#monday mornings fanfiction

[obeydontstray]

((I posted the original chapter forever and a half ago so I hope interest is still lingering for it. I FINALLY wrote a second chapter for my fic of Dr. Hooten finding an abandoned baby at the hospital. Originally it was only going to be two chapters, but eventually there will be a third. Sorry in advance for the emotional turmoil. Doubly so if you take my suggestion to listen to 'Are You Alright?' by Lucinda Williams as well.

I miss my nephews and niece terribly, one will be a middle schooler this year! They are amazing kiddos, but sometimes I miss them being itty bitty babies. Time really flies when there's kids involved))

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A noise roused Harding from the sleep he hadn’t noticed he had slipped into. The baby lay on his shoulder, one of her little hands grasping the lapel of his jacket like a lifeline as her soft breaths fanned against his neck.

Another knock sounded. “Come in!” He hissed. “Quietly!”

The door swung open and an olive-skinned woman with long dark hair stuck her head in. Harding held his finger to his lips in a ‘be quiet’ motion. She nodded and disappeared behind the door momentarily. Then she slipped into his office with a tall, dark-skinned cop behind her. Harding nodded towards the seats at his desk. “Sit. But quietly. Don’t wake her.”

The woman was the social worker he had been waiting on. She quietly introduced herself and then the cop, who nodded solemnly at Harding. Harding began telling them the entire story of his morning, from arriving at the hospital and finding the baby to the crew checking over every detail of her to make sure she was okay and finding no evidence or parentage, to being designated as her caretaker for the day since all the surgeons were busy today.

Towards the end of his account, the baby began to fuss. She mouthed his coat, tiny fists bawled up and smacking against his shoulder. Harding stood with the baby safely against his chest without missing a beat of his story and began making her a bottle.

“And that’s the story of how I ended up here, being abused by an infant,” he said loudly over the cries and thumps of the baby’s fists on his shoulder. She wailed and mouthed at his neck. “Wait a minute little one, I’ve nearly finished. I won’t let you starve.”

(Continued on AO3)

[illiana-mystery]

Here's a little something for my mutual @fabuloussisterofsin. Happy Reading!

Cycle of Care

Plot: After another long day in the OBGYN unit of Chelsea General Hospital (he's a gynecologist in this fic), Harding arrives home expecting his usual greeting from his beloved girlfriend and the smell of dinner welcoming him in. However, tonight, he receives neither usual welcoming gestures. Confused, he goes upstairs to investigate to find his dear love sick and weak in their bathroom. So he takes it upon himself to take care of her and make her feel better after her own long day of battling the first bout of her period.

⚠️ This is an 18+ fic with mild NSFW content. Minors do not engage. 🔞 Thank you. 🙂

Taglist: @goodoldcharley , @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @braindead94, @curbitkirby, @freddiefredfive, @writingkitten, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

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“Honey, I'm home,” the older man called from the front corridor as he put his briefcase to the side and hung his coats on the rack nearby.

He waited for your normal response, but to his surprise, it was silent.

He scratched his head in confusion, realizing that you were nowhere in sight.

Swiftly after, he noted that the lights were off in the kitchen and the living room.

That was even more peculiar.

You were always in one of those two rooms when he got home. And you always greeted him after work, especially on long nights like this.

And it was a very, long night.

He made you aware of that, as well as his growing annoyance with all of his fellow OBGYN's at Chelsea General Hospital at the time.

It worried you.

But you did your best to calm him down via text.

You kept sending him videos of apex predators being strong and steadfast in the wild. That, in turn, gave him the confidence and energy he needed to get through the rest of his hellish shift.

So he expected you to welcome him with big, open arms and a nice dinner as soon as he made it back home.

But nothing.

Still, he made his way upstairs to see if you were there. It didn't seem like the house was disturbed in any way and your car was parked outside.

So you had to be upstairs, right?

His inquiry was soon answered as he took his last step up to the top floor. In an instant, he heard you loudly throwing up in your shared master bathroom before the toilet loudly flushed after.

Harding was puzzled. He wondered if you were sick or if it was your monthly gift.

It made more sense that you were just sick, since you never threw up during your cycles.

But then again, you had started a new birth control he prescribed for you, so maybe that was the culprit.

Calmly, he walked into your shared room and then pried the bathroom door open to find you curled over the toilet still hurling into the bowl.

You had been in that same position for longer than 5 minutes and although you felt like you threw up all the remnants of your stomach lining, you still felt the urge to vomit more. So you didn't leave that spot.

However, your eyes did move over to your boyfriend. You felt horrible seeing how concerned he looked.

You could just tell his heart was aching from seeing you in such distress. It was clear as day in his dark eyes.

“Honey, are you okay?” he asked, before you threw up again.

“Hardy,” you started after you picked your head back up. “Babe, I'm fine. I promise. Just some menstrual sickness. I'll be okay.”

“You never have to vomit,” Harding swiftly replied. “This has to be a side effect of the new birth control I put you on.”

“Oh, right,” you responded. “Well, it'll pass. I trust your judgment. I like this birth control so far. If this is the only side effect, well that's fine with me.”

“Right,” he groaned. “How long have you been at the toilet like this?”

“About five minutes,” you admitted. “My period started this afternoon and you know how bad my cramps are. So I was resting, although this new birth control seems to make my cramps not as bad. Anyway, I guess I overslept and didn't have time to cook your dinner. I'm sorry, babe.”

“That's alright. I can warm some leftovers. That doesn't matter right now. What matters is you. Your dysmenorrhea is my main concern right now,” he clarified. “Is it just your normal cramps and this little side effect that's been bothering you today? Is that it?”

“Yes, I promise, Hardy. You don't need to worry about me. I'm okay.”

He wiped his brow in relief.

“Okay, good. I'm glad these new pills are helping your cramps a little, but I hope you won't be throwing up like this frequently. I guess we have to see throughout your cycle what happens,” he started. “But looks like you're done for now, so leftovers will have to wait. Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”

“We don't have to eat leftovers, Hardy,” you assured him. “That Thai street food place is still open til midnight. Just call it in. I'll get my usual.”

“Okay, but after we shower,” he specified.

“Aye, aye captain,” you teased.

He chuckled, before walking over to you and giving you his hand. You took it and he helped you back on your feet.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said back, giving you a sweet kiss on your cheek. You blushed, before he bent down lower and gave you another kiss on your neck.

“Hardy,” you cooed. “What are you doing?”

“Just because I can't kiss your lips right now, doesn't mean I don't want to kiss you at all,” he explained, as his hands moved to your clothes.

Gingerly, he took your tank top off before swiping your shorts and panties off too.

And when he glanced at your bare body, he couldn't help but lick his lips.

Sure, he had seen you naked plenty of times, but your natural curves and soft skin always made him go mad.

You were just so beautiful to him. It made him go crazy every time.

“Damn. You take my breath away every time I see your bare skin.”

You giggled, before blushing.

“Oh, you,” you chirped. “Now it's my turn.”

He snickered, before you moved forward and removed his bowtie. Once discarded, you began to unbutton his crisp work shirt and quickly threw it to the side to expose his peak form you loved so much.

Oh his titties and little paunch looked so nice under the bathroom lighting. And his little tufts of chest hair really were a nice garnish to his natural look.

But you had to see him bare like you were.

It wasn't enough to just see his glorious chest.

You wanted to bask in him, even if you couldn't have sex like you wanted to right now.

“Still admiring me?” he asked, thick eyebrow cocked up.

“When am I not? You're so damn handsome.”

He blushed before asking in a cocky tone,

“Are you gonna take off my trousers and boxers? Or will I have to while you watch?”

“I'm capable of taking off the rest of your clothes and admiring you at the same time,” you huffed as you began to take his pants off.

He just laughed, but loved the look on your face when you saw his unclothed, resting cock.

Well, it was half mast, but still a sight to behold to you.

It still amazed you how nice his cock was and how much his girth made up for his average length.

He had a nice, thick penis and he knew how to use it. And you were ever so grateful, especially on nights like these where he wanted to fuck his stress away.

You were so tempted to at least touch it, just to give him some sexual satisfaction. But to your surprise, he smacked your hand away.

“Oww, what was that for?”

“I don't need you to do that for me. I'm fine. Now let's get in the shower. Tonight, I'm taking care of you. Sex can wait until your cycle is over…that means any and all sexual activity.”

“Yes, Hardy,” you groaned before you followed him into the shower after he started the water.

After manureving to stand in front of your big and tall boyfriend, you sighed in relief as the gentle caress of warm water coated your aching body.

Harding always knew the right setting to put the shower spray on and tonight was no different. It felt like the soft pour of rain deep within the Amazon, and it was heaven to you.

He took notice of your euphoria, smiling at the sight of your content.

Your smile and the way your face would turn red at the slightest compliment or touch always warmed his heart.

He never liked to see you down or hurt or sick, so seeing this change in demeanor really helped him calm his worry for the moment.

“Relaxed?” he softly asked.

You nodded, running your hand through your now damp hair.

He lightly chuckled, before suddenly asking,

“Are your breasts tender?”

“A little,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I forgot to earlier,” he clarified. “Allow me to help with that.”

You giggled, before the blush on your face exposed how excited you were for him to touch and massage your breasts.

Because you knew he wasn’t JUST gonna massage your breasts.

And you were proven right, yet again when you felt his soft belly against your back.

You mewed, before he bent down and began to track his lips down your jaw and into your neck. His gentle kisses made you feel all warm inside, before he finally moved his hands over to your bosom.

Gingerly, he rubbed the tips of his index and ring fingers on both hands against your nipples, moving them in a circular motion.

You bit your lip, trying not to scream at how good it felt. Harding was more than aware of how sensitive your nipples were, being your gynecologist first and all.

The memory of you moaning audibly when he gave you your breast exam during your first appointment with him still made both of you giggle.

“Still so sensitive,” he whispered against your shoulder he was now kissing. “Just like the first time I touched you there.”

“Yeah,” you hummed. “Your fingers and hands just feel so good.”

He chuckled.

“That's what made me fall in love with you,” he admitted.

“Really? You never told me that.”

“I guess I never wanted to admit it. But we've been together for a year now so might as well be honest. I never thought I would fall in love so quickly after my wife died. But then you came into my office, you beautiful ray of sunshine. My angel, sent to me from above. Your smile, your laugh, your timid voice, it all just sent my soul ablaze. I'm just glad you gave an old man like me a chance.”

“Oh, Hardy. I love you,” you hummed. “And I don't care that you're older than me. You know I like older men. You've been a heaven sent to me too. You're the best gynecologist and boyfriend a girl could ever hope to have. And between you and me, I've never had orgasms as good as you give me.”

He snickered before blushing himself.

“Thank you kindly, angel. I love you too,” he assured you with a quick kiss to your cheek.

His hands moved up to your soft flesh after, and gently he knead your boobs between his strong and sturdy hands.

You moaned loudly as he did so, leaning more into his belly as his massage became a little firmer.

“Still feels good, angel?”

“Yes, yes, Hardy. Please don't stop.”

“I’ll keep going for a little longer. But I have to address your cramps soon too,” he explained. “Looks like you don't have any lumps though. That's good.”

You laughed.

“It's not a breast exam, Hardy. You're always on, I swear.”

“Nothing wrong with checking on your breast health while I’m making you feel good,” he remarked.

“I guess you got me there,” you relented, before he slowly removed his hands from your breasts. “Thank you, Hardy. That felt so good.”

“You're welcome, angel,” he quickly replied before he took the handheld shower head off of its stand and angled it at your stomach and midsection.

“What are you doing?” you asked, annoyed that the water wasn't falling down on you anymore.

“Handling your cramps,” he swiftly said, before his thumb pushed the nob down and made the water spray out a little heavier and a bit faster against that skin.

“Ooh, okay. That feels really good,” you moaned, making Harding give you another cheek kiss.

“I know, love. I'm just gonna run this over your abdomen and midsection for a couple of minutes. Let me know if I need to change the speed or the temperature.”

“Okay,” you cooed.

He only snickered in response, keeping the shower head in his left hand while his right hand held your waist steady.

His hand holding your waist also moved in circles, gingerly tickling your skin there. It made you giggle and he gave you a sweet neck kiss after.

“Okay, you want me to run the water on your tummy a little longer? Or are you ready for me to wash your hair and body?”

“I'm ready for you to wash me,” you replied. “I miss more of your touch.”

He snickered in your ear.

“I'll wash your hair first,” he whispered, after he put the shower head back on its stand. “I want to take my time washing your beautiful body and praising it like I want to.”

“Okay…daddy…”

“What did you call me?” he asked, his voice oozing with intrigue.

“You heard me…daddy.”

He sinisterly snickered before pulling you closer to his paunch again.

“I'm gonna tear you up in 5 days,” he warned with a kiss to your ear and jaw. “But until then, I'm gonna make you squirm and beg for Wednesday night to come.”

“Oh, daddy,” you whimpered, as his teeth grazed your sensitive spot on your neck. He nibbled down, making you jolt a bit before you moaned in ecstasy.

“Sexy temptress,” he moaned, before he moved his head and hands from you.

You whined, but turned your head to see him gathering your shampoo in one hand as his other hand pushed down the pump.

“I'm coming,” he said when he saw you looking his way. “Be patient, little grasshopper.”

You giggled.

“Okay,” you playfully moaned before you felt his shampoo slathered palms moving around your scalp and hair.

His firm, big hands always felt so nice moving the shampoo around.

It was the most pleasant head massage.

“Rinse,” he instructed you before you ran your head right under the shower again and let the shampoo run down your skin and down the drain.

As you were doing that, Harding gathered some conditioner the same way as the shampoo.

You both met halfway again after and soon he was working the conditioner into your hair.

He was even more thorough, knowing that your conditioner of choice made your hair even more smooth and silky than it naturally was.

Because he loved touching and admiring your hair. It was one of his favorite ways to show affection to you other than the neck kisses and bites he always gave you.

“Okay. I'll let that sit while I wash you off,” he told you. “Would you like me to bathe you with your lavender wash or cucumber melon wash?”

“Lavender, please,” you answered.

“Your wish is my command, angel,” he replied, before he put some of the liquid on your favorite purple loofah.

He started moving the loofah against your back, making sure to make his fingers slip from the material so it could graze your back.

You whined at the teasing touch, so he began to kiss every area his fingers and loofah traced.

And to your delight, he got on his knees to playfully smack your ass before he moved the loofah over and kissed right where he smacked you.

“Oh, daddy. You're so naughty,” you teased to get a reaction out of him.

“I'll definitely be Wednesday,” he promised as he got off his knees.

He turned you around after, fully intending to wash off your breasts first.

He was gentle though especially when he got to your pussy.

And his kisses felt even nicer as he went on while you were facing him.

“Okay, you can rinse again,” he told you after he got back up on his feet again.

“Yes, daddy,” you teased again, as you did as he said.

Once you were done rinsing your body and the conditioner out of your hair, you returned the favor by washing Harding off with his favorite Old Spice gel.

He was practically mewing at your soft touch too, since you let your fingers slip past the loofah like he had. And you gave him many many kisses upon his body as well.

You just had to show him how much you loved him and appreciated his care.

“That was quite a shower,” Harding said after he turned the water off.

“Yeah, it was. But I'm hungry now.”

“Ditto,” he replied. “But let's get dried off and dressed first. Then I'll order dinner.”

“Sounds good to me,” you said back, following him out of the shower.

As expected, Harding insisted on drying your body and hair off before he dried himself off.

Then, of course, he also dressed you in your favorite pajamas once you put some new pads and panties on.

You threw your now dry hair into a bun after, while he got into his own pair of favorite pajamas.

You stared intently, but he didn't notice until he pulled his pajama pants up. Then he chuckled once he noticed.

“Like what you see?”

“Of course, handsome,” you said, reassuring him with a warm hug.

“Angel, you're too kind,” he said, his face turning completely red. “Now let's get you to bed. I'll order our food after.”

“Okay,” you hummed, rubbing your head against his arm.

He chuckled again, kissed your forehead, and then led you back into your room.

Without hesitation, you crawled to your side of the bed and let him tuck you in before he gave you another kiss upon your cheek.

“Take it easy, angel. I'm gonna go back downstairs, order the food, and wait for it while you rest up here.”

“Sounds good to me,” you chirped, before he left you, snickering all the way downstairs.

Luckily, you weren't by yourself in bed for too long. Between Harding ordering the food and him waiting for it, it was about 25 minutes of wait time.

And when he made his way back upstairs, you got really excited because you could hear his loud footsteps.

You smiled as he made his way back into the room. And you noticed that he had a tray with two bowls and two tea cups in his hands.

“Dinner is served,” he announced. “I got us Pad Thai to share, some roti bread, and green tea. I just wanted some tea, but I figured that you could have some too. It does help with cramps.”

“Aww, Hardy…thank you!,” you said as he came over to your side of the bed and placed the tray down by your feet.

Carefully, he gathered the teacup and put it on your nightstand before he handed you your bowl he topped with the roti bread.

You grabbed it and smiled at him, then watched as he moved the tray over to his side to get his bowl and teacup.

And once he got his self straightened out, he got closer to you in the bed.

“You can eat now, angel,” he said after he noticed you hesitating. “You don't have to wait for me.”

“I know. But I wanted to,” you clarified. “Thank you for making my first night of shark week better. You always have a way of picking me back up.”

“Funny, I could say the same,” he said with a hardy chuckle. “You're welcome, though. Guess this night wasn’t a complete bust on my end either.”

You giggled, before you leaned against his arm.

“I love you so much, Hardy. I'm so glad you're off tomorrow so you can take care of me more.”

He laughed.

“I love you more, angel. I'm glad to be off too. Because there's no patient I rather be with and care for than you,” he assured you...

...making you blush even more.

[bluedalahorse]

I know what my own thoughts are, so send me your saraugust AUs and canon divergence ideas where they have more than a snowball’s chance in hell of working out.

[bluemallow-log]

TALES FROM THE ACKERMAN ESTATE

Chapter 22: Autumn Foliage

Icy breeze, shorter daylight, and falling leaves.

Link: AO3 (10k words)

Notes: HEYA, I'M BACK GUYS! I might get a bit distracted by other stuff while working on this chapter but nevertheless, it's finally here!

Click here if you want to read from the first chapter: AO3

Synopsis: A young governess, Hange Zoe, is hired to teach Mikasa Ackerman, the young cousin and ward of the owner of the great Ackerman Estate in Trost, Levi Ackerman. Their bad impressions of each other alongside the polar opposite of their personalities shall make it impossible for mutual affection, and yet they inevitably find themselves to be dangerously intertwined with each other. [Levihan Victorian Era AU]

[writingsofhubris-a]

Portrait of a Lady

↞ | ← | Master | AO3 | →

Ch 3. With 'I have saved this afternoon for you'; Rating: E WC: Tags: Lovecraftian Monster(s), Human/Monster Romance, Oviposition, Tentacle Sex, Cancer Ship: Harding Hooten/Reader Disc: You'd met Harding elsewhere, even though you'd never talked for more than a few minuets. When you'd stopped into his emergency room, when you'd visited Chelsea, you found yourself looking at a man you'd known only in passing heading your care. He'd led you through tumultuous questions, opened up as easily as any of the surgeons could open up a person. Somehow, you'd been drawn to Harding, and he was willing to take you up on your offer.

"You're right." Jolene looked you over before standing up, and selecting a dress from the bags she had brought. She always knew just what to pick for your outfits, even if it meant she had shown up with  a needle still in the thread and fabric needing to be finished gathering. She liked to dress you like a doll. 

"Alright, this is a new pattern we're trying at the store. Flares just a bit different than you normally like, but who cares?” She turned to show you the outfit; a number that would cling to your body in just the right places, in just the ways you would like to draw Harding’s eyes.

"I'll let you know how fast he drops to his knees." Jolene laughed as she pushed the dress into your hands, turning from you to start to look through your scarves. 

"Let's see how it fits!" You turned from her, and did just so. A perfect fit, as the clothes often were. By the time you had turned around once more, Jolene already had the selection of accessories. Cool tones in the jewelry grabbed onto the rich purple accents of your dress, and the dark violet scarf made from silk.

"Look at that!" She walked over, just to slide the one zipper in the dress up, and attach the necklace. "He's going to lose his mind for you." You bit your lip as you looked into the mirror, sucking a nervous breath in through your teeth. Jolene wrapped her arm around your body and smiled in the mirror. 

"He'd better not know what hit him." 

"Oh, no way he will." Her hand moved over yours, dropping a bracelet into your hand. She moved behind you, folding and settling your scarf over your head, covering the fuzzy coating of hair on your scalp.

"I hope this goes well…" 

"It will." Jolene moved to your side. Looking at you in the reflection. "I know it will. You look beautiful."

"Thank you." 

The taxi took you right to the front door of the restaurant. Already, the light was gone from the sky, thick clouds threatening to spill over with rain gathered on the western horizon. Too familiar to you, you were certain that you saw rays of light just on the edge of the clouds. The distinction was faint, yet noticeable. 

You forced a deep breath, knowing you were stalling. Looking down at your phone, you started to text Harding to let him know you were here. Yet, right as your thumb hovered over the send icon, your name echoed around the road, just before a car passed by. Turning, Harding walked up the dark sidewalk, trademark bowtie nestled under his chin.  

“You look beautiful.” Harding’s eyes moved over your body, looking at the finery coating you. He took a moment before forcing himself to motion with his hand at the doorway. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes.” His hand moved to your elbow, guiding you into the restaurant, filled to the brim with finery. 

"Do you remember the first time we met?" It took a moment for the memory to find you.

"Didn't Tina spill wine on you?" 

"At the end of the dinner. I was lucky enough to have my dark suit jacket that night." 

“Not unlike the last time we dined,” you had to chuckle. 

“No, my luck ran out the other night.” His own chuckle complimented yours in the din of the restaurant. The conversation naturally continued, finding subjects from one moment to the next, a river of topics spinning into a whirlpool.

“Hopefully for the last time.” 

“Indeed.” Your conversation was disrupted by the waiter, walking over at last to introduce herself. The conversation continued, topics flowing with ease, jokes exchanged faster than expected. 

“No, I’m afraid I’ll be taking a work trip in just a couple months.” 

“And your destination?’ “A tour, honestly. A list of towns, all along the coast.” A small wiry smile appeared on your lips. “I’ve had a book accepted by a publishing company. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to do this tour or not.” 

“You just published? Congratulations; perhaps champagne is in order.” 

“A celebration of some kind, at least.” You hurried to take a bite, forcing a natural break before he could ask the next question. 

“And what sort of celebration is that?” His smile was good natured, clearly ready to hear some silly, expected desire to celebrate. You allowed your hand to turn the fork over in your fingers, playing with the side you had just taken a large bite from. Phrasings warred for just a moment, and your eyes stayed low on your plate. 

“A sort of celebration I think wouldn’t be appropriate with my doctor. At least not my current doctor.” In a moment of bravada, your eyes scanned over the tables around you, before landing squarely on Harding. “And I don’t see my current doctor here in the restaurant.” Harding reached forward to take a sip of his water, wetting his throat as he seemed to be thinking. 

His dark eyes flicked back up to you, an edge in them that you hadn’t seen as the doctor you’d grown fond of, in and out of his care. 

“This celebration… Would it be appropriate for a friend you’ve made during your social time?” 

“That would be the preference.” You took a bite of your food again, and continued. “Would you mind helping me celebrate, Harding?” 

“I would be honored.” 

Once more, his smile returned, and a wave of lust shook through your body. That kind, beautiful smile. It made you want to surprise him one morning with your mouth on him, just to see his smile as he looked down at you. You had to look at your plate, embarrassment rushing you. There was no way he would be able to know what it was you were thinking. There wasn’t a single possibility he could have seen the ideas that had spawned in your head, not at this point, but you swore his eyes darkened even more, that the smile on his lips was just a little hungrier for you. Lips you were certain were softer than the words that would fall. 

Even when dessert came and went, chocolate and fruit shared between the two of you, your words continued to hold double meanings, entandres. Harding would allow himself to tease you just the same as you were teasing him; tongues flicking out to taste stray drops of chocolate, your fork full of fruits guided directly into his mouth, daring actions of those trying to flirt. The charged air only found more charge until the last moment, the dinner paid for and your chairs finally pushed in. 

Ever the gentleman, Harding guided you to the sidewalk just outside, but hesitated before hailing a taxi. Harding’s large body turned to yours, a small smile on his lips. 

“I don’t suppose I could invite you for a nightcap.” 

You were right, in a way. Harding's lips were gentle, even when his hands were hungry over your waist. Something about the way he almost devoured you made you crave his touch. 

Harding's hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging your hand to his shoulder. Your palm landed on his suit jacket, before sliding between it and the vest. The fabric was so very soft, sandwiching your skin. Your other hand went to the buttons on his vest, hurrying along to open them before either of your coats were off. You were both so hungry for the other, the food from dinner only having sated your stomach. 

Harding’s large hand moved to your hip, pulling you closer to his body. His vest and coat were pushed off, landing on the rug under your feet, ignored nearly as soon as it was shoved off him. His bowtie was the next article you focused on, tugging on the tongue of the tie, pulling it off with a soft slide of silk. 

The moment of pause was all you two needed to slow back down, the first hit of contact sated. Instead, your hand went back to his throat, and slowly opened up the buttons of his shirt. You felt when Harding swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing against the back of your fingers. 

The hooked fingers you had in his clothing was enough leverage to guide him closer, tilting your faces to meet, but stopping short. 

“Where is your bedroom, Harding?” 

“Up the stairs, and to the right.” You used your leverage to pull him closer, taking a step up his stairs, still facing him. Your faces were closer, and you finally took that kiss. It was sweet, a foil to the passion you both needed to release. 

He didn’t allow his hands to stay idle, moving back to your hips, thumbs brushing firmly over the dips he found. There was strength in his hands, strength you’d grown to know in the time he’d been your doctor. Strength you were hoping to get to know now as a lover. 

Your lips parted again, both taking a short breath, shared air mixing between you. 

Your hand took his hand from your hip, and turned to guide Harding up the way he had instructed. It wasn’t until the top of the stairs that Harding took a larger step, pressing his front to your back. It was at that moment his hand took your wrist, sliding up from the hold you had just had. His lips pressed to the back of your neck, a tail of your scarf caught between his body and yours. His free hand ran over the side of your body, down to the hem of your skirt. You were fleetingly glad Jolene’s design was short enough for Harding’s hand to slide along your thigh, his palm covering a swatch of your inner thigh. His thumb, pressed against your crotch, felt the warmth that had built up. 

“Just from being teased?” His knuckle slid slightly, just to feel just how wet you had gotten. “Just from sitting across from you?” His lips pressed to your neck again. 

“Can you blame me?” Your hips hitched forward, sliding against his hand. With his positioning against you, Harding took to guide you into his bedroom. You would have taken the time to appraise his room, but you were concentrated on the bed that was right before you, one that looked very comfortable and inviting. 

Harding’s body guided you to the edge of the bed, facing the expanse. Instead of guiding you to bend over, he instead moved to undo the knot of your scarf. The slight stiffening of your shoulders wasn’t lost on Harding, either. 

“Would you like to leave this on?” Instead of allowing him an answer, your own hands moved to the soft fabric, the fuzzy growth on your head already hiding the fresh scar on your head. 

Harding’s lips moved to the back of your head, pressing a kiss against your short hair. His lips moved slightly, then pressed another kiss to your hair again, repeating the action until his lips started down your neck, and your shoulder. His fingers moved to the tab of your zipper, and allowed it to slide down, showing off your back to him.

“Beautiful.” 

“Think so?” 

“I know so.” You allowed a small curl of your lips, and Harding slid off the sleeves, guiding your dress to the floor. It was caught between your bodies until you leant forward, your elbows taking your weight. A shimmy of your hips to shake off the dress, and you turned over on the mattress, showing Harding what you’d picked out for the night; a deep purple bra and panty set, a splurge from just a few months ago. It hadn’t been given an opportunity to be shown off, either. 

Nerves were well piqued, his dark eyes looking over your body behind thick rimmed glasses. His barely opened clothes were more debauched than you’d ever seen from him, and you already wanted to see more skin, feel his hands over you again. 

The pause was enough to entice hunger into Harding. He pushed you into his bed, slowly enough for you to lower yourself onto the mattress from your elbows. He took the opportunity to move his hands to your knees, spreading you open. His hand moved to your thigh, pressing your leg up to your chest, before it slid down to the crotch of your panties.

“You look breathtaking,” Harding murmured, his hands rubbing your calf. Your free leg wrapped around his hips, trying to tug him closer. He lowered himself to his elbows, hovering over you for just a moment before pressing his lips down to your neck, his head dipping down to your collarbone. Harding managed to pull your attention only to his lips, only to his hands running over your body, only to his warmth over you. He was skilled, and if you were lucky, you’d find yourself in his bed often again.

His lips were on your breast, fingers pulling the cups aside, sharp teeth running over your skin, before his lips settled over your nipple. It was impossible to not arch up into him, to take that suction and make it even more pleasurable. The tip of his tongue flicked over you, until his lips pulled away with a soft pop. Unwilling to waste time, his lips simply took the other nipple, fingers rolling his saliva into your areola. You weren’t going to let him take complete control, and used the leg wrapped around his hips to pull him closer, grinding into your crotch. You could feel how hard he was through his slacks. 

“And you were teasing me about being needy.” Once more, your hands moved between you two, pulling open each button on Harding’s shirt. The fabric pulled away to show his stomach covered by a white tee, an undershirt impeding your goal. 

“So I did…” Harding’s lips pulled from your nipple to kiss over your sternum, his teeth nipping the side of your breast. The thin skin bloomed in pleasurable pain, pulling a whimper from you. 

“Get this off, Harding.” The teasing tone fell slightly from your voice, that same need coming back full force. “I want to feel your skin under my hands.” Your fingers took the hem of his shirt, tugging up and out of his belt.

Idly, you hoped he’d use that on you one night… If you remained that lucky. 

“As you wish.” Another kiss to your sternum, and he leant back. He watched as your hands moved over your body, distracting him from his goal. You were successful for only a moment, his hands stilling as he watched your fingers disappear in your panties. 

“Hurry,” you whispered, daring him to follow through and ravish you more. “I need to feel you.” 

“You’re a bloody minx,” he judged quickly. His shirt was off as he leant his head down, his lips trailed over your stomach, landing on the band of your underwear. His lips pressed kisses along the edges of your underwear, before sliding his hands from your knees to your hips, sliding under the purple fabric. “How long had you planned this?” 

“You’ll have to keep guessing.” 

“And has your plan followed how you decided?” 

“So far it is… Your tongue was doing something else by now in my plan.” Almost as a reprimand for your cheeky statement, Harding’s teeth once again found your skin, a tiny bite that was more shock than it was pain. A yelp, and your hips canted into his face better. 

Harding at last let his lips move to the apex of your thighs, kissing along the edges of the gusset. Your breathing stilled, until he slid his tongue along the side of the fabric, eating to his content. Your immediate cry was insistent, a shock to you as he dug his tongue into your hole, before slipping further into your cunt. Harding was skilled at sucking on your nipples, but he was a master at playing with his tongue. 

“That silver tongue doesn’t just end with words, huh?” Harding didn’t respond with more than a light pinch on your hip. Your laugh broke into the quiet of the room, pulling in intimacy that you hadn’t realized you needed. It was easy to let his tongue work your clit from there; circles and flicks, clenching down onto nothing. Each swipe made you feel more empty than before, more excited to feel him inside you. 

His middle finger slid into your pussy, finally giving you something to tighten around, something to get a little bit more pleasure. Only a few thrusts of his finger and he slipped in his ring finger as well, curling them both into you. 

Your thigh was wrapped around his head, and with just a couple slight humps against Harding’s face, you finished on his tongue. Expert as Harding could be, his skill showed in pleasure that radiated from his tongue, his fingers. Your muscles relaxed just enough, drunk on the rush of pleasurable chemicals. Your moans echoed slightly, but Harding didn’t allow you to put your leg down. He used his hand to guide your calf to his shoulder, forcing you open for him; you couldn’t close yourself even if you wanted to. 

“An absolute minx to cum that beautifully,” Harding reiterated. “Tighten that much on my fingers; you knew what you were doing to me.” He shifted enough to reach your lips, and let your leg fall to wrap around his waist, much more comfortable for you both. 

Your lips met, and you could taste your own cum on his mouth, letting your tongue slide against his for the moment. Intimacy, a connection that you were certain he needed as well. 

Yet, when Harding stopped, you were worried. He pulled away, and looked to the side for just a moment, as if thinking. 

“What is it?” Your hand was on the back of his head, gently brushing the short hair to get his attention again. His eyes drifted closed for just a moment, before pressing one more kiss to your lips. 

“Stay.” His instruction confused you until he pulled back, getting off the bed. 

“Harding…?” You started to sit up, before his hand was back on your chest, pushing you back to the bed. 

“Listen to me, pet.” A nod, and you watched as he moved to a drawer just far enough away that it felt impractical. When he turned back, you saw his goal; a box of condoms. 

Harding was back on bed in just a moment more, finding himself pulled down onto your body, leg wrapped right back around his waist. 

“Anything else? I’m so awfully ready for you.” You knew he could feel the back of your hand on his cock as you rubbed your clit. His lips took yours, losing track of time. His underwear was pulled down, and you finally felt the flesh of his dick on your skin. He was hot, stiff, and you needed to feel him stretch you out. 

You took a foil packet from him, and put it on his prick, letting a couple of strokes settle the condom on him. 

“Ready, my dear?” His deep brown eyes met yours. His dark eyes only held lust for you, drinking you in with his strong gaze. You nodded, moving a hand to his waist. 

“Fuck me, Harding. Please, I need you.” He didn’t let you beg any further, the head of his dick moving to your hole. He leant down, hand still guiding him further in, and kissed you. His tongue dipped past your lips just as his dick pressed into you,taking both your lips and cunt at the same time. He swallowed the moan of pleasure, taking his time for his hips to become flush to your body. 

Harding’s face moved to your shoulder, at last breaking the kiss. You felt a nip of his teeth again, a small bruise already ready to form. His teeth were sharp against your skin, the pain steep. 

“Harding…” Your hips swirled, trying to push his shaft into you. “Move, please.” 

“Just…” His lips pressed a spattering of kisses along your shoulder. “I just need a moment, my dear.” His deep breath made you realize he was enjoying himself just as much as you were. A little shocked, you couldn’t help playing with fire. Your fingers moved to the back of his neck, getting his attention as your legs wrapped around him, holding him in you. 

“Take your time, Harding. I need your cock, I need to cum on you. You’re splitting me open, it’s just what I needed… You feel perfect.” Your lips pressed to the side of his head, half whimpering and half moaning for him. You must have flipped a switch in him, as Harding guided himself up enough to look over your body. His hips slowly started to move, letting your body adjust and spread, relax and accept him in. His hand moved to your cheek, and slipped his thumb into your mouth, letting you suck on something. Your eyes closed as you let out a moan around him. One of your hands moved to his wrist, ensuring it couldn’t move from your skin. You only allowed his hand to move to your neck, a very careful, controlled pressure against your throat.

Harding watched you carefully, admiring the way your eyes rolled back in your head, how you tightened around his cock, just allowing you to enjoy the feeling of him pulling pleasure from your core. Each thrust, each ragged breath from the two of you was music. 

Music that didn’t conclude until early hours of the night, after countless orgasms and moments of respite in each other’s arms. Nearly half the condoms in his modest supply had been used, and you were both coated in cum and sweat. 

Harding had guided you to his bathroom, his shower, and taken care of every inch of you from there to the bed. 

Never before did you expect to find your way down Harding’s stairs, each soft tap of your bare feet showing just how timid you did feel. Your hands pushed the cuffs of Harding’s shirt up your arms, checking once more that the shirt was buttoned. Unsure of which way to take, you let your nose guide you; cooking eggs and toast, you were certain of it. 

You searched your way through the turns and the curves, from the entryway to the living room, a hallway that amplified the scents from the kitchen. Each room you walked through showed a new side of Harding; art from artists you were shocked to see hanging in his house. The Rothko at the hospital was one thing, but the artists you were seeing now couldn’t compare. Local legends, long since past, international, forgotten painters, the abstract colors and shapes expressing emotions you would need hours to properly appreciate. 

You had stopped in front of one painting, a dark canvas that spoke to some deeper emotions in you. Your fingers extended to it, not daring to touch the delicate strokes, but only to feel a closeness to the pain. Whatever the painting was, you knew you’d have to ask Harding about it, one day. 

You only made it a few more steps before stopping, recognizing the strokes on this canvas. It hadn’t been the piece he’d told you he’d bid on; this was a much smaller, and more intricate piece. Washes brought layers into the sky, the bird in sharp relief as you’d remembered those wings. You still remembered the morning; a trip to a small town in years past with your mothers, the sun rising against the sea and a flock of birds, rising suddenly over the edge of the hill. It was sudden, breathtaking, and still emboldened in your mind. 

You finally allowed yourself to move into the kitchen, just around one more turn and through an archway. Such a richly furnished house seemed reminiscent of the man himself; a warmth hidden in the secret parts of himself. Parts of him that only select people were allowed to join, parts only he decided to share. 

“Good morning,” Harding greeted, voice clear to speak to the time he had already been in the kitchen for, the time he had been up for. You took in his dressing gown, deep blues with perfect accents of dark yellow. It fit him well, and you could see the edges of a nightgown under the lapels and hem. 

“Good morning,”You responded, suddenly feeling underdressed. 

“Did you sleep well?” Harding took the few steps up to you, the mug that had been in his hand set to the table near you. You looked at him, inches away. 

“Better than I expected,” You returned, looking down now at his dressing gown, taking in the stitches, the accents. Your fingers moved to the sash, just resting against the folds of fabric. “Other than feeling a little underdressed compared to you.” 

“And I thought the robe I’d laid out was obvious.” Your soft chuckle bubbled out of your lips, and you looked down to the side of you both; the mug he had set down. A black coffee. “Do you take cream or sugar?” 

“No, not normally.” A sip of the drink, and you softly hummed your appreciation as the liquid warmed you from the inside. You took the chair at the small table nearby, allowing Harding to return to his task. Silence proliferated between you two, the soft hiss of food cooking on the stove, and bird calls streaming through the windows with the sunlight. 

Another sip of the coffee, and Harding’s voice rang out. 

“Did you hear that bird? That clanking type call?” He fell silent for a moment, and you listened to the call, suddenly hearing it with his instruction. 

“I think so.” 

“It’s quick.” Harding moved from the stove, only to stand next to you, gesturing out the window next to you. Looking out the window brought you the view of a birdfeeder, a muted sunflower yellow. Perched upon the rest was a small bird, small enough to fit into the palm of your hand. You saw its head flick a couple times, before its mouth opened, offering that trill again. 

“That is the Song sparrow. That specific one has been here for a few weeks. My bird feeders have given it no reason to move on.” Looking further out, you saw a wide assortment of feeders, ones Harding must have installed for just this purpose. 

“It’s lovely,” you had to respond, before looking up at him. He’d gotten just close enough that when your head tilted, you saw a mark on his neck, something that must have been a result from last night. You had to look away, keeping yourself from leaning back up. 

“How long have you been watching birds?” The conversation once more picked back up between you both, turning conversations as if they were pages in a book; smooth transitions that allowed for tangents to be explored, all whilst Harding finished cooking breakfast for you both. 

It hadn’t even taken ten more minutes before Harding was setting the food in front of you both, just on the table. Fresh fruits in a small bowl to the side, a simple omelet, and a top off on your coffee, all of it smelled amazing. 

“I didn’t know you could cook this well, Harding.” 

“Breakfast is my specialty.” That smirk, one that spoke to how confident he was, once more adorned his face.  

Harding looked cute as could be, sitting at his own spot next to you. He was holding his own utensils as he dug into his own plate, the eggs slowly disappearing. 

“I had a lot of fun last night,” you suddenly said, taking a sip of your coffee. The flavor flooded over your tongue, robust and warm. “I’m glad that you invited me back.” Harding’s smile spread, looking at you. Without missing a beat, his hand reached out to cup your cheek, simply holding onto you for a moment. You sunk into the moment of tenderness, eyes closing and a soft sigh fanning over his wrist. 

“As did I,” Harding replied, his voice soft. You pressed a kiss to his inner wrist, and looked up at him. The thoughts from last night, of waking him with a blow job, again drifted into your mind. Harding was already up, so perhaps you couldn’t have that exact experience. Yet, you knew that that robe had easy access to him. 

Your elbow hit the fork he’d offered you to eat with, clattering to the ground. A perfect excuse, one you were going to take. 

“Let me-” 

“I’ve got it.” your hand moved to his forearm, pinning him to the table. “You made breakfast, I’ll get this.” You offered a laugh, and pushed the chair back from the table, kneeling down on your knees to disappear under the table. You saw the fork not even a foot under the table, easy grabbing, but you turned to your left instead of your right. The tie to his robe was front and center, until your fingers took the edge of the tie, and tugged. You knew Harding could tell what you were doing when he stiffened. One of your hands moved to his knee, and slowly spread it open, allowing you to get closer in the small space. 

Harding’s curiosity had clearly gotten the better of him, allowing you to slide your hand up his thighs, taking hold of his half hard cock. Your tongue first touched his cock, licking and sucking to get him fully hard. He slowly hardened, filling your mouth. You started to take him deeper, once again familiar with the feeling of being filled. 

His soft moan fell from over the table. It was enough for you to slide your fingers between your legs, finding a wetness you’d expected. It seemed he was able to arouse you so long as he was in you in some way. 

You swallowed around his cock, urging his shaft further down your throat. Eyes closed, you shoved your lips further down, rubbing your tongue along a vein on his cock. 

“Just, ha, like that my dear,” Harding couldn’t help the moan, his hand moving to the back of your head. His hand forced your head to stay as close as you could manage it. Another swallow, and the last inch of Harding’s cock disappeared into your mouth, humming around his shaft. It was a stretch to feel him so deep. Your hand, slicked with your own juice, slipped to rest on his testicles, playing with them only for a moment, before Harding’s balls drew up and his cum splashed down your throat. His groan was loud in the quiet room, fingers lacing with the short hairs at the nape of your neck. 

His hips stuttered forward just an inch, letting the feeling of your mouth rush through his body. 

One last swallow around his cock, and Harding gasped nearly painfully, sliding you off his shaft. His chair noisily slid back, giving him the room to look down at you, kneeling in front of him. His dark blue robe framed his body, thighs still open by your shoulders. Your lips moved to a patch of skin, kissing him before following his body, carefully pulling yourself back from the floor. His hand once more moved to your head, but cupped your cheek first. He managed to guide you closer, and press your lips together. It was just for a moment, and you could taste just a bit of the food he’d eaten on his lips. 

“You’re proving to become an enigma,” Harding at last proclaimed, releasing your face from his hand. You took your seat again, looking at his small smile on his lips. It looked as natural as his eyes blinking, smiling at you. A sip of coffee, and obvious, fake sign of innocence from your transgression, his cum mixed with the warm liquid spreading over your tongue.

“Time will tell if you can figure me out, won’t it?”

[tllgrrl]

The Marks by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Sarah Wilson | Rated: T / SFW

Summary: “What…did you…tell the boys…about those bites, Sarah?”, he says very slowly, between each searching, searing kiss. “Tell me, please?”

It’s one thing to explain about a scar or a bruise from when you do superhero or fishing boat stuff.

It’s another thing to try to explain something like a bite…from when Mom & Dad are having their own “Playtime”.

* * * * * * * * * *

“James…?”

There he was, at the desk in his room up in the attic.

It’s like a study. Bookshelves filled with books, a few framed photos, and some shelves of vinyl LPs.

And there’s a wooden table with a refurbished record player on it.

A wardrobe is on the other side of the attic space, against the wall opposite the bed. There’s also a dresser, a full length mirror, a wall mirror, and a chair.

The king-sized bed is under the skylight, so he knows where he is if a nightmare wakes him.

One of Sarah’s headwraps and her kimono robe are hanging on the bed frame at the foot of the bed.

He also has a sleeping bag on the floor. Just in case.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Breakfast is almost ready…”

“Sure thing.”

He looks over his shoulder, away from the laptop and schematics on his desk, and sees the almost sheepish smile on her face. Like she’s embarrassed about something.

Something that she’s not completely embarrassed about.

“What’s…that look? OK. What happened?”

“You happened. Last night. Remember?”

“Mmmmm…sure do.”

He smiles and his eyes do a quick tour of her. She’s sexy as hell even in some oversized secondhand men’s jeans and, what he knows by its colour, an almost scandalously tight tank top she’s wearing under one of his old dress shirts that has a hole in it…from a bullet fired at him during a shootout in Madripoor where, after that mission, he half-heartedly swore to Sam he’d never return.

“It was nice.” He grins, leaning back in the chair. “Especially when you did that thing where your hips—“

“Yeah, no. This is about the thing you did.”

She was looking at the floor, then she looked up and caught his eyes.

And she smiled, then bit her lip.

Which made him put down his pen, and turn his chair around to face her.

“Sarah…if you ask me if you can give me a hypothetical, I will lock us in this room…and do things with you…breakfast, lunch, and dinner be damned.”

They both laugh.

“I was giving the boys their breakfast, and they saw these…”

She shows him the inside of her left forearm, and also where her neck meets her shoulder.

Even from where he’s sitting he can see that those are his teeth marks, upper and lower, as well as bruising.

“Cass’s mind, of course, went straight to Werewolves. AJ? Vampires.

I had to stop myself from telling them that Cass was the closest, because the White Wolf’s story isn’t mine to tell, sithandwa. It’s yours.

They asked me what happened…and…I…I told them…”

“What did you tell them, baby?”

“Well…I…” she looks away from him. “I…” She drops her head.

“Sarah?” He’s now smiling at her embarrassment. “Close the door.”

She turns, quietly closes the door…and locks it.

When she turns back to face him, he’s about 3 feet away from her.

(How…?! He was way on the other side of the room! How?!?)

“Sa-raaah…” He takes a step, picks up her left hand and pushes the already rolled sleeve up further to reveal her arm, and the obvious bite mark shaped like two crescents, surrounded by bruising, visible on her otherwise flawless deep brown skin.

He hisses and looks up into her eyes, and sees that she’s…

(She’s blushing.)

“Aw, baby.…” He kisses the bite, lightly licks it, and kisses it again. Then he runs the back of his metal hand gently over her left cheek, pulls the shirt collar away from her neck, and sees the same type of bite marks near her shoulder, these too, surrounded by bruises.

“Sarah…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“I was putting their plates down, about to reach across for the syrup, and I pushed the sleeve up so it wouldn’t…and I wasn’t thinking about it until I heard Cass gasp and drop his fork.

Then AJ pointed at me and said ‘Mama, are you hurt?’ He saw just the edge of the bruise on my neck. Thank God I pulled the collar closed before he saw the whole bite and started yelling for Sam to come look—“

“Well…what did you tell them? That I’m a werewolf?” he chuckled.

He took off his shirt, unzipped his jeans, pulled them down…and there, on his left side, and on his upper right thigh, were two bite marks, and bruises that looked like they were fading as she watched.

She shakes her head, feeling herself wanting to laugh partially because she’s embarrassed at the thought of her kids seeing evidence of adult��particularly their Mom and Dad’s sexual shenanigans, and partially because her partner in said shenanigans is standing close…really close.

He pulls his pants up and puts his shirt back on.

“And so, my question remains unanswered.”

“I…told them…I…Okay…”

“Saaa-raaah”, he coos as he takes another step closer and his chest is a couple of inches away from contact with her body. “Tell me, baby.”

“James…”

“Yes…?”

“I need to go back downstairs. I have…there’s oatmeal cooking—“

“SAM?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“CAN YOU KEEP AN EYE ON THE OATMEAL? SARAH’S IN THE BATHROOM.”

“Sure thing.”

“THANKS!

There. Now...” He closes the last inch of space between them, bends his knees a little, then pulls himself up to his full height, dragging his body against hers while pressing her back into the door, his hands flat against the wood, one down by her waist, the other up by her head.

“You…were saying?” he says softly, into her ear.

“I…told them…well, I said to them..that…” she whispered, panting.

‘You’re stalling…” he said, eyes twinkling mischievously, “but you know me. I can do this all day.”

He kisses her…and kisses her…and kisses her, his tongue rolls across her teeth and sweeps across her tongue…and he pulls her bottom lip into his mouth…

“Tell me, baby. Use your words…” he says, now also rolling his hips on her as he tries to pull the words out of her with his mouth.

She feels her focus start to telescope down to where all she is aware of is his mouth having its way with hers, and how she could easily beg him to have some mercy and please use that mouth of his on other parts of her…but…

“What…did you…tell the boys…about…those bites…Sarah?” He says very slowly, between each searching, searing kiss. “Tell me, please?”

“Ohmygod…” she says into his mouth, gasping for breath, and giggling.

“I told them…that you’d explain it to them.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Originally posted HERE on AO3 about 2 years ago. Happy Fic Birthday.

[willinglyghoulified]

In my FF, my sole survivor, Gwenora Rose, goes to find Nick Valentine with Codsworth as her companion. Codsworth is pretty durable, so when she inevitably runs out of bullets,Codsworth has to do all the fighting for her.

Gwen is an ex bankruptcy lawyer who struggles a lot with having to kill people in order to survive, always reminding herself that Nate should have been the one to survive and find their son because he was better equipped. “It should have been me, I should have been the one holding Shaun that day,” is what she keeps remind herself. As for how far she’s come by the time she finds Nick, she’s a terrible shot and runs out of bullets often, and her arms are weak and untrained so she prefers small guns. She quickly realized that she had a long way to go before she got good at this kind of thing, but that didn’t stop her from going to find Nick. And Nick is... well, surprised that she made it this far without dying lol

Excerpt from my fic below. Story here.

(Excerpt from Book 1, Chapter 7)

Nick stopped dead in his tracks. “I just realized -- did you come all the way here without a gun or something?”

“I had one, I just ran out of ammo.”

He shook his head. “In every gun in that bag of yours, you ran out of ammo?”

I looked down at the heavy bag of mine and nodded.

He walked over to one of the bodies on the floor, bent down, and rummaged through their pockets. “See here,” he explained, “you can find all kinds of loot. Bullets, Stimpaks, chems, cigarettes, even more guns.”

“Looting the dead? Wait... I don’t know...”

“I know it sounds sketchy, but it’s them or you. And they sure as hell ain’t using it anymore. Now take this gun.” He gave me a machine gun that still had nearly a full chip. He shoved some ammo into my hand as well. “Now you won’t be a sitting duck. Let’s go.”

The gun was still warm. “W-Wait, I don’t know how to use this one,” I objected.

“You point and shoot,” he said over his shoulder. “Do I need to remind you which end the bullets come out of?”

[glxthoughts]

the natural evolution of the commedia dell’arte is fanfiction. thank you.

[allylikethecat]

I did it!! I finished the next chapter of You Know Where the City Is! I'm going to do another read through and post it tomorrow 🥰 Thank you so much for everyones patience!

[tazelll]

do you want more angst and pain abt ahsoka and rex burying the 501st post order 66?? THEN LOOK NO FURTHER THAN THEMANOFMANYFANDOMS’ DUST AND SMOKE!!!!!!

[obeydontstray]

Started a fic for Harding Hooten from Monday Mornings.

Harding finds an abandoned baby at the hospital and is left in charge of it during the day. Part 1/3.

[luvrodite]

HALLWAY CRUSH JASON TODD (college!au)

↳ he's your boyfriend, but you've still got a massive crush on him

Four long, boring hours loom ahead of you when you walk to campus on Monday morning. Lectures all packed closely within the same building, on the same floor, you dread the day. Winter leaves your hands numb as you walk towards the building you’ll be spending your time in today, and you curse yourself for forgetting your gloves, sticking stiff fingers into your pockets.

There is only one other person in the lecture theatre when you walk in, sitting off to the side. You offer them a polite nod when their eyes meet yours, and continue up the stairs to take a seat, thankful for the warmth in the room. The both of you are early, and it’s quiet in the room as you take out your things, the faint smell of something lingering in the air, not entirely unpleasant, but peculiar in the way of old lecture halls. 

It’s this smell you have to endure for the next two hours. When the hour draws closer to 9 and the rest of the few students who actually bother to show up to lectures in person begin to trickle in, you’re already fighting off a yawn and wishing you’d gotten coffee from one of the vending machines in the lobby.

You switch your phone on and off, peering down at the lockscreen fondly. The black and white photobooth strip stares back, three rectangular photos stacked atop each other. The dark haired boy in the picture winks through the pixels at you, and you hide a grin. When your professor walks in and begins to set up, you tuck your phone away, finding a bit of comfort in the pretty smile of a lover.

It only lasts so long, however, and you’re soon back to staring grumpily at a set of slides and fighting back tears at the strength of your yawns–you’ve gone through so many in the last twenty minutes it’s getting rude. It isn’t his fault, your poor old professor, that he speaks so slowly, or that you’re not made for morning classes. After yet another yawn, you rub your eyes tiredly, trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

The text comes through in the middle of your lecture, an hour into the history of corporations, and you flick your gaze down to the bubble that appears over your lockscreen. Your boyfriend’s contact photo accompanies the message, and you bite back a grin, reading the two words.

>> look up

Confused, you glance up to the door of the lecture theatre that looks out into the hallway, propped ajar with an old textbook. In the background, your lecturer takes a question, and you really should be listening, but you’re wondering whether the message was actually meant for you and then–

Jason, stupidly handsome, and bright eyed, walks past the door, peering in and grinning when you make eye contact. You just about jolt in your seat, unable to contain your own smile when he glances at your professor and shoots you a cheeky wink. Idiot, you think fondly. 

He’s gone before you can blink, leaving you to return to the class once more. Only, how can you, when you’ve got to settle your silly little lovesick heart, grinning like a fool? 

>> you’re so pretty baby

And just when you think you’ve got a handle on your heart, the butterflies spring forth anew with his next text.

i had to sit in the same lecture theatre for FOUR hours today can you believe. anyway made eye contact with everyone walking outside because i was so tired and i just kept imagining this stupid (affectionate) boy walking past and timing his text so you'd see him when you look up. because this is fanfiction. and i can make him do that!

this is separate from the last college!au piece but you can imagine it to be set in the same au if you want! i just think boyfriend jason in a college au is something that can be so special

[ambrossart]

Out of the Loop

summary: eddie went home with someone after prom, and gareth is determined to figure out who it was.

pairing: eddie munson x dwm!reader word count: 11k warnings: language, new relationship, eddie's girlfriend is gareth's arch nemesis, silly childhood rivalries, eddie being happy and stupidly in love, jason being an overprotective ass, chrissy being an adorable little cupcake, the reader is chrissy's best friend, the unnamed freak is named grant in this series

series masterpost | series playlist | fanfiction masterlist

On Monday morning, Gareth peddled to school like a man on a mission.

Nothing was getting in his way today, not his mother, who had accidentally washed his Hellfire Club shirt with all his little sister’s dance clothes,

“You know what, honey, I think it looks better this way…”

not his sister, who had been hogging the bathroom all morning because she couldn’t get her hair right,

“Look, you don’t understand the pressure I’m under right now. Becca Singer is finalizing her birthday party guest list today. I have to look my best if I wanna make the cut.”

not the weatherman, who was painfully misinformed when he called for clear, sunny skies today…

and certainly not the piece of crap Chevy that just cut him off in the middle of the crosswalk.

Gareth swerved out of the way and kept on peddling. The rain pelted his face in a spray of ice-cold bullets.

Behind him, the driver yelled, “Hey, watch where you’re going, you little shit!”  

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because Gareth was sitting on a goldmine of information right now. It was truly the scoop of the century. Eddie Munson—that’s right, Eddie “the Freak” Munson—had gone home with somebody after the senior prom.

Who was this mysterious (not to mention incredibly lucky) woman? A curious cheerleader desperate to defy her clique? A rich girl trying to piss off her dad? A shy bookworm who wanted to act out the plot of her favorite romance novel? Who? Who? Gareth’s head was spinning! The question hungrily devoured the rest of his weekend (something Gareth wasn’t too proud to admit, of course, but hey, Sundays were always uneventful days for him). He had to get to school quickly and consult his most trusted sources.

He found Jeff and Grant sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria. Grant was eating the school’s hot breakfast while Jeff sat with his head in his hands, lamenting the sorry state of his love life.

“Tara’s still not talking to me. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna dump me for Patrick McKinney.”

Grant put down his fork. “Wait, you two were dating?”

“No…” Jeff heaved a quiet sigh. “But if we were, she’d definitely dump me for Patrick.”

Grant frowned, sympathetic yet envious of his friend’s plight. “Man, I wish Meg would stop talking to me. She had me on the phone all night yesterday. I think she wants me to be her boyfriend or something.” Grant cringed at the thought. He didn’t have the strength to put up with her. He’d barely survived prom. 

“You don’t like her?” Jeff asked.

“Not really,” Grant answered. “I mean, yeah, she’s pretty and all, but as soon as she starts talking—”

Gareth slammed a wrinkled piece of notebook paper onto the table. The loud bang echoed through the entire cafeteria, making a few students gasp and flinch in their chairs. Jeff and Grant didn’t move in the slightest. This was typical Monday morning behavior for Gareth.

“What’s with the pink shirt?” Grant asked, unfazed. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gareth said. They had more pressing matters to discuss. He sat down and folded his hands in front of him, his blue eyes clear and focused. He wasted no time getting straight to the point: “Who’d Eddie go home with after prom?”

Jeff and Grant exchanged a subtle, secret glance.

“How do you know Eddie went home with someone after prom?” Jeff asked.

“Because I called him that night.”

“Why’d you call him?”

“Because I’m a good friend, unlike some people.” Nobody had called him asking how his night went. Gareth sat home alone on Saturday night, eating popcorn and watching old sci-fi movies in his basement, while the rest of his friends had a blast at prom. It wasn’t fair. “I wanted to check in on him because I figured he might be a little depressed after getting rejected by Chrissy. Because let’s be honest here, there was no way that Chrissy was ever gonna dance with him. You all agree with me, right? I’m not just being a dick here. Like, yeah, I know Eddie’s riding high right now because he thinks this year is his year and everything, but… yeah, he was aiming a bit too high with that goal.” 

“Can you get to the point, please?” Grant said. “My breakfast is getting cold.” 

“Well, multitask, man!” Gareth grabbed Grant’s fork and threw it back onto his tray. “What, you can’t listen and eat at the same time?”

Grant rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast. Gareth carried on with his story:

“So anyway, when I called him on Saturday, I expected him to sound all mopey and depressed, but he wasn’t. Yeah, Eddie wasn’t depressed at all. In fact, he sounded oddly… happy, but also a little bit distracted. You guys see where I’m going with this, right?”

“I hate that I do,” Grant said, struggling to enjoy his food.

“Well, that’s when I started getting suspicious. See, I could tell I didn’t have his full attention, and that’s just so unlike Eddie because he’s normally really good at maintaining proper phone etiquette. Weird, right? So then I got curious and I started listening, and… and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard a girl talking in the background.”

“Maybe it was just the TV,” Grant said.

Gareth shook his head. “No way… I know the difference between a TV voice and a live human voice. Someone was definitely with him.”

“Well, did you recognize the voice?” Jeff asked.

“No, I couldn’t hear well enough.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you’re sure it wasn’t the TV…”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t the TV, you guys. Wake up and smell the coffee! Eddie brought a girl to his house. He brought a girl to his house. She was with him in the room while he was on the phone with me. I could hear her talking. Then Eddie started acting really weird, said he had to go, and rushed me off the phone.”

“Gross,” Grant muttered, sickened. “Yeah, these are details I did not need.” 

Gareth’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Wait, do you guys think he slept with her?” and that was more than Jeff could handle.

He buried his face in his hands and said, “Please stop. I don’t wanna go to class with these images in my head.”

Grant shrugged. “Maybe it was just a one-night stand.”

Jeff threw him a sharp, side-eyed glare. 

“Just saying,” Grant finished, smirking.

“No, I seriously doubt it,” Gareth went on, completely unaware. “Eddie’s not really a one-night stand kinda guy… not by choice, anyway. No, I think this might be the real deal, you guys, ‘cause listen to this: I went to go see him yesterday. Eddie wasn’t home.”

“So?”

“So I think he was with her. I called him last night and asked him where he was all day. He said he was out running errands.” Gareth scrunched up his face at that, doubtful. “Since when does Eddie run errands? So I said, ‘What sort of errands were you running?’ He said he had to swing by the drugstore. I said, ‘Well, what did you need at the drugstore?’ but he wouldn’t answer that. Yeah, he was being awfully mum.”

“Mum?” Jeff repeated to himself, mystified by his friend’s bizarre word choice.

Grant said, “He was probably annoyed that you were digging around in his business. I know I would be.”

“Oh yeah, he was definitely getting annoyed,” Gareth said. “Then he cut the conversation short and told me he was stepping out for the night. That’s when I knew this was serious. Eddie doesn’t just ‘step out’ on a Sunday night. He hardly goes out any night. If he’s not with us, he’s sitting at home and playing songs on his guitar. Yeah, he was definitely with her last night.”

Grant sighed, hoping they’d finally reached the end of this long-winded story. “Well, I guess you cracked the case then, Gareth.”

“But that’s just it, I haven’t!” Gareth said. Grant let out an exhausted moan. “I still don’t know who this girl is. You guys swear you didn’t see Eddie go home with anybody after prom?”

Another secret glance.

“Nope,” Jeff said. “I didn’t see him go home with anyone that night.”

Gareth nodded, disappointed but not yet defeated. “Yeah, I thought you might say that. That’s why I made this.”

He gestured toward the piece of paper on the table. Jeff picked it up and read it over. Then he passed it to Grant so he could do the same.

“Okay, what exactly am I looking at here?” Grant asked.

“It’s a list of suspects,” Gareth said, a proud smile on his face. “Yeah, last night I compiled a list of every girl I’ve ever seen Eddie interact with at school, and then this morning I whittled that list down to what I think are the most likely suspects.”

“Not a very long list,” Jeff said.

“Really?” said Grant. “I was gonna say it’s too long.” 

They shared a little chuckle over that. Gareth glowered at them, unamused. He didn’t appreciate them making little jabs about their Dungeon Master’s love life, stagnant as it was.

“You know,” Grant began with ominous deliberation, “I can’t help but notice there’s a name missing from this list.”

Gareth's head snapped back in surprise. “Who?”

“You know who,” Grant said. Beside him, Jeff was holding in a grin.

A disturbing chill crept up Gareth's spine. Then—

BAM!

Your name cracked down from above like a fiendish lightning bolt, striking Gareth and making all the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. For a second, he could see your name so clearly. It loomed before him, ugly and terrible, festering with puss and crawling with maggots, getting pecked savagely by vultures and other scavengers. It made him retch with disgust.

“Oh, very funny…”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Grant said, “there’s no denying that she’s a likely suspect.” 

“In fact,” Jeff continued, “some might say she’s the most likely suspect.” 

“Yeah, maybe back in middle school,” Gareth said, “but Eddie hasn’t so much as looked at her in years.”

Except for that one time, he thought, remembering the mournful look on his friend’s face that day.

They were all eating lunch when your laughter suddenly sprang up from the other side of the cafeteria, obnoxious and shrill. Eddie glanced your way and his eyes darkened with such hollow sadness. It was as if someone had died.

But that didn’t mean anything, Gareth decided, so he shoved the memory away.

“All right, look, I’ll admit we lost him briefly for that one summer. I dunno how she did it, but somehow she got her claws in him real deep and he was completely under her spell. I won’t deny that. But then Eddie woke up and saw her for what she really is—an ugly green hag! At first, she appears as this beautiful, enchanting woman, but underneath that guise, she’s a wretched old witch who thrives on torment. Yeah, Eddie got over her a long time ago,” and Gareth refused to waste another thought on it.

He snatched the paper from Grant and laid it out in front of him. “Now, here’s what I’m thinking: if we split this up among the three of us, we can get through this list by lunch and then confront Eddie with our findings.”

“Yeah, we’re not doing that,” Grant said.

Gareth frowned. “Why not?”

“Because we already know who it is.”

Gareth’s eyes widened in surprised anger. “I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT! I knew you two were messing with me this whole time. Sitting there with your smug little faces. Making your little jokes. You know what, screw you guys, I don’t even want your help anymore.”

He stuffed the paper back into his bag, climbed to his feet, and stomped off.

Over his shoulder, Jeff said, “Shoulda gone to prom, man.”

Gareth paused, dejected. “Well, no one would go with me…” He pushed through the double doors and was gone.

Afterward, Grant picked up his milk carton and took a few slow slips.

“You know what,” he said thoughtfully, “Gareth should’ve asked Y/N to prom.”

Jeff chuckled to himself. “Well, she did need a date… Shit, should we have just told him?”

“No,” Grant said. “No, this is something Gareth needs to see with his own eyes.”

Now Gareth, his resolve reignited and burning brighter than ever, was prowling the senior locker area with his suspect list in hand. 

Let them keep their secrets, he thought. I don’t need their help. A lot of help they would’ve been, anyway. Yeah, I can solve this mystery all on my own.

And he would. 

Gareth was a fantastic investigator, you see. He could win a game of Guess Who? in less than five turns and had a lifetime record of fifty-three wins and only fifteen losses (such losses were unavoidable when you drew an easily guessable character like Anita. Ugh, Anita… with those rosy cheeks and annoying blonde pigtails. His little sister beat him in only two moves after that unlucky draw). Now Gareth would apply those same deductive reasoning skills to this. Ask careful, complex questions. Gather information. Cross those ladies off one by one.

There was only one problem: the girls at Hawkins High weren’t exactly forthcoming about their personal lives, especially when it involved Eddie Munson. In fact, most girls denied ever having spoken to the guy. 

Claire Dunnock, the most recent inductee into the popular clique, was being especially difficult.

Her blue eyes shifted back and forth anxiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and then leaned forward to make sure none of her new friends were eavesdropping. Claire had to be very careful. One misstep and she would slide all the way back down the social ladder. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.

Gareth sensed her unease. “Hey, relax,” he told her, “I’m not here to ruin your reputation, okay? This conversation stays between us. You have my word.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with that freak.”

“Hey, that freak is my best friend,” Gareth said. “And you and I both know that’s not true, Claire. I saw you get into his van that one—”    

Claire seized him by the arm and hissed, “Shut up!” Her eyes blazed with fearful, self-protective rage. “Look, that was a year ago, okay? I was a stupid junior who didn’t know any better. Eddie and I had a class together. I guess I got a little curious, but that’s it. We hung out once and I never spoke to him again.” Loosening her grip, she said, “Besides, he was nothing but a big disappointment, anyway.”

Anger flared in Gareth’s chest. “All right, that's it. I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you slander my friend.” 

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Claire said. 

Gareth didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Look, just answer my question, okay? Did you go home with Eddie after prom or not?”

“Of course not,” Claire answered, practically cackling at the thought. 

(Why were high school girls so needlessly cruel?)

“I went to prom with my boyfriend. I was with him all night. Ask anyone.” Claire swung her locker door closed, put her hand on her hip, and raised her eyebrows impatiently. “Are we done now?” She walked off to join the rest of her friends. 

Gareth glared at her back, his insides boiling with indignation and righteous fury.

You got curious and Eddie got his heart broken. Again. 

He crossed out Claire’s name with his pen. 

Two suspects down. Eight more to go. 

He tucked his pen behind his ear, turned, and suddenly the hallway froze over! Okay, that didn’t actually happen, but a bitter wind did blow. Gareth felt it on his face as soon as he saw you step out from around the corner. 

Coincidence? 

Doubtful.

You were wearing blue jeans and a Fleetwood Mac shirt. Yeah, you would like Fleetwood Mac, Gareth thought, scoffing. As usual, you were walking side by side with Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend since elementary school. She was smiling and laughing at one of your jokes. Laughing out of politeness, probably. Why you two were friends, Gareth would never know. Chrissy was sweet like cotton candy and you were so… so…

(evil, pure evil)

rotten to the core, like moldy fruit.

“I swear,” you said with a groan, “it’ll be weeks before your mom lets me into the house again. God, she’s such a prude. How was I supposed to know she was gonna invite the whole family over for Sunday brunch? At least I was dressed up for the occasion.”

Chrissy looked at you in baffled amusement. “You were still wearing your prom dress.”

“And it was a very nice prom dress. Your grandma even complimented it. She said it made me look like Madonna.” You weren’t too thrilled about that comparison, but who were you to pass up a free compliment? “Now your mom, on the other hand… man, if looks could kill… I probably would’ve choked on one of those blueberry scones she was serving, which were a tad overbaked if I’m being honest.”

Chrissy went to her locker and fiddled with the padlock for a second before opening it. You stood patiently beside her, the wall clock barely within view. 

It was a quarter past eight, you noted with a frown. Was Eddie here already or…? 

While hanging up her pink backpack, Chrissy said, “Yeah, she definitely had some colorful words to describe you last night.” 

You turned your attention back to her. “Your mom called me a slut, didn’t she?”

Chrissy didn’t answer at first. She was busy unloading her homework. While she was doing that, one of her fellow cheerleaders snuck up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and gave a cheerful, heartfelt hello. Chrissy hugged her and asked how her weekend was. The two chatted casually for a minute and then the girl went on her way. Never so much as glanced at you. 

“Umm, I believe she used the word harlot,” Chrissy said to you afterward. 

“Oh, she got biblical, huh?” Great, you thought, as if that woman didn’t despise you enough already. “You know, I don’t understand your mom. First I’m too fat to be your friend. Now I’m too much of a slut. That lady needs to pick a lane and stay in it… and then drive herself right off a cliff.”  

Chrissy threw you a friendly glare.

“Just kidding,” you said. “You know I love your mom. She keeps me grounded. Without her, I might develop a healthy self-esteem, and we all know how dangerous that is. Yeah, that might lead to confidence and success… perhaps even lifelong happiness.” 

Ignoring you (or pretending to), Chrissy started digging through her backpack again. “Dammit,” she said under her breath, “I think I left my pencil case at home.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Jason has a pencil for you.” You smiled inwardly—a willful, wicked smile. “Then again…”  

Chrissy pushed her locker closed, grabbed both your hands, backed you up against the lockers, and brought her face really close to yours. “Shut up,” she whispered in half-hearted anger, a rosy blush blooming on the apples of her cheeks. 

You took one look at her and busted out laughing. Chrissy started laughing, too. 

“I hate you so much,” she said, and released you. 

“I know,” you replied affectionately. “But see, this is why the whole situation with your mom is so funny to me. I’m the one who’s still a virgin, yet somehow it’s me who gets labeled the…” 

You spotted a familiar face down the hall. 

“Gareth?” You leaned toward him, squinting. “What are you doing in the senior locker area?”

The sound of your voice made him flinch. “Nothing,” he said, acting strangely defensive for some reason.

That’s when you noticed the piece of paper in his hand. You gestured toward it with your chin and said, “What’s that you got there? Is that a love letter? You finally asking someone out on a date? Will you go out with me? Check yes or no. Who’s the lucky lady? Wait, aren’t you a little young to be dating?”

Gareth hid the paper behind his back and glared at you. “We’re the same age.” 

“And yet I’m a senior and you’re a junior. Hmm, how did that happen?” You tipped your head and smiled at him. “You’ve got company, by the way.” 

“Huh?” Gareth stepped back and—

A hand landed on his shoulder, closed around his flannel shirt, and spun him around. Gareth jumped back, swallowing a scream. He was now standing nose to chest with Ben Jabruski, outside linebacker and two-time defensive player of the year. Eric Kordell stood beside him, smaller but no less intimidating. His brown eyes gleamed with feral, territorial aggression. 

“Get outta here, freak,” Eric said. 

Gareth squared up to him, unafraid. “Last time I checked this was a free country.” He wrenched his shirt out of Ben’s grip, careful not to tear his favorite flannel. It was a Christmas gift from his mother. 

While he was distracted, Eric reached out and ripped the paper out of Gareth’s hand. 

“Hey, give that back!” 

“What’s this?” Eric asked. He opened the paper and studied it for a minute. His expression went from amused to curious to downright furious. He crushed the list in his fist. “Why’s my girlfriend on here?” 

“Oh…” Panic shot up Gareth’s spine. He took a step back and let loose a nervous chuckle. “Oh… you must be Claire’s boyfriend. You know, I heard you two had a lovely time at prom.” 

He turned on his heel and took off running down the hallway. 

“Bye, Gareth!” you said, fluttering your fingers as he passed. Then you looked back at Chrissy with a smile. “God, I love that kid…”

You went to your locker after that, ignoring all the busy little voices, the occasional odd glance and stifled giggle you received from the other students. Chrissy followed with her first-period textbook cradled in her arms. 

“Just ignore them,” she told you. 

“I already am,” you said… but then you saw Sarah, Sally, and Stacy huddled around Stacy’s locker. Talking about their hair. Talking about their clothes. Stirring their black cauldron of boiling bones and animal guts. Sarah looked at you, whispered something to Sally, who passed the same message on to Stacy, and all three of them tittered gleefully at your expense. 

“Just ignore them,” Chrissy said.   

“I will,” you said, but first—

You whipped around and burst out: “So which one of you got knocked up after prom? My money’s on you, Stacy.” 

Chrissy, dismayed but secretly delighted, tugged gently on your right elbow. Before going with her, you tossed Satan’s mistress (AKA Stacy Raab) a snide little wink. Stacy rolled her eyes in disgust. 

“Stop it,” Chrissy said. 

“They started it.” 

“I know… but stop it. You’re better than that.” 

At the end of the hallway, you spotted Chance Gallagher standing in front of his open locker, wearing the same green letterman jacket that he wore when he asked you to prom six weeks ago. Chance closed his locker and caught your eye for a moment. Then he gave you a small, apologetic smile. 

What was he apologizing for? For asking you to prom, getting your hopes up, and then humiliating you in front of the entire senior class? You weren’t sorry he did it. In fact, you were glad he did it. Yeah, you wanted to go up to him, shake his hand, and thank him for being such a spineless little worm. If he were a decent guy, your night might have gone differently, and you were quite pleased with how your night went. So thank you, Chance. Thank you for being a complete scumbag. Maybe I should write him a thank-you note. 

Smiling, you turned back around. As you did, you stole another quick glance at the clock on the wall. 

Eight-nineteen… 

You sighed. 

… and now eight-twenty. 

“He’s running late, huh?” Chrissy said. You looked her way and she flashed you a sweet, teasing smile. “I know you’re waiting for him.”

A small flush of heat tickled your cheeks, threatening to set your whole face on fire. Resisting it, you grabbed your padlock and started spinning the dial: three turns to the right, one full turn to the left, another quick turn to the right, and

“Are you nervous about seeing him?”

you missed the last number and had to start all over again. 

“Kind of,” you admitted. “Is that weird?”

Chrissy shook her head, her smile growing brighter and brighter. “Nope, it’s totally normal and absolutely adorable.” Giggling, she hugged her book tightly to her chest. If her hands were free, she probably would have hugged you instead. “I’m so happy for you. I really, really am. I swear, I feel like my heart’s about to burst right now.” 

“Well, you should probably see a doctor about that.” 

Chrissy stuck her tongue out at you. You did it right back, popped off your lock, and pulled on the handle. The locker door swung outward, squeaking on its hinges, and almost smacked Chrissy in the face. “Hey!” she said, laughing. She stepped back, skipped around you, and planted herself comfortably on your left side.

“So did you see him last night?” she asked, practically beaming. 

“Nope.” You slipped off your messenger bag and hung it on the hook. 

Chrissy squinted at you suspiciously. “Why do I feel like you’re lying right now?” 

“I’m not lying,” you told her, only to be betrayed by your blushing face. “I didn’t see him last night… technically it was this morning.” 

Twelve-o-two, to be exact. That’s when you saw the headlights flashing through your bedroom window blinds.

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.  

“What? He just stopped by to say goodnight.” You smiled softly to yourself. “It was kind of romantic, actually.” 

“Uh-huh,” Chrissy said, laughing at you. “And how long did you two say goodnight?”

“Only for an hour… and a half.”

It was raining last night. You couldn’t invite Eddie into the house, so you two hung out in his van for a while. A very long while. W.A.S.P. was playing on the stereo. Eddie had found the cassette tape while cleaning out his van that afternoon. He was very proud of this accomplishment. It was adorable. He had you listen to a few of his favorite songs, asked you about your day, told you about his, and during “Cries In the Night,” he leaned over the center console and kissed you. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. The last thing you remembered was the horn blaring. You had accidentally pressed it with your elbow.  

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.

“Stop saying, ‘Oh my god.’ You sound like my mom.”  

She had said the exact same thing after confronting you about it in the kitchen this morning. Turns out, the car horn had woken her up. Then she caught you creeping back inside through the front door. It was an awkward breakfast, to say the least. 

Chrissy poked your shoulder playfully. “That’s how it starts, you know. Late-night visits. Long, drawn-out goodbyes. You two are gonna be inseparable this summer.” She breathed a long, lovesick sigh. “Jason and I used to be like that.” 

“You’re still like that.” 

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. 

“Speaking of…” You saw Jason Carver coming down the hallway, his pants ironed and creased, white collared shirt tucked in, a brand new Rolex glinting on his left wrist (an early graduation present from his father, apparently). He looked like a Ralph Lauren catalog model. “Is it weird that I’m picturing him naked right now?”   

Chrissy hid her face in embarrassment. “I swear to God, if you say anything…” 

“What am I gonna say to him? ‘Thank you for deflowering my best friend’? ‘I heard your penis is rather pleasing’? I don’t wanna talk to him about that. I don’t even wanna think about that.”

Prior to this weekend, you couldn’t even imagine Jason Carver having genitals. You always figured he was like a Ken doll down there. Nothing but smooth plastic.

Chrissy looked at you, mortified. “Why do I tell you anything?”  

“I have no idea,” you said. Then you checked the clock again. 

Eight twenty-three. 

Where the hell’s Eddie? you wondered, starting to get a little worried.

Jason’s arrival reclaimed your attention. 

“Hey, guys,” he said in that smooth drawl that made all the girls swoon. 

You expected to find him standing with his million-dollar smile, but he wasn’t. No, today Jason seemed different—humble, approachable, perhaps even a little shy. It was as if he’d reverted back to his ten-year-old self. Little Jason Carver, who could barely dribble a basketball. The boy who stammered when he introduced himself to the rest of the class. The boy who sat down next to you, smiled, and said he liked the character on your favorite shirt. The boy who talked to you every day. Encouraged you. Defended you. The boy you caught staring at your best friend way too many times to be a coincidence. 

Then you looked at Chrissy and she seemed younger, too. A blushing, fidgeting ten-year-old who always forgot to stand up straight. She got so excited when Jason offered to walk her home from school. He even carried my books!

Back then, your happiness for them had been counterfeit, complicated, but not anymore. Yeah, now you could say you were genuinely happy for both of them. 

This was still awkward as hell, though.

“Hey, Chrissy needs to borrow a pencil,” you blurted out, breaking their amorous trance.

A soft pink flush rose to Jason’s cheeks. “What?”

“Just ignore her,” Chrissy said, struggling to keep a straight face. 

Meanwhile, you punched Jason on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t forget about our deal, buddy.” 

“I haven’t,” he told you. “I’ll buy your lunch, as promised. It’s the least I can do.” 

“What if I want two lunches? And a whole plate of cookies?”

“Then I guess I’m buying you two lunches and a whole plate of cookies.” 

Jason smiled at you… but then his demeanor changed, hardening like armor. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You blinked at him. “Am I okay?” you repeated slowly, a little taken aback. “Well, I did wake up with a strange tattoo on my wrist. It’s like a crucifix, except it’s upside down. Weird… Also, I can’t be sure, but I think I might be dealing with a Rosemary’s Baby scenario. Yeah, I’m definitely gonna be giving birth to the Antichrist in about nine months. Buy something black.” 

Jason’s eyes widened in confused horror. 

“Oh my god, I’m kidding!” you said. “Eddie was a complete gentleman. He even asked for permission before he impregnated me with his hellseed. Naturally, I gave him the green light because… well, have you seen his face? It’s kinda perfect.” 

Chrissy put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Jason didn’t appreciate your joke. 

“Come on, be serious.” 

“I am being serious. Believe it or not, I actually find him insanely attractive. He’s like a discount version of Eddie Van Halen, and I can’t afford the real thing, so…” 

“So you actually slept with him?” Jason sounded disappointed and ashamed. He reminded you of your father. 

No, worse than your father.

“Well, no, I was kidding about that. I mean, I did sleep with him, but not in the way you’re assuming. And are you seriously gonna judge me for having sex? It’s been a while since I’ve been to church, but I’m pretty sure the bible condemns hypocrisy. You might wanna reread those sections. I think you’ll find them very enlightening.”

Jason ground his jaw in irritation. “Stop making jokes!” 

“I don’t want to,” you said finally, your voice breaking, “because then I’m just gonna get really, really mad like I’m doing right now, and I don’t wanna be mad at you, Jason. I was having a really good morning until you showed up.” 

By now, Chrissy had stopped laughing. Her shoulders drooped and she looked at you with a sick, sorry expression. 

Jason said, “Look, I just think you’re undervaluing yourself, okay? You can do so much better than that—”

“Oh, please don’t do that. Don’t try to talk to me like you’re my friend.” 

“I am your friend.” 

“Then be my friend, Jason. Stop trying to ruin my happiness!”

The school bell dinged and students began making their way to class. Jason went, too. Didn’t even bother saying goodbye. Chrissy told you not to worry about him. “Jason���ll come around eventually.” Then she smiled, waved goodbye, and ran to catch up with him. 

You weren’t half as optimistic as she was. 

This is gonna be a huge problem, isn’t it? 

You groaned, dreading it. 

Behind you, another wave of students came rushing down the hallway. Brittany Wirth was among them. You knew because you could hear her shrill voice piercing through the dull chatter around her. She was ranting about prom, complaining about the flowers, complaining about the food, about the music, about—

“YOU!” 

You flinched and turned around, thinking she was talking to you. 

What you saw made your eyes light up with glee. Brittany Wirth had Eddie Munson pinned up against the lockers, and she was jabbing him in the chest with her index finger. 

“You, sir, are a total asshole! Do you have any idea how hard I worked on that event? I was planning it for months, planning it to perfection, and then YOU had to go and make it all about yourself, as usual.” She stepped back and huffed, exhausted. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.” 

“I’m a little proud of myself,” Eddie replied candidly. 

Brittany shot him a deadly glare. “Oh, shut up!” She swept her hair off her shoulder and walked away.

You stopped her as she passed. “You know what, Brittany, all things considered, I thought it was a very successful night.” 

Brittany’s jaw dropped and got stuck like that, locked in befuddled rage. Not a single sound came out, but you could tell she was trying to speak. Was this it? Had it finally happened? Did Brittany Wirth actually crack? She worked her lips unsuccessfully for a minute and then closed them again, steaming in her hatred, screaming internally like a boiling teapot. She brushed past you and continued on her way. 

Then you heard Eddie approach you.  

“Did I really make the night all about me?” 

His question made you giggle. “A little bit.” You turned around with a smile, glad to see him, relieved to see him. “I still had a good time, though.” 

“Well, that’s all that matters,” Eddie said, but there was something in your eyes that made him frown with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, and blinked that silly little worry away. “Jason’s just being… well, Jason.” 

“I take it he doesn’t approve of me.” 

“Yeah, you’ve really got him clutching his bible. He thinks you’re gonna drain my blood and sacrifice me to the devil.” 

“Really?” Eddie said, his eyes widening in false astonishment. “Well, he just spoiled our next date.” 

“Oh, really?” you replied, giggling. “Well, I guess that explains why I’m still a virgin.” 

Eddie winced, looked down at his shoes, and grinned bashfully. “Okay, I walked right into that one.”

“Yeah, you did,” you said; and God, it drove you crazy seeing him get so flustered.

Kinda like last night, you thought, startling yourself, and immediately shooed that dangerous thought away. Now was not the time for that, young lady. You still had a full day of school to get through. Somehow.

“You’re late,” you said.   

“Yeah, I uh…” Eddie brought his hand to his face and started rubbing it. “I got pulled over for speeding.”

You gasped. “No, you didn’t.” 

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Prove it.”

Eddie pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to you. You opened it and immediately busted out laughing. 

“Oh, wow… going fifty-five in a forty-five.” 

“Eh, they went easy on me… I was going at least sixty.” 

“Wow…” 

“Yeah…” Eddie said, tilting his head. “The one time I’m in a rush to get to school.” 

His brown eyes sought yours and settled there for a moment, his lips curling into a tender, captivated smile. You smiled back helplessly, feeling girly, feeling giddy, feeling like you were probably grinning like an idiot right now. Embarrassed, you pressed the paper to your mouth in a vain attempt to hide it. When that didn’t work, you thrust the ticket back into Eddie’s hand and turned away, pretending to pull books from your locker. 

You felt along the spines like someone fumbling around in the dark. What class were you going to again? History? English? French? 

No, you weren’t even taking French.

You spoke to Eddie in a frazzled voice: “Well, since you’re not in handcuffs right now, I’m assuming they didn’t find anything when they searched your van, huh?” 

“Luckily, no…” 

“Good thing you cleaned out your van yesterday.”

“Mhm…” Eddie said, his voice seeming much closer than before.

Your roaming fingers slowed, then stopped, sliding all the way down the stack of books. With one more step, his presence had consumed you, making you blind and deaf to everything else, everything except Eddie. You could feel him standing next to you, leaning into you, his left hand outstretched and resting against the locker beside you. His voice sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Find what you’re looking for yet?”

You gazed into his eyes and got lost in them. “… I can’t remember what class I’m going to.”

You laughed at yourself sheepishly, senselessly, and saw Eddie crack a small smile: half amused and half… something else, something that brought you back to last night—that quiet, rainy night. Sitting in the dark and listening to music. Eddie humming softly beside you, drumming his right hand on the steering wheel, watching the tiny droplets race down his windshield. You sitting in your seat nervously. Fidgeting restlessly. Running your fingers over the plastic cassette case on your lap. Pretending to take interest in it while secretly watching Eddie out of the corner of your eye. Waiting for him to kiss you. Hoping he’d kiss you. Catching him staring at you with that smile… the same smile he was giving you now… right before he leaned in and…

“Ahem.” 

Another student appeared behind you, tapping her foot impatiently. “Uhh, can I get to my locker, please?”

Eddie drew away from you, embarrassed and a little frustrated, and took two giant steps back.

The girl assumed his place without a word, opened her locker, hung up her backpack, her jacket, grabbed her textbook and notebook, snatched a few pens from her bag, and closed her locker again. Before leaving, she motioned between you and Eddie and said, “So is this like a thing now?”

You caught Eddie’s eye for a second. “Uhh, yes,” you said while he fought back a huge smile.

The girl shook her head as if dizzy. “Weird,” she said, and left. 

Afterward, you turned to Eddie with a puzzled frown. “Wait, is it weird that I’m dating you or that you’re dating me? I need to know where I rank in this relationship.”

“Maybe you should ask her.” 

“Maybe I will…” 

Giggling, you stepped past him, spotted your locker neighbor at the end of the hallway, cupped your hands over your mouth, and shouted, “Hey, Carmen!” but you never got a chance to finish. Eddie had grabbed your hand and dragged you back to him, pulling you into his arms, putting you right where he wanted you, intending to pick up exactly where he left off.

The second bell rang before you could even feel his breath on your lips. Eddie closed his eyes tightly, as if pained. 

“I really hate that I have to be in school right now.” 

“Me too,” you said, staring up at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “We should probably get to class.”  

Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist and held you tighter against him. “Or we could just, y’know, skip first period altogether… since you don’t know where you’re supposed to be anyway.” 

He swooped down and placed a few chaste kisses along the side of your head. Blushing, you buried your face into his chest. 

“Are you trying to get me to cut class, sir?”

“No, just giving you options.” 

“Mhm,” you said, giggling. 

While you contemplated his offer, you traced your hand over the button pocket of his denim vest, feeling the fabric, flicking each of his treasured pins one by one: Judas Priest, Accept, Mercyful Fate. You found the W.A.S.P. pin last and focused on it, teasing it with your finger. 

“And then what?” you asked, lifting your head to look at him. “We go back to your van and finish what you started last night?” 

Eddie’s eyes brightened in surprise. “Finish what you started, if I remember correctly.”  

“Was I the one who started it?” You frowned, pretending not to remember. 

Meanwhile, your hand had drifted up to the collar of his leather jacket. You nudged it out of the way and started tugging along the neckline of his shirt, revealing a faint pink bruise on the base of his collarbone. Eddie winced as your finger brushed over it. You smiled softly, remembering how his breath hitched when your lips made the first budding mark, how he cursed and moaned while you planted all the others, his hands slipping underneath your shirt and sliding across your skin. 

“I may have gotten a little carried away…”   

“Yeah, you definitely did,” Eddie said, smiling at you.  

“I just really like W.A.S.P.”

“Do you?” 

“Mhm…”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he laughed. “Well, I still have the tape in my van. We can go listen to it right now if you want.” 

You bit your lip hard, unable to answer right away. God dammit, what had you gotten yourself into? You weren’t seriously considering his proposition before, but now…

“Go to class, please.” 

Now Ms. Kelley had come out of her office and was sweeping away the last few stragglers, you and Eddie included.

“I know we’re all a little sluggish this morning, but let’s start this week off strong, okay? There’s still another month before graduation. Don’t lose your focus now.” She looked at you and Eddie tiredly. “You two. Class. Now.”   

You sighed as you saw your window of opportunity close. Eddie peeled himself away from you and started down the hallway.  

“See ya later,” he said over his shoulder. 

“Bye,” you said back, hiding your disappointment behind a smile. 

Upon returning to your locker, you grabbed your textbook—the right textbook—and wedged it in the crook of your left elbow. While hunting around for the matching notebook and folder, you heard Eddie’s voice behind you again, catching you completely by surprise.

“Oh, wait,” he said hurriedly, “I forgot to tell you something.” 

“Hmm?”

You turned around and felt Eddie’s hands cup the sides of your face, drawing you in for a soft, sweet kiss. You closed your eyes, savoring it. A moment later, he broke the kiss and pulled away.   

“See you in third period,” he said, departing with a smile. 

It took you a second to recover from that. When you finally did, you clutched your textbook to your chest and smiled uncontrollably, tears brimming in your eyes, your heart racing, stomach fluttering, face glowing with pure, radiant joy. 

Under your breath, you whispered, “I hate so much that I have to be in school right now.”

Gareth, on the other hand, was glad to be in school today. Admittedly, his morning had gotten off to a rough start, but things were finally starting to look up for him, and now he felt like he was on the verge of a major breakthrough. 

Maybe. 

Hopefully.

But he didn’t wanna jinx it. 

In first period, Gareth snuck into the library and talked to Matilda Gunn: salutatorian, captain of the debate team, and the third name on Gareth’s list (his new list, of course; the original list was long gone, probably lying in a trashcan somewhere).

Matilda, anyway, was sitting at the back table and studying for her upcoming physics test. Matilda preferred studying in the library over her study hall class because she couldn’t stand the sound of her neighbor chewing and slurping his nails. She wasn’t too happy when Gareth pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. She was even less happy when he brought up Eddie Munson. 

“First of all, I’m offended that you would even think I would associate with that moron. I hate the guy. He ruined my GPA. Stupid group projects… God, I hate them!” Enraged, Matilda tore a random leaf out of her notebook and ripped the poor thing to shreds. Gareth watched her do it, horrified, and hoped there was nothing important written on that page. “You know, if I’d known he was gonna slack off like he did, I would’ve just done the whole thing myself. But no… I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I gave him the easiest task and he couldn’t even do that. He said he forgot about it. Said he was busy working on a campaign or something.”

“Yeah, he gets like that sometimes,” Gareth said. “Like last month, he spent the whole weekend learning ‘Master of Puppets.’ Have you heard that song?” 

Matilda shook her head, her eyes glazed with boredom. 

“Well, doesn’t matter. It’s a very hard song to play. That’s all you need to know. And Eddie became obsessed with it. He locked himself in his room all weekend and practiced over and over and—” 

Matilda pressed her hand to her temple and hissed, “Listen, junior freak, I don’t give a shit about Eddie Munson and his fucking guitar. Okay? Second of all, I didn’t even go to prom on Saturday. I was studying all weekend, studying for this test, and if I don’t get an A, I’m gonna hold you personally responsible. Now get lost.”

Gareth lurched back in his seat and felt his mouth go dry. 

(Once again, why were high school girls so needlessly cruel?)   

“Okay,” he said in a small voice. “I’m, uhh, sorry for bothering you.” 

He got up to leave. 

“Wait,” Matilda said with a sigh; then after a moment of careful, painful deliberation, she put out her hand. “Gimme your stupid list.”

Gareth held the list against his chest, protecting it. “You’re not gonna rip it up, are you?” he asked, observing the tattered remains of her last victim. “Because I’m getting kinda tired of writing all these names out.”

And some of those girls had really long names.  

“I’m not gonna rip it up.” Matilda’s voice was strained with frustration and fatigue, but there was still some warmth hiding in there, dimly glowing beneath the cold black coals of her heart. “I’m gonna help you narrow it down, okay? Otherwise, you’ll never figure it out.” She motioned impatiently with her hand. “Come on, hurry up.” 

Gareth handed her the list and she looked it over for a minute, vaguely amused.  

“Not a very long list,” she said while uncapping her highlighter with her teeth. 

“Well, Eddie’s very picky.” 

As he should be, Gareth thought. That man deserved the best.

(much better than you) 

Matilda snorted under her breath. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” She rolled her eyes, bent her head, and began marking up the list with her highlighter. Her hand was calm and controlled, each movement deliberate, precise, as to be expected of an advanced test taker. “Okay, she has a boyfriend… she, I’m pretty sure, has a girlfriend… boyfriend… boyfriend… boyfriend… she’s been out of town for a funeral… and she… doesn’t even live in this state anymore.”

She crossed off the last name and slid the paper across the table. 

Gareth gaped at it, speechless. “You just eliminated everyone.” 

Matilda shrugged. “Like I said, not a long list.” 

It was a major setback, the kind of setback that made you want to tear the whole thing to pieces, cut your losses, and give up. Gareth seriously considered it. He almost did it while sitting in his second-period class. 

But then an angel appeared. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel named Olivia Kent.

She peered over his shoulder during class. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked, sitting with her chin on her palm. 

Gareth considered lying, saying he was working on his assignment or something, but in his current state, he didn’t have the heart to deceive anyone, especially not Olivia, who was so innocent and kind.

“I’m trying to figure out who my friend went home with after prom.” 

“Oh? Who’s your friend?”

“Eddie Munson.” 

“Oh...” Olivia giggled a silly, unaffected giggle. “Yeah, he had quite the night.” 

Gareth turned around in his seat. “You were at prom, Livvy?” 

“Mhm! It was a lotta fun.” 

“And you saw Eddie there?”

“Sure. I saw him lots of times.” 

“Did you see him leave with anybody?”

“Sure did… I saw everything.” 

“You saw everything?” Gareth sat back, awestruck, and felt tears come to his eyes. This was it. This was finally it. This was the breakthrough that Gareth had been waiting for. An eye witness—a star witness—had emerged at last, willing and eager to cooperate. “Oh, Livvy, you beautiful, beautiful, heavenly creature, tell me everything.” 

“About what?”

“About prom, Livvy.” 

“Oh, you wanna hear about prom?” Olivia shrugged, smiled, and said, “Okay! Philip Cuthbert asked me. I didn’t think he was going to, but then he totally surprised me! I wore a frilly pink dress and matching pink heels. Phillip wore a dark blue tux and a black bowtie. I think it was black, but it might’ve been blue, too. Then Philip got me one of those really pretty flower bracelets… What are those called again? Oh, right, corsages! Anyway, we took pictures on the front lawn of my house, then we took pictures at his house, and then we took more pictures in front of City Hall. I don’t normally like taking so many pictures, but I didn’t mind so much in this case. It was a special occasion. Phillip said I looked very pretty. He was really nice to me all night. He held my hand. He bought me dinner. He got me some cake. I actually ate two slices of cake that night, but don’t tell anybody, okay? I was only supposed to have one. And then we danced and drank punch and we danced again—”

Gareth put his hand on top of hers, making Olivia blush and look at him in doe-eyed wonderment. “Livvy, I’m glad you had such a fun time at prom, but since class is gonna be ending soon, do you think you could speed things up and get to the part where you saw Eddie? Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Olivia said, smiling. “I saw him talking to Chrissy.” 

“Yeah, he went there to ask her to dance. I told him it was a terrible idea, but he refused to listen to me.” 

“Yeah, that was a bad idea. Why would he do that?” 

“Because Eddie’s a hopeless romantic.” 

“Really?" Olivia frowned, considering it. “He doesn’t seem like one.” 

“He hides it behind a mask of cynicism, and he hides it very well.” 

“Oh,” Livvy said, mystified by the concept. “Well, I guess that explains why he got up on stage then.”

“Wait, Eddie got up on stage?” 

Damn, Gareth thought, that’s actually really impressive. 

“Mhm! He gave this long speech and everything. My friends said it was really weird and embarrassing, but honestly, I thought it was kinda sweet. Super embarrassing, but sweet. It was kind of like a… hmm… well, I guess you could call it a love confession. I don’t remember what he said exactly, but it was really adorable, and normally I wouldn’t use that word to describe Eddie—you know, ‘cause he’s so mean and scary-looking—but at that moment, he really was adorable. Kinda like a puppy. And then he played Journey and—” 

Gareth’s head rocked back. “He played Journey? Eddie played Journey? Eddie doesn’t like Journey. Nobody likes Journey. Nobody except…” 

(you)

Gareth’s eyes widened. His stomach plummeted to the floor. Then he shook his head and the thought was gone. 

“Okay, maybe it’s just a coincidence,” he said. “Maybe the DJ suggested Journey. Do you remember what song it was, Livvy?” 

“No, I don’t. Sorry, I’m not very good with song titles.” 

“Was it ‘Separate Ways’? ‘Any Way You Want It’? ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’? ‘Faithfully’? ‘Open Arms’?” 

“You know, for someone who doesn’t like Journey, you sure know a lot of Journey songs.” 

And for someone who seemed like such an airhead, Olivia Kent was shockingly observant. Gareth was rather impressed. He couldn’t help but tip his head to her. Touché, fair lady. 

“I think it was the last one,” Olivia said. 

“‘Open Arms’?” 

“I think so.” 

“So Eddie played a sappy love song,” Gareth concluded while rubbing his chin. “Makes sense.” 

“Mhm… and it must’ve worked ‘cause she left with him right after.” 

“You saw the girl who left with him?”  

“Yep.” 

“You saw her face?”

“Of course I did. She walked right past me.” 

“And did you recognize her?”

“Uh-huh!” 

“YES!” Gareth pumped his fists excitedly. He almost leaped out of his chair and kissed her, he was so happy. “Who was it, Livvy? Tell me who it was!”

Olivia sighed. “I don’t remember.” 

“What?” Gareth’s heart shattered. “But you just said you recognized her.”

“I did recognize her face, but I don’t remember her name… Sorry, Gareth, I’m not very good with names.” 

“You’re not good with names,” Gareth repeated softly, beside himself. “She’s not good with names. She’s not good with names. My star witness isn’t good with names.” 

He laughed madly to himself, feeling dizzy and delirious, feeling like the whole room was spinning like a turntable. A turntable playing Journey. Journey! Of all the bands in the world, Eddie, why Journey? Why? Why?

Meanwhile, Olivia rested her cheek against her palm and smiled at him. “You have really pretty eyes. Do you want my number?”  

Gareth paused, considering it. His face turned bright red. 

“Yes, Livvy. Yes, I’d love to get your number.” 

“Cool!” She scribbled it on a piece of notebook paper and handed it to him. “Call me sometime, okay?” 

So now Gareth was strolling away from his third-period class with a laminated hall pass in hand, Olivia Kent’s phone number in his pocket, a massive pit in his stomach, and Steve Perry’s annoying voice in his head. 

Journey. 

Eddie had requested Journey.  

It wasn’t a coincidence, was it? 

Gareth walked past Mr. Prichard’s math class, stopped, and backpedaled a few paces. He pressed his face against the glass and peered inside. 

Eddie was sitting at his desk with his assignment out and textbook open in front of him. He had his pencil in his hand, but he had yet to write a single answer. He was just tapping it against his notebook while he stared absently at the chalkboard, stared with a faraway look in his eyes. Gareth knew that look. It meant Eddie was lost in thought, usually about D&D or whatever new song he was learning, but today Gareth had a sneaking suspicion that Eddie was thinking about something else—or rather someone else. 

But not you. Please, God, not you. 

You were sitting behind him and quietly working on your assignment, just working on your assignment, and that caught Gareth a little off guard. If you had gone home with Eddie (as Gareth begrudgingly suspected now), shouldn’t you have been acting a little… happy? excited? Shouldn’t you have been staring at the back of his head with a dumb, lovesick expression? Daydreaming and doodling about him in your notebook? Naming your future children and planning your destination wedding?

Gareth expected to feel something when he peeked into that classroom. A change in energy. A shift in the natural balance of the universe. Call it whatever you want, but there should have been a noticeable difference in the air, right? Right?  

But there wasn’t.  

Everything was totally normal. 

You and Eddie were acting totally normal. 

And that filled Gareth with an exhilarating sense of relief. 

It wasn’t you. Thank God, it wasn’t you. 

Gareth backed away with a smile. If he had stayed a minute longer, he would have seen the exact change in energy he had been waiting for. If he had stayed a minute longer, he would have seen Eddie turn around and start talking to you. He would have seen you smile and blush and tell him to go back to his assignment (even though you didn’t really want him to go back to his assignment). Then he would have seen Eddie turn back to the front, try to do his work, give up, and turn around again five minutes later. 

But Gareth didn’t stay. Instead, he continued down the hallway in blissful ignorance, pulled out his list, ripped it up, and tossed the pieces into the trash. 

If it wasn’t any of them and it wasn’t you, there was only one logical conclusion. 

“She doesn’t go to school here, does she?”

Gareth forced this treasonous charge onto Eddie as soon as he arrived at the cafeteria. He had found his target sitting at his usual place at the head of the table. The seat of high honor. Eddie’s chair. The king’s chair. Gareth, a once-honorable and faithful soldier, slammed down his tray, leaned forward, pressed his palms into the table, and looked Eddie Munson square in the eye. Unblinking. Unflinching. Unyielding against his Dungeon Master’s powerful, intimidating aura.  

A moment of tense silence passed. Jeff and Grant looked at each other and immediately stopped eating. Jeff put down his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Grant screwed on the lid of his soup thermos and set the container aside. There was no telling how long this would take. Gareth had a talent for prolonging his inevitable demise. It was like watching a slow hanging. 

Oh, but what a show it would be. 

“Who is she, Eddie?” Gareth thrust out his finger accusingly. “Huh? Is she a teacher? A townie? Some drunk chick you picked up at the bar while drowning your pathetic sorrows away?” 

“Yikes,” Jeff said, cringing. 

And Grant said, “That is quite the allegation.”  

Indeed it was, and Eddie didn’t seem to appreciate the open assault on his character. His brown eyes sharpened into a steely glare. They reflected Gareth’s destruction like a black crystal ball. Doom. Doom. Doom. 

“Get your finger outta my face,” Eddie said, and that was all he needed to say.  

“I’m so sorry,” Gareth said, and fell back into his chair with a thump. His heart thudded in his chest while the color slowly returned to his face. That was as close to death as Gareth had ever come. It was a miracle he’d survived. He bent his head and capitulated: “I sincerely apologize for my previous statement. It was malicious and rude, completely unbecoming of my position.”

Grant squinted his eyes curiously. “And what is your position, exactly?” 

“I’m Eddie’s best friend, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Jeff echoed, snickering. 

Grant, wryly amused, said, “Uhh, I’m pretty sure Scottie’s his best friend.” 

Eddie, having dropped his tyrannous facade, was pretending to listen while absentmindedly picking through his snack bag, his thoughts elsewhere, eyes elsewhere. But where, Gareth couldn’t say. He had strained his neck to see who Eddie was looking at, but it was impossible to tell with so many people in the cafeteria. He could have been looking at anyone, anyone, anyone except you.

“He’s right,” Eddie murmured. “Scottie’s my best friend.” 

Gareth shrugged, unconcerned with such trivial technicalities. “Well, then I’m your second best friend, Eddie, and since Scottie’s in prison right now, I have to step in and assume the role in his stead.” 

“Ah, the interim best friend. So that’s the imaginary position you gave yourself.” 

“Oh, shut up and eat your soup, Grant.” 

“I will eat my soup,” Grant said, “and I’ll enjoy it while you continue to embarrass yourself.” 

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Gareth grumbled nonsensically. He stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. It tasted like dirt. “I’m having a really horrible day.”   

“Well, that’s too bad,” Eddie said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Mine’s actually going pretty well.”

Another cryptic response. Gareth simply couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know,” Jeff began, “speaking of Scottie—” 

Gareth flung down his fork angrily, sending a spear of broccoli whizzing past Grant’s left shoulder. 

“Oh, come on, just tell me who it is already! Enough with the hints and the coded language. I swear to God, you’re driving me crazy, Eddie! You’ve been torturing me for days with this mystery. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t think about anything else. As your friend, I’m begging you to stop. Please, for my sanity, stop.” 

Eddie popped a pretzel into his mouth and chewed. “I’ve been torturing you?”

Grant said, “He’s been torturing himself, honestly.” 

Jeff nodded, seeming on the verge of laughter. “Yeah, he made a list and everything.”

Eddie grimaced. “Wait, there’s a list? Why is there a list?” 

“Because you’ve driven me to madness, Eddie!” Gareth blurted out in blind white rage. “I hope you’re happy because you’ve driven me to complete madness! Who were you with on Saturday? Don’t even try to deny it because I heard a girl talking in the background. It wasn’t the TV. It was a girl. A living, breathing girl. I know you were with her that night, and I know you were with her yesterday.” 

“I wasn’t with her yesterday,” Eddie replied, his eyelids heavy with annoyance. “I already told you, I was out running errands.” 

“Oh, you’re sticking with that story, huh? Okay, Eddie, let’s assume you were out running errands. Let’s assume you spent your whole Sunday exactly as you said. You got up bright and early, stopped by the drugstore for God knows what, and then spent the rest of the day by yourself at home, cleaning out your van.” 

“I did clean out my van yesterday. That’s how I found my lost W.A.S.P. tape.”  

“Oh, which album?” Grant asked. 

“The Last Command,” Eddie answered, a soft smile touching his face. 

Wait, was that another clue?

“Nice,” Grant said. “That’s a solid album.” 

Eddie nodded, agreeing, but now there was a distant glimmer in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Gareth couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was as if his friend was lost in a cherished memory. 

What significance did this W.A.S.P. tape hold?

Was there any significance? 

These questions twisted Gareth’s mind into a pretzel. 

And speaking of pretzels, Eddie had set down his snack bag and stopped eating. Weird. He now sat with his arms folded over his chest, fingers drumming impatiently against his right bicep. His wandering eyes kept going back to the clock. Counting down the minutes. What had him so restless all of a sudden? What was he waiting for? His next class? English? Was that significant? Eddie hated English. He dreaded English. He complained about it every day because it meant he had to see— 

Eddie pushed off the table and stood up. Gareth climbed up from his chair, too. 

“Where are you going, Eddie?” 

“Dude,” Jeff said, looking up at him. “You need to calm down.” 

“Otherwise,” Grant went on, “you might get demoted to third best friend.”

The two of them dissolved into laughter. Gareth didn’t even hear them.  

“It’s happening,” he muttered. “Something’s happening.”

“Yeah, you annoyed Eddie so much that he had to leave to get away from you.” 

But that wasn’t it. Eddie wasn’t fleeing for the exit like a coward. No, he was marching straight through the middle of the cafeteria like a lone soldier charging through the battlefield. Charging to victory or to death. He was infiltrating the enemy’s stronghold, impervious to their hostile glares and raised eyebrows. Even Jason Carver himself, who had begun to get out of his chair, could not stop him today. Eddie was a man determined, a man determined to get to

(of course)

you. 

He wedged himself between two basketball players, pushed his palms into the table, and greeted you with a charming smile. You gazed up at him in sweet surprise. 

“Hi,” you said. 

“Hi,” he said back. “You wanna skip next period?”

Chrissy’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god,” she said while you blushed, buried your face in your hands, and giggled. 

Gareth, dumbstruck, slumped back into his chair with the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth. 

That bitch, he thought. That Journey-loving bitch, she actually did it. 

Grant regarded him with an impressed frown. “You know, you’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would. When did you figure it out?” 

Gareth sighed. “Second period.” 

Eddie just had to play Journey.

There was a moment of solemn silence after that. Then Grant unscrewed his soup thermos and lunch resumed as usual. Jeff took a bite of his sandwich. Gareth, now resigned to his grim fate, stuck his fork into his meatloaf and cut himself a modest slice. The meat looked dry and grey. What a horrible new world he lived in. 

But, he supposed, there was something to look forward to. 

“I got Olivia Kent’s number today. I think I’m gonna ask her out this weekend.” 

SERIES MASTERPOST

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

unfortunately, i no longer do taglists. if you want to stay updated on my fics, you can follow me and/or subscribe to my posts. thank you!

[writingsofhubris-a]

We're remotely secluded in this far away place

Rating: E WC: 3.8k Tags: Threesome - M/M/Other, Anal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Dom/sub, Praise Kink, Aftercare, Grinding, Overstimulation, Crossdressing Fandom: Monday Mornings, Pete's Meteor Ship:Harding Hooten/Reader/Hugh Weldon Disc: You'd often travel with Harding when he would find international travel due to work. It was during one such trip to Ireland that you'd met the adorable, nerdy Doctor Weldon. Curls and thick glasses, it hadn't taken much prodding for Harding to let him into your shared bed, and less time to find himself fucking Hugh. Months later, Hugh still enjoyed his time between your legs, and Harding between his.

[Read here on AO3]

[itsonlydana]

hello! I see you have requests open...(?) for the hobbit/lotr, and I was wondering if I could request a modern!thranduil x reader fanfiction? the reader is some sort of barista/baker/other thing, and Thranduil is obviously all rich and shit and comes in once, is enamoured by shy, flustered reader and then becomes a regular? obviously, they end up together in the end. thank you!

Lattes and Love | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

it's a rainy monday, perfect for a meet-cute with the new, handsome and rich customer that you totally don't embaress yourself in front of

tags/warnings: coffeeshop!au, fluff

word count: 2,7k

an: oh, this was such a good request! Thoroughly loved writing it :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

"Falling for customers strictly forbidden!" was the non-negotiable rule for anyone who found themselves working at the loveliest café in Laketown; 'Beans & Leafs'.

Despite being written out on a wooden board behind the counter and in the kitchen, this rule was obviously ignored by more than half of the employees; the others were either happily coupled up, had no interest in romance, or had such an unhealthy work-life balance that this didn't matter anyway.

You, on the other hand, a longtime single and die-hard lover of romance novels, were one of the employees who couldn't go a month without an over-the-counter crush, serving coffees and teas as well as heart eyes and shy blushes.

You had perfected your craft of pouring coffee while thinking of scenarios where, instead of getting a tip, the handsome brunette with the gentle smile would wait until the end of your shift and invite you out for not coffee, but a drink, perhaps.

These fantasies did no one any harm; you would even go as far as to debate that the love you pledged for the customers was an ingredient that fitted exquisitely into the crushed beans and steamed milk.

There had never been any complaints, so there was no reason whatsoever why your boss, Bard, flung his arm out and pointed at the sign when the doorbell chimed one rainy Monday morning.

The weather had been particularly awful the entire weekend, clouds hanging low and leaving you to barricade yourself into your apartment, and when you'd left the house this morning, paddling away on your bike and avoiding muddy puddles as well as you could, the skies were still gray and gloomy. Inside the café the warm lamps tried their best to fight against the pale sunlight that fell through rain-streaked windows, coloring everything in washed-out watercolors.

When you followed the length of Bard's hand however it was as if the sun broke through, even if it was only for the few seconds you stared at the man who just entered the shop and stepped into the small line of customers.

He was breathtakingly gorgeous, right up the alley of models you saw in fashion magazines with his sharp cheekbones and the pair of high-waisted jeans that hugged his waist perfectly. Even his long black coat seemed like it was tailored for his broad shoulders and he looked, by all means, expensive.

"Eyes, Darlin', eyes."

It was only when Bard gently nudged his hip against yours as he passed you from behind and tapped one finger against the sign again, that you bewilderedly realized that hadn't been a direction to the customer's eyes – oh boy, they were twinkling like starlight – but rather a command to advert yours.

"Stop bossing me around," you groaned quietly, glad for the jazz music that played from speakers over your head and the chatter of the few other customers that had found their way into the 'Beans & Leafs'.

"I am your boss. I have every right to command you 'round," Bard said, knocking his knuckles against the sign, "And a rule 's a rule. Doesn't matter if you're the best worker I've got 'round here."

You stuck your tongue out at him of the corner of your mouth under the pretense that it was nothing but concentration over the milk you were pouring into a cup for the customer in front of you.

"You're so annoying," you said as you turned your back on the counter to grab a new cup. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

The question was directed at Bard but it's not his warm voice that answers your teasingly snappy question, but a deeper one without the familiar drip of Bard's accent:

"Yes, actually, so I would appreciate my latte with three shots of espresso for takeaway please."

You immediately flew around, hot shame bubbling up straight into your cheeks as you squealed, "Oh shit– I mean, shit, sorry!"

Of course. Of course, the 6ft beauty was the next in line, casually resting one arm on the counter and scrutinizing you with those captivating bright eyes that, now that he stared at you and there wasn't anything between you except the bar and miles of shame, did look exactly like starlight. This was so unprofessional and it didn't help that you were frozen on the spot.

You heard Bard's rough laughter, saw him shaking his head in not-so-quiet disbelief out of your peripheral vision and it only fueled the blush that took over your whole face. "I'm so sorry," you apologized and lowered your chin to look away from the customer and down to the coffee machine instead.

Flaming red cheeks reflected in the silver metal greeted you as you let the machine take over for the espresso – arabica beans from Brasille, rich, sweet and slightly nutty, and, if brewed correctly, which you always managed, would leave a lingering taste reminiscent of dark chocolate. "Whole milk, oat, almond, or soy?" you asked, swallowing the lump of embarrassment that was lodged in your throat.

"Oat, please."

You nodded and fell into the rhythm that you were used to, that, despite the hope the ground would tear up and swallow you completly, comes like second nature. "I just want to let you know that I truly wasn't talking to you," you started and foamed up the milk, hiding behind the steam.

The customer huffed out an amused laugh. "No? You're only that cheeky to your employer?"

Great, now he thought you were an employee who didn't respect her higher-ups. "No no! It's a joke," you cringed at the nervous chuckle you laughed, "Nothing serious, just joking. He knows I would never disrespect him, he's a good boss, one of the best actually! And–" you heard your rambling and wanted to close your eyes at the next blink and never open them again, "– and I should probably stop talking now."

Bard passed you again, patting one hand fatherly on your shoulder though this helped barely because the slight touch immediately zipped straight through your spine. In what could only be described as unfortunate timing your arm flinched forward, breaking the carefully concentrated pouring of steamed milk into the paper cup, and to your horror you watched as the foam parted through the coffee.

And created the perfect heart.

You gave yourself a second to breathe, to stare down into the paper cup and this was totally fine; you made latte art all the time and most of your favorite customers got a heart one day or another. And even if you didn't know the man at all and already made a fool out of yourself, other coffee places did this as well.

It's just coffee.

But it was never just coffee with all the love you poured into it, wasn't it?

So you steeled yourself, ignored the churning of your stomach, and plastered on a flustered smile. "Here's your coffee, Sir." The heart cheekily smiled right back, foam bobbing on top and this was definitely a moment you would be thinking about, maybe even use as an opportunity to reevaluate the importance of Bard's stupid sign. "Cash or card?"

He already pulled out a sleek wallet, manicured nails and long fingers pushed a neat $20 over to you. He wore a smirk, the corners of his mouth turned so far up that white teeth showed and dimples buried themselves into his cheeks. "Cash. I suspect the tips go straight to–" one finger lifted and pointed straight forward, "you?"

"Me," you repeated and quickly shook your head, "I mean yes, they go to me."

"Good," he chuckled, "wouldn't want anyone else to share what you earned rightfully, don't we? Keep the change."

"But Sir!" you protested because this tip was ludicrously big for a latte; more than double the amount of what he had paid for the drink on its own without the free show of you being a complete fool.

The man arched an eyebrow though it carried nothing but curiosity instead of the superiority that it would communicate by an older, more stuffy guy.

You busied your hands, cleaned the frother, and emptied the remaining ground coffee into the trash before you ran a rag over the machine, or otherwise, the probability of ruining your nailbeds was much too high. "The coffee's maybe not to your liking – what if you absolutely hate it?"

"Then I will simply order another one another time," he replied and the hope that sprung up inside your chest, another time– another visit, he would come back– bounced around your ribcage and threatened to burst right through.

Your throat clicked as you swallowed, looking up from the dark brown coffee that filled the next mug, coffee black, arabica beans imported from Peru, fruity and perfect for the cappuccino order, up to the man, this stunning beautiful man who tipped like he could throw away money and not notice the amount missing, the epitome of all what you've dreamed about and exceeding those standards the longer he stood around.

You grabbed the opportunity, damned the sign because why the hell should anyone be forbidden to fall in love with him and bit down on your lower lip, smiling softy.

"Could I get your name?"

"I already have my coffee," he said amused and the heat was back in your cheeks. "But it's Thranduil. Nice to meet you," Thranduil's starlight eyes dropped to the name-pin buttoned to your apron and flittered back up, warm and deep voice wrapping around your name in a manner that was close to too overwhelming. "Now, let's try this drink, shall we?"

Completely entranced by his soft-looking lips that twitched back into a smile at the sight of the heart, eyes locking on yours again as he lifted the cup, you watched him take a sip.

A soft hum.

Long lashes fluttering shut against the apple of his cheek.

Yep, there was no way back from this. By the end of your shift, you would probably bike home and dream about this moment, when Thranduil opened his eyes again and you were still staring, caught despite the line forming behind him, other customers held up by Bard, this wonderful man you would never ask anything of him ever again, and Thranduil competed in the new game of who would look away first.

"Sweet," his voice was still deep, coated by a warmness that only satisfactory coffee would bring, and you swore you tasted the chocolate on your tongue as you bit down on it.

The way your eyes scanned the work area to check if you had accidentally poured sugar into his coffee, he didn't order any, right? – and while the oak milk carried some sweetness with it, it wasn't much but what if– were a clear message of slight panic, nervousness of having gotten his order wrong and Thranduil quickly deescalated the deep frown forming in your eyebrows.

"Ah, don't worry. I wasn't talking about the coffee," Thranduil said, and, lifting the cup to his lips, he winked at you over the rim.

He left you like that, mouth hanging slightly open while your mind ran the calculation of whether or not he had flirted with you.

You spent the rest of the day in a haze, only managing the midday and afternoon rush with the memory of Thranduil whom you swore, you saw rushing past the window of the shop in the evening, long hair flying in the wind at his quick steps and if your mind didn't play tricks on you, his head turned when he passed you, eyes finding yours in a second that quietened down all the sounds.

The next day, he came in again, a phone pressed to his ear and an apologetic voiceless: "So sorry," when the call was seemingly important enough for him to take his latte, foam-heart included, and dashed back outside, leaving you another hefty tip but no further interaction.

You sighed.

For good measure, you even glared at the sign.

Thranduil stopped by on his way to work every morning from Monday, Thursday and Friday, ordering his latte until it waited for him at exactly 7:45, the heart inside the coffee wandering onto the takeaway cup when you started scribbling his name onto it, first on the dot of the 'i' and then, later, when you were brave enough, next to the name.

It was a hurdle, more than often you had the sharpie pressed into the paper, blacking out from sheer panic that seeped through you like the dark ink that ended up either a smiley or a flower or full stop.

Thranduil would come in, sweep you off your feet by simply smiling or smirking at the new doodle on his coffee, steaming hot as soon as the bell announced his arrival, and leave. Never without tipping you enough for you to buy a new bike at the end of the first month of him visiting the 'Beans & Leafs'.

On Saturdays, Thranduil came in and settled his tall body into one of the window tables, entirely oblivious to all the ogling he got from passersby as well as customers, they stared all the same at his beauty and the weekend always got better because his sole focus was on you.

On Saturdays, he got his coffee, a Cappuccino served in dark blue mugs that complimented his white-blond hair and the rosé of his lips that savored every last drop, and he started asking you for your opinions on the breakfast options.

The first time he did it, long legs crossed over each other and his head propped up on his hands listening intently, you rambled on the entirety of the menu, babbling on and on and on:

"We got wonderful apple rose tarts, that truly look like roses, and rhubarb pie or a lemon shortcake – that one goes perfectly with the chocolaty taste of the coffee beans! And we have croissants, banana bread, and a cheese Danish!"

"Mhmm, all of those sound ama–" Thranduil started but was interrupted by your nervous continuing chatter:

"And of course, you could have a chicken and avocado sandwich, if you want something more savory. Or our chefs make a mean bacon and egg one with arugula and a blueberry vinaigrette?" you asked and threw a quick look to Thranduil who hid his amused smile that lit up his whole face behind his fingers. "Oh, or are you a vegetarian? Then I would recommend the olive, tomato and hummus bagel, but maybe you don't like olives. For that, we have a walnut quiche–"

"Yes, I am vegetarian–"

The smile bloomed past the, noticeably large, hands, the corner of his mouth curling up while his eyebrows furrowed in the concentration of keeping still, watching you in awe as your breath held on far longer than his ability to remain calm and it was only a matter of time until you were done.

Your eyes landed on the dimples, the soft crow feet next to his eyes, and low on oxygen you finally managed to detangle yourself from the menu that you had previously, in preparation for this moment, had carefully written down on your notesblock, the page now crinkled at the edges and most of the ink smeared under the hard press of your thumbs.

"Great! Do you want me to repeat the vegetarian options?"

Thranduil ordered all of your recommendations.

Not all at once, it wasn't past you to bring out dozens of plates at his request but Thranduil kept to two cups of coffee and worked his way through the display of cakes, pies, breads, rolls and sandwiches, always prepared by you.

You served him his first coffee with a heart in his mug and a plate for him to eat and after rushing through the next hour, eyes locking across the room now and again whenever you looked up from the coffee machine and he from his plate, you would bring him his second cup, carrying the heart-coffee and another one for you to sip on during your break, legs brushing against each other under the small table.

It was there, at this table, that Thranduil asked you out, not two months after the first interaction.

It was also at this table that he kissed you for the first time, tasting like love, lattes and a bit of chocolate.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[thatwholethingwiththeduck]

In the year of our lord 2024 I wrote a lot of fanfiction about these stupid medical malpractice guys.

It seemed easier to note the ones that weren't Hilson.

post-series

He Wants

Dying Men 

Suspicious

Favor 

Cocktails 

The Sixth Stage

pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name

eternal themes 

One More Story

Happy [stacy/cuddy]

The Open Road

The Price

small bites

Declarations 

a good run 

all you who are weary and burdened [ducklings]

and i don't want the world to see me [taub]

season 8

the drinks always have subtext

depends on how much you have to drink

if things go wrong 

season 7

Ten Days

He'd Know 

(He'd want to be left alone) [gen]

between pain and not 

season 6

absolution

Wonder

Manly Heterosexual Beers

Third Wheel

Regular Friendship

Couch Politics

star anise with caramelized onions

cures for insomnia 

Set The Date 

Rings

the secret sits in the middle and knows 

your slightest look easily will unclose me

we dance around in a ring

I'm Your Man

Anniversary

season 5

Personality Flaw 

Someone Always Cries [cameron/wilson with background hilson pining]

Not Friends

season 4

James Wilson and the Cozy Blanket of Denial

season 3

Questions and Answers 

True Hate's Kiss 

a light breeze

season 2

In The Human World

Autopilot

Hypotheticals 

Don't Cry 

season 1

Spaghetti 

vague timeline

Kinder

Hiring Practices 

5 Feelings 

the thing is 

Drinking Game

Distraction [houseteen]

Data

Fourth Time’s The Charm 

Pain Relief [houseteen]

Souvenirs You Never Lose 

Sensitivity Training 

Diagnosis

what we talk about when we talk about big pharma 

The Replacement 

Guys' Night Out

Justice 

spinning around a dead dial 

something's made your eyes go cold 

the tigers come at night 

it's only forever 

Monday Morning

pre-series

you love him more 

Wedding Bells 

Before [gen]

forgive us our trespasses [chase]

Clean 

au

two roads diverged in new orleans and i (i took the road less traveled by) 

crossovers

Flamingos (Boston Legal)

Divorced Men's Club (Friends)

Napa (Mom)

Second Wives Club (Frasier)

assume it will be brilliant (Grey's Anatomy)

Love is itself unmoving (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

my own beginning, my own ending (Star Trek)