#i yearn for this flu (?? thing) to pass

[shiresome]

COUGHING UP BLOOD. LISTEN TO ME

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶What was meant to be a quiet evening of DND gets out of hand before it even begins, and when the guys leave a bottle of whiskey behind, all those passes you and Eddie made at each other grow to a new level.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, drunken yearning, drunken flirting, dirty jokes, sexual tension, failed phone sex, light angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for eventual smut

obi-wan voice: this isn't the first kiss chapter you're looking for (it's in the next one)

chapter: 9/20 [wc: 23.8k]

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

AO3

Chapter 9: Dungeons & Dragons & Unicorns, oh my!

Occupying the narrow space available in Mr. Moore’s cramped office, Carl exchanged a look with Kevin over the edge of his coffee mug as he tipped it back, and coasted the bitter liquid across his tongue, swallowing with trouble. He winced at the potency. Kevin gave him an apologetic grimace.

“You made this too strong,” Carl whispered.

Kevin took a sip as well, and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, admonishing his mistake of putting too many grounds in the machine. “She just makes it better.”

David hunched forward in his plush leather chair. Around him, filing cabinets were open, sticky notes reminders hung crooked on the drawers, and his desk was stacked with customer’s invoices.

Three days you’d been gone and the world had devolved into chaos.

“Yeah, gotcha,” David said into the phone crooked between his shoulder and ear, jotting down an unrelated note on the corner of an envelope. “You feel better soon, ya hear?” He threw an excessive eye roll onto the end of his sentence when the voice on the other end kept rattling off. “I told ya to stop worryin’ about it. Now, get some rest. Yeah. Bye.”

He hung up, and addressed his audience waiting on bated breath, “Ed’s callin’ in sick again.”

“Third day in a row,” Carl commented.

Kevin gestured at the state of the office with his mug. “Third day for her too.” David muttered an acknowledgement, missing his Office Administrator who had taken up the responsibility of organizing all the documents into their rightful place.

“Three days, huh? And both with the flu?” Kevin restated in a leading tone.

“Both with the flu,” David confirmed.

“Not suspicious at all,” Carl added.

In unison, the three men put their mugs to their lips, sipped the coffee, winced, and made noises of disgust.

But after all that, Kevin beamed at his friends. “Good for them,” he said. “Ed deserves someone like her.”

In unison, they agreed, and sipped, and made a pact to dump out their mugs in the sink.

————

You arrived to work with an unglamorous wad of tissue balled in your fist, and a raw nose. Lingering sniffles ailed you, as did the body lethargy, but you were no longer contagious. It sucked to exist in this head-cold sphere, but it was nice to leave the house after days spent in-and-out of a Nyquil daze.

And yes, you were eager to see Eddie again, despite the twist of dread in your stomach.

It’d been days since you left his place on a good note, but would the remnants of his tears be this weird unstated suspense in between breaths of conversation? Would there be an underlying presence of you know all the intimate details of my life in the otherwise cheerful morning greeting? Would things go back to normal as if nothing happened?

Regardless, the morning greeting would have to wait. There were a million things to do around the auto shop since you’d been absent; first of which was going into Mr. Moore’s office, and fighting the disarray to find his updated schedule detailing his upcoming meetings, lunches, and days he’d be out of town. You grabbed a marker and went to work on the calendar in the garage, transcribing the schedule for the guys to see so they could stop asking you if Mr. Moore was in his office or not (especially when his door was right there and they could check for themselves).

Crossing out the first week of January, you began to write down one of the meetings when the back door was thrown open, and an ominous death knell tolled in a jangle of chains and heavy boots, making a veritable effort to stomp as loudly as possible on their way to you.

The eagerness disappeared. Only tumultuous dread now.

Your delicate smile was replaced by a canvas of annoyance. “Why are you so loud?” you winced. And winced again when you heard your stuffed-up voice.

You didn’t have to look away from the note you were jotting down to see his impish grin. He practically forced you to see it when he folded his arms, and imposed his shoulder on the wall, making the calendar page slip under your marker in a long red streak.

He ducked his head to catch your eye. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m walking as I always do; not a hop, skip, or bounce extra.” Eddie’s tight lips parted in your periphery, showing a gleam of teeth. Raising his voice a tick, he drove the dread deeper, “My girl isn’t flinching at every sound because she has a headache, right?”

Having no sense of self restraint, nor manners, Eddie invaded more of your personal space. His chest swelled with a held breath while his tongue prepared a taunt and his eyes squinched half-closed. “It couldn’t be because you’re sick, right? Not Miss Queen of the City who’s been coughed on by every germ out there, making her tougher than the common cold, hmm? Couldn’t be because of that?”

Capping the marker, you let your side-eye graduate to a full fledged incredulous stare at his much-too-giddy expression. “It’s allergies,” you said, crumpling the tissue into your pocket.

“Allergies, huh? Which ones?”

“The ones I’m allergic to.”

“Interesting, interesting,” he humored you, “very interesting since, y’know, the most common allergies people have around here are to grass and weed pollen, and those suckers are dead and buried under a layer of snow. Won’t be growing for quite some months, so..”

You glared at his need to follow up that observation with his lips pursed into a mocking kiss of arrogance, provoking you to fold while simultaneously flaunting the sharp cut of his cheekbones.

“Fine,” you admitted in a low tone. “I got sick.” Noting the heavy bags under his red-rimmed eyes, you quirked an eyebrow, and asked, “Have you been working overtime without me?”

He brightened. “Oh, no. Adrie got me sick too. This is my first day back.”

“Have I ever told you how so,” you paused for emphasis, and prodded the pen cap into his sternum, “so very irritating you are?” He cupped his hand over your wrist, and cradled your fist to his chest. Drawing you in, in, in. Cold seeping through your sleeve from his red fingers, never kicking his habit of smoking before coming inside, regardless of the weather. “Just the worst,” you admonished, finding it difficult to resist the magnetism of his laughter quaking under your palm, urging yourself to favor the adorable scrunch above his nose, and guide your thoughts away from his unzipped leather jacket.

But the draw was too strong. You swayed closer until your forearm was pressed to the dragon tattoo hidden beneath his coveralls, and your tennis shoe grazed past the tip of his metal-toed boot

He recalled, “That’s weird. I remember you saying I was your favorite.”

“I said you were my favorite date. As far as people go, you’re in my top three. Robin, Adrie, you,” you listed on the fingers trapped against his inhale.

He lifted his chin, regarding you down the slope of his magnificent nose. “You rank Adrie above me?”

“Well, think about it this way; you rank above all the other people I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of people, you know.”

“That isn’t instilling a lot of confidence, babe.”

Sweetheart. Babe. My girl. His hand on your hand. His cold fingers cupping your palm, searing you despite their lack of heat; so different from how you came to know them, as hesitant pauses on his tools when you greeted him and he frowned as if to ask why you were speaking to him.

Was this it? Was this the new normal?

You hoped so.

Cheeks warmed by the multitude of pet names, you put an edge of dissatisfaction on your question to cover how his affections affected you, “Is that my job? To make you feel good about yourself?” Hotter, hotter. His intensity was burning you.

You wiggled the marker in your grasp until you could tap it at the second unfastened button on his coveralls. “I think you just keep me around so you have someone to call you handsome.”

“No way,” he said. He tilted his head to the side, resting it on the wall. His tangly mess of hair followed the movement, laying against his throat. “But.. Just for clarification, I am handsome, right?”

“Of course you’re handsome.”

“Aw, you flatter me, gorgeous,” he said in mock bashfulness, turning his face away while you stared at him in utter exasperation. “Love to hear it from my favorite.”

Gorgeous. Love. Favorite.

You didn’t question his favorite what. Person, place, or thing? Who knows. Words escaped you when the honey in his eyes twinkled with something tender, and his dopey smile softened at the edges, and his heart pounded a story against your touch, and his grin faded more, and his lips regained their pretty pink plumpness, and his voice reached deeper–to the place where your hand felt the creation of vibrations–and his tongue put a new spin on a sentiment as old as time.

“I missed you,” he said, features going lax as he dropped the overly flirtatious act. He let go of your fist to reach out and pinch your upper arm without an ounce of strength in his sweet teasing.

It took you an extra beat to withdraw your hand from his person.

You scoffed, “Uh-huh. I can tell by how you’re trying to butter me up, and annoy me to death at the same time.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve become the sunshine in our relationship now,” he snorted. And before he gave your stomach time to flutter at the word choice: relationship, he was stabbing his finger at the rumpled calendar.

He looked where he pointed, and dropped it down another Saturday. “I meant to ask you this before you left the other day, but we’re at a good spot in our DND campaign for a new person to join if you wanted to come. Sessions are a bitch to schedule now that we’re all adults and have lives, jobs, and responsibilities, and whatever, and I haven’t, uh, hosted one at my place in a while” –years– “so it’s kinda an extra special event, and would be cool if you wanted to come by.”

You wrung your mouth at the invitation.

“C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun.”

“I know it’s easy to assume I’m a giant loser like you, but even being a theater kid, I’ve never played DND,” you told him. “I don’t wanna ruin your game, or impose on your friends enjoying their night. Or, like, clash if we don’t get along, or somethin’.”

He cast his gaze wildly around the room. Extra dramatic. “You won’t ruin our game, and my friends will love you–they’re the rest of my band, and some kids who were in my club in high school. You’ll fit right in. And besides.. I want you to meet them.”

Delightful goosebumps tingled at your scalp. Meeting his friends was quite the step in your relationship. And no, mutual friends via Bobbie did not count.

You filled your lungs, and expelled your sigh at the calendar, reading over your penmanship while you thought it over.

“And maybe I didn’t phrase my question correctly. Let me try again.” He cleared his throat. “Will you play DND with us?”

Will you?

A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.

“Ah, taking that route,” you said. And just to mess with him, you tapped the marker on the tip of his nose. “Sure–yes–I’ll join you in your roleplaying game, but if they don’t like me, I told you so.”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“I dunno, it took you weeks to speak to me.”

“Yeah, but I’m me.” Eddie shoved himself off the wall and began walking behind you, brushing his hand across your lower back, and bending to your ear to whisper a coy gloat, “And I play hard to get.”

All smiles, smiles, smiles. He took two bouncy steps backwards, opened the glass door in a wide swing and spun on his way inside, whipping his hair in a blur of brunette.

Bewildered by his dorky charm, you watched him through the windows, sighing out the air in your lungs to make room for the blossoming throbs of adoration when he caught his hip on the corner of your desk and tried walking off the pain in case you were watching, only for him to keel over right before he reached the hallway.

You shook your head and resumed where you were in Mr. Moore’s schedule. “You are absolutely not hard to get.”

Looking up, you found the day you were supposed to mark with an important phone meeting, and instead..

January 16th

DND

You drew stars around it, experiencing the childhood rush of endorphins that came from doodling hearts around your crush’s name in your yearbook, and giggling with your friends over it, betting you could get their number so you could call them over the summer, acutely aware none of you would ever dare.

————

Stress squeezed Eddie’s throat. Each cry, each sob, each sniffle set him on edge. His headache pounded, his chest clutched onto the calming breaths he was supposed to prioritize, his heart raced sweat to his skin. Everything was falling apart around him.

“Yeah–Yeah, no, it’s okay. Yeah.” He hung up the phone, chord swaying against the grimy wall, and he pressed his fists above his eyes, turning in a slow circle.

Whistling, screeching, wailing. The boiling kettle on the stovetop pierced the sound of Adrie’s hiccupy bawling. Growing louder, and louder. Rising above the blood pulsing in his ears, the twitch in his strained muscles. The anger under the surface, bubbling. A vice on his chest. Clenching his jaw. Gripping harder. Growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger, his emotions grew bigger until the frustration slipped.

Eddie snapped the stove knob to the off position, and jiggled the broken shitty plastic back on the dial. He moved the kettle to the back burner–sucking his bottom lip in and biting down hard, seeking the relief of pain to keep himself from slamming the kettle into the next dimension. And after swallowing the thickened saliva in his mouth, he walked away from what would’ve been his late, late oatmeal breakfast.

The trailer rattled less and less.

His heavy footsteps exhausted to his socks sliding across the vinyl.

“Adrie,” he begged her name again, and again as he knelt to her chair at the green table. He passed his hand over her hair, petting it away from the sticky streaks of tears on her red cheeks, and he cradled her head to his neck. The flash of anger was gone. It should’ve never seen the light of day, but he was human. He was a single person, and he tamed it the best he could. He was fragile, about to break at the next sob in his ear, but he tried. “Daddy’s gonna fix it, okay? I’ll make it better. I’ll make it better. Let Daddy make it better.”

He was stuck in the loop again. Where everything was so much, and he was so weak. Gathering her as if she were still small and could fit into the crook of his arm. “Let Daddy fix it,” he begged again, rocking her as he did all those years ago; for her, and for him, not having the capacity to do more than cry along with her.

Peeling himself away from her neediness, he worked his hoodie from her fists, and dialed his last resort.

It rang.

And rang.

Hopelessness burdened the expanse of shoulders, dropping them at the fourth trill. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, pick up.” The only thing helping calm him was his hand pressed over his eyes. One less stimulus.

Another ring. He was about to give up when–

“Hello?”

“Hey, man! Uh, uhm, what’re you up to?”

The casualness was lost when Steve’s pause elongated to a nasally noise of understanding when Adrie’s whine cut through the static, and Eddie’s cheek smashed to the receiver as he moved into the hallway, curling his frame to the phone like it were a lifeline.

Steve’s tone feathered to the same one he used five years ago when Eddie called frequently, “Is everything okay over there? Nancy and I were packing up the car to head out of town with the kids, but I have a minute. What’s up?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s okay, uh–hey, you have Robin’s number, right? For her parent’s place?”

His mood lightened, “Yeah, I think Nance does in her pocketbook. Nance!” He called out for her. Then, he spoke into the receiver, as gently as possible, with grace for him to deny if he wanted, “You’re not trying to call Robin, are you?”

“No.. No, I’m not.”

There was a stint of silence where neither of them broke the wordless understanding woven into their connection; phone, chord, wires, friendship.

At last, Nancy’s footsteps came in clicks on their hardwood flooring, and Steve expressed a soft, “I’m happy for you, man.”

Eddie didn’t correct him that it was about his game night. He simply let his friend’s praise fill the void. It’d been a long time since someone was proud of him.

————

The modest house near the empty plot of land was unassuming. Not much money was invested into the foundation, nor the many repairs, but oddly, it was the furniture and fine dinnerware passed through generations that would have anyone second guessing why a home with a cracked window from two summers ago had a china cabinet. And really, any gust during a storm could shatter the glass pane covered by a delicately orange curtain, but it hadn’t happened yet, and therefore, there was no need to fix it.

In the living room, the TV was too loud. In the kitchen, you closed the fridge with your foot and took the tea kettle off the stove, balancing the makings of a sandwich in your arms.

Eddie said to come over half an hour before everyone else so he could help you create your character sheet, and with it being 4PM, you had three hours before you were supposed to head out, and were spending the afternoon with Robin’s parents while she went to Vickie’s before her late night shift.

You placed two slices of bread on a plate when the phone rang.

From the other room, Robin’s dad answered, and his dry vocal chords carried an air of confusion, “Someone’s calling for you!”

“If they’re asking for bail, I’m not here,” you replied in a monotone voice, getting a butter knife out of the drawer.

There was a shuffle as he sat forward in his chair and inquired, wholeheartedly, “Are you asking for bail?” He waited for a reply while you continued to unscrew the cap to the peanut butter. “He says he’s not!”

“Mm.” Unconvinced this wasn’t one of your friends calling from a police station, you finished pouring the two cups of tea you were intending to make, put sugar into one, and carried them into the living room.

“He sounds like a nice young man,” he assured, adjusting the nasal cannulas higher on his upper lip before taking the cup from you.

Narrowing your eyes with wisdom beyond your years, you informed him, “They always do,” and placed the other tea on the end table between the recliner and couch for Robin’s mom to take whenever she wasn’t piecing together the answer for Wheel of Fortune and whispering it into the TV remote clutched to her face.

You took the phone from him and held it to your ear. “Yellow?”

There was a horribly sad sound on the other end.

“Hey! Hi! I, uhm, hey, it’s Eddie, I’m sorry for calling you, if that’s weird, but I’m–I’m going through a lot here”, he ended in a humorless laugh. “I-I-Adrie–So, look–Adrie, it’s okay, I’m fixing it–Adrie was on a playdate, and I don’t know, I think she got into a fight with her friend or something, and broke the toy they were playing with because she didn’t want to share, so she had to come home early, and now she’s upset because the playdate’s over, and the other girl’s toy broke, and–I already said that–but Steve and Nancy are going out of town, and I can’t find a babysitter last minute that will take her to their place, and Wayne’s out playing poker with his friends, and God, I–” He shifted, and you could tell by the fading whimpers that he moved down the hallway, and by the clack on the phone, it was his fingernails dragging along it as he scrubbed his hand over his face, desperate for someone else to come up with a solution. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m asking of you, but there’s going to be a bunch of guys drinking tonight, and I don’t want Adrie to be around that shit–”

“Eddie?” You didn’t mean to cut him off, but his panic was overwhelming you, and it was easier to concentrate on the one idea your brain latched onto without his input.

“..This is my only night I get to hang out with everyone,” he admitted in a whisper so shy you struggled to hear it. “I’m worried about her distracting me.”

You stared at the linen closet in the hallway to Robin’s bedroom. “I’ve got an idea, okay? Just hold on. I’ll be there in thirty.. maybe forty minutes. That okay?”

More movement sounded from the other end. You thought it was him hanging up without saying goodbye, but then you heard the sweetest thing.

“Miss Mouse is coming over,” he reassured Adrie, and the relief in his voice affected you in the worst way. Making you go all mushy when little Adrie’s hiccupy confirmation came from the depths of her face pressed to the base of his neck.

“M—ouse?”

“Mhmm.”

His hum filled your chest. Her noise of appreciation erupted goosebumps along your forearms. You were wanted–requested–and the square beads digging into your wrist had never felt closer to his, across town.

You addressed Eddie, “I’ve got a plan. Okay? I’ll be over soon.”

“Thank you,” he spoke into the receiver as you hung up.

The phone suspended on the hook in a weighty click. It bounced as you let it go, coil slipping from the table and falling to the floor. You asked your audience of two, “Is it okay if I leave early?”

“Of course you can, dear,” Robin’s dad answered, hoarse from the constant flow of oxygen drying out his throat.

“And can I borrow some of Bobbie’s old bedsheets?”

Her mom made a confused face, but agreed, “Whatever you want, sweet bean.”

–And thus, you had the catalyst for the second time you arrived on Edward Munson’s doorstep with your arms loaded with goodies–

He threw open the door with a dozen apologies stacked behind his teeth. “Hey. I’m sorry for calling you like that, she–”

The she in question came barreling out from behind him.

You dropped your knees to accept Adrienne. Discarding your overstuffed tote bag to hug her wholly; taking her into your arms, and consoling her with all the right words you prepared on your way over. “Hey, I heard you were having a rough day,” you said while tucking her into you tight. “You don’t have to be sad anymore. I’m here.”

Her cheeks had long since dried, but the whiny pitch to her voice teetered on the cusp of a sniffly cry Eddie had only eliminated minutes ago, after his speech about sharing. She mumbled against your puffer jacket, “You came to play wi’h me?”

“I sure did. And you know what? I brought you a surprise.” You flicked your gaze to Eddie to gauge his reaction, and your breath hitched at the beauty of his relief. Standing tall in the doorway over you and his daughter, taking a moment of peace with his eyes closed, mouth in a gentle line, and relaxation easing the near-permanent creases between his brows. The pleasure of a small break from parental duties affected him so physically, you could behold him for hours. Or tell him to go have a cigarette.

However, impatient as any four-year-old, Adrie wriggled in your arms for your attention, and asked what you brought.

Opening the tote, you took out patterned bedsheet after bedsheet. Stars, flowers, cowboys–as many as you could fit, and held them up. “Do you know what we’re gonna make with these?”

“A fort?” she asked, hopeful and bouncing with energy.

“A fort!” you repeated. “We’re gonna build a blanket fort! And I brought movies for you to–”

She grabbed the sheets and took off for her bedroom.

“Okie dokie.” You pushed yourself up from the concrete steps, and fanned out the rented VHSes like a deck of cards to show Eddie instead. “Sorry it took me so long, I stopped by Family Video on my way here. Has she seen these?”

He read the white clamshell packaging, and the dimple on his left cheek developed. “She has,” and before you could react, he pressed on with a reassurance, “but don’t underestimate how many times a kid can watch the same movie and never grow bored of it.”

“Good to know!”

Like that; intuitive, second nature; Eddie knew when he gave you news that could be disappointing, he chased it with a thoughtful remark, validating your considerate gesture.

You slipped them back into the bag, and shouldered it. “I was thinking we could move the TV and VCR in her room, and build a fort around it with a pile of blankets on the floor for her to sleep on like she’s camping. Super cozy. Maybe some string lights if you have some from Christmas?”

“That..” The subtle arch in his eyebrows climbed higher as his eyes drifted closed in true appreciation. “That sounds like a perfect plan.” And his face went apologetic again. “And yeah, thank you for coming early. I was trying to send Adrie on a playdate so she’d come home tired and want to sleep while we’re playing, but, yeah, that went to shit, and then I tried calling her usual babysitters, but they couldn’t watch her at their places, and my uncle’s gone until the morning, and Steve and Nancy are–”

Interrupting him, you stepped into the doorway, and he moved to accommodate you. “Next time,” you said, cupping his upper arm, “just call me first.”

You squeezed and trailed your fingers down his sleeve as you let the moment mature in traces of your fingertips brushing over the thick poly-cotton of his sun-bleached black hoodie missing its drawstring. He prized the moment by memorizing the angel the universe blessed him with; and you were rooted by his gaze, driven to wonder about the ardency which he watched the minute press of your lips when you swallowed, and the coincidence of his own lips twitching into a jumpy smile.

“Let me show you Adrie’s room.”

His home was much the same as when you left it. There was a pillow and blanket tossed on the corner of the couch, a Little Mermaid plate and fork dripping in the dish rack, an assortment of clean clothes piled into a laundry basket on top of the washing machine. Though, Adrie’s toys were put away and the bathroom sink was scrubbed clean of children’s bubble gum flavored toothpaste.

Eddie pushed open the door at the end of the hall, and for the first time, with the tail end of daylight piercing the burgundy curtained window, you saw beyond a few feet to the bed.

You wished you could say the precious girl in the middle of the room caught your eye, but realistically, your attention was drawn to the walls. Specifically, the amount of pink and white Barbie advertisements cut from magazines and special edition My Little Pony fold out posters lining every square inch of available space.

But the girly stuff ended at the height of the dresser beside you.

The bedroom was divided in half, horizontally. Above the mirror decorated in stickers and photos tucked into the frame, the ponies and rainbows ended there, obliterated by a sharp line of black. A RATT flag, Corroded Coffin banner, and printed images of paladins fought the encroaching Carebears and sweet things. Every heavy metal poster in existence overlapped the final push to the ceiling. You took it all in with an air of baffled amusement.

You waved a finger at the top half. “She uh.. a big Judas Priest fan?”

Eddie was already cutting his eyes to you with a sly smile, Adam’s apple bouncing with a mute giggle. “This used to be my room.”

“I figured as much.”

Mixed amongst the posters were guitars hung where only he could reach them, and there was an amp shoved beneath a white desk where his daughter was currently setting up her stuffed animals, picking up one to show you, then second guessing and putting it down.

Eddie vied for you before she could. “Wanna see somethin’?” he asked, walking around the queen sized bed to the closet. Accurately, you guessed he was going to show you a clue to his past, and stepped over the dragging corner of the blue and white comforter, shimmying past him to stand next to the small bookshelf, excitedly watching him reach into the dark abyss. From the top shelf he pulled a lump of jean fabric, and unfolded it, handing it to you. “I used to wear this every day in my youth.”

You pinched the article of clothing between the very tips of your fingers, and turned your head to cough. “Jesus, dude. How much did you used to smoke?”

“Way more than I do now,” he laughed.

After some heavy side-eyeing about his habits, you took a closer look at the garment. The blue plaid lined jean jacket had ratty edges everywhere it could have ratty edges; helped by its sleeves being ripped off, of course. A collection of pins and patches mirrored the ones on his (used to be) bedroom walls–before a princess ruled his kingdom, and fought back the dragons.

“You used to wear this everyday?” you voiced aloud, finding the sentimental value in touching something so dear to him, for him to hang onto it for all these years.

“Should I wear it tonight?” Taking it from you, he flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, and slipped his arms through the vest, turning around to show you the Dio patch on the back, pointing to it with his thumbs.

You golf clapped. “Very cool. Very tough.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie faced you and tidied the stray waves of his hair flowing out from under the hood, raking his fingers through his bangs until they were perfectly messy, and again, it was one of those strange exchanges where your too honest gazes met, and he diverted his humble smile to the floor, shy and bashful, but not in pretend like before.

You were in his home, in his daughter’s bedroom, doing him a favor, which was feeling less and less like a favor, and more like a convenient excuse you both seized as an opportunity to hang out.

“Miss Mouse!” Adrie gunned for your hand, and embarked on her greatest effort to break you away from her father, tugging you towards her collection of plushes you still needed to be introduced to.

You gasped at the honor, and asked, “Do you want to tell me about them while I braid your hair?”

She lit up at the suggestion. Eddie wasn’t the best at weaving plaits, and she wasn’t the most patient, so having an unbiased party step in to determine whether it was a ‘him’ problem or a ‘her’ problem sounded grand.

And as you sank onto the edge of the mattress with her sitting criss-cross between your legs, it was obvious within the first few twists of the French braid sitting flat against her head, and curved perfectly over her ear, that it was most definitely a ‘him’ problem.

Behind you, there was a great sigh at your victory.

Adrie held up a brown teddy with one glass bead eye slightly larger than the other after surgery was performed on him to replace the one he lost, and said, “This is Mr. Bear.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bear,” you said, using your best Children’s Television Program presenter voice to entertain her. You threw a smile over your shoulder at the silliness, and Eddie was already looking at you, warm brown eyes shining with the same fondness as yours.

“And he’s married to Mrs. Froggy.”

“Wow, a bear and a frog.” You nodded, impressed. “I guess true love knows no bounds.”

Feeling like the third wheel to you and Adrie, Eddie moved into action. “I’m gonna go out to the shed and start bringing in extra chairs, and the Christmas lights you asked for. And, uh, here’s her hair stuff.” He handed you a basket filled to the brim with every style of ponytail holder a drug store could carry. “You two have fun.”

Naturally, as he stepped away to leave, you curled your fingers at him in a childish wave, while Adrie used Mrs. Frog’s hand to do the same, adding on a sing-songy “Bye!” to hers.

And what a delight it was to witness the beginnings of the red flush creeping up his neck as he took a final glance at you both smiling up at him, and he pinched the hood over his mouth to shield his crooked simpering from further inspection.

~~~

The gloaming sky dozed in a blanket of pink and purple clouds knitted together with ribbons of orange.

Eddie leaned in the doorway to the porch, resting his shoulders on the frame as he crossed his ankles. The backs of his hands stung from overwashing them during the dry season, but his palms were soothed by the piping hot bowl he cupped to his chest. His muscles ached from unrest, but he grew warmer with each bite of the cinnamon sugar toast he dipped into the peanut butter oatmeal. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken the time to wipe down the folding chairs from the shed, but when you asked if there were any spiders on them in that timid wobble of yours, he had no other choice. And he’d do it again, even if his body protested the entire ordeal.

Squinting into the beauty of the setting sun, he sighed. Adrienne squealed. You cheered her on.

The pain in his hands subsided, the clawing hunger in his stomach settled, and the soreness in his lower back relented. All his worries fell away when his girl was happy.

For Eddie, standing by as the outsider to the scene of you and his daughter bonding over the neon green bottle of sloshy bubbles, he was aware of the catch in your voice when you asked about the unicorn and learned of his name, Fluff. You released a tender ‘aw’ from the back of your throat, and oh, it fulfilled him in ways he couldn’t possibly articulate. A simple noise, and it felt like a hug from an old friend. A pinky promise. A rare complacency in his life. Ataraxia.

He sensed it more, and more. When you sprinted back and forth on the porch, blowing bubbles for her to pop before they landed on the ground; giggling, laughing. Giggling, laughing. And he was smiling, smiling. It was sweet, so sweet; this new loop he found himself in. Gone was the stress. You took care of it. You heard him say Adrie needed to be tired out before bed time, and here you were, standing at the edge of the creaky floorboards, blowing a slew of bubbles for her to chase in the deadened grass.

She complained, “I can’t–reach!” She jumped, and jumped, but the bubble caught the gust from her fingertips, and continued floating away.

“Use Fluff!”

Elated at the ingenuity, she snatched Fluff from where he posed at your feet, and she launched herself off the deck for the last bubble, popping it with the very tip of his white horn. “Yay!”

“Rad!”

He watched until your forms were bathed in dusky blue, and the cold swallowed your heaving breaths.

Licking clean the last spoonful of his late, late breakfast, he reminded you both, “You girls better get started on this fort before it gets too late. Still gotta set up for the game too.” After whispering a curse under your breath, you ushered Adrie inside, and he asked her, “Can you take this to the sink?” Remarkably, she took his bowl without complaint, but stood stock still until he forced out a pointed, “Thank you,” in a tone implying she should scram.

She snickered at getting a rise out of him, and jogged away.

He reached into his pocket for the object weighing down the front of his hoodie, and produced a tangerine. Juice squished from the top of the fruit where he stabbed his thumb into the rind, and the scent of fresh citrus filled the air. “The chairs are certified spider-free. Got them inspected by a professional and everything.”

Your glare was mellowed by sweetness. “My hero.”

“Daddy.” Adrie was back, and with one simple demand of her hand held out flat, he peeled faster, and dislodged two segments for her. She popped them in her mouth, and ran to her room.

Interesting..

Testing him, you held your hand out flat as well, and with a bored stare, he placed two segments in your palm too.

“Don’t worry, I won’t call you Daddy unless you want me to,” you said, tossing them in the air, and catching them in your mouth. And as the fruit popped between your teeth, and the cold juice gushed like ice over your tongue, your brain caught up to what you just implied, and you froze mid-chew.

Eddie’s expression morphed from slack-jawed surprise, to intrigue, to his lips clamped tight, body shaking with silent laughter. “What?” he squeaked out.

“Uhh–I mean–How about we forget I said that?” you offered, wagging your finger from him to you.

No way.

No way in hell was he about to let you live that one down.

He loved your blunder. Reveled in it, even. It was sweet, sweet revenge. Payback.

Eddie took you off guard by snatching your wrist. He drew you into him as he pushed off the doorframe, bringing you in real close, eliminating the gap between your bodies. His cheeks may have darkened, but it was his greatest pleasure to imbue all his wickedness into repeating the same word you used months ago when he was driving you to Adrie’s school play and he made a similar joke about your bike and riding a man to work.

His nose scrunched with wolfish satisfaction. “Never.”

“Don’t be mean,” you whined. Putting up a weak fight, you attempted to twist your hand from his grasp to–hopefully–bolt away, and bury yourself in a pile of bedsheets for the rest of eternity; just somewhere you could hide, and desperately avoid thinking about the delicious zing traveling to the worst places.

But he wouldn’t let go.

There was clear disdain in the way his posture stiffened the split-second anyone other than his daughter called him Daddy, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to introduce the context of calling him such a name, whether it would happen when you were under him, gasping it into his mouth; or in different position, with your knees on either side of his narrow hips, bouncing out the syllables..

His breathing deepened. You squirmed.

Caught in each other’s trap. Impossible to look away, the sweltering fantasy sat heavy in your mutual gaze, wide pupils boring into wide pupils. Heartbeats pounding beneath the surface of uncharted waters. An intimacy to his study of your body language, especially when you tilted your head to the side, and the lingering wryness in his eyes turned curious.

Illuminated by the glow of the bathroom light above the medicine cabinet, the face framing layers of Eddie’s haircut brushed his cheeks from beneath the hard shadows of his hood, and the fog from your exhales mixed in the inky darkness.

Alas, the standoff came to an abrupt end when Adrie called your name.

“I should help her with the fort,” you whispered in a release of tension.

One finger at a time, he opened his harmless grip. “I’m gonna bring your bike up here in case the weather turns,” he said, voice the same as always when he had you this near; quiet, tame, cutting in and out in the vowels.

“What a gentleman.”

Definitely a gentleman when he bit into the tangerine as if it were an apple to distract you from his hand tugging down his hoodie to hide the hard outline stretching towards the thigh of his light wash blue jeans.

You sneered at the fleshy strings of fruit pulp gathering over his lower lip. “And by gentleman, I mean utter weirdo.”

~~~

By winter’s solid nightfall, most of the fort had been completed. Eddie visited the room to drop off the TV (after it had been cleaned of staticy dust clinging to the glass), and placed it and the VCR on top of a Coca-Cola crate at the foot-end of the blanket nest you created. At one point he grabbed his acoustic guitar from the wall, and brought more clothes pins.

You pinned the last corner of the sheet canopy above Adrie while she pulled her tea party table inside the fort, and set up her toys in the itty bitty pink chairs. She volunteered to string the twinkly lights herself, giving you an excuse to go to the kitchen where you could make the highest quality finger sandwiches as dinner for her and her cotton-stuffed guests. And by total coincidence, Eddie was beside you, hunched over the counter with a DND book opened to a page of illustrations with a blank character sheet to his right.

“Ham, mayo, cheese, and the thinnest layer of mustard,” he told you.

You organized the ingredients to Adrie’s sandwich and confirmed, “A hint of mustard. Got it.” Taking two slices of sandwich bread, you placed them on her Beauty and the Beat plate, and dipped a butter knife into the mayo jar, slathering a generous amount on one side. One the other, you merely suggested mustard had been in the presence of it with a single swipe.

He angled the book to you. “Which race and class do you want to play as?”

Looking over the pictures, there were more to choose from than you initially assumed, but there was a clear winner towering above the rest. “That one. The big green guy.” Apparently he was called a half-orc, and he was stacked with muscle on top of muscle. “I wanna be huge and brawny like him, crushin’ my enemies with my giant biceps. Like, everyone’s scared of me, but I save kittens on the weekends. Fighter type, or whatever’s the term. Melee? I wanna beat people up with my bare fists.”

Eddie glanced you up and down. “Overcompensating for something?”

Deflating, your puffer jacket swished fabric-on-fabric as you dropped your arms. You pouted, but the tug at his heartstrings went ignored as he rolled a large dice, and picked up the pencil.

So be it. It was your turn to sum him up in one glance. How his shaggy outdated haircut gathered on his shoulders, curtaining his face as he underlined words on the character sheet, not even paying you attention. How his jean vest paraded his music tastes under years of dust and a decade of smoke baked into it; offensive and meant to ward off others, unless they belonged. How he decorated his skin in macabre imagery, and wore his white tennis shoes with just enough dirt to show he didn’t care. How every denim item he owned came with holes. How his keys dangled from a keyring attached to his belt loop, so everyone was forced to listen to him expressing his apathy towards the world with each stomp, and rattle of chains swinging against his leg. How he bent over the counter with his hip cocked out, making his pants crease to his inner thighs, highlighting a particular package beneath a handcuff belt buckle. How he was decked out in his usual skull themed rings. Prickly, jaded, drives too fast, and has never heard of an ‘inside voice’ once he deemed you worthy of his boisterous ramblings. Loud, obnoxious, excessively weird when he was himself around you.

You asked, “Are you overcompensating for something?”

“I don’t need to.”

Cool, smooth, nonchalant.

I don’t need to.

Warmth flooded your abdomen. Heat reached your cheeks. Blood rushed, descended to the place your thighs clenched, where your jean’s stiff metal zipper went tight–and if you stood a certain way–the seam grazed over.

Rolling the dice again, his expression remained impassive as he filled in more blank spots, asking you in a monotone voice, “What’s your orc’s name?”

“Gary,” you answered in a bout of exasperation, annoyed he’s acting like he didn’t just say that.

There was no way you were about to be the one squirming again. After his teasing earlier, he deserved a dose of his own medicine.

Feeling undue bravery, you set the butter knife down, and rested your elbow on the counter, angling your body towards him with your hands linked over your stomach, wearing an adorably smug pinch of confusion between your brows. You were the example of casual when you asked, “Do orcs fight with a dagger? Maybe six and a half.. seven inches in length? Curved to the right? Real girthy handle?”

Eddie’s face lurched into wide-eyed awe at your bombshell of an innuendo. He turned his head slowly, frizzy curls sticking to his just-licked lips, fluttering in front of his gawking smile as he exhaled a stunned huff. His big brown eyes were alert with the thrill of the subject, and he stared, waiting for you to fold. You didn’t blink, acting classes coming in handy as his eyebrows climbed higher and higher, and you remained stoic, free of emotion.

A choked out– “I..” –came from his mouth, but he didn’t finish. He hooked his finger around a lock of hair, and twisted it, yanking more over the lower half of his face as he shrank into the comfort of his hoodie, leaving just his eyes visible.

At last, he answered, voice wavering high and tight, “A little over seven, I think.”

You lifted your chin, and rolled your lips inward, steeling yourself from voicing anything other than an impressed hum.

However..

Having a knack for bad decisions, you drew in a breath to speak–but Adrie came to your rescue before you humiliated yourself by saying something abhorrent like, ‘my, my, that’s quite a size,’ or ‘I heard that orc’s been single a while; what’s his skill level with that weapon?’ or worse, ‘need a second opinion on that length?’

“Are you almost done?”Adrie asked.

She sought the answer by snaking her hands under your jacket and clinging onto the back of your hips, making you jolt at her cold fingers creeping over your skin, and you stumbled after she trusted you to support her weight while she jumped onto her tippy toes.

You lost your balance, and your hero from further harm was Eddie.

Well, less of a hero, and more like he stood with his arms pinned to his sides, and took the brunt of your fall.

He released a painful wheeze from being wedged into the corner where the sharp edges of the countertop dug into his bones.

“Sorry,” you think you whispered, but maybe it never left your lungs.

You watched the subtle tic under his eyes when he said, “S’okay,” and the ‘s’ whistled sharply between his teeth.

It was amazing–incredible–to discover he had freckles sprinkled across the top of his cheekbones, standing out against the telltale shade of embarrassment. You’d never been this close to notice them before; near enough your nose tickled from the end of his hair. Never had the opportunity to catch yourself on his bicep, and feel the extraordinary body heat radiating off him, dialed on high from the last few minutes. And now you had to continue living as if you didn’t know his dick size.

Adrie brought you back to reality. “Can you cut off the top crust? It’s shaped like a butt, and I don’t like it.”

Letting go of Eddie, you reached for her, patting her shoulder for her back up and release you from this awkward prison. “Y-Yeah, of course. No top crust. Got it, little lady.”

She giggled and kept talking as you put an ample gap between you and her dad. Thank God she giggled and kept talking as you and Eddie regained some semblance of composure.

“Can you cut it in long squares?”

“Rectangles,” Eddie corrected gently.

“Reck-tangles,” she pronounced.

“Perfect.” He grabbed his pencil and dice, and picked up where he left off on your character sheet. And you were more than happy to play along, peeling the Kraft Single from its plastic film and placing it on top of two slices of ham before cutting it into long squares.

~~~

With her sandwich made, you and Adrie sat at the tiny pink table under the fort. Your neck ached from the constant hunched position, and your legs were falling asleep, but you’d deal with the pain if it meant having tea with the princess.

She tipped air from an empty tea pot into the tea cups, and Mr. Bear thanked her for his imaginary portion.

Throughout the play-dinner, Eddie was in and out of the room. There were noises from the closet, sounding like he was picking up shoeboxes filled with rattling items. The canopy drooped when he opened the top drawer on the dresser where it was tied. Musical notes from a wind instrument trilled from the living room.

After another bite of her sandwich–Oh, no, Princess Adrienne, I’m much too full, you may have mine–a ne’erdowell crashed your exclusive party.

“Hey, this is pretty,” Eddie said, poking his head inside; his grin lengthening into a frightful shadow from the Christmas lights stuck in his hair. He looked around at the hard work his little girl put into the fort, linking the bedsheets from his old desk, across the back of a chair, and held aloft by the dresser. The TV occupied the space one of his amps used to, and the nest of blankets covered what used to be a network of cords, albums, and magazines. But that was years ago. Now, his gaze settled on the adult woman feigning a long sip on her toddler-sized tea cup, and a hand smashed against his face–

Adrie shoved him out of the fort, and whipped closed the entryway bedsheet. “No boys allowed!”

“But.. I need to borrow Miss Mouse,” he begged in a pitiful quaver.

She cut her eyes to you, and rolled them into the next eternity (a move you’d become an expert in yourself.) You bargained with her in a haughty shrug, and after a moment of consideration, she drew back the curtain. “Fine.”

Making an unglamorous exit by crawling on your hands and knees, you accepted Eddie’s warm palm to help you stand. “What’cha need help with?”

“The folding table is behind the couch, and it’s annoying to pull out by myself with all the mugs in the way,” he explained on his way to the living room. “Oh, can you move that stuff off it? Yeah, just toss it in a corner.”

He used his shin to push the coffee table against the wall while you picked up the pillow and stack of blankets off the corner of the couch. But after collecting them to your chest, and the thinning pillow released a puff of air from its wilted self, you were struck with an array of scents. Hair products, cigarette smoke, vanilla, sour sweat; notes of exhaust, motor oil, and fumes.

It smelled bad in the good way.

The mix stung your nostrils, twinged at your eyes. But it was a comfort you hugged tighter. Familiarity you inhaled deeper. Home in your lungs.

You took his pillow, and Adrie’s kaleidoscope quilt with the tattered facing, and went to place them on the fold-out bed in the corner, assuming it was his; but as you neared, you scrutinized the collection of items on the oak nightstand beside it. A brand of cigarettes he didn’t smoke, a BIC lighter he didn’t use, a comb, and a clunky silver watch. And as you thought about it more, you saw the fold-out bed already had a set of sheets and a pillow balanced on top of it.

“Eddie, where do you sleep?”

There was much care put into your question, but the uneasy way it probed into his private life was evident in his change in demeanor.

He was slow to stand up from adjusting a side table out of the way, never quite unslouching the weight from his shoulders when he pushed his hood back to run a hand over his hair. The cuckoo clock on the wall ticked by as you watched him scratch his fingernails in tight circles on his scalp, roughing up his hair, never quite focusing his gaze on anything.

“Well,” he mumbled, gesturing at the lumpy couch cushions. “Here.”

Despite figuring as much, he never stated it bluntly, and to know another hardship of his reality squeezed your heart with sympathy.

He must’ve read the emotion on your face as pity, because his tone reflected an edge of annoyance; a deep-seated stress sneaking out when he spoke to those who didn’t get it. “Most of my paycheck goes to Adrie’s daycare. That shits expensive, and as much as I don’t want her growing up right in front of me, things will get better when she finally starts real school. I won’t be paying for that anymore, and I can start saving up, and maybe, y’know, start making some changes around here.” He spoke with his hands in a sad sort of shrug, waving at the trailer, though his gaze was cast down, and away from you. “But this is how it is, okay? I can’t do anything to fix it.” There was a haunting sort of pessimism that came from living in poverty. As much as he made statements about changing his life when he had more money, there was still the pile of bills in the kitchen, the numerous things in need of fixing around the house, Wayne’s truck on its last leg, and the fear of a random doctor visit wiping out his bank account. All of that resided in his tone.

You gripped his pillow harder, not sure what to say other than a hushed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

At that, he shook himself out of ruminating on his situation, and saw you were awkwardly twisting the pillowcase around your fingers, staring at the floor. He realized he messed up.

Every bit of him went soft for you. “Wait, wait, wait,” he soothed, striding three steps to you and cupping his palms around your upper arms. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. Not to you. Not when you’ve been the sweetest–seriously, the sweetest, and most generous person to me and Adrie. It–It, yeah, it hits a sore spot, talking about shit like having to sleep on the couch, but I didn’t mean to speak to you that way.” He finished with a final, sweet, but quick, and enunciated assurance, “I’m sorry.”

Overwhelmed by the whiplash in his change of attitude, followed by his sincere apology, you stammered, “Oh, uh, it’s okay. I understand why you reacted the way you did. It’s cool.”

At an impasse, you looked up at him. He stroked his thumbs over the cool outer layer of your jacket. Swish, swish, swish.

More, deeper. Swish, swish, swish.

You understood.

This was our first fight as whatever-we-are, and I’m showing you I can apologize instead of brushing it off and forgetting about it like I used to.

It was the mildest spat, yet it was a milestone for him.

“Seriously, we’re good,” you said, crushing the pillow to your chest.

Shifting the subject, he lightened the mood. “Also, did I mention how much I appreciate you coming over early, and playing with Adrie? The whole fort thing, going out of your way to get her movies, ‘nd making her run around like a maniac? Genius.”

“Yeah, yeah, put it on that ‘thank you’ tab you owe me,” you teased him, pulling away to set his bedding on top of his uncle’s.

“Soon!” he promised. He tapped at the side of his head. “Got some ideas brewing in here.”

“Not sure if I should be excited, or scared.”

Ah, his two-front-teeth-showing grin. Your favorite.

He laughed, and with your help, the couch was scooted away from the wall enough for the wood laminate fold-out table to be wiggled out from behind it at an angle which avoided knocking the mugs hanging from the shelf above it. You draped a tablecloth over it in a flourish. Eddie pressed the wrinkles out of the grid pattern, and began placing miniature standees from the shoeboxes onto the squares; parts of a village, cobblestone fences, and characters to fill out the town. When he didn’t need you anymore, you went to check on Adrie, and the moment you crawled inside the fort and she showed you the pajamas Eddie picked out for her earlier, there was a series of car honks outside.

Showtime.

“You ready, Miss Adrie?”

“Mhm!”

Tires crunched rocks in the makeshift driveway. Engines died. Noises, greetings, Eddie’s happiness grew louder, and louder. A group sounded off. Several sets of shoes scraped the cement steps, and in the amalgamation of voices was one above the rest, “Hey, looking good, man. Haven’t seen you since you almost killed my elven ranger before Christmas.”

You crawled backwards out of the fort, and caught Adrie’s hand before she ran out of the room.

From the living room, Eddie sucked his teeth, and dismissed his friend. “You had it coming all night with the way you were walking around not checking for traps.”

“It was one time! And besides–” The argument stopped. His blue eyes went wide with shock, outstretched arms drooping as he focused on something behind Eddie. He lowered the two six packs he was carrying. “A girl!”

Being led by an excited almost-five-year-old, you bolted around the kitchen counter, and raised your eyebrows at the blunt acknowledgement of your existence. You looked at Eddie, whose entire being depleted with a sigh.

With his head hung, he swept his arm towards you. “This is my friend from work. She’s playing with us tonight.” And under his breath, he muttered to the young man wearing a ballcap over his springy curls, “Be cool.”

He shoved a six pack at Eddie’s chest, and pursued you with his hand held out. “I’m Dustin! Eddie’s friend from high school, and previous Hellfire member,” he said, displaying a mouthful of adult braces.

“Dustin, it’s nice to meet you!”

Repeating people’s names back to them was a helpful memorization tool, but as your gaze shifted, the nerves of making a good first impression on Eddie’s friends sat heavy in your stomach.

The other guys on the stairs came up behind Dustin. In a rush, you were introducing yourself to the beginnings of a crowd stomping through the living room. Exchanging names and smiles and handshakes, you gripped Adrie’s tiny hand for support and said, “I’m the receptionist at the auto shop, that’s how I know Eddie.”

The one who approached you last–Gareth, drummer for Corroded Coffin–snapped his fingers, and exclaimed, “Oh! You’re the receptionist.”

“Alright, alright,” Eddie interjected, body and voice between you two. “Beer goes in the kitchen, and I’ll order pizza in a minute.”

He passed off the six pack to someone else.

Gareth reached into his leather jacket with a wicked, lopsided grin. “I brought something a little stronger than beer.” Though most of your vision was taken up by the back of Eddie’s shoulder, you caught a flash of amber liquid in a clear bottle, and a black label.

Kneeling beside you, Jeff–guitarist for Corroded Coffin–tilted his head down so Adrie could touch the wooden beads at the end of his short braids, and said to Eddie, “You know, since we’re havin’ it at your place again, why not make it memorable? Or not memorable,” he joked. “Maybe a sip for every roll under 13.”

Eddie gave him the Dad stare. “You’re gonna be shitfaced–Adrie, you didn’t hear that–by the time this is over, and I’m not organizing rides for all of you.”

“I’m driving tonight.” Lloyd–bassist for Corroded Coffin–jangled his car keys.

“And so am I,” a girl’s voice came from beyond the entryway everyone was crowding. “Now can we come inside before we freeze to death, or do you really think you can take on another basilisk without my help?”

A round of laughter gave way to the next group entering.

SWISH, SWISH, SWISH.

The girl at the helm of the windbreaker brigade went to the kitchen to drop off the case of beer straining her arms. (It seemed that was the payment of choice to the host.)

Sensing you were lost to the sea of faces, Eddie laid a comforting hand between your shoulder blades, and drifted it downwards to the small of your back. “That’s Erica, Max, and Lucas,” he told you in your ear.

Max held on tight to Lucas’ arm, taking smaller steps into the mixture of orange and blue-white lamps flooding the room tight with bodies, and shapes she was unfamiliar with.

“Aw, don’t you two look cute,” Gareth goaded them in an overly saccharine way.

Max groaned, “I told him it was lame.”

Whereas she shrank into her black and neon pink jacket, Lucas scoffed, and fueled her disgusted tongue click. “Matching windbreakers should be the least of your worries. You’re playing Dungeons and Dragons. You can’t get any lamer than that.” To finish, he popped the collar of his in a suave swish, and guided her into the kitchen.

She made a gagging sound, and Erica made one too.

————

While waiting for the last guest to arrive, the front door remained open. The glow from inside etched the peeling paint on the stair’s ornate handrail in gold. Warm laughter rolled out like fog into the dry frigid night, where neighbors could hear it. See it. Feel the vibrations of Eddie Munson’s friendship, support, weirdness being celebrated. Witness the joy others could not steal from him. They could observe the vehicles parked out front, listen to the rapture of claps when Adrie performed a song and dance, and taste the bitterness in their mouths when Eddie “The Freak” Munson continuously found his gaze drifting to the girl beside him, who beamed at him openly.

————

Fashionably late, a loud car turned into the trailer park; the obnoxious kind, where the motor rumbled like a death rattle, but in a cool way, because it was made to sound like that on purpose.

Eddie looked over his shoulder, and raised his hand at Mike. “Hey, man,” he whispered, keeping their conversation separate while everyone else was exchanging stories.

“Did you wanna check out the engine?” Mike bounced his eyebrows, swinging the keys to his bright yellow muscle car. “I installed it a few weeks ago.”

It was a tempting offer. He wasn’t opposed to car talk, nor freezing his hands off to fawn over the modifications Mike made to his beloved 1979 Mustang while in the big city for school, and, of course, Eddie was going to give him his usual spiel about working for David when he came back to Hawkins. However, he didn’t want to abandon the newest member to their party.

“In a min,” Eddie said to Mike, motioning with his head to come inside.

Assuming he’d just tossed his girl to the wolves, Eddie zoned into the conversation again, and rubbed his hand along your back. His palm passed over the warm spot on your jacket where he was comforting you before, and he glanced around the circle of his friends–tightly knit, and grinning at you.

He assumed wrong.

You weren’t shy, or intimidated to be the new person in a group of people who’d known each other for decades, failing to be heard over their easy banter and inside jokes. No. They were hanging onto your every word.

The group had gone hushed, captivated by your life. You had a knack for turning the mundane into marvelous enthrallments of relatable spectacular. Every sentence was more entertaining than the last. The punch lines landed, and kept coming. You worked them like a crowd–and when someone else shared a similar anecdote, you were asking questions, getting them to open up, and take the stage. This was you. You were in your element. You didn’t need Eddie.

“Oh! That reminds me of this one lady when I was waitressing in Philly..”

“In New York we had these huge pigeons that would..”

“Back home, there was this place on the corner where..”

Eddie took his hand away. The insulated warmth dissipated from his palm as he let it hang at his side. Your rolodex of stories separated you from him.

“Dude, you wanna talk about bad dates? This one time..”

“And then there was this guy who..”

“–Worst kiss ever.”

Details were spared–maybe because both he and Adrie were there–but the story beats were like stabs to his stomach. Clenched, sinking hot with envy. It wasn’t like him. Not really. He didn’t think so, anyway. But maybe he was wrong.

Jealousy prickled under his skin at every mention of ‘home’ and ‘date.’ He didn’t appreciate the heat to his cheeks, nor the loneliness of his hand reaching out for Adrie, only for her to notice him with a sleepy blink while she clung to your hips, and it was your fingers rubbing her little shoulder.

Of course he knew the subject of your stories, of course he knew you’d been on hundreds of dates, of course he knew you lived a larger life than him, but he’d never had to listen to the yearn in your voice when you spoke about the things you missed. The city, the people, being on stage. Performing, collecting stories, having dinners at sit-down restaurants. These were eccentricities integral to your design, and Eddie Munson had no place among them.

“Hey, Wheeler?” The lump in Eddie’s throat grew. Even Mike was transfixed on listening to you, forgetting about the keys in his hand. Leaning closer, he tapped on his friend’s teal raincoat to get his attention. “Mike? You wanted to show me your–?”

“Right!” Mike whipped his head around, sending his shaggy haircut bouncing in freshly styled waves. “Yeah, so I started with..” he trailed off, walking down the stairs, and out to the yard.

Before Eddie followed, he surveyed the group; Gareth was snickering his way through a story, while the rest of you went nauseous at his description of getting eighteen stitches, and replicating the sound of the needle popping through his skin.

“Babe?” he whispered under the group’s grossed out gasps, speaking the endearment for you only. Taking control, in a way, of his shame by reminding himself he could call you by a sweet nickname, and you’d answer.

You divided your attention, tipping your ear to him, and tearing your gaze from Gareth’s bizarre reenactment of how he fractured his tibia, and settling your eyes on Eddie’s Cupid’s bow when he made a request, “I’m gonna talk shop with Mike. Can you take over here? Get people settled, and Adrie in bed?”

“Of course, handsome.”

For couples, this is where he would duck to give you a kiss on the forehead, or bring you to his side for a hug and be on his way, and perhaps you gleaned those tentative actions when he hesitated on the lean-in, and sat in the subsequent awkwardness of playing it off as a friendly pat on your back when he realized, yeah, he’d never hugged you before.

You diffused the tension by laughing at him. Great.

As he rolled his eyes, you stopped him from leaving, and stepped away from the group.

“Where should we put our jackets?” you asked, pinching the zipper of yours.

Eddie paused in the middle of his gangly stride, and glanced at the two available hooks beside his leather jacket. It hadn’t started snowing or sleeting yet, so everyone’s coats would be dry. “Couch is fine.”

You said, “Cool,” and plunged your hand. In the blink of an eye, you had unzipped your jacket, and thrown your arms back, wiggling it down your shoulders and tugging it off by the cuffs. Underneath your jacket was a tight white tank top and unbuttoned flannel. A nice, fitted, ribbed shirt. Lower cut than anything you had worn at the auto shop, and clinging to your chest as you arched your back and shimmied out of your outer layer.

His gaze stalled.

You didn’t comment on it. He didn’t say anything, either, when his focus snapped to your face, and he read your sly smirk. Adrie, however, grew restless.

“I’m sleepy,” she whined.

“Okay, sweet bean,” you said, besotted by how little her hand was in yours. “C’mon, we can pick out the first movie to play in the fort, too.”

Eddie, thankful to have a distraction, and even more thankful you didn’t call out his obvious ogling, sank to his knees to give his little girl a goodnight hug and kiss. Part of him missed not being able to sit on the couch with her falling asleep on his chest, but the twelve peppered kisses to her cheek would have to suffice. He trusted you to take over the last few steps of Adrie’s night routine without his supervision, and sat back on his calves–after doting over her one last time by straightening out the long sleeves on her pajamas, and twirling the end of her braid around his finger.

“Night,” he kissed against her forehead.

“Night, Daddy,” she kissed back.

Kneeling on the carpet for a moment longer, he ran his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth at watching you walk away with her. He was hidden amongst the throng of legs, and deep conversation. Invisible for now.

Drop, by drop, his chest filled with tender emotions. A coffee pot of feelings he swore to suppress poured into his heart; brimming the edge, overflowing, bringing heat to those neglected hopes, longings, and desires. Minutes ago you spoke of home, and he was aware he was not owed the promise of you changing the location of home to within biking distance, but he could hope, because every second you spent with him and his daughter was another coin in the wishing well, sploshing the coffee over.

Soon, the overflow would trickle to his lungs. It would fill them up. It would reach his throat. It would coat his tongue, wet his mouth, and before he knew it, those confessions would be spilling into words for you to cup to your mouth and drink until you were as full as he was.

Or, he could suppress them tonight with alcohol. Just enough to dull the urge, but still act as Dungeon Master.

Or, the whiskey could loosen his tongue, and risky sentiments could flood over, one steady drop at a time.

Either way, he was drowning.

~~~

Diving into the true purpose of the evening, the party split between the kitchen and the table in the living room. Jeff went out to Lloyd’s truck, and brought in a long black case. Snapping the latches open, he took out an electric keyboard, and began setting it up in his lap while Gareth rapped his drumsticks on his thighs in a slow rhythm. In the bedroom, you fluffed up the blankets for Adrie to lay on, tucked the comforter to her chin, and brushed her bangs off her forehead while the blue flash of the Disney castle logo played across her heavy eyelids. Idling around the variety of beers on the kitchen counter, Max gripped one of the silver and red cans, and spun it around its plastic ring holder, straining to discern the label.

You came up behind her to let her know, “That one’s Bud Light.”

“Ew,” she frowned, “who would bring that?” She opted for the can of Pabst instead.

“Some people have no tastes.”

On cue, Dustin wove his way through Lucas’ and Erica’s argument over which Mortal Kombat character was the best, adding a quick, “Liu Kang, obviously,” and snapped a silver can from the ring pack. He looked from you to Max. “What?”

Shifting from the secret giggles rising in your chests, she shrugged. “Nothing!”

He squinted at her, not buying it. Cracking the tab, he took a sip, and then you became the subject of interest. “So,” he started, “how long have you and Eddie been friends?”

Perplexion drew Max’s eyebrows together.

Aware of where this was going, you got your own beer, and carried an airy, casual tone while popping the cap, “Oh, just a few months, since I moved here with my roommate–Robin, if you know her.” His expression answered for you, arching in an ‘ah!’ of understanding.

Max, though, was stuck on another detail. “Wait, you and Eddie aren’t dating? I thought–I figured since he’s never invited anyone here before, and his daughter was, like, holding onto you?”

“Yeah, Adrie’s pretty fond of me, I think,” you answered, hiding your own secret behind the glass bottle to your lips. “And Eddie’s cool, too, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t know about him being cool, per se–” she was cut off.

Blurs of black and teal tumbled in rivers of frosted breath, and clattering teeth. Mike shivered life into his limbs on his way to the sink to run his hands under hot water. Eddie’s cheeks and nose were tinted frosty red as he wiped the dirt from his numb fingers onto his hoodie, and pulled his wallet from the junk drawer to check it for cash.

His brown eyes zeroed on you first, Dustin’s wiry mug second, and Max’s tilted lips third.

As he picked up the phone to dial for pizza delivery with his grease-scraped knuckle, he warned in a playful inflection, “You better not be telling her embarrassing stories about me.”

“Oh, no!” Max promised him. “I didn’t even tell her about how I used to live across from you, and caught you–on numerous occasions–sweeping the porch while blasting ABBA, and screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. While drunk.” She didn’t need to see him from across the kitchen to feel the heat of his glare, and duel it with another cool shrug, defeating him with ease when the pizza place picked up, and he had to stumble over his order.

Once the hurdle of dinner was out of the way, the drinks of choice sweated under the cozy temperature of ten bodies packed like sardines at the table, and with Eddie at the helm of it all, the game commenced.

He set forth a toast. Affection swelled in his even gaze sweeping over his friends who had come to join him in his home, acknowledging the growth behind his ordinary request. He couldn’t speak it without a nervous tremble, no, but they understood. They understood. With pride, his eyelashes twinkled at the outer corners where mirth gathered, and his broad grin creased a slew of Crow’s feet into cascading to his smile lines with his dimple nestled between them. His silent gratitude thanked the room, and when he reached Jeff at his right hand side, Eddie flicked his eyes to the opposite end of the table, and brought the whiskey to his lips.

The room refracted beautifully in the carved edges of the smokey gray tumbler. It was silly, almost, how the squat glass vanished behind his large palm and thick fingers. Sillier, even, when you noticed these things and your heart pumped a little faster.

Sat at the far end across from him, you raised your beer, and sipped.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages,” he spoke in increasing speed and passion, descending into a lower octave as he stood and loomed over his dividers of books, binders, and folders acting as a shield to his Dungeon Master antics, “I present to you, the port town of Irrilis!”

He bowed, and swept his arms over the miniature display.

Sitting back, he guided everyone into the scene. Between describing the smell of the briny sea, the itch of stale sweat mixed with dried blood on their bodies, and the creak of wooden planks under their feet, he expertly wove lore into details of the town, comparing the afternoon sun on the backs of their necks to the stares they were getting. The townsfolk were not expecting newcomers this evening, apparently; and to finish the introduction, he cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed the caw of seagulls perched atop a gnarled bulletin board. When it became clear the fishermen were not interested in speaking to Lloyd’s tiefling, he asked if there was a guard nearby instead. Instantly, Eddie became one. He donned a constant salute, and rigid posture with a nasty curl on his lip, speaking in stunted sentences with a broadened chest.

Watching him perform was mesmerizing.

Your vision narrowed as if you were going lightheaded, highlighting Eddie at the center with sharpened colors. His broad movements coaxed you in, his ability to switch both his pitch and accent raced in your ears, his creature cadence hummed nostalgia along the back of your mind like an old memory of observing another actor on stage mastering their craft. Time forgot to start. He stole a glance in your direction and you were washed in humility. He was gauging your reaction to his geekiness, and whatever he saw, whatever was written in your expression, rewarded his vulnerability. Confidence set his face aglow; power in the way he beheld you. And you praised him by sitting forward, affixing him with all your adoration, considering yourself fortunate to be in his presence.

After all, you’d been enchanted by Eddie Munson since the first day he stomped past your desk with a fierce scowl aimed at the ground, and now? Now he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

~~~

As with most DND adventures, the fun began at a tavern.

The group had spent too much time with Eddie as their DM, they knew the bulletin board was a red herring, so they explored the city until they found the seediest bar tucked into the end of an alleyway.

You were reading over the details Eddie wrote for you on your character sheet when you were snatched to the present by an array of sounds.

Eddie strummed down on his acoustic guitar, and silenced the vibration with his palm. He then plucked a slow, seeking, progression, circling back until Jeff harmonized on his keyboard, and they nodded their heads in sync while Gareth found the tavern’s beat with the ends of his drumsticks on the edge of the table. Lloyd angled his chair to put his guitar in his lap, and chased the melody quietly under Eddie’s, at a slower tempo.

To be captivated by someone, wholly immersed in their quirks and nature, is to cherish them, and as you played audience to your friend’s natural charisma and ability to impress you in new ways after months of knowing him, your chest panged with the ache to cherish him completely.

You were one beer deep on an empty stomach, and you were already intoxicated by him.

Their song continued as he laid out the exposition of the tavern, and as a party, everyone sat at the bar, or snuck around invisible to glean information. And that’s where you came in–

Jeff changed his tune to have a mysterious dissonance.

Erica’s rogue sidled in beside you at a table, and smoothly asked you a variety of questions: how long you’d been in town, if you knew of the disappearances, or had any encounters with the rumor of the undead lurking outside the kingdom.

You… You looked at your orc’s low intelligence on the paper, and seeing as how you were an improv artist, you roleplayed.

Inhaling a mighty breath, you filled out your not-so-intimidating frame with imaginary muscle, and shot out your hand. “I’m Gary!” you exclaimed, rough and tough.

The guitars stopped on a screech.

Pause.

Eddie covered his mouth. His eyebrows peaked sentimentally. And once his shoulders shook, and his snort squeaked out like a dying sprinkler, everyone laughed. In your periphery, they each reacted differently–all having their unique outbursts at your blunt introduction. Erica, too, giggled as she shook your hand. They were laughing with you. Definitely with you when Jeff chose a sillier ditty to play, and the guys matched him, upbeat and excited for you to wholeheartedly participate in their game.

Soon, your orc joined their party, and a series of clues earned from armwrestling other bar patrons led you down several paths to take, and after finding a lost tome near an underground jail cell (thanks to Dustin’s constant perception checks), your group was led outside, past Irrilis’ stone walls, and to their dying crops.

Mike scooped a collection of dice into his hand after, somehow, engaging in combat with a scarecrow, and began shaking them.

There was a bang at the door.

Mike jumped, uncupping his palms mid-shake, and the dice went flying. He caught three–snatched them right out of the air–and before they ricocheted off his fingers to add to the clatter on the table, he began to juggle them. One, two, three, four perfect rotations, and he set them down.

Eddie hadn’t yet stood up from his chair when his gaze wandered to yours, and he cut you a cheeky, significant grin. You shot him an exaggerated sneer in return. Stupid juggling.

He managed to not trip over the scattered mix of boots and tennis shoes mingling around the entrance, and balanced the exchange of cash for a stack of white cardboard boxes his eyes and handsome nose peeked over on his way to sliding them onto the kitchen counter.

“Orders up, boys.”

As grease soaked into paper plates, and another round of drinks were poured by Gareth’s heavy hand, you were all ushered into the next leg of the game.

Jeff played low notes as background mood music for your party when you came upon your next encounter: ghouls. They were low level, easy to defeat even if there were many, but it was an opportunity for Erica to teach you the different dice. Max leaned over, and helped you keep track of your abilities, and if you could execute them from where you stood on the grid.

When it was Max’s turn to roll for attack and damage in the rotation, she did so in a shallow wooden tray between her and Lucas. The dice tumbled around, pinged the sides, and came to a stop where Lucas could read the numbers, and do the math.

Least to say, she decimated her target.

Erica’s rogue on the other hand rolled a number Eddie was ambivalent towards.

“Convince me you can sneak up on him,” he proposed, squinting over his steepled fingers, and leaning back in his chair. They seemed to butt heads a lot, if her eye roll was anything to go off of.

She stood up from the table, and snapped her fingers at Mike to act as her overly large zombie. “C’mon.”

He groaned, “Not again,” but did as he was told, standing not unlike a limp noodle with a flat stare into the distance as she listed off her character’s skills for Eddie, and hooked her arm around Mike’s throat, bending him backwards over her pencil (pretend knife) to his back. She even shuffled him to where Eddie could acknowledge the poison on the tip of her blade would enter his kidney. He argued the undead did not have functioning kidneys, but conceded her efforts.

It was your turn next, but as you were mulling over the ghouls on the grid in front of your figurine, the rest of the table went silent.

The bedroom door creaked open, and soft footsteps padded out onto the kitchen vinyl. Eddie jerked his head up from behind the dividers. Gareth scooted his chair in, assuming Adrie was going to squeeze by on her way to her dad, but there was no need..

She wedged herself between you and Max, and splayed her arms across your lap. With her cheek to your thigh, she sighed, pitifully, “The movie stopped, and my head hurts.”

“Oh, no,” you consoled her in your silly Children’s Television Program presenter voice. “Is it the braids? They can be so un-com-for-table to sleep in.” Perhaps you instilled too much confidence in the pizza to soak up the alcohol, because you were now two beers and a few sips of whiskey deep into the ‘overly affectionate’ stage of your tipsiness. You collected the sleepy girl to your lap, and enveloped her in a bone crushing hug, rocking yourselves back and forth, fawning each other in a happy hum, unaware of the bewildered stares boring into you as you pressed a kiss above her ear.

The men around the table exchanged confused looks with each other, then threw suspicious glances at Eddie, who appeared struck by Cupid. The girls, much more intuitive and observant, smiled at the sweet scene.

She sat sideways across your legs, and kept a hand crooked into your flannel’s collar while you slipped the yellow bauble ponytail from one of her braids, and loosened the plaits. “Do you wanna roll for me?” you asked her, working through the tangles.

Thrilled to participate in her dad’s game, she woke up just enough to say, “Yeah!”

Max felt for your dice, and handed her the largest.

Instead of Adrie letting go of you to cup her hands around it and shake, she pelted it at the table, and after narrowly missing the LEGO skeleton standees, it came to a stop.

“Eight,” Lloyd said with a hint of regret.

You asked Eddie, “Is that enough to hit?”

“It, uh–” The table’s full attention turned towards the Dungeon Master. He dropped his gaze to his notebook, and traced his finger over the dog-eared page. The pressure of their anticipation manifested in his bouncing knee, masking the tremble that would be present in his words regardless when he answered, “Y-Yeah, yeah. That, uh, that hits.”

The party squirmed with awareness; pressed lips ready to burst.

Oblivious, you put the smaller dice in Adrie’s hand, and added up the numbers when she tossed them. “Eleven!” With your turn done, you unraveled the rest of her other braid, and combed your fingers through her hair, circling them on her scalp to give her some relief. Speaking to her, you said, “Wanna count to eleven while we pick another movie?” She started counting automatically.

There was another whisper in her ear, and she hopped off your lap with her arms raised. You cooed a small, “Thought so,” and picked her up, settling her on your hip. Knowing it was Jeff’s turn, and you wouldn’t be needed for a while, you pushed the bedroom door open with your foot, and closed it behind you the same way.

And the very second it clicked shut, the table erupted.

“Jesus, dude, you’re gonna impregnate your coworker if you keep staring at her like that.”

“Ew,” and “Gross,” came from Max and Erica respectively.

Eddie jolted from his trance, mentally erasing the sway of your ass from his mind. His cheeks seared vicious red at Gareth’s comment.

With more tact, Dustin lilted, “So, just a friend from work, huh?” His blue eyes sparkles with mischief, matching the upturn at the corner of his lips, foretelling no good from this interaction, either.

“A friend,” Jeff added, “that he has the biggest crush on.”

Gareth rolled his bottom lip inward, and cocked his head. “More like she’s his babysitter with benefits.”

Loathing the obvious sheen of sweat rushing to his face, Eddie warned him with a pointed finger. “Don’t call her that.” He swung to Dustin next. “And she is my friend, and my coworker,” he stated evenly, putting emphasis on the last word.

Being the voice of reason in these situations, but not entirely on his side, Lloyd told the younger members, “Around the time they started working together, he started coming to band practice not entirely in a bad mood. A few weeks ago, he was even smiling. Apparently they had this little Christmas party, and there was mistletoe–”

“Shut it!”

“You kissed her?” Lucas gasped.

Gareth was the one to knock the gossipy housewife wind from his sails. “No,” he scoffed with a laugh. “He was too much of a pussy.”

Several of the guys snickered, and one said, “So no benefits, then.”

Reining in his volume, Eddie warned them again in a low tone, “I’m well within my right to not want to make things weird between us if it doesn’t work out. I have to see her every day, regardless.” It was one of his oldest excuses in the book, and to be honest with himself, he dismissed it a long time ago. He no longer feared making things awkward, or tampering with your friendship.. but he wasn’t about to explain his real insecurities to so many people at once.

No one needed to know the true reason behind why he hadn’t asked you out yet.

No one had to know why he walked away when you spoke of ‘dating’ and ‘home.’

It was to protect himself, so no one had to look at him with pity when he explained he wasn’t a good enough reason for you to stay in Hawkins past the end of summer. Instead, he defaulted, “We’re just friends.”

Erica was gentle in her approach. “If we’re all just friends here, then why don’t we get matching bracelets made by your daughter?” On instinct, he tugged his sleeve over his wrist to conceal D-A-D-D-Y. “I saw hers when she was messing with Adrienne’s hair.” She saw M-O-U-S-E. “And if you’re just friends, why doesn’t Adrie ever want to be held by us? Or hugged by us? I honestly thought she didn’t like to be coddled by anyone besides you, but then that just happened..”

The questions sank in Eddie’s stomach. It cooled the frustration from his furrowed brow, and eased the tension from around his eyes. He didn’t have a satisfactory answer for the group, but he could share something close enough to the truth, it might better help them understand his hang ups. But first, he downed the rest of his double on the rocks.

Wincing after his swallow, he set down the glass, and ran the heel of palm along the edge of the table. “I’m taking things slow,” he said, “and you all know why. Okay?” Shrugging a bit, he lifted his eyebrows and spoke again to his binders, focusing on his campaign notes rather than his friends. “I only told her everything, y’know, about what happened to me a few weeks ago, so I’m still giving it some time. And, obviously, yeah it’s a big deal having a kid, and her getting attached to someone else.”

“Aw, he’s in love,” someone said.

Exuding patience by closing his eyes, he continued, “Right, so, if you wanna tell her some less embarrassing stories about me, maybe even make me look good in front of her.. I’d really appreciate it.” He ended with a beckoning clap, as if he were striking a deal with the blisters in his life.

“Or,” Mike asserted, “I can roll to hit this ghoul, and if it succeeds, you have to ask her out tonight.” Before Eddie could respond, Mike puffed a lucky breath into his cupped hands, and bounced the dice across the grid. “Thirteen!”

“Aw, sorry, man. Doesn’t hit.”

Vitriol bit into his snark, “Oh, really? Thirteen doesn’t hit, but eight does? Give me a break.” The more his face pinched into a sour expression at Eddie’s stubborn favoritism, the more wickedness laced itself in the Dungeon Master’s smug grin.

Gareth was contributing another goading remark about breaking strict rules if they benefited Eddie’s chances for getting good pussy, but the squeal of the door knob turning interrupted him.

It was noticeably quieter when you sat down at the table, beaming at the mixed signals of people avoiding your gaze, and meeting it with the type of excessive smile you gave a stranger after you were just talking about them behind their back. “So, whose turn is it?” Jeff raised his hand sheepishly. “Oh, you guys didn’t have to wait for–for me!” You hardly got through the sentence before you were giggling into your drink.

Fear not, Gareth broke the underlying tension. “Hey, did Eddie ever tell you he used to walk out on stage with a rose in his mouth, until” –he motioned at the corner of his lips with a grimace– “he cut himself on the thorns one too many times. Ow!”

Gareth clutched at his foot, and the men shot off rapid fire communication through sharp hand gestures, and widened eyes.

Jeff played the Jaws theme.

“Is that true?” you whispered to Lucas.

Lloyd shouted, “Can we get back to the game?”

Still red in the face, Eddie turned to him with his arms extended graciously. “Yes! Thank you! Let’s get back to the game.”

Adjusting his chair under himself, Eddie the Dungeon Master sat with the distinct grace of someone who went unopposed. Wispy curls of his hair caught the wind, drifting in frazzled layers wherever they pleased. The buttons and pins on his jean vest glittered, and tinked together. His lungs expanded with a long, held breath, stretching the black hoodie over his chest. When no one challenged his unceasing eye contact, he continued, “The ghouls were nigh..”

————

The night matured.

Dustin and Lloyd championed your party to an underground cave where the source of the undead were conjured. Eddie heralded your arrival by opening the box beneath his chair, screwing together something behind his barrier of DND lore, and bringing it to his mouth.

You shouldn’t be surprised by him, yet again, but the fact he played flute was just as adorable as his playful grin straining his plush lips to the metal, and his round doe-eyes flitting to yours, and away.

The notes he played grew increasingly haunting, turning intense during the battle with the necromancer who started this all. Then, as the foe turned to dust, Eddie trilled higher, and higher notes. Sillier, and sillier as Dustin looted the robes he left behind.

Everything about Eddie’s expression was impish when the group asked if the scroll found in the pocket was written in common tongue.

“Why, as a matter of fact it is,” he said, much too cheerful, and trilled an incensing measure.

He was being a menace, and the group began to sag with dread.

Dustin’s words were laced with suspicion and regret. “What does it say?”

“Let’s see! It says..” Eddie held up a prop coil of tea-stained parchment, and cleared his throat to don a brittle old man's voice, “I was a lonely necromancer who missed my wife, children, friends, and family. I was merely resurrecting them to have companionship, and you attacked me for nought. I hope you are happy with yourselves, and can sleep at night.” He abandoned the paper to incite violence in his quick succession of notes on the flute. “The dying crops are not my fault. The soil simply has too many minerals from the estuary near Irrilis, and the quarry to the north.” Peering at the blank sheet fallen to his notebook, he faked confusion, “And it says down here, in teeny-tiny writing, ‘You should have checked the bulletin board.’”

Dustin dropped his head into his hands. “You son of a bitch.”

The rest of the quests went smoother, you supposed. After returning to Irrilis and checking the bulletin board, the party’s findings led to the library, which led to a murder, which led to a mystery, which led to finding an object which had the group gasping in surprise. Apparently, the Crimson Order’s emblem on the second dead person’s body, and bite marks on the neck had a long history within the group. The next big campaign was vampire related. You celebrated along with them, cheersing the end of your whiskey, and chasing it with some much needed water.

~~~

Raw twilight bloomed behind heavy set clouds pulling flutters of white against the black.

The night winded down with more fetch quests sending the party deeper into the woods, and to the edge of the mountains. It would take several more sessions to cover the terrain beyond, or something like that. Something, something tales of a labyrinth or some sort before the vampire castle. Your memory was a little fuzzy. Going with the flow of music, whether it was the mellow strums of Lloyd’s guitar, the muffled notes of Jeff’s keyboard, Gareth’s battle march, or the dark piece Eddie played when he introduced an object of interest; your focus muddled with the jokes, the lore, the alcohol. The whiskey burned less, and the oaky honey thrived. You surrendered to the passage of time–interrupted, briefly, when the man sat opposite you answered every one of the boy’s questions with a riddle, and his rascally cackle at their irritation stole another piece of your heart. Falling deeper, and deeper. And deeper for him.

~~~

The early witching hours feasted on the weary adults who were no longer able to pull all-nighters. The game was over for now, and the group packed their things away.

Max asked you, “Did you have fun?”

“Yes!” you blurted. “I didn’t really know what I was getting into, but the atmosphere was so cool. Eddie really knows how to put on a show, huh? And hey, finding fragments of a dragon’s egg shell in a game called Dungeons and Dragons was pretty neat.”

Her laugh brought music to her affirmation, “Yeah, he’s a pretty good DM, and we’ve been hunting the dragons for two years now. Do you think you’ll play with us next month?”

“Totally!”

“Nice.”

Lucas dragged his hand down her arm, and placed the black and neon pink windbreaker in her awaiting palm. She zipped it over her cozy college sweatshirt. They were at the back of the congestion, shuffling around the living room, straying behind the chaos of stumbling adults doubling over to laugh at their clumsiness and inability to find their shoe’s match.

While waiting, you watched several of the guys clasp Eddie’s shoulder as they passed, and placed money in his hand. Oh. Shit. Your gaze snapped to the scattered stack of pizza boxes in the kitchen, and shame licked your cheeks. It never occurred to you to pay for your share.

Quickly, you found your puffer jacket under Mike’s raincoat, and wrangled some cash from the pockets. Your stride went wobbly between the table, chairs, couch, shoes, and bumbling grownups in the cramped trailer, but you squeezed your way to him. He was beginning his goodbyes smushed against the breakfast bar, not quite able to reach the front door just yet.

“Here,” you said, shoving a crumpled $20 at his arm.

Pausing his conversation with Jeff, he twisted to see you over the curve of his shoulder, and absorbed your apologetic face before noticing the money. His lips ticced at the corners. His nostrils flared with a soft snort. Amusement crinkled at the corner of his eyes. “Not from you,” he said. “Why don’t you go check on Adrie for me?”

“Oh.” A confused, maybe disappointed ‘oh.’ “If you’re sure.”

Fighting an internal battle, you stuffed the $20 in your jeans, and held true to your frown. You were about to argue, but your brain registered what he’d asked you to do. “Adrie!” you whispered excitedly, and made finger guns towards the bedroom.

You scurried (yes, scurried) off, and left Eddie to fend for himself.

Jeff was twisting his hand around his chin in mock rumination. “She doesn’t have to pay, hmm?”

“Not my place to comment,” Gareth said, about to make a comment, “but maybe you should think about cashing in those benefits.” He paused, drunkenness slowing him into a contemplative stare. “Or at least fu–”

“Anyway!” Erica saved the situation by pushing past all of them to wrench the door open. “Well.. that sucks.”

Icy flakes floated in pendulum swings to the ground, where they stuck.

Eddie stood on his tip-toes to study the severeness over his friend’s heads. The weather appeared to be in its mild beginnings, not yet falling in a considerable sheet from the sky, but still, he was a dad, and he was prone to worrying. The party hardly finished lacing up their shoes, and he was making them promise they’d call him as soon as they got home. They’d barely walked down the steps, and he was there at the bottom, holding his arm out. “Seriously, call me as soon as you get home,” he warned each household.

And it was only once the last car’s tail lights trailed red streaks over the main road, he went inside.

The trailer wept with emptiness. Remnants of being fulfilled remained–the trash, the lingering body heat, and stuffy air–but it sighed with loneliness. The trailer was pent up. In need of decompressing after the hours of putting on a show, and in a constant state of overthinking, entertaining his friends while fighting the itch deep in his chest that said ‘I wish none of these people were here except for you.’

The trailer longed for you, searching the couch, the card table, the kitchen where the bottle of whiskey was left behind. The trailer sought you in the corners of its belly, its lungs, its head, leaving the heart for last.

Eddie pushed open the bedroom door, and you were not in his daughter's bed. He lurched further into the room. Needy for the heart. And he found it. He found his home..

A pair of adult legs stuck out from the entrance to the blanket fort.

Judging by the angle of your feet and your knee tucked into the other, you were laying on your side. The powder pink bedsheet gathered in folds around your lower thighs. Strings of Christmas lights pressed against the shelter, and the TV flicked bright colors as it played a movie on a low volume.

Daring, his fingertips encountered the coarse weave of your jeans on his way to lift the bedsheet keeping your sleeping form separated from his greedy gaze. Stealing moments where he could be learning your face, placed a precious snore away from his daughter’s, sharing the pillow with her curls and unicorn hugged to her chin. Inhaling silently, and exhaling in a quick breath, not yet catching the sound in your throat akin to a mumbly whine at the dream playing under your twitching eyelids.

The sheet draped the back of his neck.

Risking, he traced the rugged outer seam of your jeans. Starting at your printed socks, and traveling up your calf, over the rigid mountain peaks of stiff fabric creased around your knee, and discovering the squish of your leg under his prodding. His eyes were trained on your face. He slipped his palm over your upper thigh. A gentle warmth of his presence. Next, he cupped the curve of your knee, fitting it into his hand, and he continued his stroke downwards, tightening his fingers to your shin, and stopping to squeeze your ankle. You didn’t stir.

He shifted closer, widening his stand and ducking under the canopy to reach your face.

Leaning over you, he anchored his balance to your hip, relaxing his hold on the arch of bone shaped like a strung bow, and dragged his other knuckles along your cheek. Three fingers worth. Three opportunities for him to press his skin to your hairline, and brush them along the flat plane before the adorable round apples he knew to be relaxed under the surface while you dozed.

You were soft. So unexpectedly soft.

Courageous, smooth peach fuzz welcomed a fourth knuckle. A simple sweep of the back of his hand to your face. Feeling you. All of you. Insatiable.

His breathing grew heavier at the hunger.

Stomach clenching from the craving of more.

Heart, starved.

It was animalistic, but you weren’t afraid. No, you weren’t afraid when you twitched and slapped at your cheek, expecting a fly to be tickling you in your sleep, but as you awoke, you prodded at the confusing obstruction, and glided your fingers along the underside of his. Plump ridges punctuated by hard calluses with scratchy outlines. You recognized them by touch alone, and fought through the pain of your bloodshot eyes to peer up at the man looming above you, and yawned.

“No boys allowed,” you whispered through the groggy haze.

Oh, he nearly let his tipsy tongue admit too much to your dopey grin.

Eddie could tell he was smiling hard enough his vision suffered from his encroaching cheeks. His eyes were inundated by his happiness, nearly closed to slits from how hard he beamed when he slid from gaze from you, to his daughter who enacted the ‘No Boys’ rule, and to you again. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, withdrawing.

He helped you stand. With difficulty. The whiskey hurled you into a premature REM cycle, and without consideration, he roused you from its depths. In your drowsy state, you clung to him for stability, depending on his chest to support you. Not that he was complaining. He was reliable, compensating for your swaying by grasping your upper arms, and teasing you with a, “Whoa there, silly.”

Stood outside the closed bedroom, there was not a chance for gaps to stop your lower inhibitions. Alone, you were together. In the same hallway where there was a thrifted painting of a lake scene hung beside the bathroom, a shelf with a set of wooden ducks amongst the ceramic knick knacks, a doorway where he ate his oatmeal while watching you and Adrie play. Those points of interest were all there; you were familiar with them, even if you struggled to open your eyes.

You fawned over him, snickering at nothing until your features tensed into confusion, not understanding the bits of ice clinging to the fibers of his hoodie, scraping at them with your fingernail. You collapsed into him more, leaning your forearms on his steady frame, rising and falling, accepting the lullaby of his pleased hum. The very outline of your torso discovered his, giving him a taste of your warmth; comforting you both with the actuality of such a thing. You skimmed your fingers up to his hair, picking at the sloshy liquid burdening the ends of his curls. “Why’re you wet?” you mumbled.

“It’s snowing,” he repeated from earlier, when the rush of standing whooshed in your ears, rendering him an otherworldly voice from beyond. “It’s not bad, but like hell I’m about to let you bike home in it. If you wanna give me some time to eat and have a cup of coffee, I can sober up and drive you, sweet girl,” he finished like hot honey.

You circled your palms over his pecs with the lack of awareness a blissfully buzzed person would for the lone reason of wanting to experience the texture of his hoodie burn your skin from the friction. “But wouldn’t you have to wake Adrie up to bring her with us?”

“I would, but she’ll be fine. She’ll probably fall asleep in the car.”

“No, no, no,” you shushed him, losing your merry smile for the first time in hours. “Robin’s working very, very, very late tonight. She’ll probably be off her shift soon. She can pick me up. And my bike can fit in her trunk, unlike your tiny car.” Many of your words mushed together from your drowsy, drowsy, drowsy imploring.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I’ll call her, and hey, we can clean up while she’s on her way.” When his expression was less than enthused at the suggestion, you waggled your eyebrows, and bit your bottom lip, enticing him. “We can make it fun,” you tried. “You know, we’ll play music, drink some more, eat whatever pizza’s left.” You walked your fingers up his shoulders, and he smoothed his hands around your wrists, flattening your palms to his clavicle.

Eddie lowered his head until he managed to peer at you through his lashes, asking a condescending, but lighthearted question, “That’s what you wanna do? Help me clean?”

You reaffirmed, “It’ll be fun.”

“Fine by me, sweetheart. Go call Buckley.”

The plans were put on pause while you called the back office of the grocery store, but after a short conversation, and many twirls of the cord around your finger, your voice lightened with relief, “Thank you so, so much. I love you.”

You hung up, and spun around to tell Eddie the fabulous news.

The two glass tumblers on the kitchen counter were assuming. Filled with ice cubes from the blue plastic tray in the sink, and situated in front of the opened whiskey. There was a decent amount left–a fourth of the entire bottle, probably–and he didn’t need to hear you repeat Robin’s message about her getting off work soon to unscrew the cap and begin pouring.

No distinct emotion crossed his face when divided an even shot into each of the smokey gray glasses, and paused the bottle above yours to ask, “So, what kind of drunk are you?”

The ice cracked and popped as it melted.

“Giggly, touchy,” you supposed.

He tipped the bottle and added another healthy shot to yours. You raised your eyebrows at his boldness, and scoffed out the same question, “What kind of drunk are you?”

“Hm.” He propped his hand on the counter, and cocked his hip out, staring out into the living room. You studied his side profile from where you stayed by the telephone, most notably how his light wash jeans gathered around the bulk of his zipper again; hoodie tucked behind the handcuff belt buckle. The weathered silver metal glinted an edge of orange from the lamp beside the microwave, shifting as he rocked his weight to his other foot. “Stupid, I think,” he said finally. “I make stupid decisions, ‘nd shit.”

“Are you trying to make stupid decisions tonight?”

His features kicked up, and instead of giving you a verbal answer, he brought the bottle up and dropped his head back.

“Eddie!” you gawked.

Your mouth hung open in awe, stunned into silently watching the bubbles race to the top of the amber liquid chugging ever closer to the neck of the bottle being strangled in his white-knuckled grip. His eyes were screwed shut, body tensed and struggling to finish it off, lips pursed in a kiss around the opening. Each gulp sent his Adam’s apple jumping.

He threw his head forward. The bottle slammed on the counter, final sips of liquid sloshing in waves along the bottom. He caught the dribble falling from his chin with his sleeve, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. All of him shuddered. Teeth bared as he grimaced through the burn, eyebrows furrowed in mild regret.

After the last jerk of shoulders battling the aftershocks of disgust, you mimicked his parental exasperation, “What in the world are you doing?”

Making a stupid decision.

A tight line of water flooded his eyes. He ran his fingers over his shy smile, turning to look at you with a particular brand of sheepishness usually reserved for teenagers who were trying to impress their friends. “I only had two drinks the entire night. I’m just catching up to you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He agreed.

“Bobbie’s still gonna be a while,” you said on your way to grabbing your drink, now wondering if you were going to be the more sober one in half an hour. “Shall we get to cleaning?”

He lifted his tumbler by picking it up by the rim and clinked it to yours, but refrained from taking a sip when you did. Thankfully. “Wayne’s got some jazz records in the crate next to the record player, where the TV is.. Well, where the TV was. On that cabinet beside his bed.. If you’d just.. Look over there.. Okay, why are you staring at me?”

Memorizing the freckle of the side of his nose to your heart’s content, you shrugged. “You blush a lot.”

“Do not,” he denied in a mutter. He felt his cheek, poking and prodding and smashing at the skin being tugged down by his pouty frown. “It’s just the alcohol.”

“Ah.”

You sipped, swallowed, and snickered on your way to the record player cabinet, weaving through the staggered chairs untucked from the table. You laughed again. Just the alcohol, he said. Yet, he’d been flushed red all night. Or, at least, since he bragged about his seven inches.

~~~

The soundtrack for cleaning was a 25th Anniversary edition of a label’s best live performances over the years.

Various artists scored the yucky business of folding and stacking the chairs against a spare wall, trying not to envision a spider popping out at any moment from where it may be laying in wait under the seats. A fun upbeat tambourine number played when Eddie knocked over Wayne’s beard trimmer in the bathroom. Wondrous vocals warbled against your game of wadding up the used napkins and tossing them at the trashcan, while Eddie flung the paper plates like frisbees until both of you tired, and threw them away as normal. Brass horns vibrated under your hands and knees as you crawled around on the floor, finding all the crushed beer cans. Lazy drum beats coaxed both of your languid movements into the sort of drunken erraticism that came from being buzzed, gesturing without much consideration for sharp corners, or breakable things. He packed away his miniatures while you wiped down the counters, and he washed the dishes while you attempted to sweep up crumbs from the grid table cloth and fold it into a neat-ish square.

The record stopped.

A break ensued. You drank the rest of your whiskey, and Eddie searched every pizza box, divvying out the last slices for you to share over wordless respite, heads drooping, chewing slowly.

After washing the greasy cornmeal from his hands, and wiping the flour from around his mouth, he suggested, “Why don’t you put on the yellow record? Third from the end, on the left.”

You found the one he spoke of–golden yellow–and put the needle to it.

Together, you hauled out the dense vintage couch the few inches it required; done in dozens of centimeters, yanking on the ugly upholstery until your fingernails ached, and arms gave up. Eddie was rushing you, annoyingly so. Hurrying on in anguish, the table was flipped on its side, and its legs folded in. It was stuffed against the wall after some difficulty (the mugs remained intact), and after shoving the hulking piece of furniture to close the gap, you fell to the lumpy cushions with an exhausted groan.

You went boneless. Arms and legs landing wherever. Head lulling to the side. Eyes closed. Relaxed. Drifting off to the place where you were in the blanket fort at an alarming rate..

The song switched.

“May I have this dance?”

You opened your eyes.

Eddie’s hand came into focus. He was bent at the waist, extending an invitation. Reciprocating. Making true on his promise for the dance he owed you. It seemed so long ago; back when you knew him as a single dad who was private about his personal life. Now you knew. You knew his home, his past, his trauma, his notebook, his friends, his band, his daughter’s favorite stuffed toy named Fluff. You knew his pizza order (cheese with black olives), his favorite color (deep, sultry red), his laundry detergent (Cheer Free for extra sensitive skin). You knew his body temperature ran like a furnace, you knew the knot of pink scar tissue on the meat of his thumb, you knew the shimmery flecks of butterscotch in his eyes when he went teary. In the span of a few days, you knew him better than you did weeks ago, before Christmas.

You took his hand. He helped you stand, and in a brave exhale, he held you in timeless elegance.

It wasn’t like the dance before, where you minded the respectable distance two coworkers should. No. He still clasped your right hand in his left, sure, but from there the similarities to waltzing in the garage differed. Reservation did not stop at the top of his neck, or his bicep–you switched your friendly clasp from those safe areas, to introducing your torsos, and pinning his arm under yours in effort to reach the middle of his back. He enveloped your waist, coaxing your hips together with woozy enthusiasm. Close, close, close. Handcuff belt buckle catching on your jean’s zipper at each pass until you began to sway in aching unison to Frank Sinatra’s Somethin’ Stupid.

You empathized with the heady flush pinkening the bulbous tip of his nose, and gazed into his eyes. Or tried. His eyelids fell in sluggish blinks, and his envious lashes refused to part. The sway was a shuffle. Your head was swimming. Failing to focus on one particular thing before your vision went cross, and the room spun, despite standing almost still.

It didn’t take long for either of you to surrender.

Rocking side to side–no turning, no pivoting–you accepted the innate desire to rest your head on his chest, and even from a distance, his pulse beat against your ear. Hard pumps of lifeblood under your cheek laid flat on the faded black hoodie. If you looked the other way, you’d see the jean vest reeking of cigarette smoke thrown on the couch where he discarded it before asking you to dance, but you chose to admire your joined hands. Preferring to learn the dry skin where a scrape was healing on his thumb knuckle–how small your thumb was in comparison to the single stretch of bone until the next joint, and his blunt nail. Maybe he was admiring such a thing too, because he stretched his fingers and curled them snugger to yours, and he set his chin atop your head, learning another new intimacy.

You melted under the burden of his weight.

He exposed the issue of your hair catching on the stubble of his five o’clock shadow.

You craned your head against the grain, and he nuzzled his chin harder.

Two people discovering their deprived yearns.

The sweetness of being crooked into the hollow of his body. The possession of snagging a full grip of his hoodie between your fingers, and becoming the reason he filled his lungs. Existing around him. And he existed in you, in all the unexplored corners, and you dusted the cobwebs from his. Fulfilling the dark places. Giving them light, and acceptance. Sharing the slice of night before it turned day. Swaying, rocking, swimming together in an inebriated dance under a tin roof, under the sprinkling snow, under the opaque clouds, under the crescent moon, under the twinkling stars. Under the universes, and hypothetical alternate dimensions and timelines, and as attractive as they seemed, you wouldn’t choose a different one. This is the one. This is the exact dimension, the exact timeline you wanted.

No longer wishing to lead, Eddie closed your fingers into a soft fist, and placed your hand over his heart, cupping his palm over it and stressing the thousands of unspoken words in his squeeze.

Basking in the minutes stretching to hours, the music looped into a perfect eternity.

It was getting late, almost time to leave, you guessed.

You withdrew your head. Eddie lifted his. The spot his chin once resided on your scalp ran abnormally cold from the loss, and there must’ve been an imprint of wrinkled fabric on your cheek, because that’s where his eyes landed first on their journey to meet your resilient gaze.

The beginnings of his lopsided grin emerged.

He spoke, and it was a single word. “Yeah.”

You didn’t know why he said it, or what he meant, but in this moment, in his arms, with your hand nestled between his and his heart, you agreed, “Yeah.” This was special. Whatever this was, this was special.

A huff of laughter broke through your smile, and his. Giggly silliness.

You were embraced from the top of your thighs, through to the slight proposal of your hips, and ending at the acute strength of your arms pressing each other closer.

Eddie raised your hand from his heart to his face. His thumb ensured your fingers stayed curled in, barring you from investing in a full, unadulterated touch. Wisps of his hair traced your skin. His exhale snaked down your flannel sleeve. Your inner wrist stopped at the slick junction of his lips, where he had swiped his tongue over out of nervous habit.

Oddly, he tapped your hand a few times to his cheek.

It made you curious. You copied him, bringing his hand to your face. Hooked your thumb under his sleeve to expose his wrist, and tapped it to your cheek. Ah, you understood.

Such delicate, unscarred skin brushed against the ridges of your lips, each tap like a kiss along the edge of your lovesick simper. Closer to a kiss than anything you’d experienced with him before. Still so tender, and so pure.

“Yeah?” A raw tremble was present in your question; gone shy from the profoundness of the single word, and fearing you were attributing the wrong meaning behind something so little, yet so large in your relationship.

But he saw the doubt, and he reassured you, “Yeah.” By the wetness glossing over his eyes, he reassured you your assumptions weren’t wrong. He whispered it again, softer, to where the one syllable croaked out, “Yeah.”

This was special.

The alcohol sat like candor on your tongue. “Wanna know a secret?” you teased as you let go of his wrist, and guided your hands up to his nape, linking your fingers over the bulky hood prohibiting you from playing with the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck. He slung his arm around your waist, over top of the other, encompassing you in a true hug.

He squinted at you. “How drunk are you? Don’t go tellin’ me somethin’ you’ll regret in the morning.”

“It’s nothing like that, I swear.” There was a flirty whine to your pitch, and even flirtier breathiness to your voice. Encouraging him to maintain the sway, leading him side to side, foot to foot, taking advantage of flow to put an arch in your back, and rise onto the balls of your feet, undetected. Your heart skipped at the proximity. “You know how I said my top three favorite people were Robin, Adrie, and then you?” you reminded him. “That’s actually backwards.. I said it backwards. It’s actually you, Adrie, and then Robin. But don’t tell her that.”

His mouth hung open to respond, but his gaze was off, discerning something behind you in the distance. When he centered on you again, there was a new kindness to the wrinkles framing his handsome face. “Are you okay with sharing my number one spot?”

“I would be honored.”

“Good,” he emphasized, “I’d be heartbroken if you didn’t want to be my favorite.”

“I always want to be your favorite,” you preened.

The innocence slipped from his expression. He’d never heard you sound quite so needy, or eager to be something of his, and the effects were sudden and poorly timed.

Outside, rocks skidded on the cracked pavement. A car turning in from the main road sunk into a pothole, and bounced out. The music spinning on the record player crescendoed. The fluorescent bulbs in the lamps hummed with electricity. Scents of acidic tomato sauce and oregano were inescapable. Tiny pellets of hail pinged on the tin roof. You both looked up, listening to it pass after a drifty-cloud moment.

Eddie concentrated on keeping your chests together. His forearms dug into your waist as he found the best way to lock his grip. He dipped his head lower when you had no choice but to lean up, and into him. “If I give you my number, will you call me when you get home, so I know you made it safe?”

Every consonant and vowel vibrated in your skull, thrumming velvety richness through the daze.

“I already have your number,” you said amongst the warmth building, and building behind your rib cage.

He faltered, confused. “You have my number?”

“Mhm, an even bigger birdie told me.”

Both bewildered by the callback, and having a tendency to fall head over heels for anything and everything you did, regardless if it was an unsatisfying answer or not, Eddie snorted, and scrunched his face, observing you with all the judgment you earned. “That’s either really creepy, or really endearing.”

You dropped your gaze to his crooked smile, and the car approaching the blue and white trailer faded away.

His lips were gorgeous. Overly full, and a wonderful shade of fleshy red with a tint of pink. They were bitten. Chewed on when his nerves got the best of him. Behind them, the edges of his teeth showed. Above them, you put your energy into obsessing over his overly large nose, as you had in many instances, but never at this distance, able to see every pore, every freckle, every splotch, and realizing this could become a normal occurrence, being this close.

His eyes were overly large as well, and they followed each micro-tic of yours.

“Good thing you find me endearing, then,” you provoked.

He loved that response.

“I do,” he chased. “I do,” he gave in. The willpower to resist his urges crumbled at the admission. He pressed his forehead to yours, and conceded until his mouth ached with happiness, “I find you so endearing.”

The alcohol dulled the intimate gesture. The top layers of your skin were numb. You had to work harder to feed the starvation; grinding your forehead against his, digging deeper to feel the itch of his bangs stuck to the glisten of boozy sweat. Sliding your nose alongside his, smashing the tips to each other’s cheeks. Sharing the same breaths, panting feathery sighs into each other’s mouths. Then, another carnal bump of noses, clumsy and misaligned, and a hard rut bone on bone until your bodies tingled with satisfaction. Satiated. Full.

Eddie turned his groan into a ragged, “I fucking adore you.”

“I adore you, too,” you promised, on the verge of crying and not knowing why.

He pulled away, dragging the tip of his nose up the side of yours, and tracing it down, allowing them to stay connected for a moment longer. A cooldown while your stomach flipped, and your pulse raced. I adore you.

The whole thing was strange to do with your coworker, especially with your hands remaining latched where they were, and there was no grinding elsewhere; it was just sheer lust for touch. Mutual, too.

His overly large pupils bored into yours. Neither of you had appropriate commentary on what transpired, probably for the better.

A car engine rumbled outside.

“Yeah, I’m pretty toasted, I think,” you said.

He pinched his eyebrows in, and pursed his lips. “Think I am, too.”

Either way, it was a good excuse for you almost moaning his name, and him choosing to hinge his phrase on adore, as if the endearment couldn’t be swapped out, and suddenly, the entire sentiment would have changed. It would be a confession.

There was a knock on the door, and Robin’s voice came muffled, but the urgency of being stuck out in the cold was conveyed.

Both of you hastened separating yourselves, and fumbled around each other.

Always, Eddie was a gentleman and helped you put on your jacket after you argued he was way more plastered than you were, despite you being the one doubled over with your hands on your knees, wobbling, disoriented after reaching down for it. He made sure you were dressed before going outside. Zipped you all the way to your chin, even when you complained it looked dorky. He lined your shoes up for you, and waited for you with his eyes closed, drifting off to a dream while standing up.

He handed you off to Robin, and loaded her trunk with your bike. For whatever reason, you didn’t climb inside the car yet. You waited in the snow for him. Collecting glittery flakes on your eyelashes, inhaling the fresh, crisp air. Probably quelling the nausea, same as he was, taking gulps of oxygen while he blinked, and blinked, searching the swirling images for something his brain could comprehend to get it to stop.

You waited for him, never saying anything. In heavy steps, he came to you, and wedged his fingers under the door handle, popping open the latch with an expression of wryness, as if you expected him to open every door for you.

Which, he would, for the record.

Stopping you before you sat, he grabbed at your jacket and bent himself to you, no longer afraid to press the cold tip of his nose to the shell of your ear, and drag his lips over the peach fuzz as he spoke directly to you. “Call me,” he stressed against your shiver.

“I will.”

At that, he shut your door and Robin began backing out of his driveway, stunting his wave goodbye from the headlights blinding him. He moved to the stairs, then to the top of the landing to watch the car drive around the soft bend around the trailers, and out onto the highway, leaving him behind.

He entered the trailer, and it was full.

It felt full, anyway. In his stomach, his chest, behind his eyelids, in the dusty corners, in the mortal hollows, manifesting a tightness in his throat, and a contradictory heaviness to his weightlessness, floating on clouds after spending an entire day with his crush and ending it with I adore you.

Eddie brushed his hair back, neatening the tangles wetted by ice. He combed his bangs off his forehead, and drove his fingers against his scalp, leaving his hands on top of his head, stripping himself of the extra stimulation to hone in on the persistent throb between his brows where you staked your claim.

You had made your home there, and he couldn’t wait for your return.

“Jesus Christ.”

With his woolgathering out of the way, he went to where Adrie was half-asleep in the doorway to her bedroom, and he crouched onto his knees. “Were you watching us dance?”

Wrapped in a blanket and sitting slumped over, she nodded against the wood frame, and sucked in the drool threatening to spill over her bottom lip. Only having the energy to open her eyes a smidge, she still found it within herself to have gripes with him. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“I’m sorry,” he pouted in a silly deep voice.

Stooping further, he worked his arm under her legs, and collected the sleepy bundle that was his daughter to his chest. He shuffled along on his knees over to the fort, and man, did he understand why you fell asleep so easily in the blanket nest. Just the accidental touches when he set Adrie down called to him, as did the bleating sheep hopping over fences in his head. It was enticing.. but the phone was ringing, and the first check in of the night as calling.

He knew it wasn’t you, but his heart leapt all the same.

“Sorry the phone might ring a lot,” he said. “Do you want another movie on? I’ll put another move on so it doesn’t wake you, okay?”

She scrunched her nose in a bad way, not like he did when he was laughing. Probably from the alcohol on his breath, and his waning coherency.

He stowed away his kisses for now. “Sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye, but I promise you, I promise you, okay? Miss Mouse will be back soon.” That was the heaviness in his chest. The decision. “I’ll invite her over, and we can all play together, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she mumbled, loosening her grasp on his hair.

She was out, and he paced the kitchen while he chatted to stay awake.

————

Eddie sat at the small green table with his head resting back against the peeling wallpaper. A single light above the wrap-around counter skimmed the belly of the trailer. It traced the bubbles slipping down the bottle in front of him, and glanced the top of his pillow on the couch, submitting to the darkness past his plaid blanket waiting for him. The phone cord draped over his shoulder, down to his chest. The last call was half an hour ago. Maybe? He knew his last swig of whiskey was seconds ago. Everyone had checked in, and his ability to show an ounce of self-control was forfeited to the sheep. In his final blink, his body went lax, and he passed out.

Though, he could always count on the clangy ring to cut through their bleats.

Jolting awake, he searched above him for the phone, knocking it off the hook before it disturbed Adrie.

He was disoriented.

“Hello?”

Quiet as a mouse, a voice came, “Hey.”

He sat up. Alertness spread through him in waves, rippling from the decision sitting hot on his tongue, and stirring deeper, lower. Your greeting was filtered by the tiny microphone caged in yellowed plastic, but the dozy, sweltering rasp was there. “Hey, sweetheart,” he answered in kind, and inhaled deeply before the blood loss in his brain rendered him lightheaded.

One word in and he was wiping his palm on his jeans, and keeping it there, on his thigh.

“Sorry it took me so long,” you apologized in a whisper. “I wanted to wait until everyone went to sleep. I’m in the living room. In the dark.” You giggled as if it were a joke he should be in on.

He peeked behind him to make sure the bedroom door was shut, and wrenched the phone against his lips to stifle his own laughter. “Yeah? I’m sitting in the dark, too.”

You hummed.

He didn’t know if you were making a pass at him by mentioning you were alone as he was, so he chose something innocuous to comment on, bouncing the ball in your court. “You sound tired, baby. You should go to bed.”

“But my bed’s cold,” you whined.

Bingo.

Risks were worth taking as long as you participated.

In a matter of quick exchanges, he had his palm between his thighs, running his fingernails down the coarse fabric of his jeans and cupping the heft. “My bed’s cold too,” he matched your pitch, exploring his thumb upwards.

“If you were here, mine wouldn’t have to be..”

“But you live in someone else’s parent’s attic,” he teased.

“And your bed’s a couch,” you shot back.

He checked the closed door behind him one more time, and yielded, “You’re right.” You liked being right. He liked it when you were right. Your grin tinted all your pretty words when you were right. Well, they would, if you were speaking. “Babe?”

“Sorry, that was quick,” you said, struggling through a yawn after nodding off. “I’m laying on the recliner, and it’s really comfy.”

“Then go to sleep,” he implored in a chastising snicker.

You grunted.

Except, it didn’t sound like the other grunts and groans he’d heard you make over the months. This one was sweeter, higher, similar to the airy catch in your throat when your bottom lip dragged on his stubble. A moan of his name, he hoped. He twitched against the warmth of his palm. Growing rapidly under the first strokes of his thumb encouraging his descent, half-hard just at the thought.

How much whiskey he had was of no concern when it came to you. Clearly.

He couldn’t stop his appetite from lowering his voice, “Whatcha doin’, sweet girl?”

You turned it back on him, “What are you doing?” And when he was busy rearranging how he sat to give his jeans some slack to wrap his thick fingers around himself, you mused with an evident smirk, “Touching your orc dagger?”

Goddamnit. “If you ever bring that up again, I swear..”

“You must be, with how you’re avoiding the question.” You muffled your giggle–probably with your shirt collar, if he had to guess. Teasing him more, you slurred, “S’okay. I saw how hard you were staring at my shirt earlier. Just thought you’d like to know I’m not wearing it anymore. Not wearing a bra either.”

You’re right. He did like knowing that. So much, in fact, he smoothed his fingers in a long tug along his length, stroking twice over the sensitive head, and repeating.

“Not wearing anything?” he asked, sounding a bit more husky than he intended.

“Just the flannel. Gotta be a little dressed.. in case someone comes in.” You shifted in the middle of your sentence, and at first Eddie pictured you turning onto your back. Imagining your tits shifting against the flannel, and their subtle bounce as you got comfortable. How hard your nipples pressed to the fabric, and what they must feel like being licked and sucked into his mouth, and all the beautiful noises you’d make for him. Unfortunately..

“Touchin’ yourself for me, sweetheart?” Nothing.. “Sweetheart?” Oh.. “You fall asleep again?”

An actual grunt, maybe a hiccup, or a snore created static on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry,” you sincerely apologized.

Poor sweet thing. “Tell you what,” he reasoned. “Why don’t you go to bed, and think about how nice it’d be for me to be there with you; how warm I am. And I’ll take a shower, and do the same.”

You asked, “You mean you’re gonna think about me while in the shower?”

He squeezed himself. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. There was no fucking way either of you’d remember this by Monday morning. It was kinda thrilling; obeying the allure, and teasing each other without consequence.

“Nice.”

“Mhmm.”

Eddie closed his eyes in the following silence. The fantasy drifted to something tender. Sharing a bed. Waking up next to you. The alcohol made it difficult to remember why you called, and fathom why he was holding a conversation. His own hand went slack around the part his heart pumped blood to. The urge passed. The desire to brush his teeth replaced the lust. He was drunk, and he was losing the battle to remain conscious.

His body slouched ever forward.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t stay awake.”

“Neither can I..” Not that it mattered, but before the conversation ended and he summoned the strength to collapse on the couch instead of the green table for the sole reason of never wanting his daughter to discover him passed out in the kitchen from drinking too much, he heeded the heaviness in his chest. The decision. And he told you, “By the way, I thought of what to do for that ‘thank you’ I owe you. It’s time I pay you back for everything you’ve done for me.”

Processing his words at a slower rate, a few moments ticked by before the intrigue ate at you. “And what’s that, handsome?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

You snorted. “It’ll be a surprise if either of us remember anything after I failed nine rolls in a row, and you chugged.. Fuck, however much whiskey you’ve had. I don’t even wanna know.”

In a night of stupid decisions, he committed to one more; the joke was too good to not tumble past his loose lips, “Not enough to stop my orc dagger from growing seven inches.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, that was awful. I’m never calling you again. Goodbye.”

The speed at which you hung up sent him doubled over, clutching his aching stomach. He tried to keep quiet, really. He held onto his dignity just long enough to take three attempts to hang up the phone, and then it hit him with reckless abandon. He slapped his hand over his gaping mouth, and shook until the breathless gasps came out in squeaks, ugly laughing at his own stupid joke. He rocked back and forth, almost hitting his forehead on the table, and only caught his breath when tears brimmed his lashes, and he remembered his forehead was sacred, and he should stop. If he hit it, it’d be like an earthquake to your home. Except, that imagery also made him giggle, and he was at it again. Biting his tongue to subdue his outbursts while he stretched out on the couch cushions which rubbed his skin raw everytime he changed position. Finally, he was at peace. He tried to forget about the impending hangover he was going to have to explain to Wayne, and instead, he thought about you, and let his daydream take him to a fantasy where he could wake up next to you. And if he went through with his decision, maybe it could become a reality.

No. Not if. He would. He would go through with it. Probably. If you asked about it, he would, definitely. If you didn’t, he’d.. he’d still do it. He couldn’t keep living like this.

However, for both your sakes, he hoped neither of you remembered this night come Monday morning.

[lunarw0rks]

Hello!! Could you do one with how the 141 boys would take care of their sick partner who is also in 141 with them? Like when would they notice that you were sick or didn’t show up to training because you were sick?

I love your writing!!

Taking Care of Their Sick S/O (+Ale)

Warning(s): gn!reader, established relationship, emetophobia tw, hurt/comfort, mild language, fluff ˳✧༚/✿ Word Count: 1.1k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? 𓆩♡𓆪 ask box

SYNOPSIS; if there was any unspoken rule in your line of work; it was that you show up to work, with no excuses. No absences unless an injury has rendered you disabled, or you're bedridden. For you, right now, it was the latter. You picked up a bug, some sort of flu that had you convinced you were dying. You found yourself too beat to tell anyone but those on a need-to-know basis.

Price

John let out a groan when his work phone rang, interrupting his paperwork. He figured it was yet another thing that had gone wrong or another phone call to take up an hour of his precious time.

But it wasn't; it was your voice — your scratchy, exhausted voice.

One portion of you called him because you had to, as his soldier. But the other half was his significant other, yearning for any comfort he could spare. It was the type of flu where you'd convinced yourself you were on your deathbed.

His soothing voice is what you needed, and it's what you got once he heard your sniffles and coughs. ❝You stay in bed until you're well, got it, sweetheart?❞ He spoke sternly, fiddling with his pen on the other line. Though he wanted nothing more than to tend to you personally, he just couldn't spare the time.

He sent one of his trusted men to check on you every few hours, taking a request for an errand, a file you wanted to review in bed, or something as trivial as a water refill. In addition, you got as much covered absence as you needed, probably even a few extra days to be sure of a full recovery.

Simon

Simon was the first to notice you acting off — the slower response time when asked a work-related question, how you had gone to bed hours than you usually would, and how your form had gotten sloppy in training.

Then, the following day, when you weren't present; he had been proven correct once again. The nasty flu you picked up was so hellacious you didn't want to risk getting the rest of them sick, so you stuck it out in your barrack.

He did check on you — startled you, actually. You rolled over when your nap had been cut short by a fierce cough, nearly adding a concussion to your reason for absence when you spotted the figure sitting beside you. Simon grabbed your arm before you could fall off the cot, feeling the sheer warmth of your fever, ❝didn't mean to startle you, love. Was worried, is all.❞

His fear of getting sick was non-existent, due to his alarming ability to push through the worst of colds and flu strains. Simon brushed a sweaty strand away from your drowsy eyes, merely watching as you lay feverish in your cot.

Soap

Let's be honest; Soap probably gave you the flu, only he was lucky enough to show the symptoms of a mild common cold — so the correlation was never made.

Of course, it had to hit you at its worst when he spent the night with you. You ran to the bathroom in the middle of the night, vomiting last night's dinner. ❝Ye alright in there, sweetheart?❞ Soap asked groggily at the sounds of your retching, only plagued with a runny nose and a deeper voice.

He stretched his muscles and waited outside the door, flashing a look of concern at your appearance. Though you had brushed your teeth, you still felt horrendous — and looked it.

❝I'll go make you a tea, hm?❞ He did just that, shuffling over to the kitchenette with a silent yawn. If he weren't sick himself, he wouldn't be half as drained as he was right now.

When he returned, he sat you up enough for you to keep the steaming mug upright. He passed it to you, watching as you sipped it to soothe the burn in your throat. ❝Best tea of your life, I promise.❞

Gaz

Gaz only saw a glimpse of you through the small window on your barrack door, the outline of you as you choked back some water. Even through the metal door, he heard a raspy chest cough you emitted.

He knocked a few times, taking a few steps back when you opened the door, looking dreadful. Dark circles, sweat formed on your forehead, and your pajamas still on. ❝Christ, babe, have you gotten any rest today? Go back to bed.❞ He gave the order from intense concern for getting you back in action. Not to mention, the day was boring without you on the field.

As much as he wanted to embrace you, he didn't want to risk catching whatever flu you had caught a strain of.

Once you were a few feet from him, he followed you inside, draping a spare quilt from the linen closet on you, then distancing himself once more. ❝How about we... video call until this is over?❞ Kyle made his best attempt at a kind smile, though he had already found the doorway.

Alejandro

He knew you were ill because the report made its way up the chain of command, eventually finding itself on his desk.

Alejandro couldn't spend a lot of time searching for you when he passed the training room, though he did find it strange you hadn't texted a good morning to him.

But, once he found out you had picked up a nasty flu, he set aside some time to get you a care package. Electrolytes to keep you hydrated, an extra blanket, and some soup he had a rookie drive across town to an authentic Mexican restaurant for (though not as good as one he would make for you if he had the time).

When you weakly opened the door, seeing the folded blanket and a takeout baggie of soup and bottled drinks, there was a neatly folded note;

'Te deseo una pronta recuperación' — A

Laswell

Unfortunately for her and you, she rarely had the luxury of being on base. Most of her working days were spent with Shepard, or halfway across the world gathering intel. Communication rarely came through texts, only calls with her.

It was both your luckiest and unluckiest day, however. You were ill and bedridden — but she was on base today.

The door to your cot closed softly, a gentle palm resting on your hip. She found out about your absence through Price, instantly taking a few minutes from her day to check up on you. ❝The Captain's worried about you,❞ she rubs circles on your blanketed hip, and the only sign that you're even awake is the active sniffling from your stuffy sinuses. You don't turn to face her, and she wouldn't want you to either, but the comfort eases the upset a bit.

You hear the faint rustle of a purse before she's handed you a few tablets to take, holding them in front of your mouth, then passing your water bottle. ❝Take these, they should knock you out for a few hours, let you get some rest.❞

[wildemaven]

fall apart, again : chapter one | joel miller

Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x OFC!Genevieve

WC: 5k

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Heavy on the Angst, post-outbreak world, no specific age mentioned but reader is close in age to Joel, minor character death, Ellie and her smart mouth, leaving the rest to read at your own risk to not spoil things, reader has a name but there are zero references to her appearance/she’s a blank slate character, 2nd POV, this is way AU so can be read as Game Joel or TV Joel

A/N: I’ve been so excited and nervous for this series. I don’t have a timeline for posting with this one, just going to take my time with it. Big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for listening to me wrack my brain over this series and for being my second set of eyes!! Please go check out her new Dieter Series!!!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Inspo Board

Next

Spring was slowly transitioning into the next season. 

Bright fragrant blooms wilting away into the dry soil from where they were born— a poetic reminder of the time. 

21 Summers. 

21 years of surviving. 

Enduring. 

Remembering—  the normal life before the outbreak that you mourn daily. 

A giant Bur Oak lends itself to you, branches providing ample shade as you sit resting against its sturdy trunk, the ground cool beneath where you sit. 

The harsh sunlight filters through the tree’s canopy, a warm dapple light speckled all around you. 

There’s a gentle flicker to your left that catches your attention, a single light-ray hits the small diamond on your dainty gold band where it sits heavy on your ring finger. You hold your hand up, remembering back to when you both had found it, he had immediately dropped to his knee— it wasn’t much, but it was perfect. 

“I give you this ring as a reminder that we face this world together. We’re an unbreakable team.”

Even after all these years and the circumstances of the world around you, it’s a vow you stand by. 

Branches above rustle and crack as a breeze sweeps through, the edges of the paper that is resting on a book in your lap fold over with each small gust, drawing your attention back to the words you’ve written. 

…We passed what looked like it was a small farm at one point. It made me yearn for normalcy. Where we could settle into the small farmhouse, drink our morning coffee on the wraparound porch while we watch the sun rise. Have all the animals that would give a homestead atmosphere. A coup of chickens where we would gather eggs daily, a flock of sheep and goats for milk, and a small herd of cows— because what’s a farm without some cows I can give silly names to. 

We’d raise a family in that farmhouse— lots of babies running around to wrangle. Breakfast of pancakes and fresh eggs, all of us together around our table, then tucking them all in at night after we’ve read them several stories. 

We’d lay in each other’s arms as the crickets sing their chirping songs. A breeze washing over us through the open windows, the evening air lighter and crisp as the night fades and our worn bodies succumb to sleep. 

There wouldn’t be heartache or sadness. No fighting or stressing over jobs. We’d be happy. We’d be together… 

“Eve! Let’s get goin’— we only got a few more hours of light left. Should be at the cabin before sundown.” The thick Texas twang breaks through your thoughts. 

Steve standing off in the distance, his blonde hair disheveled and wind blown as he looks back to where you’re tucked under the tree. 

He’s handsome in his own right, not someone you would have ever found yourself with in different circumstances, but now you wouldn’t know how to function without him. 

A chance meeting the day of the outbreak had brought the two of you together. 

You were working as a traveling nurse at a hospital 4 hours from where you lived, instantly going into crisis mode as lead of the trauma response team, the ER quickly overwhelmed with patients seeking treatment for bites or flu-like symptoms— it was unlike anything you had ever seen before in all your years as a nurse. 

Steve, a retired detective, was on vacation with his wife visiting a friend before the initial outbreak happened. The morning of, he’d gone on a duck hunting trip, while his wife went to breakfast with some girlfriends at a local Waffle House. He had brought her into your ER when he noticed she was acting strangely, similar to the symptoms the news was reporting as a widespread epidemic. Her outcome was not hopeful as you did your best to administer vials of antibiotics and fluids, the infection moving through her was beyond anything you could treat. 

It was Steve who made the call to abandon his wife and the hospital and the realization hit fairly quickly that there was less you could actually do to help others. 

Fleeing the area, seeking solace in one another as you both navigated through quarantine zones— searching for familiarity in your former hometown, only to be met with decimation and nothingness. 

Steve’s way around a gun helped keep you safe when evading FEDRA, the nursing kit you put together came in handy when stitching him up between shootouts and fighting off the infected— this was now your new normal. 

As the years progressed, you both found contentment with each other. Security gave way to a sense of comfort and revival, falling into a deeper connection beyond two people surviving a post outbreak apocalypse— if you were going to be in each other’s lives, you might as well be fully committed. 

“Eve! Pack your shit up— let’s go!” He spits out a little harsher, no real malice behind his tone— he likes to stick to his schedule. 

You don't respond, folding your letter carefully then tucking all of  your items into your canvas pack.  Standing to your full height, you give your legs a minute to let the blood reacquaint fully, your hands brushing the bits of dust and weeds from your pants. 

You hear Steve continue his huffing, as you make your way closer to where he’s standing. 

“I thought I told you to knock it off with those pointless letters!” He gruffs, hands secure at his hips and his head cocked to the side, hoping to catch your gaze. 

Your letters. They had become a loose journal, your stream of thoughts you needed to get out so you were not plagued by the pain and anxiety that came with them whirling around your brain. 

Letters to your past, letters to a new life that awaits you and sometimes to no one at all— you wrote about your travels, things you missed or longed for now, hope for the future. 

They were too much to keep, pages and pages filled with your words and stories, some containing memories too painful to read or share, a weight you didn’t want to carry, so you scattered them throughout your travels. In the last 21 years, you’ve written hundreds of them, dropping them in abandoned mailboxes, or tucked away in the abandoned spaces you’d settled into in passing, as if to send them to whomever you were writing to— leaving a trail of your life across cities and states. 

“And I thought I told you to stop calling me Eve— guess we don’t always get what we want?” You had asked him multiple times over the years to not call you Eve, that was your former life and you hated the reminder, but you know he doesn’t do it out of spite. 

The gravel crunches under your boots as you walk past, not looking to argue with him in the heat of the sun. 

Steve’s hand reaches out clasping around yours, halting your movements, his eyes fixed on you, furrowed brows as if he wants to say something. 

“Hey— Ya know I love you, right?” He sighs, his fingers toying with the gold band on your ring finger. 

You look to where your hands are joined, the twisting of the gold band a small gesture of his when things get tough or tense, you smile when you meet his gaze again. 

“I know.” You do know, and you feel it too. “Come on, we’ve only got a few hours of light left.” He shakes his head, but gives you a smile at the way you throw his comment back at him. 

*

It had been close to 2 hours of walking, nearly dark, by the time you both made it to the cabin, nestled among dozens of other abandoned cabins on the hillside of an old ski resort. 

You imagine it was a popular spot in its prime, filled with families taking their kids on their first snow trips, friends racing each other down the slopes, non-skiers enjoying warm beverages in the lodge while everyone else enjoyed the snowy weather. 

Now desolate and forgotten, a stop for raiders on the hunt for supplies and hostages or survivors seeking refuge in search of a town just north of here, Jackson. 

Steve had managed to trade for a hand-held CB radio early on, he kept tabs on chatter that happened among FEDRA, staying one step ahead of their whereabouts. At some point he had stumbled upon private channels used by other survivors, he didn’t talk much about what they discussed with you, it was his realm of expertise and a small thing that was just his, so you didn’t push him to share more than what he was willing to. 

It was a year ago he had connected with someone and heard about Jackson. There was an offer for a place for a fresh start, a community of other survivors, somewhere to feel safe and comfortable without fear of being attacked, placed in solitary confinement, killed— or infected. Steve decided it was where you both were meant to be, hashing out a plan and specific route on his tattered map, making sure to stay in constant contact with this person in Jackson as you both traveled. 

Venturing further into the resort, you both settled on the lesser marred of the dilapidated cabins.

“I’m gonna check the perimeter, you go on inside— check each room first, I’ll be right in. But remember, if I’m not back in ten minutes, you don’t come looking for me— you wait until morning and you head over that mountain, under no circumstances do you leave that cabin before sunrise.” Steve instructed, his hands on your shoulders reassuring the doubt he can see written all over your face. 

“Steve— W-what if, there’s something inside—“ Your voice is barely a whisper, nervousness creeping in as your hands grip onto Steve’s wrists that have moved to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing across the apples of your cheeks. 

“We’ve done this a million times before, I know you can do it— I wouldn’t send you in there if I didn’t think you were capable, you’ll be fine. Just think, this is the last time we have to do this. Then it’s you and me, in Jackson, together and safe— ‘kay?” His direct eye contact really drives home the message— together and safe.

“Okay.”

“I love you, go be brave.” Romantic and encouraging as he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you— be safe, please.” 

“Always.” He shoots a wink with his mustached smile, a few slow steps backwards then turning to make his way up the backside of the cabin, pulling the butt of his rifle close to his chest, hunched and scanning every inch of the surrounding area. 

The cabin would seem warm and inviting if the possibility of a Clicker behind the door wasn’t a high probability. 

Armed with the knife Steve insisted you keep on you at all times, your refusal at his request for you to carry a gun, you make your way up the front steps. 

Each move was slow and calculated, the wood beneath your boots wobbled and creaked the closer you got to the front door. The handle is cold to the touch as you twist it open, pushing the door with a little extra effort to unstick it from the doorframe. 

It’s dark and musty, uninhabited by the living and anything beyond that at first glance. Dust and cobwebs cover every surface, pictures still mounted on the walls slightly hanging uneven. A floral couch with two side chairs still arranged in an inviting way, waiting to be enjoyed during a long conversation. The kitchen was small but large enough that it still would have been possible to whip up a hearty meal over the stove, then gather at the tiny table to enjoy the meal and dessert. 

You’re grateful the floor plan is an open space, no immediate threat to you upon entering. 

There’s only two doors, which you assume hide a bathroom and a bedroom. 

The first door reveals nothing but a sink, toilet and shower-tub combo— you’re looking forward to a hot shower when you get to Jackson. 

You stare at the closed remaining door, the handle of the knife twisting in your hand as you prepare yourself, not really feeling like you have it in you to take out anything that might be waiting for you on the other side. 

A deep breath in, reaching for the the handle you give it a quick jiggle announcing your presence, twist and a quick swing open— a queen size bed draped in outdated sheets, bedside tables with lamps covered in a layer of dust, a dresser opposite the bed with a giant mirror hanging above it. 

Empty. 

Relief washing away the dread. 

Stepping into the room, you toss your pack and knife onto the dresser before finding a seat at the end of the bed, the mattress shifting under you, the springs groan as you settle into a comfortable spot. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed since you entered the house, noting it’s been a while since you had heard or seen anything from Steve, but knowing he likes to be thorough, you’re hoping he makes his way through the front door soon. 

The moon has crept into the night sky, shining through the small bedroom window, illuminating the reflection staring back at you. 

Sometimes you forget how long it’s been since you’ve seen what you really look like. While it’s you that you’re staring at in the mirror, you feel slightly unrecognizable to yourself— aged by 21 years in every sense, tired and worn down by the state of the world and lack of sleep. 

Your fingers lightly trace over your skin, taking in every detail, rediscovering every angle of your appearance— the old characteristics blending into the new ones. 

A yawn escapes you, remembering what Steve had said about not leaving, you decide to get yourself comfortable in bed and wait for him. 

Kicking your boots off, you crawl up the length of the bed, plopping your head down onto the stack of lumpy pillows, your mind wandering as you run through all the scenarios as to why Steve hasn’t returned yet, debating whether you should go take a look outside or listen and wait for morning— scared of what you might find waiting for you. 

Your eyelids begin a heavy blink, struggling to remain open and alert, your breathing evening out as your body relaxes into the mattress, sleep consuming your mind. 

Warmth surrounds you, the bed dipping and creaking pulls you from your sleep, immediate panic bursts in your chest as your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred as you seek out the movement of a shadowy figure behind you. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay— it’s just me.” 

“Steve?!” Turning your body to lay facing him, your hands fisting his shirt, scanning his face for any sign of distress or discomfort. “What took you so long?”

“I’m fine.” Placing a hand over one of yours that’s settled on his chest. “Decided to wait a bit, just to be sure nothin’ was out there— I’m sorry.” His hand moves to the base of your neck, his forehead resting against yours.

“S’okay.”

“No— I’m sorry for callin’ your letters pointless earlier. I know how much they mean to you.  I just—“ He releases a heavy sigh, voice quivering as he avoids eye contact with you. 

“What— what’s the matter?” You sense there’s something Steve’s not telling you. 

“Nothin’s the matter. I just worry about what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours— you shut down on me and I just wish you’d let me help you carry the burden.” His gaze moves back to yours. “Promise me, when we get to Jackson, you don’t let your thoughts weigh you down any longer— promise me you’ll let yourself be happy there.”

“I p-promise.” You say, brushing the blonde strands of hair off of his forehead. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“Nah, I was pushin’ your buttons— I deserved it.” You both laugh at his response. 

Steve leans into your space, his lips slotting over yours, it’s angled and slow, his grip on your neck still steady as the kiss begins to deepen. Throwing your leg over his hip, canting against the sturdiness of his thigh, seeking out some sort of friction to relieve the building ache between your legs. 

But before things are about progress, Steve’s pulling away from your mouth, slowing the roll of your hips with his hand. 

“We should get some sleep— we’ve got close to a 3, maybe 4 hour walk tomorrow, we need to get all the rest we can get.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Your response is breathy, a slight pang in your chest at his soft rejection, questioning whether you had been too harsh towards him earlier in the day— but your body could use the rest. 

Adjusting yourself, you turn away from Steve, his large arm wrapping around and pulling you closer to him. Your back now against his firm chest, each one of your tense muscles slowly relaxing into him and his warmth. 

Thoughts of a new start in Jackson flood your mind as you drift off into a deep sleep. A chance at a better life, where Steve and you can settle into normalcy together. Retire from the constant fear and panic of daily survival out in the open. The taste of prosperity and the sense of peace, an almost tangible reality for the two of you. 

Steve senses sleep has set in for you, the ease of your regulated breathing paired with your gentle snores. He nestles himself into the crook of your neck, his fingers instinctively migrate to your ring smoothing over the cool metal, his thick whiskers tickle lightly at your skin as he whispers reserved confessions into the balmy. A gentle kiss to your shoulder before allowing himself to fully breathe easy, deciding to keep a watchful eye throughout the night. 

“You’ll be happier Genevieve, I promise.”

*

The sun is in its full glory once you both set out on the last stretch of your journey over the mountain.

Steve had been rather short with you all morning, you chalked it up to his tossing and turning all night, his eyes bloodshot, evident in lacking sleep— he had promised everything was fine, so you believed him. 

“How much longer do you think we have?” Not really knowing what to talk about with the uneasiness that’s been going on all morning. 

“I don’t know, Eve— they guy said it was about a 3 hour walk from the resort. We’ve been walking close to 2 and a half, so we’re probably close.”

“Please don’t call me—“

“Jesus Christ Genevieve! I’m fucking sorry! But you don’t make it easy for me sometimes— I feel like I’m always at a fucking arms length away from you even after 21 fucking years.” Anger shoots from his mouth like bullets, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, at least never towards you. “It’s a goddamn name! Gen, Eve, Genevieve— they’re all the fucking same!” 

“I-I’m sorry.” Tears prick at your eyes, you try your best to not let them fall— you’ll save them for when you’re alone in the safety of your new home. 

“Fuck! No, I’m sorry— shit! C’mere.”

Steve pulls you into him, his face hot against your cheek as he holds you close, the button down he’s wearing is drenched in sweat, there’s a slight tremble to the grip he has on you. 

“Are you okay?” You pull back to get a better look at him, beads of sweat glisten across his forehead, his cheeks flushed a bright red. 

“Yeah, just really fucking tired.” 

*CLICK*

“Hands where we can see them! Slowly, no fast movements!” A woman’s voice echoes through the air. 

Steve releases you from his arms, both of you slowly turning, arms raised up as you were told. 

There’s 5 of them, all on horses with their guns drawn in your direction. The woman seems to be in charge of the group, her horse placed a few feet in front of the others.

“We don’t mean no harm, we’re just trying to get to the settlement just over this mountain. You must be Maria? I was told you might greet us before we got there.” Steve says, keeping his tone even as explains himself. 

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” She asks, her expression still unreadable as she waits for Steve to respond. 

“No— you don’t, but I was told you would bring us the rest of the way in.” 

Maria takes a minute to decide whether she wants to believe Steve or not. 

“Scan them.” Looking back at one of the men behind her, nodding to where Steve and you are still standing with your arms raised. “I don’t care who you talked to, you get scanned before you come in.” 

The man grabs a device from his saddle pack, then makes his way towards you, the other 3 men’s guns still aimed, fingers hovering over their triggers. 

“Lady’s first.” The man states, placing the device on your neck, there’s a small zap to your skin when the scan is administered. 

“Green!” He shouts, holding the device up to show the green screen in Maria’s direction. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, even though you knew you were fine. 

Turning towards Steve, the man places the scanner on Steve’s neck, Steve’s eyes locking with yours as the man presses the designated button to conduct the virus scan. 

The man steps back quickly, a flash of red catches your attention. 

“RED!” He holds the device up. 

The other men direct their aim to Steve, his head hanging low and no sign of resistance to finding out he’s infected. 

“Steve! No— Tell them you’re not infected!” Insisting he speak up. “He’s not infected! Scan him again! Please!” You scream at the group, your voice straining as you plead with them to scan Steve again, convinced it was a bad read. 

“Please!! Scan him—“

“Genevieve— it’s not wrong.” Steve says. 

You turn to him, chest heaving and your throat burning from yelling, confused by what he’s saying.

“What? What do you mean it’s not wrong? You’re not infected Steve— you’re just tired, they need to scan you again!”

“I was bit.” 

You can feel the blood drain from your face as the words leave his mouth. Your brain takes a moment to register what he had said. 

Bit. 

Infected. 

“No— no! No, no no!”

“Genevieve—“

“W-when?”

“Last night, there was a runner that came out of one of the other cabins—“

Steve’s confession hits you like a ton of bricks in slow motion. You hate it and don’t want to believe a single thing he’s saying, because the reality is that this is where it ends for him— for you. 

The tears burn as they begin to stream down your face. 

“You didn’t say anything though—“

“I needed to get you here— I needed you to be safe.”

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, throwing yourself at him, anchoring your arms around his neck. 

“No! I can’t do this without you— I can’t lose you too!” 

“Yes, you can. You’re the bravest person I’ve known in a long time. You’re going to get there and you’re going to meet new people and you will be able to help out because that’s what you love— you love helping people and I love that about you. This is your chance to start over, to be happy— do that for me?” His hands cup your face so he can look at you, his eyes filled with tears as well. “Do me a favor, write me one of your letters— I want to know everything.”

You nod, unable to speak, the lump in your throat growing as your remaining time together dwindles away. 

“I love you, Genevieve.” His words muffled against your skin, leaving one last kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you, too.” You breathe out, your eyes closed savoring his soft touch one last time. 

“How long?” Maria asks Steve.

“Probably ‘nother hour left, give or take.”

“Alright Genevieve— you’re riding with me, hand your pack to one of my men. Andrew, you hang back with Steve— you know what to do.” Maria orders everyone. 

Wiping your tears before placing a kiss to Steve’s cheek, then turning to where Maria is waiting for you, handing your pack to one of her men. Maria leans down to grab onto your arm, as you hoist yourself up onto the backside of the horse. 

“Let’s head back.” Maria says, pulling the reins up and to one side to signal the horse to turn around, a click of her tongue has the horse moving forward in the direction of the settlement. 

You can’t bear to look back in Steve’s direction, not trusting yourself to not run back to him. 

Leaving him and knowing his fate is like reliving the same pain you endured 21 years ago. The outbreak takes everything from you for a second time. 

Your world shatters, crumbling as the horse carries you further and further from him. 

*BANG*

The sound ricochets out over the valley, your heart sinks as a new wave of tears silently fall. 

*

You don’t remember the entire ride to the settlement or how you ended up on the porch of a two story house. 

Maria had mentioned putting you up in her brother-in-law's converted garage, a small studio bedroom where those new to the settlement would stay while their permanent residence were being cleaned and prepped. She said it wasn’t anything special and you’d have to use the main houses kitchen and bathroom, but you’d have your own space in a few days— so interacting with a few strangers was the least you could do for the hospitality. 

You honestly didn’t care where she put you for the time being, the stables would have been enough, you just wanted to be alone. 

Glancing over your shoulder you see others moving about freely, children running about in the open, a stark contrast between what you had been so used to. 

There’s rows and rows of homes, a small town-like area, a community garden— this place was everything that Steve had described to you, he would have loved it. 

The opening of the front door pulls you back to the front porch where you’re standing with Maria. 

“We’ve got a newcomer, she’s going to stay here until we get a room ready down the street.” Maria explained to the young girl who is glaring at you. 

“Why do you keep bringing them here? This isn’t a shelter— can’t she stay somewhere else?”

“No, she can’t. This is Ellie, her bark is worse than her bite— she’ll grow on you. Ellie, this is Genevieve let’s let her get comfortable and situated— she just lost whom I’m assuming was her husband, so please make her feel welcomed.” Maria coerses Ellie into letting you stay, but you don’t miss the eye rolling throw your way. 

The home is spacious and inviting, you decide it’s far more comfortable than the stables would have been. 

“Ellie, can you grab Genevieve a glass of water please.” It’s more of a demand than an ask. “Here Genevieve, have a seat here at the table. I’m sure Ellie can make you something to eat if you’re hungry too.”

“So now we’re a shelter and we have room service? Her legs don’t seem broken to me—.” 

“Ellie, glass of water!”

The girl grunts something under her breath as she follows through with getting you water, you settle into a chair and try to not let the unwelcome feeling that’s been looming over you since you set foot in the house add to the pain that is still radiating through you. 

You wipe a few tears you hadn’t realized had fallen, a new wave of emotions hitting you, another moment of realization of Steve not being here with you like you had both talked about. 

“Is there anything else I can get you Genevieve?” Maria cautiously places a hand on your shoulder, you take it as her way of apologizing for your loss. 

“Umm, just my bag would be great and a shower would be nice.” You sniffle, ready to lock yourself away for the day, not wanting to be forced to have unwanted conversations with a teenager who already hates your new presence. 

“I’ll go grab your bag from the stables, then you can start getting settled.” She gives your shoulder a light squeeze before turning for the front door. “Ellie, be nice.”

A glass of water is placed in front of you, a few cubes of ice float around the clear liquid. You don’t even remember the last time you had enjoyed an ice cold drink. 

Ellie situates herself in the chair across from you, looking as if she wants to say something. 

“So— your husband is dead?” 14 years old and a great conversationalist. 

“No— y-yes.” Your chest aches at the mention of ‘your husband.’

“Well, that’s not confusing. So, did you watch him die?”

“Hmm?” 

“Your husband, did you watch your husband die?” She asks again. 

“N-no.”

“I’m all out of questions then.” She slinks back into her chair. 

You stare at the ice, almost half the size it was when it was placed in front of you. Wishing you could slowly melt away, become the nothingness you feel like. 

The front door swings open and closes with a gentle click, the clunking sound of boots makes the presence of whoever stepped into the house known. 

“Hey kid, sorry I’m late. Tommy wanted to get drinks after our patrol.” 

A deep husky voice permeates the room, its thick syrupy tone seeps into every little crevice of your memory, its familiarity prompting the goosebumps to form across your body. 

“I didn’t know we were having guests— this a new friend of yours?” He asks, his foot step getting closer to where you're still seated at the table, your back turned to him. 

“Fuck no! It’s one of Maria’s strays. Said she has to stay here until her room is available— which is bullshit if you ask me!” She spouts off, her annoyance very apparent. 

“Ellie, manners!” He grits out. 

You lift yourself from the chair, steadying your weak state on the table and chair as you turn in his direction. 

Your heart nearly stops the moment your eyes land on him— a ruggedness to him, his soft brown eyes filled with a darkness that comes with loss and sorrow, his dark locks and beard sprinkled with tuffs of gray, an overall hardness about him that hides his true self. 

“Joel?” Your eyes wide and filled with more tears, the name is barely a whisper as it falls into the air. 

“Eve?” A name he never thought he would say again. 

[elliemarchetti]

Letters From the Past

My entry for @liquidluckdrabblechallenge’s prompt 65. Set after The Path Behind the Burrow but easily readable as a stand-alone epistolary fic.

Prompt: “I’m proud of you”

Words: 616

Diagon Alley, London, June 4th 1903

My dearest,

Since I left I have been constantly depressed. My happiness is to be near you. Incessantly I live over in my memory your caresses and your tears. The charms of the incomparable Hermione Granger kindle continually a burning and glowing flame in my heart. I think my body is going crazy with yearn and I wonder if you want me the way I want you, if you’re reduced to a thing that desires me as well. How did I love before I knew you, before I possessed your affection? My life seems to stop when you’re not around, I see no further meaning in anything. When, free from solicitude, shall I be able to pass all my time with you?

Yours, Fred

Canaan Way, Ottery St Catchpole, June 9th 1903

My beloved,

I can’t forget the feeling of your blood on my fingertips, the hotness, the wetness, all melting together to show your bravery and defend my honour. Nothing compares to your bruised hands, nothing like the deep reverb of your laughter, violent like a flash of lightning. My body has been filled with you for days, and I can’t say how every time I ever put my arms around you I felt I was home. You have ravished me away by a power I cannot and will not resist. Yesterday, I composed a beautiful letter in the sleepless nightmare hours, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. I will take the first train I can hop on after my mother’s full recovery from the flu. Wait for me.

Ever thine, Hermione

Diagon Alley, London, June 11th 1903

Ever mine,

Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you. Continue to love me, never misjudge my most faithful heart, tearfully longing for you. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any more by giving myself away like this, but oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you, I love you too much for that, too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art, but you have broken down my defences and I don’t really resent it. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter, and your kisses calm my raging mind. I cannot exist without you; I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again.

Yours, Fred

Canaan Way, Ottery St Catchpole, 15th 1903

Dear Fred,

Everyone will be furious with me for this but they don’t understand us. I feel it’s only with you that I can do anything at all. We should’ve never parted at all, earlier in the month: there are such wide abysses now of space and land between us, but we love each other selfishly, and that’s enough for me, although I would be utterly miserable without the hope of seeing you soon.

Yours, Hermione

Canaan Way, Ottery Saint Catchpole, June 16th 1903

Dear Ginevra,

I must inform you I will take a short trip to London to spend some time with your brother. I tried to resist the temptation, to clothe my feelings in exquisite words and dilute their starkness like you suggested, but it was all in vain: I miss him even more than I could have believed, and I was prepared to miss him a good deal. I’m sorry this letter is really just a squeal of pain, but it’s incredible how essential Fred had become to me. On a lighter note, I’m proud of you and what you’re building with Harry. You deserve it.

Your loyal friend, Hermione

[maddiedott]

The Mourning Dove

Chapter Five

Warnings: very short, talks of religion, self esteem issues, self worth, past Dovie, parental issues

A/n: hii! I’ve been sick with the flu and am just now starting to feel better so bear with me while I try to get chapter 6 out <3 enjoy!

Often I questioned my parents, the other nobles, even the gods. For what was the purpose of life if not curiosity. My mother would quote that curiosity killed the cat. My father however, said that it was the way into the world, challenging the mind for an answer and a reason.

That was one of the only things he’s taught me. That he’s said to me and not within passing.

I was caught trying to enter the library that was off limits to me and my mother as it was in the west wing- my father’s side of the house. I wasn’t allowed to be there. But strangely, he didn’t anger once my tiny feet stumbled forward as I pushed the door open. It was made of solid wood, giving little me a difficult start.

I had managed to trip into the room and in front of his feet. My head slowly lifted, meeting his gaze with a sheepish one. I knew what I had done was wrong, yet I held no regret for it. He stared back at me for a while before turning around and walking behind the maze of bookshelves stocked to the brim.

He indulged my curiosity to learn. That was the only time I had seen him for the kindhearted, warm man my mother would talk about in stories. While he never stayed or sat and read with me, he extended an olive branch. Allowing my presence in his, as small as it may be.

“It’s a wonderful thing. To explore that around you for answers you don’t have yourself.” He would say.

As I grew so did my inquiries.

I learned of gods and goddesses, their ways and what they require of their followers. I wanted to get into religion, and wanted something to believe in. Something that would warrant me something to live for. To dedicate myself to.

I leaned towards Selûne and Oghma.

The goddess of the moon. Of hope for so many people. The war between her and her sister was poetic, if not a little cliché. The forces of darkness and light, hope and loss. Yet her teachings didn’t truly resonate within me. Sure there were aspects where I would find myself pursuing and agreeing to her ways. But never felt as if I would be able to call myself a follower of the lady of the moon.

Then there was Oghma. The god of bards. Of inspiration and invention.

Eloise had spoken so fondly of the god, she was raised to worship him as her mother did. Perhaps that’s why I yearned to be accepted by Oghma. To share something with someone who held my heart in the palm of their hands, to share it with the deity they devoted themselves to.

Or maybe it’s because I wanted someone to be devoted to me in that way. To love me wholly and deeply without a fault. To be cared for as if I was a goddess myself. Be seen as something more than a bastard child who longed for nothing but the sounds of lute strings and calluses covering her fingers and palms.

Just to have a place in the world where I could be more than what was thought of me. To be myself. To have the privilege of not knowing the consequences, of not caring for what comes next.

Perhaps in order to do so, I have to devote myself to some higher power to find my sense of self. After all, inspiration and invention didn’t seem entirely awful to be a part of. He did accept anyone with any moral alignment.

Perhaps he’ll be able to accept me. Maybe I’ll find a sense of self. My place in this life. To finally feed the howl of curiosity that is seeded within me.

[seriouslysnape]

Hi i wanted to request snape x reader where they meet again after not seeing each other since their school days (they were bffs) and severus gets all cute and flustered bc he still has a crush?

STOPPPPP THAT’S SO EFFIN CUTE!

__

Reconnections

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2,005

“I had no idea you were coming. How long have you been here?”

__

He thought about you more than he’d like to admit. Severus hadn’t really had any other friends over the course of his life, so it was only natural that his mind often drifted towards the one person who was consistently there for him. He was devastated when he lost contact with you after graduation. He had known that the two of you would go your separate ways, leading different lives with different goals in mind.

At first, the two of you stayed in touch through writing letters. You absolutely adored receiving letters from him, hearing about how his first year teaching at Hogwarts was going was the best part of your day. Severus began teaching at Hogwarts very shortly after graduation, and hearing about his adventures were thrilling...and sometimes a little boring.

He felt relief every time he received a letter from you. He was always happy to see how you were doing, and what was going on in your life. He would read your letters two or three times, picking apart every sentence and word. He’d try to pick up your tone in every paragraph. He’d look for implications of a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband. A hint or a crumb of detail leading to the idea that you were in a relationship.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss your school days together. He missed pulling all nighters with you to study for a big Potions exam. He wished he could have one more Charms class where the two of you were trying so hard not to laugh that you felt like you were going to pass out. He longed for the occasional nights where you would sneak to the Slytherin tower and the two of you would stay up late telling stories and enjoying each other’s company.

He missed you.

He had always been attracted to you. His schoolboy crush as a child didn’t really go away into his teenage years. He still found himself yearning for you, but he never made an attempt to seek you out. He was too shy, too reserved and insecure to ever go after the most beautiful girl in the world.

Even though it was his biggest regret.

Over time, the two of you became busier and busier, and the letters were less frequent. Eventually, the letter completely stopped coming in. You and Severus lost contact about five years after graduation, and now you had gone over a decade without seeing or hearing from one another. He still thought about you all the time.

He missed your smile, your laugh, your hair, your eyes, everything. He didn’t know how much he loved those things until he didn’t have them anymore. He often wondered if he’d ever see you again.

And then he did.

Severus had been passing down a hallway when he saw a very familiar face. He had to do a complete double take, stopping dead in his tracks and staring blankly. You had been walking alongside Headmaster Dumbledore, the two of you in a very cheerful conversation. Surely, that couldn’t be you. He hadn’t seen you in almost 15 years and suddenly you turn up at Hogwarts?

He felt like he was dreaming, half convinced that he wasn’t awake. But he saw you more clearly as you grew closer, and his heart did a joyful leap. He knew that smile anywhere. His best friend had returned.

“Severus?” You called, questioning and excitement in your tone when you noticed him standing at the end of the hall.

His pale cheeks went fiery red at the sudden use of his name. He hadn’t heard his name fall from your lips in a long time. It was music to his ears. You practically ran up to him, throwing your arms around him with a gleeful squeal. You smothered him in a hug, and he awkwardly returned it with one arm.

It was just like old times.

“Hi.” He replied meekly, but his mind was racing and his eyes were wide.

“Oh, I was hoping I’d get to see you today!” You shrieked.

Dumbledore was watching intently. He had known that the two of you went way back. He was tempted to bring up how flushed Severus looked now, but didn’t say anything about it.

“How nice it is to see two of Hogwarts’ brightest students together again.” Dumbledore declared.

You offered him a sweet smile, but Severus was still shell shocked.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, unable to look away from you.

You had both obviously aged some since the last time you had seen each other. You were still just as beautiful as the last day he saw you. You weren’t surprised that he looked about the same way he did before. Black robes, long hair, and a sour look on his face. Just the way you liked him.

“I’m taking over for Madam Pomfrey for a while. Just until she’s back on her feet.” You said.

Pomfrey was out with a nasty bout of the flu, something that even magic couldn’t fully cure. You’d be covering for her for a few weeks, but were hoping to possibly land a more full time gig at Hogwarts.

“I had no idea you were coming. How long have you been here?” He questioned.

Severus’ heart was beating so fast that he was afraid it might give out. The very person he had been dreaming of for so many years was now standing right in front of him. He was almost scared that you’d vanish if he did look away.

“I arrived this morning. Albus was just showing me around,” You explained; “The castle really hasn’t changed much since leaving...you’re looking well, Sev.”

You pushed some strands of hair behind his ear, something small that you used to always do when you were younger. It never failed to make his whole body feel a flutter at such an act of care. His mind felt foggy now, he could barely form a single thought other than the fact that he couldn’t believe you were there.

It became very clear that Severus was still sweet on you. He was still crushing like he did when he was 13.

“You look good now...uh, I mean, you looked hot before- you were fine before,” He stuttered, mentally smacking himself for his poor choice of wording; “You look great, [Y/N].”

Dumbledore fought the urge to burst into laughter. Severus had never been very flirtatious. You looked sheepishly at your feet, hiding your blush at the compliment. You had always found his shyness rather endearing, it gave him an innocence that was pure and lightening.

“I will leave the two of you to catch up.” Dumbledore said, gauging that it would be best if he moved on.

He left the two of you in the hall. You had a lot to talk about. Severus continued to walk with you slowly, savoring every moment. The two of you chatted, catching each other up on the last 15 years. It seemed as if Severus hadn’t really done much outside of being the Potions professor. As sad as it was, you weren’t really surprised to learn that he hadn’t found anyone to settle down with. He was almost in a vicious cycle that consisted of work, sleep, and eating. He didn’t realize how dull his life had become until you started telling him all the things you had done.

You traveled for a year or two after graduation (which he did know due to your letters in the beginning). You studied wizards and witches in other areas of other communities, learning from their differences and comparing similarities. You totally dove head first into the wizarding world, totally enchanted by how complex it really was. You had seen and done things that Severus could only ever dream of.

He was happy though. He was happy that you had done all of the things that you had always said you wanted to do. You were vibrant, successful, and taking full advantage of any great opportunity that came your way. He was so proud of you.

“How long do you expect to be here?” Severus asked you, hoping that it would be longer than just a few days.

The two of you had far too much to catch up on in such a short period of time.

“It’ll be at least three weeks. Pomfrey found where I lived and sent a letter as soon as she realized she’d have to be out,” You told him; “You know how she is. She doesn’t trust many people to handle her work.”

Severus smiled lightly, and nodded. Poppy Pomfrey was a VERY professional woman and never let just anyone take over her job. He at least knew that he wouldn’t lose contact with you this time. Severus didn’t want to flat out ask the one question that was really on his mind. He was dying to know what your relationship status was.

“I’m sure your husband is thrilled that you’ll be gone for so long.” Severus said as more of a hint than anything else.

He saw the way you awkwardly chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck bashfully. You shook your head.

“Oh, I’m not married.” You admitted.

“No?” Severus asked to confirm casually, but his stomach was doing excited flips.

While you hadn’t been shocked that he wasn’t married, he was totally shocked that you weren’t. He had always thought you’d find someone straight out of Hogwarts and be married within a few years. When the letters stopped coming, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever know how your life turned out.

“You sound surprised,” You noted; “But I suppose I just haven’t found the right guy yet.”

You knew that was a lie. You knew that you never settled down because you had been hanging on to a sliver of hope that you and Severus would reconnect one day. After losing contact with him, you had always said that if you were given the chance to even possibly see him again, you’d drop everything and take it.

You were so glad you had taken that chance.

“I must say I am surprised. You’re so beautif- so kind that I always thought that you’d get married soon after graduation.” He said, covering up another one of his stutters.

“Well, you know. Life has its ways of getting the perfect timing, doesn’t it?” You suggested.

Before he could answer, you took notice of the time, knowing you needed to get back to Dumbledore to finish getting acclimated before the new school week began.

“I need to go. It’s been so nice seeing you. We need to catch up more,” You said, taking a leap of faith; “I’ve missed you...”

He felt his heart speak before his head, but it was the full truth.

“Oh, I’ve missed you tremendously. I’ve thought about you every day since your letters stopped coming.” He blurted out.

Your eyes sparkled at that, you smiled genuinely.

“You have? You really mean that?” You queried.

He was a little embarrassed that he had sputtered it out like that, but he was glad you knew it.

“I do.” He confirmed.

You stroked his cheek gently with your hand, tempted to kiss him. You knew that this was your professions of love for each other. Awkward and forward. Just like the two of you were.

“How did we go so long without seeing one another?” You asked him, inching closer together.

“I have no idea.” He said, closing the gap and kissing you softly.

It was a tender, appreciative kiss that was full of want that had been built up since you were young students. It felt fresh and like a new beginning. A beginning that would actually be the start of Severus’ life. He would have someone to look forward to everyday, someone to share his passions with. But there was one thing that was most important.

He’d have someone to share his heart with.

[c-rose2081]

A Letter from Grace

—

My life, as most people’s do, began at an ungodly hour on October 31st, 1918. Father admitted once that it was the longest witching hour of his life, and that he hadn’t slept at all the days prior due to worry over the birth. I was born three months earlier then expected, and mother liked to say that I was the smallest, most fragile little baby she’d ever laid eyes on. Just the size of a decent eggplant from the market; perfectly suited to sit in the palm of your hand.

Tension was high that night, as Influenza had already taken many infants in the local Hospital. So I was born in the dark privacy of my Grandfathers New York Estate, passed down for three generations already. Father was excited to have a fourth Generation to which he could pass his legacy, or so I was told. Swaddled expertly by a matron of almost sixty years who Mother claimed to trust with her life, for a single moment everything was perfect; just my parents and their little baby girl who they named Grace.

But my weakness would not be chased away so easily.

Though I don’t remember much of the early years, I recall father once telling me that I had broken two fingers, and cracked my head open before I could even walk. Doctors who came to the house claimed my bones simply weren’t strong enough yet; that I needed more calcium which my mothers milk couldn’t seem to provide. But by the time I was on my own two feet, tottering about the manor as most young children do, bruises, breaks, and scratches had the staff and my poor parents on edge. It was around this time as well my own heart decided to betray me. It wasn’t normal for such a young child to be fatigued as quickly as I was, nor was it normal for her breathing to sound like the hard start of an automobile.

Up until the age of six, when I begin to remember some (if only a little) of my childhood, no one - no local physician nor expert - could figure out what was wrong with me. Everything, yet nothing, was the matter. Mother - who was a journalist for National Geographic - traveled and was away for long periods during this time. And though I can recall day dreaming of the many fantastic and wondrous locales she must’ve seen, it left my worrying father to…well, worry about me. It seemed falling down the stairs face first at my local day school and not only cracking my head open again, but also breaking two ribs and promptly becoming unconscious, was enough to send him reeling over the edge of hysteria for my well-being.

During my long and tedious recovery from that single incident, I caught a devilish sickness. No one knows where it had come from; another student in my school perhaps, or from a simple passing stranger. But Father claimed he had paid a fortune in phone calls to Africa in order to speak with mother who was (at the time) photographing Elephants. She came straight home of course, only to find her little girl pale and as close to death as one could be.

It’s all a bit hazy, as my brain was still young; feverish and half-delusional. But I can remember the lingering smell of tobacco on fathers hands and ground into his silk lapels as he cradled me, rubbing my back as I coughed and struggled to catch a breath. And I can still hear mother’s voice as she sat by the bedside, telling me of the many animals she had seen while in Africa. I dreamed of lions and elephants in those hours, blearily staring at nothing as lamplight flickered across damp windowpanes from an evening rainfall. I recovered slowly but surely, but that first flu had taken something out of me. Something I wasn’t ever able to get back, even as I grew older.

I was just about to turn seven, finally healthy again, when I was no longer permitted to leave the grounds. Mother and Father had a very long, loud conversation about it in the library, to which I listened in through the mahogany door. There was to be no more school; just private tutors who I would soon come to spite. No more Summer games in the park, or long nights under strings of electric lights at the carnival. No possibility of family trips, or late night escapades to the Ice Cream parlor for frozen cherries and whipped cream. There was to be no world for me beyond the fence of the Estate.

To keep me safe, Father claimed.

It was only a day after that the wheelchair made its first appearance in my life. Father insisted it would help with my heart; protect it from beating to fast from running, or walking about to quickly. Mother disagreed with the notion, I could see it on her face as I was settled into the wicker seat for the first time, but she said nothing. I hated it instantly. I wanted to run and play, and roll about in the grass like the kids at my school could. I used to envy their ability to get high, high up into the branches above the schoolyard, perched at the top with the world at their feet. I never dared try for myself, lest Father decide to cut all the trees down if he ever saw me in one.

It wasn’t bad at first; Mother stayed with me those beginning months, occupying my mind with stories of her travels and long games of chess. She began me in piano lessons, and helped with my cursive. But it wasn’t long before she once again had to leave; India this time, to photograph wild tigers. The day she left it felt like some huge part of me went with her. Father tried his best of course, and I remember riding on his shoulders or in his arms with fondness. But he was a busy man, often called away to the city for one thing or another.

The staff of course did their best, but babysitting a squirmy young girl certainly wasn’t in their daily agenda. My nursemaid - the same woman who birthed me (nasty old crone) - was a harsh matron who allowed for little beyond what was deemed safe and allowable by my Father. It was always lessons in the morning; the usual subjects of maths, geography, history, natural sciences and the like. This clockwork schedule was followed by etiquette and tea time, piano lessons, art, literature and penmanship.

I did get some exercise, but I was always well watched by Matron and at least two other members of staff. Some days it was a casual swim, no longer then half an hour, and on Saturday it was a light waltzing lesson (privately taught of course). And - on the rare occasion I could bully the other staff into it - a game of croquet or darts on the lawn. But there was little time for fun, despite my Fathers pleasure at my supposed ‘safety’, and I each day I felt some small part of me die.

I was 13 when the next incident occurred. Some local boys who I’d never seen before wandered close to our garden fence. Matron had left me to my afternoon reading as to fetch coffee (which I had come to prefer over tea). Mother - according to her letters - was someplace in China, hunting down Rhinoceros. Father had left earlier that morning to meet with investors at his office in the city. It was a rare moment I was truly alone. The boy, who’s name I can’t recall now, smiled at me. It was a cute, boyish grin and I can still remember how startled I was by it. After all I hadn’t seen anyone in what felt like years (at least six, to be exact). He urged me close to the fence.

At that point I was desperate to be out of my wheelchair, so I walked to him. He nodded to the lovely apple tree which I had been sitting under, and asked if I could climb it to fetch him one of the fruit. Of course I said no, as climbing was strictly prohibited, but he was quite a smooth talker for a boy so young. He called me pretty, and dove, and all the sweet things one calls a girl to make her waver in her convictions. And so - stupidly, might I say - I climbed the tree against my better judgement.

Three shiny red apples were tossed easily over the fence, one for each boy. They gave me a wave goodbye and ran off to do whatever they pleased. And then there was me, a fragile, tiny girl stuck up in a tree with no way down. Of course I didn’t mind at first, I was actually elated I had made the climb at all. I finally was able to see what my schoolmates had all those years ago. I could view the entire estate and beyond; I could stare at the horizon; seemingly endless in its reach. But as much as I yearned to stay above and away from my tiny world forever, Matron would soon return.

Getting out of the tree was much more complicated then climbing into it.

I remember the horrible feeling of miscalculation; falling and hitting the soft earth with a terrible grunt. Something inside me cracked, and my lungs exploded with fire as I wheezed out a cry of pain. I don’t remember now who had seen me first; one of the yard staff perhaps, but Matron was furious. Once again I was bedridden, pretending to sleep as Father puffed on his favorite ivory pipe just outside my bedroom door. He mentioned to Matron the idea of adding straps to the wheelchair, as to keep me from falling. I remember whimpering under the blankets at the thought of being tied to the thing, and sobbing myself to sleep that night.

The years came and went, and I felt more and more heavy with each passing hour. I didn’t leave the wheelchair again until I was 16, and simply couldn’t stand the bloody thing anymore. I would sit in chairs, or on window sills. I’d spend time in the woven hammock in the garden, or lounge across the evening sofas. Any place I could sit, I would, simply to avoid being stuck in the contraption I loathed. I got sick more often during these middle years; on again off again fevers and dizzy spells that left me dazed and began the chain of worrying my father and caretakers all over again.

There were endless nights alone where I’d stare at my naked form in the mirror in golden lamplight, using a finger to count the ribs poking from under my paper-like skin. It’s true my body was changing into that of a woman, but it hardly mattered when the lightest of touches could leave a mark on me the size of a continent.

Mother was traveling again, to and from as she always seemed to do. Letters and phone calls were exchanged often, and I often studied the places she traveled when she was away in my geography lessons. But it often felt like it was just Father and I against the world. He was dear of course, moving his work to the home office as illness became more common. He’d bring me gifts from the city; strings of diamonds and beautiful mink furs. A brand new motorcar, just for my use (not like I could ever go anywhere). But there really wasn’t much that could bring a smile to my face.

Burning the wheelchair and the Matron in a fire the size of Connecticut might have done it. But I didn’t have the heart to ask.

Father even hosted a large ball for my Birthday that year, with dancing and music and people. But even that couldn’t seem to bring my heart from its dark and lonely place. Only when Father allowed the wheelchair to be folded up and hidden away in the closet after almost ten years did I finally feel whole again. I was more careful after that; I did little to aggravate my condition. The fevers and fainting spells were still present, but the bruises and breaks healed. I took a fondness for the writings of Edgar Allen Poe, and Lewis Carroll’s Alice. I read the articles in National Geographic which Mother had sent in her letters over the years, and sketched the animals which she herself had photographed. For a while, everything finally seemed ok.

Until Mother returned home from her second trip to Africa deeply ill.

For the first time in my life, I finally felt what father must have for me every time I lay bedridden. I was only allowed to see her from the doorway, out of fear of me catching the disease as well. I wasn’t allowed to speak with anyone who entered or left the room, and Father had to bathe and keep his distance whenever he came to see me. I was 18 when she finally died in the night. This year. Though it feels like just yesterday.

Yellow Fever they said, from a mosquito bite in Africa.

Nothing - not the breaks, bruises, fevers or constant illness - prepared me to see my own mother dead. I wasn’t even allowed to see her; to say goodbye. I could only watch, held back by three of the staff, as she was carried out under a sheet. The Doctor had to sedate me for my own health after I managed to break loose and nearly fell down the stairs after her corpse. I woke up numb, and couldn’t convince myself to move for days after that. I knew I should’ve been grieving with father, but I couldn’t manage it. There was so much pain. The wheelchair came out of the closet again, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

The funeral was attended, and the casket buried. Father and I didn’t speak much in those long weeks after; in fact I wondered if I even could. It felt like I hadn’t spoken in years. There was just a horrible, overwhelming chill in me, and I grew weaker with grief. After a few months, Father became worried for me, as did the house staff. They opened the windows, and trimmed the gardens. The rooms were dusted, and filled with light. I was taken outside the fence for the first time since I was a girl, in the automobile which I hadn’t ever used. But there was still only emptiness.

After four months, Father left the house to attend a meeting in the city. He returned with a man whom I didn’t recognize; a fancy man who bowed and kissed my hand and smiled from under his white mustache. He said his specialty was in dealing with those lost in grieving, and that perhaps it would be best if we (my father and I) left New York and all it’s memories behind. Naturally I was appalled at the idea, but couldn’t seem to match my face to my feelings.

Before I knew it the house was emptied out, packed into boxes and taken away by trucks and wagons. Anything not moved was sold at auction, and the house was passed on to the highest bidder.

“New Orleans, my little Bluebird,” Father told me as we settled in for the long journey by car across the country, leaving New York behind, “truly a city of culture. I’ve bought us a beautiful new home just outside town; you’ll love how big it is.”

And big it was. The old Hatchaway Estate was an ivory mansion in a traditional New England style. Surrounded by the most beautiful trees and well kept fields, it was a far cry from the fenced in world back home. The staff, pre-hired, were a gloomy looking bunch dressed in green and black stripes. But father liked their quiet (somewhat somber) fortitude, and so I said nothing as they helped us settle in. There was something…unusual about the new house. I could feel it the minute I walked through the door. A heaviness; like someone was watching me. It was just enough unease for me to forget my quiet grief for a moment.

I learned quickly that the house itself was seemingly unnerved. The first week I had seen at least two items move on their own, and heard giddy singing from the back garden only to find no one there. The staff was practically ghostly, saying very little to us, let alone one another. And I spent a lot of time exploring the grounds on my own. It was a few weeks after moving in, about a month before my 19th Birthday, that father hired two new drivers; a Mr. Harrod Fairchild, and Mr. Rudolph Martin to tend to the cars.

And this, my friends, is where I find myself now. Writing this overview of where I’ve been so far, and now disclosing with utmost discretion my newfound interest in the man father has hired in my name. Mr. Martin is…how to describe him is a puzzle. Handsome? Certainly. Charming? Quite so. I find myself endeared to his presence despite myself, and I grow weary of this…this little tickle of something other then emptiness that has suddenly flared up inside me. Have I once again caught ill? How to explain to father (or anyone really) this fever in me whenever he’s nearby. I’ve barely spoken to him, but have watched him tend to the car and grounds from the windows. I know he’s gentle, but still quite strong. I can sometimes hear him singing down there, leaning against the porch as he plays the banjo for the staff keeping the porch.

Every time I do get close, or think about approaching him myself, I feel that fever begin to rise and I wonder if something is truly very wrong with me. It feels like I’m dying, and I can hardly stand it. I’m bewitched. Perhaps it’s this terrible heat? What’s wrong with me?

I wish mother were here, she’d know what to do.

Eternally yours, dear reader

Grace

[urimaginespimp]

Cowboy Like Me

Alfie x Reader

A/N: For some reason, the moment I heard this song from Evermore, my mind just immediately went to Alfie and a possible fic, so here you go!

--------

You were a traveler always yearning for a good life, never staying in one location for too long.

Despite being unexpected, your mother who was a high-class prostitute loved you unconditionally and taught you everything you needed to know – how to act like a proper lady, what men wanted to hear, how to wrap them around your finger, and how to detach yourself from falling inlove with them.

“But you have to promise me you’d lead a different life.” She told you when you were in your teens.

“But mama, what use would be what you’ve taught me?” your doe-eyed innocent face asked her.

“Men are as gullible outside a brothel, dear.” She pats your head lovingly. Smiling at your confused expression, she assured you. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

For years, you two only had each other and you loved it that way. That was until the flu took her and you were left on your own.

Taking what little you have, you set out to make a living for yourself. It still took you a lot of getting used to a new lifestyle, but slowly you found it easier and easier to sweet talk every rich man you gave attention to into doing and giving you what you want without having to give your body. Maybe expensive possessions for you to sell, or the easy cash they wouldn’t think twice on giving you. Every town unvisited was wealth missed for you.

August in Liverpool was chilly. Thankful that you get to wear a coat over your dress, you smiled at the man guarding the infamous Eden Club as he let you in.

It was nothing you haven’t been to before – expensive interior, everybody dressed to the tens, and filled with rich lonely men. Only that you heard this was ran by Italians. Making your way in the middle towards the bar, you smiled sensing that heads turned your way.

By the bar you sat on one of the stools, enjoying a drink. Glancing to your left, you caught the eye of a man five seats away from you. He was clearly staring at you and liked what he was seeing.

He looks rich enough, so you offered a shy smile. He was about to get up from his seat when a, tall, buff man with a cane approached him. He had a beard, and was dressed nicely with black cape toe boots.

Not liking when people take your prey away, you decided to let it slide and look for another thinking that he didn’t know what he’s done. But as soon as your missed conquest was preoccupied with ordering another drink, the man with the beard turned your way with a smirk and winked at you.

He knew what he’s done.

Annoyed, you still gave him a sly smile, all thought of looking for another man went out the window. Three things were clear to him: You were beautiful, you didn’t know you almost encountered Darby Sabini, and that you didn’t know who the hell he himself was. For no sane person who have heard about him wouldn’t even dare look him in the eye nor smile.

When Sabini announced that he was retiring for the night, he bid the man goodbye, told Ollie to head home, and decided to approach you.

“You’re not from around er, luv?” He asked you. Standing in front of you now, it was undeniable that this man is way more handsome than the first one.

“Do first timers in this town get a free drink from you?” You smiled, peering at him through your lashes.

“I can buy you the whole bar, lass. But you’re gonna have to dance with me first.” He chuckled, extending his arm to you.

“Dancing is a dangerous game.” You said, taking his hand anyway, thinking that this would just be like one of your many nights.

Walking to the dancefloor, a slow tune was being played by the band. Taking both of your hands, he rested them on his shoulders, and you both started swaying to the tune.

“Dancing should be the least of your worries, luv. What’s dangerous was the man you were giving that pretty smile of yours earlier.” He explained.

“I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.” You answered, shrugging.

“Mmm. Are you some sort of seducing bandit?” he asked. That was the first thing that went to his mind. A bandit.

“Why, do you think I’m out to seduce you?” you replied slyly.

“Takes one to know one, dear.” You both chuckled.

“You don’t strike me as a bandit, Mr…”

“Solomons. Alfie Solomons.” He finally introduced himself.

“Alfie.” You said. He tried to act like the mere mention of his name from your lips affected him. “I’m just a traveler, making ends meet by telling the rich folks anything they wanna hear.” You said quietly, looking him in the eye.

“A traveler… like one of em cowboys then?” He bluntly asked, making you giggle.

“If you see it that way.” You shrugged, chuckling.

“What do you tell those poor blokes?” His curiosity got the best of him.

“Hmm…” you ran your hands lower to rest on his chest. “Maybe how nights like this could lead them to something nice, and for the lonelier ones, I make them think it could lead to something more. But the thing is, Mr. Solomons, I have yet to meet someone who made me forget my mother’s most important rule.”

“And that is?”

“Not falling in love.” You gave him a sweet smile.

“You’re a cruel vixen, luv.” He said, looking at you intensely. Alfie wasn’t at all intimidated of you. He never wanted love. All the money, business, and fancy cars were enough for him. Forever is the sweetest con, he’d say. But something about you also intrigued him. Maybe because you were all to similar.

“I often just meet with ambitious men and tell em I’m the way forward.” He told you.

“Well, are you?” You asked, as his head got closer to you. Bringing his lips closer to your ear, he whispered.

“Only if they pay for it.” Sending you shivers down your spine.

--------

That night, he personally escorted you back to where you were staying over.

” Will I be seeing you again?” You asked, not trying to sound desperate. There was nothing wrong with making friends, you assured yourself.

“I know who owns this place. I’ll call in some time for you.” He answered, tucking your lose hair behind.

“That is, if I’d still be here by then.” You smiled.

“Well. Who am I to stop a traveler.” He sighed, masking his disappointment. “Got something to help me remember you by, luv?” He asked jokingly.

“it’s your call, Mr. Solomons. What do you want?” You whispered looking up to meet his gaze. For the first time in in your months of travels, something in you was yearning to stay longer.

Maybe it was the way your eyes were full of stars from looking up to him in the night, or that really liked you, but Alfie found himself leaning down to meet your lips. It wasn’t long ‘til you were responding. It was soft, but probably the most intense kiss you ever had, leading you both inside.

Clothes were taken off and thrown all over the room, somehow getting his boots of with ease, he kicked them beneath your bed and lead you both on top of the sheets. As sweet as it was, you both knew it was one for parting your separate ways.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself staying for two more nights in that guest house in hopes of him calling. But it never came.

That was a month ago and that night was still fresh in your memory. It didn’t go the way you expected, but meeting a man such as Alfie Solomons was way better.

You were in a town called Camden. You’ve had several conquests for the last month from other towns - typical older men that you’ve swindled into believing you were smitten by them.

Walking along its streets, you didn’t know this was where the Alfie Solomons resided. That was until you were in a small café and you overheard a group of ladies talking about him passing through the town that morning.

“I thought he never leaves that bakery of his.” One of them said.

“That man needs a wife. Maybe then he’d actually be less brooding.”

Finishing up, you paid your fee. You needed to leave his town immediately. Because as much as he made you feel things you never thought you’d deal with, you’ve decided that he was bad for your ambitions.

Walking briskly through the streets of Camden, you were only a few houses down to your guesthouse when you stopped on your tracks.

By the door of it was no other than Alfie, expectantly waiting for you, his left hand holding the leash of a dog.

“When Ollie told me you went into town last night I almost didn’t believe him.” He started, slowly walking towards you.

Seeing the man again made you forget whatever it was you warned yourself about him.

“I never thought I’d meet you here.” You answered in all honesty.

“Don’t worry. I’m not one to accuse ladies of stalking.” You both chuckled.

“I guess I won’t be having any luck in Camden too, huh?”

Whoever and whatever goes in and out of Camden was his business. So, when Ollie told him that the lady from Liverpool was seen entering a guesthouse last night, he took the chance of looking for you that morning after a sleepless night clouded by you.

“Perhaps you will.” He answered.

“Oh?”

“Luv, I’m going out a limb here when I say you can’t deny there’s something ‘er.” He told you seriously.

“But you never called.” That was all you could say. You couldn’t even deny what he said.

“All coz I called too late. Ya never heard of all that no calling til three days? Ollie advised me so I won’t look too desperate. Almost fired the lad.” He chuckled.

“Well, what does Camden have to offer the bandit?” You smiled teasingly.

“Everything you want so long as you stay with me, luv. We could be the way forward.” He convinced you, taking a step closer.

“And?” tilting your head to the side, trying not to laugh at him using that line with you.

“And I know I’ll pay for it.” He rolled his eyes before taking you head with his free hand and crashed his lips to yours.

He was the lone exception to your mother’s rule, and the one to help you lead a different life. You knew you were never gonna love again.

[boonki]

Saw you reblog those fever asks from me so 👀👀

“Is it cold in here?” Or “please put on the sweater.”

Please and thank you 😊

i combined them so you get BOTH wooHOOO

also its 3 am where im at so if anything doesnt make sense..... please forgive me, im so sleepy

BUT HERE YOU ARE LOVELY THANKS FOR THE PROMPT 

__________

Across Obi-wan’s weathered desk, Anakin shivers faintly, head turned down at his essay sprawled across the wood tabletop, where they had been editing his final thesis together, the sun long set. Rain drizzles down the windows to Obi-wan’s dim office, the tip-tapping the only noise in the otherwise quiet building, all the other professors surely at home, eating dinner or settled in for the night with loved ones; Obi-wan would normally be nestled on the couch, book in hand by this hour, jazz floating through his apartment from his record player. 

But Anakin, his dearest ex-student, and nearly a friend, had raced into his office hours prior, panic lacing his features, reminiscent of four years ago when Anakin had been a freshman in his English 101 class, desperate for a hand with all of his papers. Obi-wan hadn’t minded, of course, when Anakin continued to pop by for help after their shared semester ended, two semesters turning into three, three turning into a full year, which turned into two, which turned into Anakin’s entire academic career. If he were being honest with himself, a rather rare occurrence, he would admit that he looked forward to the bright man’s visits; something always loosened in his chest at their easy conversations, shared laughter, and how minutes turned to hours like sand slipping between his fingers. 

“I think if we moved this paragraph here-” he takes his pen out front behind his ear, marks the paragraph he’s talking about and draws a large arrow “-then your argument would flow more logically, no?” Obi-wan muses, humming to himself in thought. 

He gets a noisy sniffle in response. Obi-wan snaps his attention up to Anakin, who is wiping his nose with his sleeve, hunched into himself, still shivering. Anakin must notice Obi-wan staring, because he looks up, blinking rapidly. “What?” 

Obi-wan cocks an eyebrow. “I said, if we move this,” he uses his pen to point to the paragraph, and flicks his gaze up to Anakin to make sure he follows, “here, then it would flow better given your thesis.” 

Anakin sneezes. 

“Are you alright?” Obi-wan asks, digging out his box of tissues from within a drawer in his desk, handing them over to Anakin with stern concern. 

Anakin seems to huddle even further into himself. “Is it cold in here?” 

Obi-wan takes in the man’s thin t-shirt, a loose zip up hoodie the only thing between him and the onslaught of rain outside, trying not to stare at the way it hangs over his broad shoulders, exposes his beautiful collarbones. It would make sense that Anakin would be cold, but even in a papery cotton button-down, Obi-wan is perfectly warm in his office, his incandescent lamp and slow burning candle creating more than a fair bit of heat. 

“No, I don’t think so. Here,” Obi-wan leans forward and holds up a hand to the air in front of Anakin’s forehead, retracting a bit when Anakin lurches backwards in surprise, “let me see if you have a fever.” 

Anakin cautiously moves into his palm, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, gaze never leaving Obi-wan’s face, pink tinging the edges of his ears when Obi-wan presses against him a bit, pushing back the bangs that dangle into his face. He is running a bit hot. They make eye contact, and freeze for a few heartbeats, locked in place. Despite this being the most intimate thing he’s ever done with Anakin, given the rather academic nature of their relationship, Obi-wan doesn’t want to pull away; he wants to press his fingers further, straighten out the frizzy curls, card through the knots made by the rain, cup the back of his head and rub at the base of his neck- 

The thought catches Obi-wan by complete surprise, and he pulls away sharply, clearing his throat, purposefully disregarding the way Anakin’s eyes fall in disappointment. “You do seem to be running a fever. When is this due again?” He motions to the pile of papers between them. 

Anakin grimaces. “Tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow, right.” Obi-wan nods, dismayed but not shocked by Anakin’s lack of planning. “Well, in the meantime, here.” 

Anakin watches with guarded interest as Obi-wan pushes his chair back to rifle through his bag, pulling out a spare sweater he had saved for the bus ride home. It is one of his favorites: a deep forest green, cashmere. He wordlessly offers it to Anakin, eyebrows raised and pulled together, a look of here, take it.

“No, Obi-wan, I can’t-”

“Please put on the sweater.” He pulls out his teacher's voice to use this, using his authority for good. 

Anakin gingerly takes it from him, giving him a strange, curious look before casting off his jacket and slipping on the sweater over his t-shirt. It’s a little small on him, fitting him in all the right places in Obi-wan’s opinion, but sleeves ending a few inches above his wrist. It’s rather adorable, really. 

“Better?” Obi-wan asks, ignoring the warm tendrils of possessiveness weaving into his chest at the sight. 

Anakin, considerably more red than before, nods. “Thank you.” His tone, usually full of sarcasm and humor, is uncharacteristically sincere. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you keep it, so do return it next time you visit. And please don’t wipe any snot on it, cashmere is hard to wash,” Obi-wan jokes, “but yes, you’re welcome.” 

Anakin’s eyes widen a little. He grabs a tissue. 

Obi-wan takes a deep breath, shifting his focus back to the paper. “As I was saying, let’s move this thought.” 

The rain eventually passes, clouds bumbling away to reveal a vast array of stars, moonlight tinting the small office as the pair edits the long paper well past midnight. As the hours tick by, Anakin sneezes about the same number of times as Obi-wan yawns, exhaustion making the finer details of their evening fuzzy. The walls seem to close in on them, pressing them together, and the outside world is so far away, asleep, resting. Anakin continues to shiver, and Obi-wan gets up to rest his jacket around Anakin’s shoulders at some point, promising that they’ll finish soon so he can go home and rest. I don’t mind, Anakin says, I like being here with you. Obi-wan entirely blames the sentiment on Anakin’s fever, but in his tired, yearning state, something akin to hope blooms in his heart. 

__

Anakin, naturally, receives an A on his paper. Obi-wan regards the email with fond amusement. 

“hey prof - got a 97%!! go us. have been taking it easy at home, doc says i have the flu :( 

ur never getting ur sweater back, btw. its so soft

thanks again for your help, ur fav anakin”

[makingsofgreatness]

OK I'm just gonna say this, I really ADORE the part where Silver discovers the little white knit socks in one of the letters he received from Sarah. It is just SO SWEET!♡ Which has me thinking about what happened prior, during, and sometimes after to these events. For instance, when did Sarah learned that she was pregnant while Silver was away? Did she and Jim reacted with such excitement and overjoy over the news, or did each of them reacted differently? Did she thought about knitting those socks to surprise Silver? Did she even thought about knitting those socks in the first place? Is she even good at knitting, or did she knit any more during her pregnancy? Also, suppose what did you think they did with those socks?

I'm sorry if I'm asking so many questions all at once, I'm just so yearning to know about what else was happening in that particular story when Sarah announced her pregnancy.

AAAAH yes I’m so happy to answer this! And don’t worry, you didn’t ask too many questions at all!

-Shortly after Silver left for his long cargo trip, Sarah began experiencing nausea and sometimes vomiting. She merely thought it was something she picked up and didn’t think too much of it. But eventually, when the work piled up and she was in bed with a closed inn because she felt so sick, she decided to go see a doctor. Of course, she didn’t mention any of this to Silver in her letters. She knew he would worry constantly for her. Still thinking it was the flu, Sarah sat in the doctors office waiting for her tests to come back. One thing she was NOT expecting was to hear the doctor announce with a wide smile that the tests revealed that she was pregnant. Sarah almost threw up right then and there. Like. Whoa. Obviously it had been 17 years since she last heard those words. She never thought she would hear them agsin?? It took a minute to fully register, but once it did she was absolutely ecstatic! Instantly she was calculating when the baby would arrive, what needed to be done to prepare, and how she would tell her family. She was so excited.

- She was very upset that Silver wasn’t here in person to share this moment with her. But while she couldn’t tell Silver in person, she could tell her son! Sarah wasn’t even sure how to begin such a conversation. But eventually, she just...blurted it out with a nervous laugh. Then she mentally kicked herself for being so blunt. Jim froze and just stared at her for a while. Then came that goofy, wide grin on his face and a slew of “wait, really? Are you serious?” questions. Jim was shocked, to say the least, but he was SO happy to know that he was going to be a big brother, something he had always wanted. He even cried a bit, which made Sarah cry too, and they were just a mess. Sarah and Jim sat in the kitchen for a few hours, both a bit dazed but happy beyond words, talking about all the planning they needed to do and when the baby should arrive and what they should name him or her. Jim was a proud son that day.

-Ever since finding out, Jim helped out a lot at the inn, even taking it on by himself so Sarah could rest when she felt ill. Because of this, Sarah had a lot of time on her hands, and most of it was spent racking her brain trying to think of a nice way to tell Silver through letter. After all, it wasn’t a small deal. She wanted to do something special and meaningful. But what? After a bit, she got bored with this extra time and tried to knit, since apparently that’s what pregnant women did. She wasn’t the best at it but it was a nice distraction. Sarah was planning on making a scarf, when it dawned on her that she could make little baby socks. Aw, she loved the idea! So she set to work and managed to make the perfect pair. Then it hit her: she could send them to Silver as her way of sharing the good news. And so that’s exactly what she did. She was a bit nervous, she wondered if he would get the hint, but figured it was the best way she could tell him considering the circumstances. Before she did, though, she showed them to Jim, who marveled at how small they were. This made Sarah cry again. She was so overwhelmed with joy and support! Jim wasted no time in comforting her (omg we love to see a healthy mother-son relationship).

-Sarah continued to knit more baby clothes (messing up quite a few times), anxiously waiting for her husband’s response. At this point her morning sickness was in full swing, all she could really do was knit and take it easy until the sickness went down. On the day she received his letter, she was so eager to read it that she waited the entire day until she was sure she wouldn’t be interrupted. It was well worth the wait! Silver POURED his heart into that letter, it was so touching. Sarah even noticed the spots where she assumed had been where tears had fallen. She wished she could have been there to see him cry, he never did around her or always blamed it on grease in his eye, but she found it very sweet. Her heart was so full. Jim only laughed when she told him the content of the letter. He enjoyed teasing his dad for being mushy.

-Sarah knew she had a LONG while to get everything ready, but she couldn’t stop herself when it came to the nursery. She adored picking out baby items. The Dopplers, at this point, had found out the news, so Amelia accompanied Sarah with the baby shopping while Delbert and Jim stayed behind to paint the room, since everyone argued that Sarah shouldn’t be inhaling the paint fumes. She had a blast shopping and became more excited with every passing instant. She even went so far as to buy a custom painting with a well-known Ursid lullaby written out to further surprise Silver (she had been practicing Silver’s native tongue with him for a bit now).

-The day Silver arrived home was a happy one indeed. The whole inn was just bursting with joy. Lots of tears, lots of laughs, lots of jokes from Jim about how everyone was crying so much. Once Silver got ahold of himself Sarah decided to show him the nursery and of course, the painting. Heh, well, that broke Silver again. Sarah spent like, 15 minutes comforting her husband as he “discreetly” cried and babbled on about his love for her and Jim and their unborn child. Jim never ran out of laughter and smiles. They kept the little white knit socks in a special place until the day came when they could put them on tiny little feet.

I’ll literally never get tired of talking about this omg. If you want to know more of my thoughts please ask!!

[bellshells]

Splitting Hairs ch. 7

Hello dearies, chapter seven is here. It’s a long one again, so strap yourselves in. As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read this it means the absolute world <3

Severus x OC  Summary: Sad Sev is sad tm. Minerva is brill and Valentine is honest.  Warnings: Angst, mentions of unforgivable curses, bit o’ blood n that.  Word Count: 3586

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It was the final week before the Christmas holidays and Severus was miserable. Now, that’s not to say that Severus being miserable around Christmastime wasn’t a common occurrence; but this year was different. Severus had all but shut off communications with everybody bar Minerva, although their visits to each other were now short and full of long silences. Severus felt like he was constantly treading water, if he were to falter slightly- he would drown. He withdrew himself from everything; Quidditch matches, meetings, his revision groups, until finally he stopped eating in the Great Hall all together; choosing instead to lock himself away in his chambers. It became so rare to see Professor Snape anywhere other than his classroom, and people knew better than to ask questions. But in truth, if anyone were to ask Severus why he was suffering so, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to give a cohesive answer. He felt the weight of the term as it constricted around his neck, what he intended it to be (a tedious bore), and what it transpired to be (anything but), were two completely different things.

He missed Valentine. He missed her with a burning intensity that he was not familiar with, yet it had become as necessary to him as breathing. From the minute he opened his eyes he felt the burning, it started in his chest and by mid-morning it had consumed his very being, it reminded him that he was still alive. That although he was hurting, he was not entirely broken because he had allowed himself to feel. He had not known exactly why it hurt so to think about Valentine, perhaps he was merely embarrassed for allowing her to bewitch him, or perhaps he was rather fond of her and felt betrayed-? Either way, he had neither sight nor sound from her since the night he had visited her chambers, and she had revealed that her father was an acquaintance of Lucius Malfoy’s. Severus winced as he recalled the conversation, she had told him she had pursued him due to boredom and Severus had wept when he had reached the safe confines of his bed. He felt stupid. He felt used, but more importantly, any ounce of sympathy he felt for Valentine had vanished. Yes, he desired her- as any man would. But, after the callous way she had treated him, he cared not for any ‘danger’ she might have found herself in. It didn’t concern him, whatever it was, and Severus was content with that.  

He struggled immensely with the idea of him having a ‘purpose’. Since the Dark Lord had fallen, Severus had to ingratiate himself with his colleagues for fear of being cast out. None of them had trusted him when he had taken up his post and quite rightly too, but it had been ten years- or there abouts, and Severus was still there, trying to compel people to believe his version of the story. But surely, as Severus had thought for several years, Albus had no real need for him anymore. He could understand that, as the dust settled those first few years after what happened happened, he was a necessary evil required to bridge any gaps that surfaced on the road to a social and economic recovery for the Wizarding community. At least, that’s how Albus had worded it and Severus knew better than to challenge him. Severus had played his part in the war, and he had done what Albus had asked him to do in exchange for what Severus wanted.

Almost as if he had apparated there, Severus could feel the cool night air whip around his face as he had pleaded with, no, begged Albus to help spare the lives of Lily and her son. Albus had been indifferent he remembered, almost cold. But now he knew that you don’t get something for nothing with the Dumbledores and Albus was no exception. Did the headmaster forget what Severus had sacrificed all those years ago? Had he forgotten that Severus had been hurled toward a chasm of despair at the loss of his friend and did he just expect him to continue? Ultimately, Severus thought that Albus didn’t care one way or the other what happened to him, or anybody else, so long as they achieved what was right. Severus was just a little pawn in a big boy’s game of chess, whichever side he landed on didn’t matter. He wondered if that was why Valentine had affected as much as she did, of course there was the obvious, the searing resemblance she bared to Lily; but Severus had become almost accustomed to it now. The jolt of pain it used to cause in chest was dulled to a small ache when he looked at her. Or perhaps, it was because she was the first person in years that he felt he had a connection with, that what they shared was something special that he could proudly confirm was his.

It had been three weeks since he had seen her. He was so angry with her still, his mind scoured over every conversation they had had, every nice word she had given him and had scratched them out with a big red line. They were wrong, all wrong and all lies. Now what was left was a yearning for what they shared and an anger that fuelled him to put one foot in front of the other. He had to continue, he had to get to the end of term and get himself home. Home, whatever that meant. Spinner’s End. Cokeworth, the place where dreams go to die. He would usually stay at the castle over Christmas, but this year he didn’t have it in him. He wanted to be as far away from this place as humanly possible and for the first time in his life, his childhood home that was often filled with fear and rage, offered him a solace that he didn’t think possible.

It must have been near seven when there was a knock at the door. Severus grumbled to himself as he opened it a crack, Minerva stood anxiously on the other side, she offered him a small smile. “Severus? May I come in?” Severus grunted in agreement and opened the door wide enough for his friend to enter, he flounced into a chair and gestured for her to join him. “How are you?” Minerva asked cautiously, she tapped her foot nervously as Severus regarded her. She looked worried and Severus felt uncomfortable. “I’m well, and yourself?” He replied after a small silence, Minerva frowned slightly and sat back in her chair. “Fine, thank you.” She paused, “Would you like to accompany me to dinner this evening?” Minerva looked at him hopefully, she knew what had transpired between Severus and Valentine through a hastily written note pushed under her office door. He had requested not to talk about it after the fact, she had obliged, of course she had, but Severus knew Minerva well enough to know she had questions. He wondered whether she would have probed Valentine any further about the letter from her father. Knowing what they knew about her connection to Lucius Malfoy would be enough to arouse suspicions in anybody, but that paired with a mysterious warning from Azkaban was more than worrying. “Before you answer,” Minerva began, “Elizabeth has been on a leave of absence for the last two weeks, so she won’t be in attendance. Also, there’s a nasty flu going around, and the infirmary is fit to burst so, turnout is a bit thin.” Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He shot Minerva a pained look, he was grateful for his friend, however he was also weary. But he didn’t want to cause her any more distress. “Will you sit with me?” He asked in a small voice, Minerva’s eyes glistened. She rose from her seat and pulled Severus up by his hands. “Of course I will, dear boy. I’ll be by your side.” She pulled him into her embrace tightly, “I’ve been so worried Severus.” He hugged her firmly, he scrunched his nose in order to halt the tears that threatened to escape. Minerva pulled away but held him at arm’s length and Severus smiled slightly.

 When they were seated Severus could really see the effects of the flu Minerva had mentioned in full force, the long student tables were barely half full, and coughs and sneezes were in abundance. Severus flinched as yet another rumbling cough trundled toward him as students passed in front of the high table. “Well this is divine.” Severus muttered slyly to Minerva as she rolled her eyes. “Shall I conjure us a couple of plague masks?” “Your nose wouldn’t fit.” Minerva said with a smirk as Severus spluttered on his drink, a real smile emerged on his face and laugh left his chest. Minerva’s smile suddenly faltered as she gazed passed Severus to the other end of the high table, Severus followed her gaze until it ultimately settled on a dishevelled figure which sat themselves uncomfortably at the very end of the table. “Merlin, would you like to leave, Severus?” Minerva’s words felt miles away as Severus’ eyes met Valentine’s from across the expanse. The redhead looked awful, her eyes were bloodshot and were surrounded with dark circles. She had a large bruise on her cheek and her bottom lip was swollen and red with a sizeable cut. She lifted her hand to push her long hair which hung limply around her face, behind her ear and he could see her knuckles were split and bruised. “What’s happened to her?” Severus whispered to Minerva without taking his gaze from Valentine. “I don’t know, she’s been away.” Minerva sounded concerned as the pair watched Valentine struggle to pick up her goblet, she seemed to be in incredible pain. “Has she broken her hand?” Severus shrugged his shoulders and forced his gaze back to his own plate, his heart thundered in his chest. He could feel it begin to heave shallowly, and his hands gripped onto the edge of the table. Minerva squirmed in her seat; she craned her neck to get a better look at Valentine who now struggled to use her fork. “Oh, she needs to go to the infirmary. This isn’t on.” The deputy headmistress slyly stood from her seat and hurried to the other end of the table and crouched down next to Valentine. Severus watched from the corner of his eye as Minerva whispered into Valentine’s ear and the two stood and exited the Great Hall, Minerva’s hand under Valentine’s arm; guiding her carefully as they walked.

Severus contemplated his options for a moment, he didn’t feel comfortable sitting in the hall by himself so he could either return to his rooms or he could follow Valentine and Minerva. His heart ached for her, she looked like she had taken a brutal beating and Severus felt a quiet rage build in his chest. His affirmations that he didn’t care what happened to her, that she was a liar and not worthy of his time disappeared as he replayed the visions of her injuries in his mind. Whatever was happening in her life was obviously dangerous and for whatever reason she felt like she couldn’t divulge any information to him, but that didn’t alter the fact that she needed help. He stood from his place at the table and followed the same route previously taken by Minerva and Valentine.

They were already in the infirmary when Severus caught up with them, Poppy was fussing with Valentine, ushering her down to the very end of the busy ward and into a room off to the side. Minerva followed hastily, ignoring the lines of sneezing students and opening the door for the nursing mistress as she supported Valentine into the room. Severus waited a moment or two before creeping silently passed the long lines of beds full of students in various degrees of wellness and knocking on the door to the private room. He didn’t wait to be invited in, instead opening the door and slipping inside. Poppy looked over in his direction as she helped Valentine onto the bed and removed her shoes. “She’s had a nasty Cruciatus, Severus,” Minerva whispered as she sidled next to him. “She must have fallen as well.” “It looks like she’s done a lot more than fall, Minerva.” Severus muttered. They watched as Poppy sat Valentine up and tried to remove Valentine’s jacket, the young witch winced with pain as she withdrew her arms from the sleeves. Poppy lifted her shirt at the back and gasped, she looked at Severus, her face pale. “Severus, would you mind?” Poppy hastened, Severus was by her side in two quick steps and felt the bile rise in his throat as he regarded the deep lacerations painted across Valentine’s back. Severus slowly extended a finger and gently traced the outline of one of the bigger ones, Valentine whimpered at the touch and Minerva moved forward to grasp her hand. Poppy looked up at Severus worriedly, pulling Valentine’s shirt further up until it rested atop her shoulders. “What do you think, Severus? Is it-” “Sectumsempra? Yes.” He confirmed stiffly. Poppy only nodded sombrely as she produced her wand and started to chant the Vulnera Sanentur quietly, Valentine groaned, and Poppy nodded at Severus to help. He grasped Valentine’s shoulders to steady her in place as Poppy worked on closing the wounds on her back. How long had she been like this? Whomever had cast the spell, his spell had done so haphazardly, it wasn’t strong enough to cause a haemorrhage and Valentine was able to get away. He whizzed through the names of people who knew about the curse in his head, fuck there were so many. All of them vile too, who on earth had Valentine pissed off for them to do this? Not only had she’d been a victim of the Cruiciatus curse, but someone had really wished to hurt her with the curse of his own devising, you were not supposed to be able to walk away from it.  

Valentine’s face was contorted with pain as Poppy tried to work as swiftly as she could. She writhed under Severus’ grip and he felt sorry for her. “Minerva,” Poppy said quietly, not looking up from her work. “I think it best to fetch the headmaster.” Minerva stood at once and left the room, she closed the door softly behind her and Severus turned his attention back to Valentine who still squirmed on the bed, tears fell her closed eyes and Severus’ heart once again ached for her. “Just try and keep still,” Severus said gently, “Nearly finished now.” Valentine didn’t respond but she nodded and took a deep breath. She seemed to relax slightly as Poppy started on the third incantation, allowing Severus to bear more of her weight by leaning into his hold. Satisfied with her work, Poppy stood back from Valentine and ran her hand over the healed skin. Still tender, Valentine flinched. “I think we’ll just pop this top in the bin, don’t you, Elizabeth?” Poppy said as she tapped Severus’ hands away and carefully lifted Valentine’s shirt over her head and over her arms. Severus’ eyes widened and he turned his back immediately. Valentine let out a weak laugh; “I think we’re passed all that, Sev.” Valentine said feebly, he turned to look at her and she offered him a tired unconvincing smile, her bruised hand covering her breasts. He returned her smile weakly and took a step toward her. She extended a hand to him and without thinking, he took it and perched on the seat next to the bed. “Good job you’re not wearing a brassiere my dear, or that could have been very fiddly.” Poppy said cheerfully as she rustled through the standing wardrobe and pulling out a hospital gown and shaking it in Valentine’s direction. Severus took the gown from the nurse as she helped Valentine stand, Poppy turned her away from Severus giving him a good look at Valentine’s back. Poppy really had done a marvellous job in closing Valentine’s wounds; but she would always have the scars. But you would never guess that they were fresh and bloody only moments ago. Poppy asked Severus to support Valentine’s arms as she unfastened Valentine’s trousers and instructed her to step out of them, which she did unsteadily. Severus presented the young with the sleeves of the gown, careful to not let his body touch hers. She pushed her arms through, and Severus pulled it over her shoulders and worked on fastening the ties at the back.

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Valentine laughed softly followed by a cough. Severus couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the first night they met, zipping her dress after dealing with another of her calamities. After helping her back onto the bed and pulling the covers over her lap Poppy turned to Valentine with a smile; “I’ll be back in two ticks, just need to give one of the Weasley boys a drop of Sleeping Draught.” She made her way to the door and stopped just before she opened it, “Will you be alright with Severus, dear?” “Oh yes, I’ll be fine.” Valentine answered with a smile. “Lovely, I’ll be back to reset the bones in your hand. Won’t be nice, but you’ll thank me for it in the morning.” Poppy offered both a smile as she left, leaving the two of them in silence.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Severus spoke first; he brushed his hands over his trousers and placed them neatly in his lap. Valentine bit her bruised lip before she answered. “Not really.” She smiled weakly. “Please don’t feel like you have to sit with me, Severus. I understand if you’re angry with me.” “Whether I am angry or not is of no pertinence. You mustn’t be left unattended, and it seems like I am the only one here.” He said flatly. “Those wounds on your back. Who gave them to you?” “Why does it matter?” Valentine groaned and she studied her broken hand in the dim light. “It matters to me.” “Why?”

Because although he would swear otherwise, he cared for her and he wanted her to be safe. “Because you’re a good friend to Minerva, and she’ll only worry.” He said coolly, Valentine nodded sadly. A silence settled between them, and although it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable Severus felt he should break it.   “I feel like I should apologise to you, Severus.” Valentine said, startling him. He looked at her then, as she hunched over on the bed. He felt sorry for her, she looked so small and meek. A shadow of the gregarious woman he had met in the summer. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I would like to say it nonetheless.” Severus raised an eyebrow and waited. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. None of it was true, I said it to get a reaction from you. It was immature, and I’m sorry.” “So you admit it?” “Pardon?” “You admit it?” “Admit what?” “That you were pursing me?” “What?” “You admit that you were pursing me. And now you attest that it wasn’t due to boredom. That is, interesting.” Severus smirked. Valentine looked confusedly at him, he enjoyed it. He had power in this moment, and he relished in the energy that passed between them. Him, in control of the situation.   “I have a genuine interest in you Severus, why is that a difficult concept to grasp?” She questioned as she tried to lie down on the bed. Almost as if she had forgotten, she yelped in pain as her back touched the mattress. She shot up again and Severus lurched towards her, he pulled her into his arms and tried his best to soothe her. Valentine wept as she clung to Severus with her good hand, he kissed the top of her head deeply.

“Did you try to run?” He whispered into her hair; he traced his fingers ever so lightly over her back. It was an odd place to be hit by the curse, he wondered if she had tried to escape after she had been curcio’d. Valentine nodded and sniffed pathetically. Severus felt his stomach drop, she had tried to get away and someone had hit her with his curse. “Oh darling.”

They stayed that way for a moment or two, Severus gently rocking back and forth with Valentine in his arms. He hummed quietly to himself, he remembered his mother doing this for him when he was a child. It didn’t remember it ever making him feel better, but it was worth a try. When he heard the young witch’s breathing relax he turned her face to his with a finger and thumb.

“So, you admit it.” He said gently, if he wasn’t mistaken he could have sworn Valentine rolled her eyes.

“What am I admitting to this time?” She sighed. “That you are interested in me-” “Are you twelve, Severus?” “Perhaps,” he chuckled. “But I feel it important to share that I-” he coughed, Valentine looked at him with an expectant smile. “I have an interest in you, also. So…there, yes.” He gazed into Valentine’s bloodshot green eyes and smiled.

“Kiss me.” She whispered. Severus of course, complied eagerly. 

[forever-rogue]

Disappear Here - What Could Have Been

A/N: Hi friends! So here is the very much requested alternative ending. I also had a lot of fun writing this, I just love Javi and reader so much!! I hope you enjoy!! Basically, if you didn’t like the way Part 4 ended, replace it with this! As always, feedback and comments are welcome! 

Pairing:  Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warning: none

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

SEQUEL

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You regretted every moment since Javi had left. You worried about something happening to him, or Steve, every moment while they were gone. The way you had parted left much to be desired, and the possibility of what if hung over you constantly. What if your fight just before he left was the last time you ever saw him? How where you supposed to live with that? 

Everyday you arrived at the office and willed for him or Steve to walk through the door triumphantly. But it never came; instead it was just a lot of you sitting around and waiting, practically twiddling your thumbs as you working through the backed up stacks of paperwork. But every moment you weren’t actually working on something, your thoughts drifted back to Javi. How much you missed every part of him. 

But one particularly dull afternoon, as you were sifting through paperwork, drinking your afternoon coffee, you were overwhelmed with a nauseous feeling. Shifting in your uncomfortable desk chair, you waited for the feeling to pass, thinking it must have been you ate for lunch. Perhaps you should have listened to Maria and not used the old salad dressing you found in the fridge. 

When the feeling wasn’t going away and instead increased, you jumped up and dashed towards the bathroom. As soon you entered the bathroom, the smell of cleaner and bleach overwhelmed your senses, and you dived to the floor, emptying the contents of your stomach in the nearest toilet. 

More than you thought had consumed made its way up, and you sat there on the floor for a long time. Only once you were satisfied that nothing was possibly left, you wiped the corners of your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater and stood back up. Sighing, you flushed the toilet before doing to the sink, turning the tap on and sticking your head under the running water to rinse out the acidic taste lingering in your mouth. Strange, you thought to yourself, you never had reactions like that to food. 

Tying your hair up, you left the bathroom and headed back to your office to round out the rest of your day. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen again, but nevertheless, you figured you’d skip dinner just in the case. Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon passed by relatively quickly, and you were back in your own apartment soon enough. You took a steaming shower before slipping into pajamas, and indulging in your ice cream craving. You weren’t really hungry, but that was the one thing that sounded really, really, good to you. That’s when a brilliant idea struck you. 

Setting down your bowl, you grabbed the phone off the receiver and dialed the number you had been given for Steve and Javi. You nervously twisted the cord in your fingers as you listened to the seemingly never ending ring. Maybe it was too late. Maybe they somehow seemed to know it was you calling and decided to ignore it. Maybe they were still and working. Maybe-

“Hello?” before your thoughts could get any darker, Javi’s warm came onto the other life. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you realized he was okay, at the very least alive.

“Javi,” his name rolled off your tongue like a prayer as you leaned against the counter and closed your eyes, “it’s me.”

“Hi baby,” his voice was warm, but he sounded tired, exhausted even, but he seemed to relax when he realized it was you, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you admitted, “I just...I miss you. Missed your voice...”

“I miss you, Y/N,” he agreed, “it’s weird being here without you. It’s been too long.”

“Well you’re the reason I’m not there,” you tried to joke, but stopped yourself from going further when you remembered that that was the sole reason for your fight before he and Steve had left, “sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry about starting a fight before you left.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have went behind your back and prevented you from coming, and I shouldn’t have fought with you. But, if I’m being honest, I’m glad you’re not here. It’s been dangerous, and we haven’t had much luck.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Javi, I’ve been so worried about you and Steve,” you tried your best to keep from crying, already feeling prickling at the back of your eyes. You didn’t think just hearing his voice would have that much of an effect on you, “I-I don’t even know what I’d do with myself if we had ended things like that. I’ve been so worried, Javi.”

“It’s okay,” his voice went soft as he tried to soothe you through the phone. He wanted nothing more than to be next to you and be able to pull you into his arms, and remind that he was there and it was all going to be okay. But this was the best he could do for now, to remind how much he loved you, “it’s all going to be okay. I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be back before you know it. Nothing will happen, please don’t cry, honey.”

“Okay,” you wiped away the tears, closing your eyes and picturing him right next to you, whispering all those sweet words into your ears. How it would feel to have his arms around you again, “do you know when you’ll be back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed heavily and you just knew he was running his hand over his face, both tired and annoyed, not at you, just the situation, “things aren’t panning out as we planned. The leads aren’t coming through and either we’ve got to stick it out or just call it quits for now.”

“Just...be careful,” you felt like you were pleading with him, somehow willing the universe to make sure he came back to you safe and sound, “please.”

“We are,” he promised, and could almost see the smile on his face, “how’ve you been? Is everything okay there?”

“Everything is cherries,” you laughed lightly; of course he’d be concerned about you when he was the one risking everything. You wondered if you should tell him about what happened at lunch, but decided against it. Even if he assured you that he wasn’t worrying, you knew he would be worried, that was just who he was, “nothing too exciting. I’ve got plenty of time to catch up on all that paperwork you and Steve neglect to do. Got everything cleaned up...you two are slobs, and should be punished!”

His warm laugh sounded through the phone and you felt your whole body warm up. How you missed hearing that laugh especially when it came as you were laying in bed with his arms around you, “God, I miss you. Miss hearing that lovely voice boss me around and yell at me.”

“I am not bossy,” you insisted, letting out a small laugh of your own, “I’m just right more often than you think.”

“I know,” you wondered what was going through his mind right now; you’d learned to read his silences well, and there were tons of things that were left unsaid right now. But you weren’t going to push him, you didn’t want to put more pressure on him than necessary, “it’s getting late...I’ll let you go.” 

“Get some rest okay, Y/N?” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you, “stop worrying about me, and take care of yourself. I love you.”

“I love you too, Javi,” you stifled the yawn that bubbled. Sure, you’d be going to sleep, but it wasn’t going to feel the same. Your bed had never felt emptier than it did now, without Javi’s warmth and weight next to you every night, “stay safe...come home soon, yeah?”

“As soon as possible,” he promised, “I’ll be back.”

After another soft goodbye, you hung on the receiver back on the hook and sighed. Even though you had just gotten the opportunity to speak to him, you left lonelier than ever; you missed him more than you’d thought was humanly possible, but here you where, yearning for him from deep within your bones. You had it bad. 

The bowl of ice cream, long forgotten during your conversation with Javi, had completely melted. You picked up the spoon, playing with the now soup-like liquid. Opening the freezer door to stick the bowl back in there, you figured you’d try again tomorrow to eat. it. But the grumble and pang of your stomach convinced you to keep it out and started spooning the sweet cream into your mouth. Normally, you’d rather starve than resort to completely melted ice cream, but it was like something in your had snapped and you just needed it. 

Grabbing the bowl with a sigh, you headed to the couch and flipped on the ancient television that had come with the apartment. Taking a few moments to find something you could follow and understand, you sat back and watched the old movie, slurping up your dessert. It wasn’t long before it was completely gone and you set the bowl on the counter. Eventually you fell asleep on the couch, body too tired to bother and get up to crawl into your bed and stretch out probably. You didn’t remember the last time you had been this tired, but at least you were lost to saccharine dreams of Javi; of you and Javi back together once again. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next few days passed in a monotonous manner; you were completely on autopilot, and you felt someone was just guiding you through the motions. The only thing that was continuing to shake up your day to day grind was the lingering feeling of sickness that seemed to hang around. You possessed a fairly decent immune system, never really one to catch a cold or flu, or anything really, so it struck you as odd that you were still feeling the same way. Surely it couldn’t be old salad dressing affecting you for days? 

Maybe you were catching some weird bug that was going around, some thing in Colombia you’d finally had contact with and now your bod couldn’t deal with it. But no one else was feeling sick, everyone seemed as dandy as ever. Normally, you’d probably leave it and let it run its course through your body, but the fact that nausea and overall sluggishness was still affecting your every day life had you concerned. 

One warm afternoon, when you had started to feel tired despite the copious amounts of wretched office coffee, your curiosity was piqued. Picking up your unusually quiet office phone, you dialed Connie’s work number, hoping she’d be available; luckily it only rang a few times before you heard a very badly accent, “alo?”

“Connie?” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your as you tried to figure out how to begin explained your problem to her, not wanting to cause her to worry or fret over you, “it’s Y/N.”

“Oh thank goodness,” a sigh of relief left her lips at the sound of your voice, “it’s crazy here today and I really needed a break. What a perfect excuse - did you read my mind or something?”

“Unfortunately not,” you could just picture her running around the small hospital, trying to keep up with the demand, “I...actually have a question for you. I need some advice...I think.”

“What’s wrong, honey?” her maternal instincts immediately kicked into overdrive, bringing a small smile to your face. Her warm voice was enough to make you feel comforted, even if it wasn’t able to much else, “did something happen at work?”

“No,” god, were those tears welling up in your eyes already? When you hadn’t even said anything to her? You sucked in a breath, quickly trying to compose yourself, “I just haven’t been feeling well, and I’m starting to get a little worried. I’m never sick, and this has been lingering for days now-”

“You’re current on all your vaccines and everything else, right?”

“Yes. Everything is in order, but I’ve just been feeling sick, like almost every day and it doesn’t seem to be going away,” you explained, noting that the feeling was still overwhelming you, even in that moment. No rest for the wicked, you supposed, “and I’m trying not to panic, but it’s been hard and I’m stressed and I kind of just want to know what’s going on. I hate to burden you, but I don’t know who else to ask.”

“It’s okay, you know you can talk to me about anything,” the soft lilt in her voice was enough to put you at ease, even if it was only for the time being, “do you have some time to come over and I can get you checked out?”

“Sure, yeah, I can be over in a little bit, is that okay?” 

“Of course,” she promised, “just try and relax, sugar pie, everything will be just fine. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Thanks, Connie,” you let out a baited breath you didn’t know you were holding in, thankful to have such a good and kind friend, “I’ll see you shortly.”

Placing the receiver back in the cradle, you organized things on your desk before grabbing your purse and heading out. It was so slow, the phone having not even rang a single time throughout the day, that you didn’t even bother to let anyone you were leaving. If it was something that important, than they would know where to find you. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Later that evening, as you sat on your couch, once again eating ice cream and watching old movies, you wondered if you should have gone to Connie. You were still processing the news, both shocking and disconcerting, tears streaming down your cheeks. She had graciously offered you her company for the night, but you had turned her down. You just needed some alone time. It may not have been the best idea, but right now it was the only thing you desired.

You almost laughed at yourself, finding it ironic that you were in such a pathetic state of existence yet again. But right now it was about all you could mentally handle at the moment. 

You cleaned off the last bit of ice cream from your spoon, and chucked the carton onto the table, pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch and draping it over yourself. 

Soon, the voices on the television began to sound more and more distant and your eyes grew heavier with each passing second. But, of course, just before you could find comfort in slumber, a knock came at your door and jarred you back into the present. You groaned as you wiped your red, puffy eyes, debating on ignoring the door. It was getting later into the evening, much too late for a social call, so you wondered who it was. The knocking didn’t seem to be ceasing any time soon; grabbing the blanket and wearing it as a cape, you trudged to the door, without even knowing to look through the small peephole.

Opening it, you let out a preemptive sigh and looked up, finding yourself looking back into the eyes that you loved and adored so much. Your heart leaped in your chest as the revelation washed over and your body seemed to relax, “Javi.”

“Baby,” he looked you over, his heart aching slightly as realized, almost immediately, that you had been crying. But you felt better now, your heart finding some peace and solace in the face that despite looking worn out and tired, he was safe and sound and home. You looked him up and down, finding it hard to hold back your smile when you realized he was holding a small bouquet of flowers in his hands, a beautiful combination of all of your favorites, “what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

“You’re back,” you couldn’t stop yourself from you throwing your arms around him and nuzzling your face into his neck. He responded in kind, wrapping you up in your arms, careful to make sure your flowers didn’t get crushed as he pressed soft kisses to the side of your head, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered in your ear, sending some shivers down your spine, “I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything, I wanted to surprise you. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

“It’s never a bad time,” you promised him, taking his hand and leading him inside your apartment. You didn’t even know why you were still being so careful about people seeing you together. Everyone knew, or had strong suspicions by now, that the two of you were together, not that anyone was going to stop you, “when did you get back?”

“About five minutes ago,” he said with a small smile as he followed you into the kitchen where you grabbed a vase for the flowers, watching you intently. He’d missed every part of you; the way you moved, smelled, felt, talked - all of it. Somehow just knowing he was back was enough to make you feel better. Your worries were almost all gone, almost. 

You turned back to him, watching as he effortlessly leaned against the counter, looking even better than ever. Was it really possible for him to have gotten hotter? He held out his arms for you and pulled you against him, his large hands cradling your face as he peppered gentle kisses over every inch of your skin, stopping at your lips. Just before pressing a soft kiss to them, he whispered, “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Javi,” you traced your fingers over his faces, relearning all the highs and lows, the way his warm skin felt under your fingers. You touched his nose before stopping and giving it a kiss, “I’m so glad you’re home. Safe.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours, “I’ll always come back to you.”

Fuck. You had it bad, so bad, for this man.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby. What’s got you so upset?” oh. Of course you should have known better than to expect that he would let it go. You thought about lying to him, but you knew he’s be able to see right through you, just as he always did. He was the only one who knew you better than yourself.

“Nothing,” you insisted, which wasn’t really a total lie, “just tired and missed you.”

“You’re still a horrible liar,” he insisted with a soft chuckle, “you can tell me anything, you know that.”

You did know that. In reality you told him everything, and usually anything, that crossed your mind. But how where you supposed to tell him this when you hadn’t even admitted it out loud to yourself? How was he even going to react? You were scared, so scared, and had no clue to what his response would be. Normally you’d be able to gauge his reaction pretty well, but with this? You had no clue. 

Would he be mad? Excited? Scared? Worried? Upset? 

“Hey,” he put a hand under your chin and tilted your face up towards him, “baby, what’s wrong? Why were you crying?”

“Javi,” you let his name linger between the two of you, the air growing thick with nerves and anticipation. Your mind was racing almost as fast as your heart, and before you could even fully think about what you were going to say, the words came out of your mouth anyway, “I’m pregnant.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you covered, as if it would somehow make a difference now as Javi looked at you, blinking, and seemingly confused by your sudden confession. Your stomach was in absolute knots as you took a step back and felt a few tears running down your cheeks, “I-I hadn’t been feeling well this week and went to see Connie, and found out today. I-I...I’m sorry, Javi, I-”

“You’re pregnant?” he finally said something, his voice cracking as you nodded your head, giving him a ghost of a smile, “wh-why are you sorry about that?”

“I didn’t...we didn’t...this just happened,” before you could form any coherent thoughts or make any sort of statement, he hoisted you onto the kitchen counter and wrapped his arms around you, this time burying his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“You’re pregnant,” he stated as you nodded. He reached up and tenderly wiped away the tears that were running down your cheeks. Unless it was a trick of the light, you were sure that there were some tears in his eyes too, “do you know how far along?”

“They estimate about 9 weeks,” you said quietly, watching as the smile on his face spread across all of his features, “you’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why the hell would I be mad?” he asked as you shrugged, “look, baby, I know this isn’t perfect, our lives are far from perfect, but that doesn’t take away from how wonderful this. Things rarely go according to plan, but that’s okay. We adapt, improvise, and overcome.”

“Yeah?” you asked quietly as he nodded. He was right: this might have been the worst time for you to fall pregnant, but he was still happy. You were going to be okay, all of this would be okay, you knew that now. All because of Javi.

“Yeah,” he promised, trying to process everything in his mind, but the only thing he could see clearly was you; you and the future life and family the two of you would be building, “god, I love you so much. This is...everything. You are everything.”

By now you were a flat out crying mess, in combination to his words and raging hormones, but it didn’t matter. Because this was it, this was everything. Things weren’t perfect, hell, they never would be, but you weren’t going to be alright. You and Javi would make it through anything together. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[noona-clock]

I Never Knew - Part 2

Genre: WWII!AU

Pairing: Brian (Day6) x You (Female!Reader)

Warning: Mentions of war

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Epilogue | Words: 3,503

*gif courtesy of @cramelot​

When your eyes fluttered open the next morning after a long, very restful sleep, the first thought you had was I think last night may have been a dream.

I mean, you’d been to plenty of parties on plenty of military bases by now. You’d met your fair share of soldiers. But never in your life had you ever met someone like Brian. Someone who made you feel the way Brian made you feel. Someone you had kissed the very same night you’d met him. But, last night, all of that had happened to you. So, it must have been a dream.

Right?

You let out a soft, sleepy groan as you stretched your arms up toward the ceiling. And then you winced when you felt the soreness in your upper arms and shoulder. Stretching your legs out brought about the same slight pain, and you realized... it couldn’t have been a dream if you were this sore from all that dancing.

A giddy smile crept onto your lips as you thought about what else you’d done last night.

Brian had walked you home, draped his jacket over your shoulders, told you a little about his life, pointed out constellations... and you’d kissed him. A somewhat brief, very innocent kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.

It felt so good to think about it that you didn’t even want to get out of bed. Your role as a General’s daughter, however, had ingrained a habit of rising early into you, and you now felt like you were wasting time if you stayed in bed past 8am.

Unsurprisingly, your father was already sitting at the kitchen table when you arrived downstairs, his usual breakfast of coffee, toast, and oatmeal sitting in front of him.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night, Cupcake?” he asked as you shuffled over to his seat. You bent to place a quick kiss on his cheek before answering his question.

“Morning, Daddy,” you mumbled. “Yes, I did. Very much so.”

“Did you dance the night away?” 

“Yes,” you chuckled before you headed to the fridge for an apple. “How much money did you win playing poker?”

Your dad let out a hearty laugh and said, “You aren’t supposed to know that’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh, come on,” you smirked. “You raised me to be observant, remember? I wouldn’t be your daughter if I didn’t know all the details, even the ones I’m not supposed to know.”

“This is true, I suppose,” he sighed, though the tone of amusement hadn’t left his voice. “We’ll say I broke even and leave it at that.”

“Good,” you noted. “I like when they don’t let you win just because you’re their boss.”

You slid into the chair next to him, bringing one leg up and curling it underneath you as you bit into your apple.

After a few moments of silence (save for your apple-crunching and your father’s coffee-slurping), your father cleared his throat and glanced over at you. “What’s on your agenda today?”

“My agenda?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “I... don’t know. I guess I’ll explore the base or something. ...There’s a hospital nearby, right?”

Your father hummed, nodding before he gulped down the last of his coffee.

“I’ll probably go there, then. See what I can do to volunteer.”

Even though you had no medical experience whatsoever, you’d always seemed to find yourself ending up at the base hospital, helping the nurses with whatever they needed. You’d gotten tired of just sitting around at home while your dad was at work, and since every military base had a clinic or hospital, it was the obvious choice. Plus, you found the work incredibly rewarding (though you couldn’t quite say you had the desire to actually become a nurse -- right now).

“That’s my girl,” your father grinned. He set down his mug and pushed his chair back from the table, gathering up the remains of his breakfast to clean up. “I may or may not be home for dinner, depending on how the day goes.”

“Okay, Daddy,” you answered. You were used to his ‘depending on’ schedule by now -- one thing about this military life you were used to, in fact. “Have a good first day.”

“You, too, Cupcake.” He dropped a light kiss on the top of your head as he carried his dishes to the sink, and within a few minutes, he was out the front door.

After finishing your apple, you headed upstairs to get ready for the day. You put on one of your favorite dresses, wanting to make a good impression on the nurses at the hospital since they were the most likely candidates to become your friends; but you also put on a pair of your most comfortable shoes so you could easily walk all around as you volunteered.

You’d lived on so many bases and had so many First Days, you were practically a professional. You just... didn’t get paid. But you were volunteering, so that was kind of the point.

Anyway.

It was just after 10am when you stepped out of your house and into the warmth of the sunshine. The air was cool, though not as chilly as last night. And, of course, you were thinking about last night as you walked down the pathway outside of your house, passing the spot where you’d kissed Brian.

You knew it hadn’t been a dream, but you still couldn’t quite believe you’d done that.

Did you regret it? No, absolutely not.

Were you... maybe a little embarrassed? Yes, probably.

But, oh well. There was nothing you could do about it now -- not the actual kiss, at least. You couldn’t take it back, though you didn’t even want to.

As you began to stroll down the sidewalk, you realized you’d been too absorbed in thinking about the kiss that you had no idea where you were going. Where even was the hospital?

Your brow furrowed as you lifted your gaze and searched the surrounding area. Within seconds, you noticed a three-story brick building just a few blocks away, a large, red cross adorning the outside above the entrance.

Aha. If that wasn’t the base hospital, then you wouldn’t know what was.

It only took about five minutes to walk there, though you had never been a slow walker. Being the daughter of someone in the military had not only forced a structured schedule on your daily life, but it had also made you yearn to be as efficient as possible. Why take seven minutes to get somewhere when it could take you five if you simply walked a little bit faster?

It sounded ridiculous, but it saved you time!

When you arrived at the front door (five, not seven, minutes later), you took a deep breath before you reached out and pushed it open.

The receptionist sitting at the front desk looked up, her brow furrowing softly when she saw you. You grinned over at her and wrung your hands together nervously as you approached the desk.

“Hello,” you greeted. “I’m Y/N, I just moved to the base? My... my father is the new General, and I was just wondering if there were any opportunities to volunteer?”

The young woman’s face morphed from an expression of slight confusion to one of friendly surprise. “Oh, hello!” she said as she stood from her chair. “Yes, absolutely. Let me find Catherine, she’s the head nurse on duty right now.”

You nodded, watching as she stepped out from behind the desk and turned down the hallway to walk back into the hospital.

You only stood there awkwardly in the lobby for a minute or two before the receptionist returned, another young woman walking behind her.

“Hi,” the young woman greeted with a half-smile, half-smirk. She was, obviously, the head nurse on duty, and she stuck her hand out toward you once she got close enough. “I’m Catherine, but please, call me Cat.”

“Nice to meet you, Cat,” you answered as you shook her hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“I heard you’re looking to volunteer?”

“Yes, I would love to help out wherever it’s needed,” you nodded.

“Come with me, then.” Cat’s lips tugged into even more a smirk, and she nodded her head back toward the hallway she’d just come down with the receptionist.

You shot the receptionist a small, thankful grin before following Cat, hurrying your steps to catch up with her.

“Since the war just started and these boys haven’t been shipped out yet, it’s pretty quiet around here at the moment,” Cat explained, glancing over her shoulder at you. “We have exactly two patients right now. One slipped on the stairs and broke his leg a few days ago, and the other has the flu. But, don’t worry. There’s still plenty for you to do, Y/N.”

“All right,” you chuckled. “I’m willing to do anything.”

“Be careful when you say that, I just might take you up on it once things get busy.”

You grinned to yourself as you continued to follow Cat down the hallway, the fluorescent lights and sterile smell actually bringing you comfort. No matter the base, all of the hospitals where you’d volunteered had been the same. Strangely enough, they had been one of the few constants in your ever-changing life. While some people recoiled at the smell of hospitals, you simply felt like you were home.

“For now, though, you can help with the laundry.” Cat slowed to a stop in front of a door, opening it and revealing the hospital’s laundry room.

“I may not be very helpful when you really need it, but laundry, I can definitely do,” you replied with a confident nod.

“Come on in, then.”

Within the next few minutes, you and Cat were folding and sorting towels. It was definitely one of the tamest tasks you’d done while volunteering at a clinic or hospital, but you truly didn’t mind. And Cat seemed quite lovely -- definitely someone with whom you wanted to become friends.

“So, you’re new here,” she stated rather than asked. “What’s your story?”

Why did you immediately remember that Brian had asked you exactly that question last night?

“Well... my father has been in the military my whole life. We moved around a lot. Still do, actually,” you shrugged, trying (and basically failing) to push thoughts of Brian out of your head. “This is the third base in the last year.”

Cat quirked a brow at you, the corners of her ruby lips turned down into a tiny frown. “Do you think you’ll stay here?”

Did you want to stay here? There was no question about that in your mind. You wanted to stay here and get to know Brian, more than any other person you’d ever met.

“I hope so,” you replied with a soft, somewhat bashful grin. You couldn’t help it. Thinking about Brian only made you think about your kiss, and --

“I know that smile,” Cat chuckled, interrupting your thoughts. “What’s his name?”

Your cheeks warmed, and your grin became even more bashful before you answered her. “I mean -- we just met last night at my father’s welcome party, it’s not --”

“What’s his name?” Cat repeated. “I can tell you about his medical record.”

Your brow instantly furrowed. “...You can?”

Cat shot you a smirk and laughed softly. “No, that’s totally against policy. But if I look up his record, I can probably remember him.”

You kept your gaze focused on the towel you were folding. “His... name is Brian.”

“Oh, Brian,” Cat replied without hesitation. “I don’t even need to look up his record, I remember him clear as day. Truly one of the most handsome faces I’ve ever seen. And one of the nicest, most genuine guys. Also got 20/20 vision, that one.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed to tell me anything about his medical record,” you said as you held back a laugh.

Cat let out a soft, dreamy sigh before tossing her folded towel onto the pile. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for love stories.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say --”

But you were cut off by a voice. Not Cat’s voice, either, but another voice entirely.

“I thought I heard you.”

You nearly dropped the towel in your hands when you heard him, and you thought surely it wouldn’t actually be him. Why would he be right here, right now?

But when you turned toward the laundry room door... there he was.

Brian, in all of his handsome glory.

“Br -- what are you --” you stammered, your heart skipping a beat before it began to pound inside your chest.

“My friend broke his leg, I came to visit him,” he explained with a tiny smile. And -- still, somehow -- that tiny smile made your heart race even more. “What about you?”

“Oh, I -- I’m just volunteering,” you told him somewhat bashfully.

His smile grew -- and so did your heart.

“Could you, uh... maybe... meet me outside? In, say, an hour?”

Without thinking too much about it, you nodded quickly. And you were glad you did because Brian’s grin only got bigger.

“Great,” he murmured. “See you then.”

“Bye,” you said in almost a whisper, lifting one hand to wave at him as he stepped away from the laundry room and headed down the hall.

When you slowly turned back to Cat, you were not surprised in the least to see an incredibly lopsided smirk on her lips. “As I was saying, I’m a sucker for a good love story.”

“Would it... be all right if I headed out in about an hour?” you asked as innocently as you could, though you felt your cheeks flaming both from Brian’s unexpected appearance and from Cat’s comment.

“Of course, hon,” Cat replied. “You’re a volunteer. You can come and go as you please.”

You shot her a half-apologetic, half-grateful smile before getting back to work folding the stack of towels in front of you.

Once the two of you were finished with the laundry, Cat delegated you to sorting and organizing the new shipment of supplies until the hour was up. She said she was going to check up on all two of the patients, and before she left, she reached out and gave your elbow an affectionate squeeze.

“Good luck,” she murmured as she winked slyly at you.

“Thanks,” you chuckled.

For the next forty-five minutes or so, you worked slowly -- though not too slowly. You just didn’t want to finish before the hour was up. Now that you knew you would be meeting up with Brian, your mind wasn’t really able to focus on much else. Sorting and organizing hospital supplies was the perfect activity to fill the time until you saw him, and if you finished early, you’d have to find Cat and ask her for something else to do. She’d probably just tell you to leave, but then you would be waiting outside for Brian for who knows how long. Hence why you were taking your time with this task.

You had just put away the last item in the box when Cat appeared at your side. You must have been too in the zone because you hadn’t heard the click of her heels on the hospital’s tile floor.

“It’s about that time,” she murmured, nudging you softly and wiggling her eyebrows. “I saw him leave just a couple minutes ago.”

You honestly weren’t sure how your father would take it if you and Brian ended up dating or in a romantic relationship (which you assumed you would, at this point), but even if he took it badly, at least you had someone in your corner. Cat, apparently, was rooting for you and was more than happy to help you.

“Thank you,” you replied after you set the empty box on the floor and turned toward her. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and I promise I’ll stay longer.”

Cat let out a soft chuckle and reached out to gently place her hand on your shoulder. “Honey, if things go well, I wouldn’t blame you if you never showed up here again.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head. “I will show up again,” you assured her with a somewhat shy smirk. You’d never been the type of girl to get so caught up in a relationship that your whole life centered around your significant other, especially not now when a world war had just broken out.

Cat simply lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug before she nudged you again. “Go on, scoot. Get outta here!”

You chuckled softly and followed her instructions, hurrying out of the supply room.

As soon as you exited through the front door, you saw Brian sitting on a bench, one arm lazily slung over the top and drumming his fingers on the wooden surface.

Your heart, of course, sped up at the sight of him, even though you could only see him from the back. But just the fact you knew he was waiting for you made you anxious... in a good way.

He must have heard the click of your heels on the pavement as you approached him because he turned around, eyebrows raised expectantly.

And then his face lit up with a smile.

Your knees instantly went weak, and you almost toppled over onto the sidewalk.

Brian stood from the bench and took a few steps to meet you. “Hi,” he greeted.

“Hello,” you replied breathlessly. “How’s your friend?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” he told you with a chuckle. “Just embarrassed. How was volunteering?”

“It was great! I didn’t see any blood, so that’s always nice.”

Brian’s smile grew more amused at your words, but you somehow managed to keep on speaking (even though your heart was pounding and butterflies were racing around in your stomach and his smile was still taking your breath away).

“I really like the nurse, though,” you added. “Cat. She seems like a heroine from a Katharine Hepburn movie.”

“She does,” Brian agreed jovially. “My friend, the one who broke his leg, is carryin’ a real big torch for her. Says she’s got gumption, and that’s exactly what he likes in a woman.”

You were sorely tempted to ask Brian what he liked in a woman, but it felt just a touch inappropriate. And brazen. And you were neither of those.

“Anyway,” he continued, interrupting your thoughts. “I was hoping I would see you around.”

“Me, too,” you admitted. “After I was done here, I was planning on exploring the base to see if I could accidentally run into you.”

The look on Brian’s face after you said this made it very obvious he was pleased with your words. He clasped his hands behind his back, rocking a little on the balls of his feet. “Would you... like a tour? I can show you around.”

You were, obviously, going to jump at the chance of spending any time with him, so you immediately nodded. “Yes, I would love one.”

Brian held out his arm, ushering you down the sidewalk and leading you in a somewhat slow stroll toward the base. And, for probably the first time in your life, you were happy to leave your usual brisk walking pace behind.

For the next hour or so, Brian showed you anything and everything you wanted to see -- or, at least, everything he was able to show you. He told you stories about things which had happened in certain places, making you giggle and gasp and nudge him with disbelief. He pointed out his favorite spots, and in the back of your head, you wondered if maybe they would become yours, too.

Even though he did amuse you greatly during your tour, he was also the perfect gentleman. He barely touched you, and he gave no indication that he wanted to hold your hand or caress your cheek or kiss you... 

By the time the two of you arrived at your house, your curiosity about his behavior was bubbling over.

“Can I... tell you something?” you asked anxiously as you slowly came to a stop beside the mailbox.

“Yes, of course,” Brian answered without hesitation.

“I... Well, I can’t help but... The more I think about it, the more I wonder if...”

All right, Y/N. Pull yourself together.

“I know that I kissed you last night, and I’m just... a little unsure if I should be embarrassed or not.” 

Brian’s eyebrows rushed up his forehead, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “Em -- No, definitely not embarrassed,” he assured you, much to your relief. “I... I had a really great time last night.”

You couldn’t stop a smile from curving your lips, and you bit your lower lip as Brian unclasped his hands and reached out to take one of yours. He grasped your fingers delicately, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“Actually, I was wondering... if you’re not busy tonight, could I take you out to dinner?”

Part 3

[moonlightflower21]

Gone

A/N: 100% inspired by a TV show, bonus points if you guess which one.

angst, this time with leo 💙

there is slight mention of death involved, just a warning. 

and also, not sure if this is good. kinda wrote it on a whim so excuse any errors. i’ll fix them later. enjoy for now :)

The night air was silent, Leo held his baby in one hand gently rocking him to sleep. It had been a painful month without you. Learning of your disappearance, your passing had left such a big hole in his heart. He couldn't help but feel bitterness at the whole situation. You had left them in New York while you travelled abroad for emergencies. He begged you to tell him but you remained silent, compromising to tell the whole truth for when you returned.

But you never did, the tragic news reached them and it had all changed. For the better or for the worse, he didn't know. The wind felt cooling on his cheeks, taking a solid breath out watching the leaves twirl in the gentle breeze. It felt nice to be out, after being confined in the lair. His sapphire eyes gazed down upon the small bundle wrapped up tight in his arms and Leo felt a stab in his heart. Everyday when he would awake, he could see you in his son. When he would fall asleep, your face would be there behind his closed eyes. He couldn't seem to catch a break anywhere. And there was only so much he could take in before he broke down. As the leader, he refused to show his family what he was going through. He stopped attending patrols, going every other week. And when he would go, intense fighting and while the rest of his brothers would leave after a long night he would continue to patrol the city. Hoping he could catch you somewhere even though deep down he knew he never would be able to. Fate was a cruel game.

Leo was snapped out of trance, hearing a thump on the ground behind him. Protectively, he grabbed a katana from the case and held it forwards while the other hand curled protectively over his baby. But his stance relaxed when the shadow looked very familiar, one of his brothers. The light shone on the red mask and Leo placed away his blade, adjusting the blanket on his son before settling his irises on the red brute. "What brings you here?" He spoke softly, and Raph held an envelope coming closer.

"It's Y/N's, the envelope you've been waitin' for..." when Raph had said that, Leo felt his blood psychically turn to ice in his body. The letter that never came.

With a shaky hand, Leo raised an eyebrow and gently took ahold of the letter wrapped in white envelope and a stamp. "I figure ya want some space, let me take 'im instead" Raph spoke softly in front of his brother, eyes upon the small baby boy. Leo looked up and slowly nodded, looking at his child. His peaceful face brought some calm to the storm in Leo's head. Not a word was said, gingerly placing his son in the arms of the red brute.

Raphael looked at Leo, heart wavering in the slightest. Never before had he seen his brother so... fragile. So close to teetering off the edge had it not been for his responsibilities keeping him grounded. Learning off your passing had been so difficult to comprehend, especially since they weren't even in the same country as you. But it had been the most heart wrenching for Leo, Raph could see the internal battle he went through everyday. He only wished Leo would let him in, but he knew what it felt like not being able to express your emotions. Hell, he was the president of the club.

"Ya know where I am if ya need me" Raph whispered, his hands cradling his nephew close to his chest. Cerulean irises glazed over his own amber ones, the blank expression on the eldest turtle formed into a knowing look. No words needed to be said, he understood. I know, thank you brother.

Turning around, Raph spared one last glance at his leader. Leo smiled back, watching his brother and his son go back home. Safe and sound. Leo looked down, the letter felt so heavy in his hand. His heart felt like it was being constricted no matter how many gulps of air he took in his system. He found a deserted park, sitting gingerly on one of the swings. A part of him didn't want to envelope, fearing what would be in its contents. But if he didn't open it now, he never would.

Dearest Leonardo, he read first. It was definitely your letter and his heart stung recognising your handwriting.

Since I have been abroad, I have missed both you and our baby so much. As much as it pains me, there have been certain events which have compelled me to extend the travel. There are some things that you may not know of me quite yet, you'll uncover all the secrets soon. I promise. I hated how I had to leave without a word to you or to our son. God, sometimes it feels as though the world is an unfriendly and sinister place. But you taught me to believe that there is more good in it than bad. All I had to do was look hard enough. And I'm glad I did, it landed me to you. I hope to have you and our baby in my arms soon, my darling; but in case this letter arrives before my return, know that I love you. I love you both beyond words could ever describe. It fills me with pride and happiness to know that, no matter what happens in this life, you will take care of your family with kindness, and bravery and selflessness as you always have. And remember one thing my love, and never forget it: that no matter where we are, know that as long as you have our son and your brothers, you have your family and you are home.

Forever yours, Y/N.

His hands were shaking, nearing to the letter. He bit his lip harshly to prevent anything falling down his cheeks but they fell at their own accord. The roar of thunder was heard faintly in the distant, and Leo could feel the droplets of rain beginning to pitter down on his body; knowing it was important to find some shelter but he couldn't bring himself to move.

A sense of yearning desire swirled deep within his stomach to have you back in his arms, to be a whole family once more. He looked up, noticing how the moon looked full as ever sitting in the sky even with a the raindrops falling around him. It shone a beautiful moonlight glow on the ground in front of his feet. Tears rapidly spilled from his ocean blues, the letter provided him with a comfort deep within his soul. Touching his heart in such a way, oddly as though you sat right beside him. His eyes drifted to the moon once more, the corners of his lips tilting upwards.

It was such a crazy wild thing. You taught him that while love can be an amazing thing to experience and a beautiful thing to have it can also have him up at some ungodly hour of the night, sobbing over how much more pain he could mentally take in. He always thought people were so dramatic with heartbreaks, but he hadn't ever expected to be on the receiving line for one. All the anger, sadness, frustration, hurt, stress came in floods. Sometimes they'd spare his mind and heart, but often times they would linger for hours and hours. In his case, it was different. Because you were gone and you were never coming back. He had to mourn over your absence whilst looking over his child to make sure he was okay. And yet, he couldn't ever blame you. Because you never wished for this. His mind haunted him with the what if's and the if only's. Because he failed the very thing he swore he would always do; protect you.

"I-I love you too, Y/N. Always" he whispered out loud, eyes glued to the sky hoping that wherever you were you could hear him. The rain was becoming heavier, drenching him to his very core and he knew he would wake up with the worst flu tomorrow but he couldn't bring himself to move. Sitting here, in the deserted park, felt like he almost could reach you. The wall protecting him from the torture of his own emotions had shattered deep within him and he was unable to relieve himself of the terrible heartache. If only he could embrace you once more, tell you how much you meant to him, kiss you.... He would never be able to do that anymore.

Sometimes alternative paths lead to different destinations, he wondered how life would be if you hadn't travelled abroad. If only you had stayed with him in New York, raising your family together. Whatever the matter, you had left so urgently. He didn't know what the secret he would have to uncover would be, and he didn't know if he was strong enough to do it. But your words... your letter had provided him with motivation to continue. He shivered slightly with the wind breezing through his body, dancing with the ends of his mask. It felt like you were near, unable to reach out but close by. He hoped you were. For the first time in a long time, he could smile and breathe. The dull pain in his chest would never fully go away but that was okay, baby steps at a time.

His eyes closed, feeling the rain trickle down his body while the wind blew against his skin. He made peace with the fact that you were gone. You left so much behind. To uncover, to find out. But he would unveil those in due time, for now his child was the main priority. He smiled to the sky, hoping that you could see. Hoping that wherever your soul was, you were happy and content. And thanking you for the much needed letter in this time of darkness.

[backoftheroomandnotbelonging]

What more can you give? (YUNGBLUD x reader)

A/N: A little something for the Black Hearts Club this Christmas, hope y’all have a good one!

Dom has been working on a new album, to the detriment of his health. You force him to take Christmas off.

You knew Dom was passionate. It was one of the attributes that drew you to him initially; but seeing everything else he cared about fall to the side so that he could finish his latest album was something you knew Dom would want intervention for. Remembering his excitement whenever he makes a breakthrough made you smile. Your smile falls just as quickly when you think about how he’s so easily immersed and sucked into his music. He has tunnel vision; you’d unconditionally support him but even you had to admit it was difficult to, especially so close to the holidays.

The holidays had always been a controversial time for you. Growing up despite always having ‘good’ Christmases, they always feel a little off, a little fake, to you. You dreaded your first Christmas with Dom. It was your second Christmas after leaving home and you’d quite enjoyed that first year of just you alone. Maybe ‘dreaded’ was the wrong word, you cherished every moment with Dom and loved spending secluded winter moments with him but this hyperactive puppy on Christmas Day may be too much for your lack of enthusiasm. You really didn’t want to ruin his holiday, especially right now. No matter what you felt, you wanted to make this Christmas as laid back and ecstatic for him as possible. He needed some time, an excuse, to let loose and be silly and not have to think so much. He needed to lose the furrowed brow.

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

As the season progressed it became more and more evident that drastic measures were going to have to be taken.

The morning after your work Christmas party (an event you had managed to get Dom to spare some time and headspace for) you woke intending to perform your traditional lazy morning in bed routine. You say tradition but for the last two months it had fallen by the wayside but, since you and Dom had purposely scheduled the day to be free, there was no better time to recommence it. You stretched under the pale frosty sunrays that spread across your duvet, humming with satisfaction as a cold chill tingled against your upper arms and elevated the warmth of the rest of your body. The lazy grin stretching upon your face was yearning to be nuzzled between Dom’s shoulder blades but as you wriggled around to find his body, your ankle met the brisk chill of the bedsheet. The duvet had been cast aside and the bed was empty. Now you didn’t feel quite so blissful because sat on the pillow, his pillow, was a pink post-it note reading:

Darlin

Gone to the studio

Luv ya!

You smiled at the sentiment before reminding yourself that this was now a common occurrence. Therefore, you rolled your eyes and flopped back down onto your pillow.

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

A week later and you’d come down with the flu. For the best part of three days you were practically comatose on the couch: wrapped in a duvet, high on paracetamol and binge watching American Horror Story. You had hives blotching your body, moments when your vision would blackout and extreme skin sensitivity, as well as the usual symptoms. Dom had given in to your demands that he not see you until you were over the worst and you suppose, in some sense, he was grateful you were holed up at home because it meant he could burn himself out at the studio without your physical interference. Not that he didn’t care, he maintained constant contact and care for you…just from a distance. He’d given you what you asked for and you were especially thankful as it gave you the perfect opportunity to discuss a family visit with Sam.

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

“Love? You home?”

“Yeah, just in the bedroom.”

“Whatcha doin?”

“Dominic. Baby, you know I love a cuddle but I’m trying to pack…”

“What we packing for? Are you leaving?”

“Oh, stop it, if I was leaving would I pack your boxers? I’ll tell you right now the answer is no. We are packing to spend a couple days with your parents.”

“But I got studio-“

“Uh- no, you don’t. That studio time never got booked. You can be as angry as you want but this is an intervention. You’re taking Christmas off. And it’s your mother’s birthday so…”

“Why? You understand how much this means to me.”

“Does it mean more to you than family? You’ve got to remember that everyone celebrates Christmas. Maybe Yungblud wants to be in the studio but don’t you think Adam, Tom and Michael might want to be home for the holidays?”

“I just…”

“I know, darling. I do. It means everything to you; we all know how dedicated you are and how much the fans mean to you. But take a second: close your eyes, breathe and look inside yourself. Dom, baby, you’re burning out. Please, please, just take a few days out with me.”

“I will, love.”

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

By late Christmas Eve you were back at Dom’s apartment. He’d enjoyed catching up with his parents and messing about with his sisters but had declined the opportunity to stay for actual Christmas Day because he wanted your first Christmas together to be alone and shamelessly romantic, or so his mother told you after the New Year. The entire journey to London was spent with Dom’s USB in the radio and him trying to find the lyrics to match the earworm he’d already recorded.

He then proceeded to spend the night on his laptop with headphones and composition software, only moving to sleep when you hauled him up and claimed that his present would be replaced with coal. He was out like a light. The second that boy sunk into the mattress he was gone. It made you frustrated because it proved that you were right. You loved him dearly, of course, but he was a stubborn bugger – absolute in the belief that he wasn’t too tired and too overworked so could continue his new routine. Idiot. Wouldn’t listen to reason or accept help and now he’s passing out to sleep instead of just sleeping like a log.

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

You were jarred awake to the tones of ‘Last Christmas’ by WHAM. You smiled beneath the blanket covering your face; it was Christmas. The mattress was empty next to you, again, but you knew Dom wasn’t far. And that he wasn’t working. With that reassurance in mind you burrowed deeper into the covers and allowed the gentle beat of the music drift you into a state between awake and sleep.

The floorboards began to groan but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes fully. A gentle thud sounded as something was placed on the stack of books by your bed. A kiss was planted on the crown of your head. The floorboards creaked and the door squeaked as it was left ajar.

You prised your eyes open and saw a steaming mug of tea atop your battered copy of ‘the Help’. A warm fuzz filled you as a sleepy smile emerged. Shuffling to sit by your pillow you reach for you tea, cradling it in your hands and resting it against your chest. The smell and warmth bringing immediate comfort to you; the steam felt therapeutic against the dry skin of your face – the English winter wind is brutal. You stayed curled up with your drink for the next half hour. Dom had evidently unearthed the Christmas album from where you’d hidden it and you had to admit the stream of festivity in your ears was making you light up. The children in the flat above yours were scampering about, letting out excited yells and being shushed by their parents; it made you think of how your future Christmases may one day be…

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

Once the dregs of your tea had been drunk, you made a move. Swinging your legs out of bed you hissed at the cold floor and reached for the oversized pink socks you’d smuggled out of the latest Yungblud merch collection. Deciding already that you’d need another layer, you found your favourite cardigan strewn across the foot of the bed. Now amply protected from the elements you ventured out of your bedroom towards the source of the noise.

You’d intended to make Dom aware that you were awake immediately but the serenity of the scene you walked in on made you freeze. Dom was filling the coffee machine, unloading the dishwasher and clearing surfaces for the midday bomb that would be two young adults pretending to adult and cook an entire Christmas lunch. The domesticity and thoughtfulness in his actions warmed your heart. What made you tear up, however, was the sight of his shoulders.

(And not just because his unzipped hoodie was sliding off his shoulder giving you a…view.)

As he bopped around the kitchen, all bent knees and dramatic wrists, the swaying flow of his shoulders was effortless. For months they had gathered tension and rigidity, and now it seemed he no longer held the weight of the entire world there. Dom suddenly began to spin, arms out and laughing. Your stomach swooped causing a bubble of laughter to escape. As ‘Christmas (Baby Come Home)’ played out he stared at you. Up and down. You got shy in the doorway. His boyish grin returned, with the full force of his teeth behind it.

The opening chord of ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ began and you could tell from the twitch of his lip that your moment of silent reflection was over. He swung the mug from your hand, while twirling you, to place it on the side before bringing you close. For the next couple of minutes, the pair of you jumped and dropped and lively slow danced until you were breathless, sweaty and giggling.

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

Dom collapsed over you: arms flung over your shoulders like dead weight, head resting beside yours and legs each side of one of your own.

“I’ve been in my head. I’m sorry.”

“Dom-“

“No, love. I went too far. Balance is hard for me cus I just wanna throw myself into everything 100% always but I neglected you and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Dom. I understand that about you; not just that, I love that about you.”

“The thing is, you might want to take that apology because it’s all I have to offer you today…”

You chuckled, “What more can you give me? These past few days you’ve given me the trust to make judgements for you. That means everything to me.”

“Well…you’re my favourite. And I’m going to keep you forever.”