue-kissing!”

You’re wrapping up storytime, your students fidgeting with their shoelaces—some fidgeting with their friend’s shoelaces—eager to move onto the corresponding art activity Will has planned.

“Okay, we’re going to use our walking—” Your announcement is cut short by Principal Sinclair’s voice coming over the loudspeaker. Her tone is typically warm and excited, but the way she speaks so sternly sends chills through your entire body.

“This is a lock-in. All staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified. I repeat, all staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified.”

You breathe out, though you’re still concerned about the cause of the lock-in. It’s usually some kind of medical issue that requires emergency services to have unblocked access through the halls. You hope that whatever it is isn’t life-threatening.

Will locks the door wordlessly, and you repeat your directions to the class. The kids walk to their seats, asking non-stop about what a lock-in means.

“We just have to stay in the classroom,” you find yourself repeating, losing patience with each iteration. You’re thankful for small miracles; your class has already gone out for recess, which means you don’t have to break that news to them.

Will is helping the kids glue multicolored strands of crepe paper in the shape of a rainbow, complete with cotton ball clouds. You’re unclogging a bottle of Elmer’s when the classroom phone rings, startling you. You place the glue bottle on the table, promising Joshua that you’ll be right back, and answer it.

“Hello?”

“We need you to come to the office immediately,” the secretary’s clipped voice informs you. “Bring your personal items. We’ll send someone to assist Will.”

Stupidly, you nod before remembering she can’t see you. “Y-Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.” You hang up, tell Will the plan, and bolt out the door.

What the hell is going on? Why are they having me break the lock-in to go to the office? You hike your purse higher up your shoulder, trying to ignore the dread pooling in your stomach and creeping up your throat.

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.

Your feet can’t carry you fast enough. You nearly stop breathing when you see Eddie pacing in the lobby, Marion and Paula standing off to the side and speaking with Chief Hopper. The two teachers wear matching worried expressions.

As soon as Eddie spots you, he’s charging over. “Oh, thank God,” he murmurs, throwing his arms around you and hugging you tight. You can feel the tears falling from his eyes, wetting the crook of your neck. His hands squeeze against your back and your shoulder blades as his body is wracked with sobs.

You weave your fingers through his hair, holding him as close as you can. You’re desperate to know what’s going on, but you doubt he could explain if he tried. Instead, you continue comforting him while Principal Sinclair walks over.

Her strides are long and purposeful, and she meets your own terrified gaze with her own. “Harris went missing during recess,” she says quietly, “and Mr. Munson let us know that you might be an asset in locating him.”

Harris went missing. Bile inches up your esophagus and you swallow it, wincing at its burn. “Why would he—” You stop mid-sentence; his motive is not important right now. All of your focus needs to be on finding him.

Chief Hopper approaches you and Eddie, tapping your boyfriend on the shoulder with two fingers. Eddie looks up, wipes his face with the heel of his palm, and clears his throat, but a fresh batch of tears threatens to spill over anyway.

“We’ve just collected statements from his teachers,” Hopper reports, looking down at his notepad. “They said that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that Harris was just playing with his friends one moment and then gone the next.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, something had to have happened.” Harris had wandered off plenty of times, like at the flea market. The difference was that he was easily found. “If you haven’t found him, then he’s either hiding, or someone…” The thought is too painful to finish.

Hopper looks over at the principal. “You’re certain that the playground is secure?” He asks her, not accusing, but waiting for confirmation.

“Yes, absolutely secure,” she affirms, nodding her head. “The gate can only be opened from the inside, so no one can access it off of the street.”

You know this, of course, but it doesn't bring you closer to finding Harris.

“We’ve taped off the playground,” Hopper continues, “and we’ve got a search squad going now. Considering that Harris has been diagnosed with a disability, we’re beginning this investigation right away.”

“Mr. Munson,” a second officer chimes in, “is there anyone who would be inclined to take your son? Perhaps a non-custodial parent or an estranged relative?”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “His mom, um, isn’t in the picture. Never has been.”

Hopper cocks one brow. “Never?” he asks disbelievingly. “How soon after he was born did she relinquish her rights?”

“She, um,” Eddie swallows, rubbing his nose in embarrassment, “she never did. Never relinquished her rights, I mean. She just kinda split.”

“So there was no formal agreement that she could no longer be involved in Harris’s life?”

“N-No,” he stammers, shame seeping from every pore. He’d always meant to start the legal proceedings, but that takes time and money…and maybe a small part of him had always hoped she’d come around and do the right thing.

He looks over at you now, the way you’ve stepped into a mothering role like a puzzle piece. Like any parent, you’d made some mistakes, but you’re also the most compassionate person Eddie has ever known.

He thinks of the times he’d tried to make his ex get clean, to want to get clean, and to be there for Harris. The weight of disappointment caused his chest to ache every time she’d mumble, “I’m gonna, but not right now” or “I don’t need help.”

Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the two of you; after all, you hadn’t struggled with addiction. But Eddie can’t help himself. You’d loved Harris before you’d even loved him, he realizes. And he’d never had to ask you to.

“Do you have any contact information for her?” Hopper taps his pen against his notepad. “Nine out of ten times in these situations, the child is with someone they know.”

What about the ‘one’ time? What happens then? Heat pulses in Eddie’s cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t need Hopper to answer the question; he already knows what that means.

“It’s from five years ago, so I don’t know if it’s still accurate.” He stumbles over his words, thinking about the last time he’d called her; it was the invitation to Harris’s birthday. “I don’t know it by heart, but I have it in my address book at home.”

Hopper gives a brusque nod to his colleague and to your boss. “We’ll give you a lift. And, uh, it’ll be good to set up your place as a home base.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Eddie mumbles, simply going through the motions without processing them. He’s on autopilot, a robotic version of himself. If he was able to fully absorb his surroundings, he would note the irony of him sitting in the back of the cop car because they’re helping him instead of escorting him to the county jail.

You don’t let go of his hand the entire ride there, your thumb rubbing the soft hairs on his knuckles. “We’re gonna find him,” you whisper reassuringly, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

But Eddie is too embroiled in his own thoughts, imagining every possible tragedy that could have befallen his son. As soon as Hopper pulls up to the apartment complex, Eddie is flying up the stairs, two at a time, unlocking the door as fast as he can. You run in behind him, watching as he flings loose papers and pens from a kitchen drawer. He’s kicked over the boxes he’s already packed; clothes and some of Harris’s toys are scattered across the floor like a poorly-designed booby-trap.

He holds up the tattered black book, flipping through it until he lands on the right page. “Here. Right here.” He frantically points to an entry at the top, fingertip jabbing into it over and over.

Hopper takes the book from him, careful not to rip the already weathered materials. He dials the digits and frowns when he’s greeted by the automated we’re sorry, this number is no longer in service, far too chipper for the circumstances. He tries once more in case he dialed incorrectly, but he gets the same message.

“Disconnected,” he says gruffly, hanging the receiver with a clank. “Is there anyone else?”

Eddie can only shake his head somberly. If Wayne got Harris from school early, he would have told him. He wasn’t even sure how much of Harris’s maternal family knew of his existence, let alone his location. If someone took his son, it was more than likely a complete stranger.

Hopper’s walkie crackles with static; you and Eddie stiffen with anticipation. “Hey, Chief?” comes from the garbled voice on the other end.

“I’m here.”

“We’ve got a kid here at the school who says he spoke with Harris Munson right before he went missing today.”

Eddie stands up, walking closer to Hopper. Part of you expects him to grab the walkie and try talking straight to the other officer, but he doesn’t.

Hopper presses the small black button and speaks. “Copy. Does he know where we might locate him?”

There’s a deafening silence for a few moments; no more than ten seconds pass, but it feels like a lifetime. Finally, there’s some information: “No known location; just says that Harris told him he was having ‘big feelings’ and needed to go to his favorite place.’”

“The zoo,” you murmur aloud, drawing confused looks from both men in the room. “When he got upset on Saturday—at Goodwill—I taught him to do some deep breathing and picture being in his favorite place, and he told me it was the zoo. But I…” you swallow, furrowing your brows, “I told him to picture it, not actually go there.”

“Zoo’s too far for him to walk, and no bus driver is going to let a kid that young ride by himself,” the chief points out.

You nod, biting your lower lip. “He might not be at the zoo, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to get there.”

Hopper thanks the other officer and turns to you and Eddie. My guys are deploying the search party as we speak.” He takes a deep breath and makes direct eye contact with you and Eddie. “We’ll do everything we can to bring your son back safely.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands, collapsing back against the living room wall and sliding down to the floor.

You look over at the police chief. “Can we help? Join the search…or something?” Anything besides sitting around and waiting for answers.

“Absolutely. We’ll keep an officer stationed here in case Harris comes home.”

You nudge your foot against Eddie’s. “C’mon, babe.” You try to keep strength behind your words, to be what Eddie needs right now, but it gets harder with each passing second. “We’re gonna go look for him.” He looks up and notices that you’ve extended your hand, and he takes it, pulling himself up.

He doesn’t say a word, but he follows you and Hopper out the door. He’s gnawing on his lips so violently that some skin peels off between his teeth; flecks of blood dotting his usually perfect mouth.

“We’ve got some time before sunset, so that’s on our side,” Hopper says as he drives back the way he came. “We’ll start in the woods near the school, and we’ll move from there.” He peers back at the two of you through the rearview mirror with a determined gaze.

“My uncle,” Eddie says suddenly, no certain expression on his face. He’s practically catatonic when he talks. “I want Wayne to wait at the apartment. I need to tell him…” If Harris does return home first and sees police officers surrounding the place, he might get scared and run off again.

Hopper scratches at his beard. “We’ll let him know, all right? Don’t worry about that.” He radios the instructions to a colleague, who confirms them and signs off, before pulling into a grassy area and killing the engine. “Let’s go. If Harris is going to come out for anyone, it’ll be you two.” He slams his door and then helps you and Eddie out of the backseat.

Before you can even begin, you hear a group of people shouting Eddie’s name. You look over to see Jeff, Jess, and Robin waving and walking towards you.

“We came as soon as we heard,” Robin says, giving you and Eddie a hug. “We’re gonna help you, and we’re not leaving until we find him.”

Jeff offers a tight smile, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’re here for you man,” he promises, sincerity in its purest form. “Viv is gonna stop by later and I’ll take care of Ettie.”

It’s a kind gesture, but Eddie’s stomach sours at the thought of still searching later. He needs to know that his son is safe now.

Harris’s name is echoed over and over, bouncing off of trees and shaking the leaves as you and your friends call out for him.

“Harris!” you cry out, throat raw from your constant shouting. “Harris, it’s Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Harris!” Eddie’s voice is even louder than yours; the power behind it is palpable. “Harris, it’s Daddy! Please come out! You’re not in trouble!” he adds, cognizant of the little boy’s fear of making people mad.

Every squirrel that darts across the forest floor has you whipping your head around, heart leaping at the prospect of Harris emerging from where he’s hiding.

He has to be hiding; your mind won’t let you imagine what could happen if the wrong person saw him walking by himself, determined to get to the zoo…

“Harris, Aunt Robin and I will buy you any toy you want!” Jess yells. “And all the ice cream you can eat!”

The five of you take turns making promises to nobody; they’re secrets shared with the wind. Each unanswered call leaves you feeling more defeated, especially with the sun hanging lower in the sky. It will be dark soon, leaving Harris even more vulnerable than he already is.

Will joins the group a few moments later, bringing granola bars, water, and flashlights. You can only stomach about a quarter of your snack, having completely lost your appetite. Eddie doesn’t even bother to eat, fueled by adrenaline rather than food.

“Principal Sinclair is also looking,” Will tells you and Eddie. “She’s with Lucas and Erica over at Merrill Wright’s farm. It’s closer than the zoo, but he’s got some animals, so they wanted to check there.” He pauses, casting his eyes down for a second before looking at Eddie. “Everyone’s helping out with this. They all want to find Harris.”

Tears well up along Eddie’s lash line; he blinks them away to keep his vision clear. “Thanks, man.” He coughs to clear his throat, emotions forcing their way through. “That means a lot.” For a moment, he sees Will as he was when they first met: an overwhelmed little freshman, unsure of his place in high school, let alone in the world.

What if Harris never gets the chance to find himself? What if he doesn’t get to grow up and learn new things, make his own mistakes, figure out who he is?

You put an arm around Eddie, unknowingly pulling him from his intrusive thoughts. “Can you try to drink some water? Please?” You know better than to nag him about eating right now, but the last thing he needs is to get dehydrated.

He cracks open the bottle and takes a few sips, not realizing how thirsty he was until the liquid covers his tongue. He downs it all without taking a breath, the plastic crinkling as he siphons out every last drop of water.

“Take mine,” you tell him, offering it with the best smile you can possibly muster, but he shakes his head.

“You need it, too.” He’s not wrong, but you have no issue letting him drink from your bottle if he’s still thirsty.

You take a sip and pass it to him. “We’ll share.”

Another hour passes, the pink and orange hues becoming deeper purples and reds as the sky darkens with night. Some people start to call it quits, returning home to their own children, breathing secret sighs of relief that they have children to return home to. Your group remains intact; no one is even considering leaving until they physically cannot move any longer.

With just overworked flashlight bulbs illuminating your path, you continue trudging through the woods. Hopper’s shift was over hours ago, but he’s steadfast in his pursuit to find Harris.

Eddie’s exhausted physically and emotionally, feeling like every part of him has been drained and can never be replenished. His son is missing; he might have been kidnapped, and he doesn’t know if or when he’ll see him again. All he wants is to hold him again, to hear his little laugh as he tells a cheesy joke he learned at school, to watch him sound out new words or draw a picture or just fall asleep in his own bed.

Hopper’s walkie crackles; he clutches it tight and holds it so he can hear it clearly.

“Chief, we may have a sighting.”

A light flickers behind Eddie’s eyes; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he can’t help himself. He listens intently as the other officer relays the information.

“Doris Driscoll just went outside to let her cats in for the night, and when they didn’t go inside, she went looking. Found them behind a bush, eating crackers out of a little boy’s hands. He told her his name is Harris. Matches the descriptions the father provided.”

Eddie grabs your hand, gripping it with whatever strength he has left. You feel a surge course through your veins as Hopper motions for you to follow him to his car. He turns on his siren and guns it down the road, swerving in and out of traffic to get to the old woman’s house as fast as he can.

Please, please let him be here, you silently pray, subconsciously screwing your eyes shut and holding your breath. The only thing worse than not knowing where he is might just be a false alarm that he’s been found.

Hopper slams on the brakes behind an ambulance parked in front of the Driscoll residence, their open doors allowing the fluorescent lights to stream through. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as an EMT wheels a stretcher over to it.

A stretcher carrying Harris.

“Harris!” Eddie cries in simultaneous relief, exuberance, and fear. He instinctively reaches for a door handle, quickly remembering that he’s in a cop car and had to wait for Hopper to let him out from the outside.

You’re already crying; everything you’d been holding back to maintain a solid resolve for Eddie is crumbling as soon as you’d seen his son. You scramble out of the car, right behind him, and run to where the emergency technicians are treating Harris.

He’s awake and alert, and he spots the two of you right away. “Daddy! Ms. Sweetheart!” He tries sitting up, but a technician gently guides him to lay down again. “No, that’s my daddy and my almost-mommy!” he protests. “I gotta see them!”

You and Eddie reach him at the same time. He’s covered in dirt; it’s smudge along his cheeks, his arms, and his legs. He’s even managed to get some on the tip of his nose. Some blood is smeared on his right knee where he’s seemed to have scraped it, and the EMTs spray some antiseptic on it and apply a bandage before he can even feel the sting.

“Oh, thank God.” The words rush out of Eddie’s mouth, and he puts his palms on his son’s cheeks and presses kisses all over his face. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” He turns to the technicians, worry pinching his brows together. “He’s okay, right? There’s nothing wrong?” He pushes some of Harris’s damp curls from his forehead. There aren’t any visible bumps or bruises on his face, which eases a bit of his nerves.

One technician nods. “Right now, it seems like he’s just got some minor lacerations, but we’ll run the gamut of tests to rule out more severe injuries.” She looks over at the police chief, who stands a few yards behind you. “We’ll take it from here.”

Hopper gives a small, sad smile; it’s then that you remember that his own child had passed away nearly twenty years ago. She was only a little older than Harris is now.

Eddie follows your gaze with red-rimmed eyes, the realization setting in for him, too. “Thanks, Chief,” he says, just loud enough so Hopper can hear him. Hopper nods, placing his hat atop his head before walking away.

The EMTs check for any broken or sprained bones, shine lights into Harris’s pupils, and ask him a few simple questions to assess for a concussion. “We’ll have to take him to the hospital, just to be sure,” they say to you and Eddie, “but barring any extenuating circumstances, you should be able to bring him back home tonight.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie breathes, crouching down a bit so he’s eye-level with his son. “Har, can you tell us why you ran away from school? You’re not in trouble; I promise.”

Harris looks down at the blanket draped across his lap. “I had really big feelings, and I tried thinking about the zoo like you told me,” he glances at you, “but then the feelings didn’t go away, so I decided to go there.”

You take his small hand in yours. “What were the big feelings?” you ask gently, free of judgment and filled with concern.

He thinks for a second, then states matter-of-factly, “Mad and sad.”

“Mad and sad?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping at his nose with his free hand. “‘Cause of Ms. Marion and Ms. Paula.”

You freeze, trying to regain your composure before Harris can pick up on your uncertainty. “What happened with your teachers, Har?”

“They were saying mean things about you and Daddy, and it made me mad and sad.”

At the sound of his title, Eddie speaks up. “Mean things about us?”

“Yeah, like, that Ms. Sweetheart is probably teaching you how to read, too,” Harris explains, “and I said that they’re lying, that you’re really smart and read to me all the time. And that Ms. Sweetheart isn’t your teacher; she’s my almost-mommy.”

Eddie clenches his fists, veins prominent as his body goes stiff. His anger isn’t at the insult, but at the way they could speak so brazenly about a child’s family, disregarding the hurt it causes. He doesn’t care what those women think of him, but he’s furious that they upset Harris.

“They keeped laughing and telled me to go play,” Harris continues, getting choked up at the memory. “I tried to do my breathing and my favorite place remembering with Charlie, but it didn’t work. And I got lost going to the zoo–the real zoo, not the one in my imagination–so I hided with the cats until the nice lady found me.”

You and Eddie share heartbroken looks, pushing aside your respective emotions as you tend to the little boy laying in front of you. “Get some rest, Har Bear,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. “You had a long day.”

He falls asleep after a few minutes, constantly checking to make sure that the two of you are still by his side. As soon as his breathing steadies and his eyes remain closed, Eddie turns to you, exhausted and running on fumes. Wet brown doe eyes pleadingly gaze at you, lids heavy with sleep. You wrap your arms around him, unable to get close enough. He moves slowly, every action a delayed reaction, but he gradually embraces you, too.

“Stay. Please.” The words are muffled by the way his mouth is mashed into your scalp, but you hear them perfectly fine. “And if we get to go home tonight, come back with us. I need you both close to me.”

“Of course.” Your own lips press against his perspiration-soaked shirt collar. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” You pull back ever-so-slightly, brushing tears from his cheeks. “He’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s here, and we get to keep spoiling and loving him.”

Eddie absorbs this as best as he can, mind still spinning as the adrenaline crash hits. There’s so much he wants to say, but for right now, he just carves out space in his body for yours. Your light whisper keeps him grounded, pulling hi away from the spiraling that usually overtakes him in times of crisis.

“I’ve got you.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

1K notes · View notes

allwaswell16 · 7 months ago

Text

A One Direction fic rec of fics in which one of the main pairing is their brother's/sister's best friend as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

💋 Bloodline by banana_louis

(E, 177k, fluff) Louis doesn't know how to feel when his best friend, Liam, finds out about a brother that he never knew, who was placed for adoption before he was born and is bursting into his life at twenty-four years old.

💋 Want You More Than A by TheCellarDoor / @donotdialnine

(M, 77k, high school) Falling in love with your step-brother’s best friend is a disaster enough. When he happens to be the boy everyone loves and you’re a nerd who wears sweater vests and cries during rom-coms, it takes it to a whole new level.

💋 late nights and good intentions by princelouisau

(E, 71k, historical) a Victorian era au where Louis pines for his overprotective older brother’s very charming best friend.

💋 teenage dreams in a teenage circus by orphan_account

(E, 50k, high school) The last few months of sixth form bring about a lot of changes, however. Gemma refuses to let anything stop her from getting into her top-pick uni, Perrie second-guesses what makes her special, and Louis breaks the most common of friend codes: he falls for his best mate's little brother.

💋 We Got The World Shaking by FutureMrsHaroldStyles

(M, 39k, omegaverse) the one where Harry goes into heat at his best friend Lottie's birthday party and her big brother helps him out.

💋 Lies & Liability by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

(M, 34k, historical) Harry Styles has only three wishes when he leaves River Dane Manor to go to Town for his first season

💋 Baby, What a Big Surprise by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

(E, 33k, high school) the one where shy, quiet Harry has no idea he's a carrier, and a one night stand with the most popular boy in school shows him just how wrong he was.

💋 With the Rising Sun by Tomlinsontoes / @pianolouis

(M, 33k, NYC) Somehow he got roped into his sister's brilliant idea of getting her college best friend to help him branch out and meet people.

💋 It's Been So Long by elsi_bee / @elsi-bee

(T, 31k, friends to lovers) Harry Styles' first crush was one of his sister's best friends, a certain someone named Louis Tomlinson. And Louis? He just vaguely remembers Gemma's younger brother from back in the day. A lot can change in ten years.

💋 Pillow Talk by @fallinglikethis

(E, 25k, sexuality crisis) When Harry starts having confusing feelings for a male classmate, his sister's best friend, Louis, helps him figure himself out. Cue lots of kissing, sex, and falling in love.

💋 and i don't care it's obvious by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 20k, uni) However, his issue was that no one had ever created a guide that one could follow in regards to what to do or how to feel when your crush was your sister's best friend.

💋 i don't wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your neck by pinkgelpen

(E, 19k, omegaverse) Harry is a hopelessly romantic omega and Louis is his sister's best friend

💋 I'll Be Your Light by mightaswellll

(M, 17k, roommates) Harry Styles always had a crush on his sister's best friend Louis Tomlinson. Moving in with them should be a good way to get over it, right?

💋 Won’t Let You Down by noellehenry / @noellehenry-original

(M, 15k, small town) Suddenly he’s the owner of a farm and B&B, gets involved in illegal trading of unlabeled bottles and has to deal with his everlasting crush on his sister Gemma’s best friend, who has returned to Woodville…

💋 What do you mean he's coming? by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(G, 15k, famous/not famous) Now, not only does he have less than two weeks left to find something moving and inspirational to say, but Gemma just confided in him that her old childhood best friend is going to be in attendance.

💋 show you the stars in the daylight by bruisedhoney

(E, 13k, size kink) the one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawy, it's definitely not his best friend's little brother Harry...ten years later, he changes his mind.

💋 Dirty Little Secret by therogueskimo / @bravetemptation

(M, 10k, secret relationship) the one where Harry and Louis fall in love, but can’t figure out how to tell Gemma. That is, until Harry gets pregnant, and they don’t have much of a choice.

💋 Here We Come A-Wassailing by @lululawrence

(NR, 8k, Christmas) It was cold, they would be outside in said cold, and he only wanted to stay warm and comfortable in the house. At least his best friend Gemma and her family are part of the caroling crew.

💋 Giving Me Excitations by @juliusschmidt

(M, 6k, vacation) Gemma's BFF Louis joins the family on a beach weekend. Harry likes him so much.

💋 harder to hide than i thought by dangerbears

(NR, 6k, high school) louis's best friend's little brother suddenly got very attractive.

💋 now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 5k, omegaverse) Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest.

💋 Tell Me That You've Got Me by @lululawrence

(NR, 2k, neighbors) the one where Harry was always Louis' best friend's younger brother...until they grow up and once innocent forms of affection come to mean a little bit more.

💋 All This Time by @allwaswell16

(T, 1k, omegaverse) Louis Tomlinson had been best friends with flower shop owner Gemma Styles for years. It wasn't until she suggested he date her alpha brother that he ever thought of Harry that way.

- Rare Pairs -

💋 That Dimpled Smile by Phillipa19

(E, 47k, Zayn/Harry & Marcel/Louis) When Harry's best mate Louis shows an interest in his nerdy little brother, Harry isn't prepared to let him near. But it's hard for Harry to keep track of those two when he has enough trouble trying to figure out what the hell is going on with him and Zayn and their secretive relationship.

#weekly recs #1dficvillage #1dsquad #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghome #trackinghappily #ficsfor4am #hltracks

186 notes · View notes

inkk-tv · 2 months ago

Text

[ ꜰᴏᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘᴜʙ ɢᴏʟꜰ : ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ]

Chris plants his forehead on the table, taking a deep breath as he watches the astro turf. He’s well gone, but Lucy and Arthur, who is now just drawing shapes on the inside of her forearm, aren’t much better off. “You two are going to bankrupt me.”

“We’ll put the fund towards a muzzle.” Lucy says off handedly, swiping the marker, and Arthur’s hand to draw a three-by-three grid on his skin.

in which: Chris attempts to not have another life crisis during a pub golf video and is failing miserably.

3.7k words [ part one ] [ masterlist ] [ part three ]

[oc x arthurtv x chrismd]

[warnings: Excessive drinking, sexual innuendos and light sexual content]

Chris is torn.

Logically, he knows football pub golf is a content gold mine. It could easily be one of the best videos of the year, especially with the team line ups. On the other hand, the last time Chris filmed a pub golf for Chip's channel some eight months ago, it ended with him so fucked he'd uprooted his entire life twenty four hours later.

Mid to late twenties was not a good time to have a sexuality crisis - and Chris speaks from experience. Why it took 11 drinks and joking that he'd shag his best mate for space hopper-ing over a bollard to realise he genuinely wanted to snog him silly, Chris isn't sure.

In retrospect, he'd probably fancied Arthur way back in sixth form, sitting with him in every class, dragging the poor bloke to join his football team. The biting should have been a hint. 'Cuteness aggression', as a session of hungover googling informed him, is horribly common. Chris was so torn up about it all that he talks it over with Shannon the night after, when he's not sure if the urge to vomit is from nerves, guilt or the hangover.

He tries to tell her that it doesn't have to change things, that he still loves her. But she still calls it off.

He can't really be mad at her for that, so it's amicable. The two of them weren't built to last much longer anyway; if marriage was in the cards, Shannon wouldn't get snippy anytime her mother brought it up and Chris wouldn't feel nauseous every time he saw an advert for rings. If they were destined for 'forever', talk of marriage wouldn't sound like an expiration date.

Chris spends a couple of months sorting out all his shit and takes a long hard look at his own feelings.

Everyone is sort of weird about the break-up. For a while they all sort of act like it's temporary. Once he puts out a statement though, his friends take that as confirmation that it's actually over. Arthur -Hill not TV- and George take him out drinking a few times as self declared experts in heartbreak and the single life. Their ventures have the three of them planning to move in together when their leases expire in October. Harry corrals him onto a few dating apps and Chris humours him because how is he supposed to tell the guy that women are the last thing on his mind and that he's head over heels (and possibly in love with) one of their mates, who is noticeably a bloke.

At least this time the pub golf is for his channel, so if there's another earth-shattering life crisis, he can edit it out at the least. Save himself the embarrassment of seeing the clip every few weeks on TikTok. Luckily, Chris is not the kind of man who loses all impulse control when faced with a couple of pints.

He is admittedly two shots up already and they've only just settled at hole four. If anything's going to set their team back, it's this. Chris knows the moment he sees Jamie, his production assistant, walk out with a tray of wine-glasses all of which were bordering on over-filled with rosé.

"Oh god," Lucy groans, her head pitching forwards to thud onto the table. Jamie just smiles as he places the three glasses around the halo of blonde hair. Her next complaint comes out muffled. "Why wine? I can't do wine."

"Come on, Luce." Chris grabs her shoulders to drag her back up straight, shaking them a few times for good measure. "Where's all that team spirit gone?"

"Come on En-ga-land, Score some fucking goals." She quotes, putting on the thick northern accent for it.

Seeing as Chris is a little too far gone to keep explaining the rules at each pub without hurling insults at his friends, Jamie's the one who does it this round, citing that each drink must be fed by a teammate.

"I got a great trick for this one," There's a bit of a slur to Arthur's words, but that could just be him and not the alcohol. Then again, he did do a shot when they got to the pub ‘for fun’ which will most definitely bite them in the arse. "We hold hands and squeeze depending on ho-"

Arthur hiccups halfway through his sentence and it's enough to get a snort out of Chris and devolve Lucy into giggles as he continues. " -how, how much you want."

Chris goes first, and Arthur’s hand is warm in his own as he pours the wine into his mouth.

Although, when it’s Arthur’s turn and Lucy grabs the wine glass off the table, she frowns. “You’re too tall for this.”

There's not that much of a gap between them with her heels factored in but it's enough that to get her arm up and angle the glass right, it would certainly be uncomfortable for Lucy.

“Come on, tip toes surely.” Arthur says, but she’s already got a hand on his shoulder.

“On your knees, Television.” She says it so calmly, pressing lightly on his shoulder- not enough to push Arthur down, Chris knows he’s stronger than he looks, but he goes anyway.

Something that’s horribly aroused stirs in Chris’s stomach, watching Arthur drop to his knees in front of Lucy, mouth open as she leans down just slightly to press the glass against his lips. He grips her wrist instead of her hand and swallows every mouthful of pretty pink rosé so eagerly that there’s evidence of it left on her skin, little crescent indented where his nails had dug in.

It’s awfully sobering to realise that Chris might actually have to fight a semi while filming.

There’s been jokes about it, in the past few years as his content has matured along with his audience and those sorts of comments were left in the final cut. But Christ, watching Arthur lick his lips clean of wine, not even moving to stand until Lucy pulls him to his feet by the hand, that’s enough to make anyone sexually attracted to men a little off kilter.

He’s never really had the ‘awkward boners’ at least not since his teenage years. Chris is pretty sure it’s something to do with the messy ball of crossed wires that is his sexuality, the fact he never really gets a hard on for someone he’s not head over heels for but he’s not really put much time into untangling that.

Although, he might need to do that soon.

Something about the way Arthur looks at her, as if from the moment she put her hand on him, she was everything- the centre of his universe.

Not that Chris can really blame him. Lucy’s always been captivating like that. He’s not a moron, Lucy’s attractive, objectively. She’s cute, green eyes, light tan to her skin that’s more from sunshine than genetics, and blonde hair that's half pulled back with a white ribbon, a couple strands falling in front of her face. Round cheeks that push up towards her eyes when she smiles, a little tip up to the end of her nose. She’s got the kind of features that would make Chris pause on those stupid dating apps he only swipes though when Harry’s looking over his shoulder.

Arthur yields so easily for her, blinking at her with those brown eyes and chewing his bottom lip a little, hands still messily entwined together as Harry makes a poor sex joke.

It’s an orbit that Chris has watched many men tumble into before, the gravitational pull of Lucy Bell. There’s something about the way she carries herself, a confidence that makes eyes drawn to her. On night outs, there’s mixed reactions. George and Arthur Hill love it, girls are more than happy to chat and linger at their table, eased in the risk of approaching a bunch of men in a club by the presence of a woman like Lucy.

He thinks about all the dickheads he’s seen try and fail to make a pass on her, as Chris picks up the final glass of rosé.

Lucy has, and will continue to, drink Chris under the table, but she is under or just about five foot six. And There's only so many miracles a liver that size can facilitate. Maybe she’s a little further finished than he thought, because when he holds the wine glass up to her, and clasps their palms together, she just isn’t taking it like she was earlier.

“Come on Luce, down in one.” He murmurs, “You got it.”

A little dribble of it runs down her chin and into the curve of her throat, but no one calls her on it and Lucy is left gagging on the taste of rosé that she’d downed. She’s squeezing his hands tight as she recoils and pulls a face. Chris rubs her back and gives it a couple of pats as she leans into his side. “I hate rosé.”

Arthur reappears with three glasses of water, precariously balanced in his hands and he deposits one in front of each of them. It’s the best drink Chris has been given all day and he can’t help the words that slip out. “Oh my god I love you.”

No one blinks at it though, not Arthur, not Chris. He’s said it before, there’s no reason for anyone to think it means anything more than it used to.

Lucy doesn’t bat an eye, just gives Arthur this awfully soft look before guzzling down half the glass in one go. Until Stephen drops a balled up napkin on the floor and kicks it between her feet, nutmegging her.

Honestly, Chris had sort of forgotten about writing that rule into the video and he sort of feels bad now. Lucy’s probably going to be the only victim of it for the afternoon, because everyone else is far enough gone that they’re a little fuzzy on the rules too.

She and Stephen do shots of baby guinness together (because apparently he just wanted to?) and Chris has to stare into his water glass, tracing patterns on the condensation with his thumb so he doesn’t stare at Arthur and imagine him at the foot of his bed, on his knees for Chris. Complacent and content.

Chris kind of wants to curl in on himself.

Beside him, Arthur’s hand slips down from Chris’ shoulder and along his back, stepping around both him and Lucy, hand slipping to her waist and along the curve of it as he ducks back inside the pub.

There’s jeers from the German team and Cal follows Arthur inside to make sure he’s not chundering in the bathroom.

“Chris, I’m not gonna lie,” Lucy leans into whisper, “I don’t think I’ll be standing by the end of this video.”

She looks utterly gone. Her eyes are wide, and there’s a little sheen to the column of her neck, maybe from the wine she’d dribbled or the haste to skull the water she was handed. This close, he can see the lines of her makeup, where the eyeliner is a little shaky right at her lash line and the few eyelashes that are clumpy with mascara.

It’s the drunkest he’s seen her in a while, and she’s probably only one drink off of ‘cartwheel Lucy’- the stage of intoxication where she feels the urge to display her impressive coordination that she, annoyingly, never loses no matter how much alcohol she’s ingested.

Chris tips his head forwards and bites her deltoid. Teeth sinking softly into the fabric of her jersey until he can just feel the solidness of her shoulder underneath. Lucy startels, a little, whines then swats at Chris until he retreats half a step.

She looks at the bite mark on her pristine England Jersey, wiping at Chris’ spit as she scoffs and scrunches her nose up a little. "I’m going to catch diseases off you at this rate.”

There’s about half a second where he considers making an STD joke, but there’s a camera sitting on them and it feels a little disrespectful to suggest something like that.

Lucy frowns down at the black line on the inside of her wrist. “Where’s Arthur, I need a tally mark.”

And the man of the hour is dragged from the Pub’s entrance, clinging to Cal, looking significantly more gone than he had five minutes ago. The wine must have been hitting hard.

Supposedly, there was no puke, but for the antics Arthur received a red card, putting the English team even further down the hole they’re stuck in. It doesn’t help that the other team all get their drinks down in one.

Not that Chris was really paying attention, he was too busy watching Arthur poke at Cal, enjoying pressing his buttons.

“How many holes do we have left?” He asks once he’s settled back into his stool.

Chris snorts. “Me after five drinks on a saturday night, am I right?”

Arthur holds his hand up for a high five, but Chris has his arms crossed and his brain is working a little slow to catch it before the palm is descending into a playful smack on his face. He grabs Arthur's hand with both of his and licks a fat stripe up his palm, tongue feeling the roughness of calluses from the gym and the faint taste of beer.

The reaction is immediate. “Noooo!”

Arthur recoils and wipes his hand of spit on Chris’ jersey.

Lord, Chris must be so much further gone than he thought, because he just devolves into giggles, even after fully licking his best mate’s hand. It’s only when Jess, his production manager, starts herding them down the footpath to the next pub that Chris finally gets a handle on his giggles.

Somehow, when they make it to Pub number five, everyone- including his own employees- goads Chris into climbing the tree opposite it. Which earns them two points deducted, so they’ve almost worked off the red card from Arthur’s endeavours with a toilet bowl at the second pub.

The Vodka Oranges are, mercifully, only one standard drink. Although, Lucy’s still looking a little queasy at the prospect of downing it. “I hope this doesn’t have pulp.”

Arthur frowns and holds his drink up in the light to get a better look. “I don’t think so.”

“If there’s pulp I might actually throw up. I can’t do the texture.”

“Can’t say I’m a big fan either.” The downwards tilt of Arthur’s lips is painfully cute and Chris kind of wants to lean over and bite at him, but he’s not supposed to be doing that today. Instead he huddles them closer together, like was in the plan for pub five and they have their half-time strategy meeting.

“If either of you puke, I swear to god I will never forgive you.” Chris says, focusing very hard on not slurring his words. “We can’t lose to Stephen Tries. He already carries this channel enough.”

“Come on- I’ve done plenty.” Arthur complains. “I got Harry three shots deeper.”

Admittedly, an impressive feat, but it’s still about thirty less shots than Harry WroeToShaw needs to start feeling the effects of Alcohol and far from enough to recover from all the penalty points he’s been earning. Chris tuts “Only one of us has climbed a tree so I really think that you guys need to step up to the plate at this point.”

The pair just stare at him, and for a moment, Chris sort of loses the plot in Arthur’s eyes. “You’ve got very nice eyes.”

They are. A nice dark brown that sort of looks like pots of honey, mesmerising while Chris blinks into them, with a sort of depth that makes it impossibly easy to sink into them. He’s better at it now, remembering to look away, but the alcohol’s got him a little slower to catch it.

“Christ, they are nice eyes.” Lucy agrees leaning in to get a better look at Arthur, who’s blushing a little from the attention, then towards Chris. “You’ve got good eyes too.”

Arthur nods eagerly. “He does have lovely eyes.”

“Lucy, your eyes are great.” Chris pivots, hoping to save his brain from malfunctioning, onto Lucy, planting a hand on her shoulder to lean in close and study her eyes.

They’re more green than blue, wide as she processes how close he’s gotten to her. He’s heard people say the grass is greener on the other side, but looking at Lucy’s eyes, it might just be true. It’s almost like staring at the overgrown grass of his childhood football pitch, some streaks a little darker than others, and the underlying feeling that there’s something to be found there, if one cared to look a little deeper than surface level.

“Oh, they are.” Arthur agrees, squinting a little as he peers at her.

All three of them have completely lost the whole ‘strategy meeting’ plot that was supposed to be their halftime regroup and by the time Chris untangles himself from their eyes, it’s time to down the vodka oranges that have been sweating condensation down their wrists.

Cal corrals both teams into a cheers and miraculously, everyone manages to get it down in one.

Thankfully, they’d figured people would be a bit gone by pub five, so a nice lengthy walk proceeds pub six.

Chris just about hangs off Arthur the whole time, who at first is a little distracted by texting George Clarkey in an attempt to convey how ‘sober’ he is, but eventually slings his arm over Chris’ shoulder and lets him stay there. He tries to not stir things, lest he be shoved away, instead basking in the bloody amazing smell of Arthur cologne as it mixes with his deodorant. Chris couldn’t name what either of them smell like, but it’s a scent that’s so uniquely Arthur he wouldn’t be able to associate it with anything else.

“George says he’s gonna come pick me up from the last pub.” He declares, shoving his phone into Chris’ face. It’s a little too close to read, but he squints and tries anyway. Arthur only gives him a few seconds before pulling the screen back and pocketing it.

At one point in their walk, Chris bites at his wrist where it hangs next to his face but it’s not enough to chase him off.

“Next pub golf, it’s twenty quid per bite.” Arthur grimaces, whipping the back of his hand of spit down the front of Chris’ jersey. “Lucy had the right idea.”

“I think you owe her a tally mark. Maybe.” Chris frowns, trying to recall if they’d added the last nip.

“Luce!” He calls. “Did we add the last tally? From Pub four with the rosé?”

She’s about ten meters ahead, tangled up with Stephen as he tries to wrangle her into some kind of hug or headlock, it’s a little unclear which. For a moment the pair of them freeze, and Lucy does that little frown and nose scrunch she does whenever she thinks particularly hard on something. “No!”

Then she kicks Stephen’s sneaker and he bowles over, caught off guard.

“Yellow card! Yellow card!” Arthur shouts, pointing so obnoxiously that Chris almost wants to tell him it’s rude. “Ref, that’s diving!”

Cal dishes out a Yellow card and Stephen goes back to trying to deck Lucy, via bowling her knees out from under her. But by the time they make it to pub six, he’s managed to weasel a piggy back out of her and the two of them pause by the gate to point out where ‘live music: ChrisMD Diss-Track cover band’ is written in neat print of the blackboard.

The two of them are gone, and it’s probably lucky that Lucy isn’t the kind of drunk that gets clumsy, otherwise the two of them would never have managed to make it through the beer garden benches without knocking into one. Arthur isn’t as lucky, knocking his shin against one on his way over to the tables his production team has claimed.

“Ow.” He whines as Chris gets his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, shaking him until they’re at the seats and he’s shoving him off in fake annoyance. “Get off you leach.”

He digs the pen out of his shorts pocket, and bites the cap off, keeping it wedged between his teeth as he calls out to Lucy. Her name comes out muffled around the cap but she deposits Stephen and collapses next to Arthur, who grabs her wrist. There’s an awful lot of concentration on his face for something as simple as drawing a line.

“We’ll put the fund towards a muzzle.” Lucy says off handedly, swiping the marker, and Arthur’s hand to draw a three-by-three grid on his skin.

They fall into their own little bubble as they start up a series of naughts and crosses games. Chris has to kick them under the table to gain their attention when Cal starts explaining the pub-quiz rules. The aim was to guess the cocktail themed pun based on the footballer’s name.

Chris wasn’t expecting greatness to begin with. He knows his footballers, but Arthur and Lucy don’t really know them by name and face- unless they play for the teams they support. There’s a much higher chance of a Man United player showing up than a Brighton player, so Lucy might be completely out of her depth.

They manage to break even only because the German team are shouting out the footballer’s names and failing to relate it back to a cocktail, so the three of them can steal the point out from under them By the end of it, they’re left with a martini, a strawberry daiquiri and a rum punch.

Chris gets the easy way out and is handed the martini, Lucy recoils once she finishes her rum punch, a shiver racking her spine and Arthur struggles to drink his daiquiri that is filled with ice, though a piss-weak paper straw.

But it’s down in one for all of them, even the other team.

As he hauls himself to his feet, the gin hits him like a truck. Enough that he stumbles half a step back. Chris knows, as he catches the worried look his production team are giving him, that his hope of ending the afternoon without puking, was a lost cause.

[ part one ] [ masterlist ] [ part three ]

ink note: part two! poor christopher's got it bad. this is our last chris chapter for a while, so pray for the poor lad.

[ if you would like to be added to the fic's tag list, let me know in an ask and you'll be tagged when each chapter goes up :) ]

#arthurtv #arthurtv fics #arthurtv x oc #arthurtv x chrismd #arthur frederick #arthur frederick x oc #arthur frederick fics #chrismd #chrismd x oc #chrismd fics #chrismd x arthurtv x oc #chris dixon #chris dixon fics #chris dixon x oc

83 notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 1 year ago

Text

Cocoon- Best Friend's Dadrry

hello my loves, here is part 6 of the best friend's dadrry series!! I hope you enjoy

Patreon

Previous part

Warnings- age gap relationship, hints of smut, fluffy and angsty

WC- 2.9k

-----------

“Fuck me.” Harry muttered, looking down at his phone.

It was a day in-office for him, one of the few ones that he still did just to keep order of it. Having his own company had a lot of perks, which were thoroughly enjoyed by the man with taking trips and spending money and living lavishly. One of the best so far, though, had been being able to be home when Y/N had days off. The pretty girl that stayed on his mind 25/8, the one he was still trying to gauge how she felt.

Today had been scheduled before she had been given the day off. The man had mourned the loss of a later morning, snuggled between her legs with her thighs keeping his cheeks warm. He loved having breakfast in bed, languid licks at her sensitive cunt while she stroked his hair and squirmed under him with soft little sleepy moans. His ultimate best morning routine, tarnished by the fact he had to leave at 6 in the damn morning. He’d kissed her pouty lips goodbye and driven to the city, grumpy and under caffeinated as he sat down at his office chair.

He’d been in the middle of a conference call when he had opened up the messages sent from Y/N. One in particular had him cursing under his breath.

It was her in his bed. His shirt on her body, lifted up by her hand to expose her naked torso and the curve of her hips. Her beautiful, beautiful body that he had dragged himself away from this morning, albeit mournfully. His eyes took in the faded marks of his fingers on her hips and the very fresh love bite he had left on the swell of her breast. He could remember the exact moment he had given it to her, too. Her body laid out under him on the couch, vibrator he had snuck downstairs pressed firmly to her clit as she whined for him. He’d worshiped her breasts, sucking on the nipples until they swelled and made her shiver when he blew on them, kissing and licking every available inch of skin just because he could. Because Harry wanted to own her, and she loved to be owned by him.

That one spot in particular had made her squeal, so he had latched on. Sucking rough, feeling her hips roll and her poor clit be slightly abused as she came and he kept it pressed there for another time around. Harry had become increasingly greedy with her and her body, her time. He wanted all of it. Making her orgasm was an addiction, feeling her nails dig into his arms as she weighed in his arms and telling him ‘enough’ but knowing she wasn’t safe wording out? He went feral on that.

Their sexual chemistry was a modern marvel. He’d wondered many times how it was. Why it was. It had to be his daughter’s best friend who had finally unlocked the side of him that he had thought never existed. Passion and lust and the need to please had engulfed him like a wall of flames as soon as they kissed, achy hands gripping soft flesh and pulling her closer and closer so he could get her scent on his skin. Her taste on his lips. His orgasms before were barely considered now that he had came inside of her.

Y/N had woken up a part of him that he had thought had died a long time ago. The adventurous sex and excitement, he felt like a boy discovering love and intimacy all over again. It was terrifying and exhilarating and he wanted to hoard all of these moments with her for himself. He had considered it a potential midlife crisis when the topic had been broached, but quickly dismissed that. The things he felt for her were real. The sweaty palms and the need to please and the shot of butterflies shot into his stomach when she fucking smiled at him. He had been in a few relationships in the past and it was similar, but Y/N just seemed to understand a part of him.Unspoken, perhaps, but it seemed like she didn’t even have to try to make him happy. Her simple being an natural instincts leaned towards his preferences.

“What?” One of the voices on the call had responded.

Fuck.

“Sorry, I spilled coffee on myself.” He tried to save it. “I apologize for the unprofessionalism, it just burned me.” He hadn’t realized he said it out loud.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s awful. Are you alright?” Another voice asked, the concern making him smile to himself.

“Yes, I’m fine. We can continue.”

His eyes went back to the photo, making sure to mute himself this time as his thumbs typed out a text to her.

H: What are you trying to do?

H: You know I’m in a meeting right now.

💋: I know 😇

💋: thought you’d like some motivation.

H: The only things it’s motivating me to do is mark your ass up with my hand when I get home.

💋: say it again, Daddy. I’m close.

H: Y/N….

💋: Daddy H….

H: You’re lucky you’re cute.

💋: ooo, what else am I?

H: Trouble.

💋: hm, maybe a little bit.

💋: what else? 💋💋

H: One of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. Incredibly intelligent. Kind. Strong willed.

💋: … damn. I was teasing but you’re making me blush.

💋: you’ve earned a blowie when you come home.

H: I’m only stating the truth.

His smile grew as he realized that she called his place home.

H: You’ll still be there when I get home?

💋: Mhm. I was going to run errands but the bed… it’s too comfortable.

💋: I think you should bring home take out and eat it with me in bed. Be lazy with me. We can watch the documentary you wanted to see.

H: I won’t complain about coming home to my pretty girl in bed.

In fact, it would make him giddy all day. She wanted to spend time with him like that? Yes, they’d done it a lot before but it felt way better now. More real. Domestic.

💋: I’d hope not.

💋: not opposed to a pizza and some wine. Just putting it out there.

H: Anything for you, darling.

💋: if you keep saying that you won’t be able to get rid of me.

H: I wouldn’t dream of it.

He never wanted to. He wanted to keep her. That was part of the problem.

—-

Harry came home with two pizza boxes in hand and the requested wine in the other. The house was quiet, tranquil. The string lights she had asked to hang up on the deck were on and the sun was almost set, casting s glow into the kitchen as he walked through it. His home had felt so empty when his daughter had left for college, even more so when she’d actually moved out- but having Y/N here was a remedy. A blessing. He wanted to come home every night to her shoes in the entryway. Her mug in the sink. She made it feel like a home again.

His briefcase was set down in the office, his work phone left too so he didn’t have it and grabbed two glasses from the kitchen before he basically zoomed up the stairs, opening his bedroom door to see- a lump.

A Y/N sized lump under the covers. Hair piled up on top of her head peeked out of his duvet that was clutched close to her face, which was smushed slightly against his pillow. She was sleeping on his pillow on her side of the bed. His heart tingled, a slight smile rising on his face as he placed the pizza boxes down on the dresser and the wine following.

He took a moment to observe her. He’d done it plenty of times before as she slept. Creepy? Perhaps. But there was something so sweet about her when she fell asleep. Staying curled in his bed, no walls up, she let go of any defenses and felt safe enough with him to snooze in his bed- with or without him home. Her gentle breathing was all he could hear besides the low buzz of the tv playing some show he couldn’t place, the peaceful look on her face one he wished he could memorize.

Fingers couldn’t stop the urge, reaching out and brushing the hair from her face. The baby hair that had been fussed with and fallen out in her sleep, her warm skin igniting his fingertips. She was so goddamn beautiful, it made his heart ache a little bit in his chest. He knew she was younger than him, but she was a woman. She was a sweet woman, strong and full of life and vigor. Y/N was hilarious and feisty but above all else, she was kind. She had a good heart. Perhaps there were flaws- ones he knew about, like her stubbornness, and some others that were more than likely hidden under a layer of heavily guarded fluff- but he thinks that they all add together to make her Y/N. And that in and of itself was fucking beautiful.

His chest squeezed when she leaned into his touch, falling deeper into the pillows with a soft noise. His touch calmed her, even in her sleep had her gravitating towards him. His heart felt like it was in his throat as he realized that it wasn't something he could talk himself out of. There were real feelings here. It wasn’t just an illicit affair anymore. Not just two people indulging in the taboo. It was a relationship, even without the label.

He stroked over the apples of her cheeks, petting her heated skin as he saw her eyes flutter. One sleepily popped open, looking up at the man in confusion for a second before the most gut wrenchingly sweet smile tipped on her sleepy lips. A slow hand grabbed his hand keeping it where it was as she turned her face so her lips met his palm. Something that had become a habit for them both, her smooth, soft lips pressing chaste against the slightly tough skin of his hand.

Wordlessly, her hand weakly tugged at him before she opened up the blankets.

She wanted him in.

Harry wasn’t going to tell her no. Especially not after how raw his heart felt at his revelation just mere seconds ago. He shrugged off his jacket and his belt, letting them fall to the floor so they wouldn’t irritate her while she scooted more towards the middle of the bed, allowing him space. His brain was whirling around, full of thoughts and things to say, but he couldn’t get them to organize themselves. All he could do is indulge in her request, crawling into the bed with her and laughing under her breath as she dove for his neck, tucking her face into the crook of it.

God. He was so, so fucked.

“Hi.” Out of everything he could have said, it was what escaped his lips. Arm wrapping underneath her body while the other moved to stroke her exceptionally warm back, he felt her snuggle into him. Melting into his body like it was a second piece to his own. Her breath was warm as he felt a single peck to the thin and sensitive skin of his throat, her nose running over it as she clutched his work shirt.

“Hi.” Was the peep back, her voice raspy with the sleep she had just gotten. Y/N was a nap fiend, always excusing herself for a bit of shut eye, but this had to be one of his new favorites. Sleepy Y/N in his bed, desperate for a cuddle when he got home. There was no semblance of hesitation, she was simply doing what she wanted and it made him feel full knowing that this was the choice.

“Sleep well when I was gone, darling?” His voice was hushed, not wanting to break the intimate moment. This was the type of thing that Harry had been exceptionally greedy for lately. The tenderness, the sweet heart of this girl showing itself to him front and center. He could tell that sometimes it was intimidating for her to do such a thing, but she had been making him so, so happy.

“Mhm.” The soft hum was met with her hand slipping under his work shirt, resting on his chest. He’d unbuttoned it and lost the tie on the way in, but he knew now that he needed to thank whatever gave him the idea to do that. Her little warm hand smoother over his skin, brushing over the light hair on his chest with another hum before she settled it there. “Missed you, though.” The admission had him smiling to himself, unable to see her face but knowing it was a little bit shy. His hand found a similar position, slipping under her tank top and splaying across her smooth, warm back. “Yeah? Missed you too. Always do.” He decided to reward her with some of his own vulnerability. It was a team effort. She should know he felt just as fond. “Don’t like goin’ into the office. S’not as nice as working from home.. And I can see more of you.” Lips brushed the crown of her head, inhaling deeply as he pressed a kiss to it. Her shampoo smelled so good, it was just essential Y/N, and it was all over his bed. He would seek it out when she inevitably, unfortunately, would have to return to her flat.

Y/N waited for a second before raising her head from his neck, pecking his jaw and looking at him with those pretty, hazy with sleep eyes that he utterly adored. She took a moment to stare at him, his pulse going a bit harder when she didn’t reply right away- but he was rewarded. Her lips found his, her nimble fingers tangling in his silver necklace. Ever so gentle, her lips closed around his and she arched into him, letting it linger for a few seconds before Harry returned it, pecking her lips with a few light pecks. The sound of them made her smile, peeling her eyes back open to look at him.

“I like when you stay here with me, too. I’m a little greedy with your time…” She joked, a tiny smile showing the humor. It wasn’t really a joke, though. Y/N had found it hard to stay away from the man. It was a culmination of things. What she had always intended to be hot, whirlwind sex before she settled and searched for a good job had turned into a mess. One that was starting to mean more to her than most other things.

“I like it when you’re greedy.” there was a double meaning there but the tone was showing he meant it in the pure way. “I like spending time with you. Y’know that, yeah?” He mumbled, pulling her body in to snuggle against him. The softness of her limbs and heat of her nap soaked him to his bones, the covers pulled up around them to keep the cocoon of warmth steadily baking around them. “Love sex with you, but… This is nice too. Or goin’ out to the pool with you. Cooking with you. It’s made my days lately.”

Y/N’s heart felt like it was a bit too full, a shy smile painting her lips. It was difficult to look him in the eye when he said sweet things like this when her brain hadn’t even fully broken out of the nap and kiss haze. The older man cradled her like she was precious- she felt precious- and he always made her feel appreciated. It had been the last thing she expected when this had started but she couldn’t deny how good it felt to know that she wasn’t just a body for him to fuck. He enjoyed spending time with her.

“Me too.” She peeped, hiding her face back in his neck as she resumed her clinging to him. His cologne had faded a bit, leaving the last bits of it mixed with a tiny bit of coffee and his telltale soap smell of his skin soothing her down. “I’m happy. We can keep doing it, right?”

He knew she had a bit of a shy streak when it came to softer things. A fierce and demanding girl when it came to sex, but real vulnerability had her cowering away a bit. Not to the point where he felt her pulling away from him, but showing that it still intimidated her. He nearly melted as she asked if they could continue it. As if he would ever be the one to tell her to stay away, as if he would ever be the one to break it off. As if he wasn’t completely and utterly obsessed with the girl in his arms.

As if he wasn’t falling in love.

“As long as you’ll let me, darling, I’ll be here every day.”

513 notes · View notes

hd-erised · 2 months ago

Text

H/D Erised Fic: Sub rosa

Author: @tessacrowley Recipient: @hoko-onchi-writes Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~37,100 Tags: Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Veela Draco Malfoy, Intersex Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Professor Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Professor Harry Potter, Identity Crisis, Implied/Referenced Attempted Rape/Non-con, Mpreg, past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Charlie, Death of a parent, sexual harassment, parental transphobia, non-consensual medication dosing, Drinking, pregnancy, gender dysphoria, past intersex surgery, withheld medical history, additional warning in author's note

Summary: After the tragic and unexpected death of his mother, Draco Malfoy’s quiet life as Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, and Hogwarts professor gets upended—first by the manifestation of mysterious and inexplicable magic, and then by the revelation of an inheritance deliberately hidden from him his entire life.

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Sub rosa

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fest #hp #hp fic #harry x draco #draco x harry #hd erised 2024

55 notes · View notes

sitp-recs · 2 months ago

Text

ok so I wasn’t gonna do this bc I didn’t have the spoons to plan in advance, but it was breaking my heart not to join the HP Rec Fest after seeing so many amazing rec posts. I also wanted to honour Scarlet | @givereadersahug’s memory, and thanks to @tackytigerfic’s new fic (!!!) I was hit by sudden inspo last night so I’ve decided to quietly join and pretend that was the plan all along 🥲 I’ll combine the first 5 prompts in one post to make it easier. go check @hprecfest so you can feast on those brilliant multishipper recs!

day 1: first fic I remember reading

oh it was definitely something in Portuguese, but I’ll go with Rhysenn’s Irresistible Poison. I’ve read it so many times that some scenes are still vivid and clear in my mind 20 years later. the tension, the yearning, the heat! funny to realize I was so into love potion, sex pollen and other dub-con tropes back in the day, and now I’m just… not :)))

day 2: a fic rated G

I’ve picked orphaned Home County because that fic is criminally underrated and I suspect it has something to do with the G rating, which is such a shame. this fic is a delightful, effortlessly funny slice-of-life with architect Harry being charmed by ministry worker Draco. a fresh premise perfectly executed, overall just a feel-good story that makes you sad for leaving that universe when it’s over.

day 3: a fic not on AO3

most of my old reads were either deleted for good or incorporated into ao3 so it was hard to find a good fit, as I did not want to repeat my recs from last year. I decided to go with furiosity, who wrote many Drarry classics that can be found scattered outside of ao3. I remember really enjoying Beyond Wild Moon and Fer, a 6th year Harry POV that follows his Hogwarts routine and sexuality crisis. I haven’t checked it in ages but this is the perfect excuse for a reread 😌

day 4: a comfort fic

every once in a while I think of Nothing Left to Burn by @skeptiquewrites, it had such a lasting impact on me. Tee writes my favorite h/c flavour, raw yet soft, melancholy but also tender, a mix of bittersweet and hopeful that makes my heart ache. it’s so damn relatable and lovely. I adore a good second chances trope, it fits Drarry like a glove and the gorgeous Montreal aesthetics make this love story even more special and unique.

day 5: a romantic fic

how to pick just one?? this felt like an impossible task, but then Two Zinnias by @the-starryknight took my mind with such visceral force I started asking myself “could anything be more romantic than ex-enemies turned allies turned boyfriends going rogue and fighting a corrupted ministry while using Victorian flower codes on the run??” the answer is no - this fic is a thrill, an emotional rollercoaster from start to end and I remember how completely bewildered and in love I felt after reading it, utterly obsessed with this world and characters. so much story and heart under 17k, many memorable scenes and banger lines, the political tension, suspense and epic duelling never overshadowing the intensity and truth of what they felt for each other. peak romance!!!

#hp rec fest 2024 #days 1 to 5 #might do a banner later

70 notes · View notes

romnianistan · 6 months ago

Text

@joannerowling

[Introduction]

While many articles have been written about Harry Potter and the school board genre or its relationship to fantasy, very few people have looked into the influence of the Gothic in Harry Potter (or in JKR's works in general). Part of it I think is due to the depreciation of Harry Potter by the cultural bourgeoisie, who only regard it as mere children's books that don't hold any actual literary value and that aren't worth to be studied seriously. Yet many tropes, storylines and plot devices used by JKR draw inspiration from the Gothic genre, bringing to it a modern twist by both adverting and subverting Gothic clichés. This inspiration is apparent in JKR's focus on broken families stuck into a cycle of poverty and violence involving incest and alcoholism or in the settings of many of the most iconic scenes of her book (to me the situation of Merope Gaunt, the way she's treated by her male relatives and the description of her house clearly allude to that of Catherine Linton at Wuthering Heights). In another post, I tried to argue that one example of such a subversion in JKR's works was her use of the Gypsy theme -- Romani people as the embodiement of marginality, social and sexual danger as well as oriental mysticism --, a trope of Gothic literature most notably used by Emily Brontë in Wuthering Heights and Victor Hugo in the Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and that's been studied by Ken Lee in his article on Gypsylorism. But while JKR never once mentions Romani people in the Harry Potter series (an omission that is very interesting in itself; she's leaving out of her series the ethnic group that's been associated the most with witchcraft in folk tales for centuries, even though she's drawing inspiration from European folklore), she does mention them a bit in The Casual Vacancy and a lot in Cormoran Strike. However, as opposed to Wuthering Heights and HoND, Romani people aren't actually associated with paganism in JKR's books (they would have if she had been racist); their mention serves a Gothic aesthetic purpose as the non-Romani pov character starts thinking about Gypsy witchcraft and wandering, but that romanticising is quickly destroyed once the narrative brings up the actual reality of what it means to be Romani(-adjacent) in the UK: poverty and social exclusion. (In my opinion, this is a subtle commentary on how rich people idealize wanderness and poverty despite their being trauma-inducing experiences for the people who experience them.)

In my opinion, another influence of the Gothic is also the character dynamic she builds around Harry and Voldemort. In three different ways, the Harry/Voldemort dynamic parallels that of Dracula and Mina Harker in Bram Stoker's Dracula: first, the in-narrative construction of that dynamic; second, the way that character dynamic is used as a plot device by both Stoker and JKR in their respective works; third, the significance/symbolism of that character dynamic.

1. The narrative build up

In both Dracula and HP, the psychic bond that unites Mina/Harry and Dracula/Voldemort is created in spite of Dracula and Voldemort. In Dracula, that bond is an inevitable consequence/side effect of the repeated blood sucking Dracula does on Mina. In HP, that bond is created despite the knowledge of Voldemort and as a consequence of Voldemort's murder attempt.

In both stories, that bond was created/reinforced by blood mixing. In Dracula, blood mixing allows Dracula to link his mind directly with Mina's. In HP, that bond becomes much stronger after the graveyard scene, when Voldemort also uses Harry's blood to regain life. In both cases, we have blood magic and DNA mixing involved, resulting in an identity crisis on the part of Harry/Mina (their sense of self is eroded after the distinction between their body and that of Dracula/Voldemort got blurred and as the emotions/thoughts of the other start influencing theirs).

Dracula forms a psychic bond with Mina Harker as a step towards mind control. He wants to read, manipulate and control her mind and her thoughts, and in particular, he wants to use it to spy on his enemies (Jonathan and Van Helsing). However, he is forced to block the link when he realizes that, if he can spy on the heroes through Mina, Mina can spy on him as well by being put into a hypnotic trance that allows her to sense Dracula and his surroundings and can feel how far away or how close he is to them. This is what eventually leads the heroes to Dracula and allows them to catch him.

In Harry Potter as well, Dumbledore fears that psychic link would be used by Voldemort to spy on the Order of the Phoenix through Harry. This is why Dumbledore ignores and isolates Harry for an entire year and this is also what prompted Dumbledore to get Snape to teach Occlumency to Harry -- to block Voldemort's thoughts. But Voldemort doesn't actually use the link to spy. afaik he only uses it twice: once to deceive Harry and get him to come to the Ministry of Magic, and once at the very end of OotP when he briefly takes control of Harry's body. But Harry (just like Mina) realizes he can use that link to his own advantage and spy back on Voldemort (he repeatedly does so in DH): just like Mina, Harry is able to feel what he feels, to hear his thoughts and to sense how far or how close he is.

So we have a similar process following the same steps: evil blood magic on the part of an unwilling villain first, blurring of identity second. In both stories, the psychic link serves as a war strategy playing out over a deep identity crisis. The difference is that this process spans 4 books and 13 years in Harry Potter, with many more smaller steps in between, but overall it's still the same structure.

2. The Harry/Voldemort (Mina/Dracula) dynamic as a plot device

Because everyone uses the psychic link to spy on the other, it becomes a power play for the two characters involved, symbolically representing the struggle between life and death (love and hatred). But it also serves a narrative purpose: both stories are written from the perspective of the heroes. By introducing the psychic link as a plot device, the reader can get some insight into the pov of the villain of the series. The psychic link then becomes a way to drive the action: after each discovery, the character (be it Mina, Harry, Dracula or Voldemort) takes action. They plan a fight/battle, they track each other or they fly from each other. With the psychic link, the writer (Stoker/Rowling) is able to write very cool descriptive scenes from a totally different perspective, taking place in a totally different setting we don't normally see otherwise (think of the description of the Riddle House at the beginning of GoF -- an apparition that is justified in-narrative by its being shown to Harry in a dream). In both Dracula and HP, the psychic link also allows the writer to write dialogues that have more to do with the mystery genre than the fantasy genre (what's the villain doing? are we sure that information is legit? who is he talking to?) Finally, and even if we have to wait a few chapters for it, it leads to the introduction of battle scenes.

So both Dracula and HP use the psychic link as a plot device in a similar way: 1. it drives the action by justifying the writing of descriptive scenes, action scenes and dialogues, 2. it makes the story even more compelling for the reader who gets to hear the exclusive thoughts of the villain in a setting we are not used to (the villain's lair!) so those scenes feel special and cool, 3. it allows the writer to diverisfy the genre of their book by introducing new elements taken from the mystery genre.

3. The symbolic of that relationship

Voldemort, just like Dracula, is an undead being, a living dead. While Voldemort himself isn't a zombie (an "inferi"), a ghost or a vampire, he does surround himself with them and his physical description is very much akin to that of the undead. Two of his most significant features are his paleness (also a recurrent adjective to describe ghosts) and his long, spidery fingers, which together can be used to describe both Voldemort and Nosferatu:

(book!voldemort literally looks like this bad guy over there ^ but without a nose and with red eyes -- and this is why he haunts my sleep sometimes!! that character design fucks)

Symbolically as well, Voldemort is an undead being, a living dead, as it says in his very name ("fleeing death", "flight from/of death"). In his backstory as well, Voldemort became twice a living dead. First, by spiritually killing himself and rendering his soul to the dark arts in pursuit of immortality (in much the same way vampires render their soul to the devil). Second, by falling victim to his own Avada Kedavra spell in Godric's Hollow. (Harry is an example of how one survives the Avada Kedavra; I wouldn't say Voldemort survived it considering all the (physical, if not spiritual) remnants of his past humanity were completely destroyed by it.)

More specifically, Voldemort is a vampire: in his very first apparition in the series, he is seen drinking the lifeblood of a living creature (a unicorn). All throughout the series, Voldemort is the undead that needs to feast on others to survive, by exploiting his followers (in the years following Godric's Hollow, he only survives by drawing on the life force of Quirrell and by living as a parasite with Pettigrew), by living on the terror he inspires to other people, and by turning other living beings (Nagini and Harry) into horcruxes (the same way a vampire would turn the human he drinks the blood of into another vampire). Of course, the number 1 inspo for Voldemort is the boogeyman: everyone in the wizarding world is scared to say his name in case he might literally materialize out of thin air. But he is not described (narratively, physically) as any boogeyman, he is specifically the vampire.

Just as Voldemort is Dracula, Harry is Mina Harker: a human being who represents life. Both Harry and Mina carry a part of Voldemort/Dracula's inside of them, and both of them are scared of eventually becoming like them. Both Harry and Mina survived their confrontations with Voldemort/Dracula thanks to the help of their friends (love and friendship trumping death). Both of them are also common human beings who have been involuntarily turned into something so much more unique by the very assault they survived. The way they responded to it (opposing hatred with love and bravery) turned them into something so much more important than mere human beings: they became symbols inspiring strength to others around them. And all throughout the story, both Mina and Harry retain that common-ness, it is repeatedly stated by both Stoker and JKR, in-narrative, that the only thing that sets them apart from others is Mina/Harry's ability to feel empathy and to draw strength from the love of others.

In the novel, Mina openly feels pity for Dracula - not for the monster that he is but for his soul, explicitly questioning whether it might want to find peace. In the last two books of the HP series, Harry also takes on a similar stance with regards to Voldemort. Dumbledore's last teaching was that Voldemort was someone to be pitied (don't feel pity for the dead but for those who live without love), and even though pity doesn't excuse evil, it gives us the moral ground to be better people and create a better world. This was also Dumbledore's most important teaching, the one Harry only fully understands by the end of Deathly Hallows, when he confronts Voldemort and says the only thing that sets him apart from others and that makes him stronger than Voldemort is the love he feels (only understanding this after spending the entire book trying to figure out why hadn't Dumbledore left a strong weapon, like the elder wand, for him in his will).

So in both their moral complexity wrt to the villain and in the ideals they represent, Harry and Mina are very similar. I would finally add that both of them represent vulnerable groups of people (children and women) who are victims of male/patriarchal violence: Harry (a 14yo boy) is abducted and tortured by Voldemort (an adult male) in Goblet of Fire, while Mina is metaphorically raped by Dracula. It's a bit tangential but I think it's another interesting parallel between these two; in all of her books, JKRowling often associates the harm men do to women to the harm fathers(/male authority figures) do to children and the way Voldemort repeatedly tortured, abducted and tried to kill Harry from age 0 to age 17 could also be one of the ways she builds on that social commentary.

[Conclusion]

=> So narratively, I would say JKR drew inspiration from Dracula when designing the Harry/Voldemort bond. In Dracula and HP, that link is established in pretty much the same way: through blood magic, DNA mixing and resort to the dark arts. It is repeatedly reinforced throughout the story following the encounters of Mina/Harry and Dracula/Voldemort, and it serves as a war strategy between the two of them as everyone involved realizes they can use it to spy on the other, leading to the ultimate demise of the villain. When it comes to character growth, the psychic link also works in the same way: it leads to emotional/mental/psychological distress for Harry/Mina who is scared to become evil too. Structurally as well, JKR used a plot device identical to that developed by Stoker in Dracula to create the Harry/Voldemort dynamic. The psychic link introduces a POV-shift in a book series that's otherwise almost exclusively written from the good guy's pov, drives the action by leading to descriptive/action scenes and dialogues, and makes the story more entertaining for the reader. Thematically, I would also say JKR drew inspiration from Dracula when creating Voldemort and Harry as characters. In the books, Voldemort represents a vampiric living dead boogeyman who rendered his soul in search of immortality (just like Dracula), while Harry represents the hidden force of life and love that lies inside the most common of people (like Mina).

#i accidentally wrote it as a dissertation i didn't even do it on purpose my brain has just been permanently rewired by school sadly #jkrowling #rowlingblr #hp meta #harry potter #gothic

93 notes · View notes